Impetus of War

by Blaine Lee Pardoe

  "Just like what we was supposed to be a findin' on Wayside V, it sounds like ta me," the slightly overweight Sergeant Ralston McAnis muttered.

  Loren ignored the remark. "If that's right, then we'll be facing second-line Clan tech rather than OmniMechs."

  "Aff, but your bidding will have to reflect that as well," Kerndon said. "It would be dishonorable to attack in equal numbers."

  "I've gone over the intelligence data on these solahma units," put in the brawny Sumpter Burke from the far end of the table. "These are some of the Clan's most veteran warriors. You'll be factoring that in too, won't you, sir?"

  "You confuse the concept of age in the Clans and experience in the Inner Sphere," Kerndon said. "Among the Clans, older warriors are considered used up. They have experience, but most have missed the opportunity to die with glory. They are reassigned to solahma units, so that younger, more genetically improved warriors get the chance to test their mettle and develop their skills more quickly."

  "That doesn't explain the likes of Natasha Kerensky—the Black Widow," Burke rebutted.

  Kerndon was unmoved. "She was an anomaly. Do not mistake a freak of nature in the former Wolf Clan for the rest of the Clans."

  "I plan to bid like a Smoke Jaguar," Loren said, addressing Sumpter. "If I don't do it right, it will tip them off."

  "Speaking of which," said McBride, "all of this is supposed to stir them up and have them trekking back to Wayside V. How are you planning to do that, sir?"

  Loren did have a plan, a simple one, but equally tried and true. "Don't worry, Trisha. I'm planning to leave behind a few little clues that will make it easier for the Nova Cats to find us later."

  His smile faded as he looked at each face in the small group. "We have to make sure we're ready for this, people. When we're done on Boltin, Tarnby is next. That means this one has to go off without a hitch. I want everyone to double up on their simulation time and double-check for launch prep."

  * * *

  "Well bargained and done, Star Colonel Patricia," said Galaxy Commander Devon Osis. "We've lost enough time dealing with these mercenaries. I expect that you will prevail better than the one you succeed, quiaff?" Patricia had just beaten Thibideau Osis in the bidding to resume the attack on the mercenaries, and the two of them stood before him in the command bunker of Wildcat Station.

  "Aff, Galaxy Commander Osis. I will not disappoint you," she returned.

  "See that you do not," Osis said, letting menace edge his words. "Much has already been lost."

  "I assure you that I will not fail either the Jaguar or the Huntress Galaxy as my predecessor did. She lacked an understanding of our foe. I have seen them for what they are, dishonorable freebirths. We will crush them like bandits under our heel."

  Osis's temper flared at her words. "You will not speak of the honored dead in such a fashion, Star Commander. It is true that Roberta failed in her mission and there is great loss of honor in that failure, but she fought to the end." As I expect you will if called upon .. .

  30

  Fusilier Base Camp,

  South of New Scotland

  Wayside V (Wildcat)

  Deep Periphery

  13 July 3058

  Stirling's Fusiliers were still a functional unit after the battle in the Isthmus of Bannockburn, but they'd taken severe damage. Looking out her portable command dome at what was left of her regiment, Colonel Andrea Stirling thought they were beginning to look more like a refugee camp than one of the Inner Sphere's most elite mercenary units-—testimony to the ferocity of their enemy.

  The outcome of the fighting in the isthmus was staggering, if all she looked at were the numbers. The Kilsyth Guards, minus Jaffray's special detachment, was running at forty-five percent of its operational size. Captain Lewis's combined arms had taken severe losses and had been driven back to the protective cover fire of the Claymore even before the Clans broke off their assault. The Black Adders Battalion had fared somewhat better, with sixty-five percent of its force still able to fight. Their blow to the rear of the Jaguar force had turned the tide of battle, but the fighting had taken its toll. Major Craig's Third Battalion had also taken a beating, though more than half its ranks remained.

