"Colonel MacLeod, this is Jaffray. We need your fire support and every available 'Mech up here now. Objective is in sight, but we have some problems." Big problems.
"This is MacLeod. It looks like I am every available 'Mech, Major. We've got to get past those bloody heavies or this mission is a scratch." It was an understatement that did not escape Loren. In this case "scratch" meant the death of hundreds, if not thousands. It would also interfere with his own plans for the destruction of the Highlanders, possibly leading to weeks of fighting instead of hours.
These thoughts somehow galvanized Loren. If there was any way to save the lives of the innocent people of Tara and still fulfill his mission, he would try. He hoped he'd not have to make a choice between the two. But even if he did, there was still another option. It wasn't one he wanted to dwell on, because its outcome would mean his own end, if not physically, then morally. It was a choice that until now he had been able to avoid.
"Too much at stake for that, sir," Loren said as he triggered another blast of laser and PPC fire into the Stalker, with little or no effect. The Davion 'Mech had almost parked in place and was sitting back with its cohorts, ready to pummel the Highlander assault force into slag rather than let them pass. As if to enforce its point it let go a wave of long-range missiles at Fuller's tattered Shadow Hawk, hitting him and the trees next to him. Flames lapped up at the legs of Fuller's 'Mech as he brought bis autocannon around to return the attack.
"I have a plan. Unless you hear from me, finish off the comm van. Otherwise I'll see you when this thing is all over with."
"What are you doing?" MacLeod demanded.
Loren ignored him as another wave of LRMs sprayed down on his position. One hit his left arm while all the rest merely succeeded in blowing up the turf near his heavily battered Gallowglas. "Sir, with all respect, get up here now. They're going to need your help to get out of here in one piece." Instead of staying back and using his long-range weapons, Loren walked the Gallowglas into a clearing and broke into a full charge straight at the Davion Atlas.
"Holy crudstunk ..." That was Fuller.
"Oh my God," Carey said in disbelief, moving up to cover for Loren as he charged forward. "Colonel ... he's going to get himself killed ..."
MacLeod turned toward the Stalker and fired a Gauss round into the 'Mech. "No he's not, lassie. Not if we don't let him down."
37
Outskirts of Tara Northwind
Draconis March, Federated Commonwealth
20 October 3057
Drew Catelli pulled at the ends of his handlebar mustache and smiled as he saw the report running across his secondary monitor as it was being transmitted from the outskirts of Tara. MacLeod had finally surfaced, or at least some of his force. Instead of attacking the mountain camp he'd tried to break into Tara herself. With a crack Davion Regimental Combat Team hidden there, the acting Davion Consul knew there was little chance of survival for MacLeod's Highlanders. And, if all went as planned, Stirling's Fusiliers would also be nothing but a memory in a matter of hours.
And even if it didn't go as planned, there was still little chance that MacLeod's Highlanders could survive. Some of Winchester's NAIS force was with Catelli, as were Mulvaney's Highlanders. For three days they'd been on the march down the highway from the training camp, maneuvering into position just outside the city. If the battle went poorly, they were less than thirty minutes from Tara and could easily turn the tide of battle. Catelli chuckled softly in his cockpit, proud of what he had accomplished.
Thanks to Lepeta I've managed to discredit the Highlanders by implicating them in the death of that imbecile Burns.
I've splintered MacLeod's forces and will see the end of Stirling's. The other regiments will capitulate rather than see their families and home world burned to a cinder ... and I'm fully prepared to do that. Bradford can think he's in charge as long as it suits my needs. It's only a matter of time and he'll either be gone, dead, or reporting to me. Soon Northwind and her precious troops will be mine to govern and rule. Everything is unfolding as I planned, with nothing left to chance. A transmission from one of his officers interrupted his reverie.
"What is it?" he demanded as soon as the channel was opened.
"Sir, per your instructions we've let the last of Mulvaney's Highlanders clear the front marker. I thought you should know."
"What are you talking about?" Instructions? Front marker? Where in the hell was Mulvaney taking her—No!
"She had orders from you, sir, deployment to Tara."