  The PSL's company of Combine troops been decimated, however, and Parkensen had refused all discussion with Colonel Stirling or her staff since his rescue. That didn't surprise her, though. She'd cheated him of the chance to regain some of his honor by killing Roberta before the two were able to face off in a one-on-one duel. Cat Stirling shrugged. He'd have to snap out of it. The man had skills she still needed.

  Despite their losses, Stirling considered the battle a success. A bloody victory, but a battle won nevertheless. The 101st Cluster was hurt bad enough that they hadn't pursued her, but she knew that wouldn't last long. The question is, how much time have I bought for the price?

  Cat Stirling had studied the Clans almost as much as her Executive Officer. These were an unrelenting people gene-engineered for warfare. She knew that a defeat like they'd suffered in the isthmus would not go unavenged. If the 101st Cluster had failed, their comrades would bid for the right to finish Stirling off, if they hadn't already.

  The Claymore had taken a number of hits from the Jaguars during the battle, enough to guarantee it would never fly again—not without the kind of extensive dry-docking it would never get here on Wayside V. Sitting on the west end of the isthmus, it still commanded a vital passage, but was an island that simply couldn't be moved. She wanted to reinforce it, protect the DropShip as it had done for her so many times before. But Cat Stirling had to admit that the ship was a loss. Hearing the news, Captain McCray reminded her that the ship was really Captain Spillman's vessel.

  He had followed her orders, quickly stripping the ship of all vital supplies and salvageable parts and gear. Most important were the water and food stores, which they transferred to several regimental movers and which were now here at the base camp. The final steps for the Claymore were harder, requiring the explosive experts in Captain Lewis's combined arms forces to work their demolitions magic. If all went as Colonel Stirling hoped, the Claymore would serve the Fusiliers one last time in her long history—by taking a few more Smoke Jaguars with her to the grave.

  Meanwhile the withdrawal from the isthmus would go as planned, taking the regiment some twenty-five kilometers back to the west, away from the site of the battle. There, the terrain was less rocky, which would permit her 'Mechs and vehicles to build some true speed and maintain their distance from the Jaguars. She'd have liked to take her troops even further, but knew they were weary from battle.

  She had no doubt the Jaguars would rebid to destroy them. When they came, she would be ready for them, the only way she knew how. In all her years, Cat Stirling had never been one to sit back and wait for the fight to come to her, especially when the odds were against her. She was always much better at taking the battle to her enemies instead. It was very possible the Jaguars thought the Fusiliers were licking their wounds while they prepared to move their forces into position for the coup de grace.

  Cat Stirling had other plans.

  * * *

  Of the entire command staff, Major Craig was the worst for wear as they huddled around the portable field holotable in the center of the command dome. His face was unshaven, his eyes glazed over, and his jumpsuit looked as if it had been dragged through the difficult terrain of Wayside V. Major Kurt Blakadar somehow managed to appear tall and pristine as ever, his expression not sagging with fatigue like some of the others. Jake Fuller looked as if he hadn't slept since the first battle ten days ago, bloodshot eyes and ragged crowsfeet around his eyes telling the story of a man suddenly thrust into the hot seat of command. Captain Lovat's shoulders were slumped in weariness from trying to piece together what had become of their elusive enemy.

  "How is our defensive perimeter, Exec?" Cat Stirling said, making her tone crisp and authoritative. We've been recovering for the past two days. It's time to start actin
g more like a military unit, and we start that now.

  "The Adders have the watch and all is secure, sir. No sign of the Jags yet, but they've got to be out there," Blakadar replied.

  "Damn right," she snapped. "And you can all count on one thing, the Smoke Jaguars are getting ready to hit us again. This time, though, they'll come with fresh troops and they'll come to finish us off."

  "Satellite coverage shows no signs of pursuit yet, but what's left of the Bloodied Claws Cluster seems to be heading back toward their main camp," Lovat said, standing straighter under the deliberate tension Colonel Stirling was creating.

  "When they do come, you can count on them wanting revenge for what we did to the 101st. Star Colonel Roberta was supposed to kick our butts, and the fact that we're alive and she's not means trouble for us," Stirling said.