"No!" Catelli screamed at the top of his voice in the cockpit of the Atlas. "You idiots, why didn't you confirm that order?"
The officer was obviously shaken by Catelli's rage. "You asked not to be disturbed, sir ..."
Catelli took in a long breath and did his best to curb his temper. "Send a message to all our troops. Order them to break camp immediately. Contact Major Winchester and let her know we're going in pursuit of Mulvaney. Tell them that we assume Mulvaney and her troops are hostile. They are to fire at will."
"Sir?"
"You heard me, you incompetent buffoon! I want a full pursuit immediately. I don't care if the pilots have to push their BattleMechs by hand to get them moving!" He pounded his fist against the communications control panel, shutting it off and drawing blood where one of the studs cut his wrist. As he pulled the neurohelmet onto his head, Catelli realized that he was as hot as if his BattleMech were in battle. For the first time since he'd formulated his plan he feared that it might now come apart He wouldn't let that happen. Too much was at stake.
Loren Jaffray watched as the light blue crosshairs of his heads up display flared red over the torso of the Stalker as he charged the Gallowglas forward. Triggering his medium lasers and PPC he watched with satisfaction as his fire whittled away the massive 'Mech's armor. As the heat in the cockpit became more and more stifling, he pivoted the large lasers to fire but was unable to get a lock in time. In response to his charge the Orion and Stalker both fired their vast array of missiles, sending a wall of flaming projectiles hurtling at him as he ran forward. As the flames of the streaking missiles filled his primary screen Loren clung tightly to the joysticks, bracing for the impact. His speed shook the lock of some of the warheads, but more than half found their mark across the front of the Gallowglas.
A glance at the 'Mech's outline on the secondary monitor showed dozens of red marks where armor had been breached and internal damage done. And his head readouts were so high that the failure of another heat sink would shut the 'Mech down completely. Two lasers raked his 'Mech's chest and cockpit, the latter hit making the cockpit sealing joints pop with a snapping sound. The heat inside the cramped cockpit was like sitdng next to a raging bonfire. It was a dry, bitter heat and was rising to the point where the 'Mech was going to be uncontrollable.
His sensor sweeps told Loren that MacLeod and Dewkovich had taken his place, with Fuller, Frutchey, and Carey attempting to give him some cover fire. Still, there seemed to be little hope of getting past the line of Davion 'Mechs without getting destroyed. My loss is acceptable. It's now or never. He licked his parched lips at the thought, then did what none of the Third Royals expected; he activated his jump jets and aimed straight at their position.
MacLeod understands what I'm doing, so at least I have that going for me, Loren thought as the 'Mech's controls seemed to fight him as if they had a mind of their own. Losing a 'Mech is a small price compared to losing two regiments and an entire planet. All I have to do is get clear of these biggies and I might actually be able to pull this off. Otherwise it won't matter.
Unlike his jump at the fight for The Castle this flight was far from smooth for either Loren or his 'Mech. The battleweary Gallowglas seemed to protest every meter of the trajectory, shaking and vibrating madly as it rose into the air. Its jump jets no longer fired a smooth stream of propulsion, but seemed to spit and sputter as the 'Mech lifted off. Loren swung his large lasers on the Atlas and fired at the apex of his fl
ight. His target lock failed, most likely a result of overheating in the cockpit, but Loren didn't need it—firing more on instinct than anything else. He told himself several times that he wasn't there to knock out the Davion 'Mechs but to simply get past them ... no matter what the cost.
One shot missed while the other cut into the left arm of the Atlas just below its large laser, blistering and burning the armor plate. He looked up at the emergency exit controls at the top of the cockpit's main screen and wondered if he'd be able to eject from the Gallowglas in time. Punching out in the middle of a bad jump is hell. I hope it doesn't come to that but it's best to be prepared.
He barely heard the wail of his own target-locking system telling him that the Stalker and Atlas were engaging against him, but it had already lost the ability to show where the shots were going to hit. Looking out, Loren saw the missiles and bursts of light from the pulse lasers seeming to reach out for his smaller BattleMech. His entire body stiffened under the impacts and he closed his eyes, half expecting the cockpit to explode around him.
The Gallowglas vibrated madly under the impacts as if it were coming apart. Loren pushed the 'Mech's flight forward as he felt his right leg jump jets cut off totally, blasted apart by a stray laser pulse. The 'Mech tipped to one side as it dropped, landing only twenty meters behind the Stalker. As the Gallowglas landed the mauled leg collapsed under the weight of the machine, tipping it to the side, the cockpit glass shattering as the 'Mech plowed into the soft soil of Peace Park. As before Loren was tossed against his seat restraints as he tried vainly to move the Gallowglas to a better firing stance—eventually giving up. The cockpit controls flashed in sparks and the smell of ozone filled the cockpit. His legs stung from hot metal flakes searing into his bare flesh, but the pain kept him from losing consciousness at the impact of the fall. Darkness followed instantly and a feeling of vertigo and a massive impact. In the smoke and dim light Loren saw a small piece of cockpit glass sticking out of his arm. He didn't even flinch as he pulled it out.
Still alive! All around him was smoke and darkness lit only by bursts of white sparks as the cockpit controls were slowly destroyed. Had he been fighting to save the 'Mech Loren might have taken certain steps, but the 'Mech was not his main concern. Unstrapping his restraints, his body dropped to where the soil and sod had been forced into the crushed cockpit. Then he pulled his personal satchel from under the cockpit seat and detached the cooling vest and neurohelmet, setting them carefully on the floor of the fallen 'Mech. Rather than attempt to open the hatch he crawled through the shattered and spider-webbed chunks of cockpit glass and out onto the grass of the park.
Looming beyond him he saw the Stalker's boxy form withering under a PPC attack from one of the Highlanders. Probably Frutchey. At least he's still in the fight. He checked that the needier sidearm was still on his belt and also that he had the laser disk. Only one task remained. From the satchel he took two other diskettes. If he made it to the communications van alive, he would need them.
Once outside Loren saw for the first time the damage the Gallowglas had taken during the battle. Huge rips in the center torso exposed sensors and severed myomer strands smeared with coolant and other chemicals hung from the guts of the 'Mech. Some spots glowed from the heat and still-burning fires inside, and smoke trailed from the cracks and holes that were all over the armor. The 'Mech's left arm was totally crushed and the badly damaged leg had been torn off. It lay forlornly on the ground. Loren felt a loss, the kind every MechWarrior feels when a BattleMech is destroyed from under him. But time was short and he must press on. Too many lives were depending on him. Not just the Fusiliers, but MacLeod and even the Death Commandos were depending on his success.
A thundering roar of explosions from the nearby battle seemed to shake new life into his weary body as he ran across the open ground toward the communications van. He'd gone almost seventy-five meters before hitting a squad of Davion infantry. Dressed in city camouflage jackets marked with the golden coiled rattlesnake symbol of the Third Royals, they stood with weapons trained on him as he ran into the open. The leader, a sergeant, barked out his command loud and clear. "Halt."
Loren slowed his pace, still fighting to draw in the cool air after the searing heat of the cockpit. There were two ways to handle this. One was to try to take on the entire squad, all five of them with weapons already drawn. The other way was a little more deceptive ...
"They're right behind me!" he yelled in mock terror, pointing to where he had just emerged from the undergrowth.
"Hold your position. Don't move."
Loren pulled his needier pistol from its holster and aimed it in the general direction of the Stalker, then fired off two shots. "Don't just stand there!" he called, leaping to a tree as if to take shelter from the battle he'd just left. "Move up and take positions before they swarm us."
The sergeant and the squad were dumbfounded. Here was a man who did not seem to fear them as an enemy and who seemed to be firing at their foe. They made a poor decision, assuming that if Loren wasn't afraid of them he must be on their side. They ran forward, then dropped to the ground, aiming toward where Loren had fired.
"They took out my 'Mech and are heading this way!" he shouted, firing another shot into the brush and undergrowth.
"Who?" the Sergeant asked.
"Highlander infantry! My God, there they are!" Loren shrieked, rising and firing again. "Form a defensive perimeter here, Sergeant," he ordered. "I'll go and warn HQ to pull back until it's safe." The Royals sergeant just stood there, looking confused and unsure how to proceed.
Loren decided to up the ante. In a full command tone he barked out an order to the squad. "Damn it, Sergeant. I order you to deploy your men. Do it now or I'll take your command myself!" That apparently was enough. The Davion squad rapidly deployed into the trees and foliage against an enemy that didn't exist.
Loren turned slowly and saw his objective looming in front of him. Having sent its sentries against a nonexistent threat, he now had only the occupants of the communications van to contend with. As he jogged up to the door he heard the distinctive crackle of PPC fire and the thundering boom of autocannon and missile explosions behind him as MacLeod and his forces continued to press the assault. Without hesitation Loren opened the door to the van and stepped in.
The crew inside were so intent on their duties that none seemed to notice him at first. The guard standing watch inside the van also seemed unconcerned at his entrance. With the battle right at their doorstep they're probably thinking more about getting away from here than worrying about anyone trying to break in. Loren swung the needier pistol in front of him, holding it at eye level of the guard.
"Drop your weapon and move to the back of the van," he said in a low tone. The guard flinched and nervously dropped his weapon. As the man stepped back, several of the other officers and technicians saw what was happening and froze.
"All right, everyone," Loren announced loudly, activating the lock on the door behind him. "I am Major Loren Jaffray of the Death Commandos and you are my prisoners. Everyone drop any and all weapons, remove your headsets, and move to the back of the van! I want to see hands overhead or I'll start firing." A wave of the needier was more than enough to convince the technicians and communications officers that he was deadly serious.
Loren moved around one of the terminals, not taking his eyes off his prisoners as they shuffled into the tight confines at the back of the van. He pulled out the laser disk that MacLeod had given him and fed it into the transmission slot. The system read the tracking and searching program on the disk, then began to search the skies for its intended target. The drive whirred with activity as it sought out the correct frequency and began broadcasting its message to Stirling's Fusiliers. The message was on continuous loop, running over and over again. Loren listened as the drive ran, but he also kept a sharp eye on his hostages.
"You can't get away with this, you Liao pig. We know who you are," one of the officers said, relaxing his stan
ce slightly and lowering his hands to mid-chest. He was ready to challenge Loren regardless of the odds.
Loren was unimpressed by the posturing. He leveled the needier and fired a blast of the plasticine needles into the back wall of the van just above the officer's head. That was enough. The man's hands instantly shot back over his head and his face showed stark terror.
"It appears we disagree. I'd say I've already gotten away with this," Loren retorted in a matter-of-fact tone. Loren reached over and removed the diskette, then slid it back into his belt pouch. The Fusiliers were warned. That part of the mission was complete. There was one other. Two battalions of Death Commandos also awaited his signal at their pirate point. His last message had been a standby code, holding them ready to drop on Northwind. They were two hours away.
The timing was right. The Fusiliers would divert and reinforce MacLeod against the Third Royals RCT, and the two sides would grind themselves into pieces. Then, in the middle of their exhausted fighting, the Death Commandos would drop and annihilate whatever was left. The Highlanders would be destroyed and Northwind would truly belong to the Capellan Confederation.
Only Loren could order them to drop or abort. He had prepared two transmissions to the Commandos, one for each alternative. The time had come for him to fulfill his destiny. He pulled out the transmission disk and loaded it, sending the final orders to the Death Commando troops.
Chancellor Liao had told him that his personal honor was expendable on this mission. As he watched the transmit light flash, Loren knew he'd fulfilled that sacrifice. Any honor he might once have claimed, he now felt was cast to the wind. No matter what choice he made, no matter which transmission he sent, Loren knew that a part of him was dying. At that moment he wore two coats of arms. He was a Death Commando and he was also a Northwind Highlander. Loren would have to live with the choice he'd made for the rest of his life, no matter how brutally difficult had been the decision.
Highlander Gambit Page 32