  Everyone went silent for a moment as Sho-sa Parkensen entered the portable command dome. He wore a headband of white and red, and a pall hung over his features. Parkensen said nothing, but instead took a place behind the regimental command staff, standing at parade rest, staring hard at Cat Stirling—a gaze she refused to return or acknowledge.

  "That's why we're moving out," Stirling said, continuing as if there'd been no interruption. "If we sit still, they'll catch us. As it is, it will take days for them to get here. I want camp broken in ten hours, though we'll get some rest under our belts first. We'll continue west, but north of the LZs." She activated the holographic projector and showed the path she wanted the regiment to take.

  "What about their aerospace fighters, sir?" Lovat asked. "If the Cluster Commanders rebid to take us on, they may bring in some of the fighters they didn't use when the 101st came after us."

  "Good question, Captain," she replied. "I've got a simple plan for dealing with that threat. We're going to launch a strike against their aerodrome and take out the fighters and the landing field." Her words hit the room like a bomb.

  "Sir, are you sure this is the kind of mission we should be undertaking?" Major Craig asked. "You're moving the main body of our force in the opposite direction of that aerodrome. Whoever goes on that mission will have a hell of a long hike back, if they live through it."

  Stirling nodded. "What's your point, Major?"

  "Sir, it just sounds like a suicide run." He sounded as if he regretted the words the moment he said them.

  "You heard the intelligence officer's report. The 101st is pulling back. That base is a clear and present threat to the Fusiliers. If we don't take it out now, their fighters will blow us back into the Stone Age.

  "I don't send people to their death intentionally," Stirling continued. "I suggest that the expedition consist of two lances of 'Mechs. We hit them hard and fast, cripple the air base and its equipment, and the odds get a little more even when their ground forces hit. If they move fast, they should be able to get back through the isthmus before the Jaguars send a pursuit force after the rest of us."

  Cat Stirling knew that speed would be the key. If the detachment didn't return fast enough from the raid, the pass would be held by the pursuing Jaguars by the time they got there. Such a small force would never have the firepower to make it through that obstacle.

  "Colin, what defense does the air base have?" Major Blakadar asked.

  "We have almost no idea, sir. What we do know is that our satellites have shown images of Elementals. I'm guessing that at least some of the 101st will be diverted there."

  "Going in there is reckless, sir," Major Craig said bitterly.

  Stirling nodded. "Reckless times call for reckless actions, Major. We're short on aerospace support. Hell, we don't have any. I've got enough problems without having to deal with that kind of threat."

  "The Colonel's right," Major Blakadar put in. "Taking out that base buys us a few more days, and that may be all Jaffray or Mulvaney needs."

  "Jaffray?" Craig snorted. "You don't really think that hare-brained scheme of his will work, do you, Blackie? He's not coming back for us. He managed to get himself a ride off planet. We're left here to die, while he goes back and tells command he tried his best."

  "As you were, Major Craig!" snapped Cat Stirling. "You can keep your personal opinions of Major Jaffray to yourself. We've got enough problems right now without having to deal with morale issues spread by an officer with a chip on his shoulder."

  Craig bowed his head, refusing to verbally acknowledge the order. Stirling pressed on. "I need someone who can get two lances of our 'Mechs in there and back again and can make sure that the Jag base is rubble when all's said and done. Volunteers?"

  An eerie silence wrapped itself around the Fusilier command staff. Jake Fuller broke it first. "I still have about two lances operational and ready for a fight, sir. The Kilsyth Guards volunteer for this mission."

  "With Colonel Stirling's permission," Sho-sa Parkensen spoke up, catching everyone off guard. "I would like to take part in the mission too."

  "Sho-sa, this is a two-way trip," she said "I want everyone going to come back—and that would include you."

  Parkensen bowed his head once to acknowledge his understanding. "I wish to be there, to face the Jaguars again. You can use my firepower, and my experience."

  He's still looking for an honorable death, but he's got a point. Jake Fuller is very good, but this is a push on his expertise. If Fuller can keep Parkensen's emotions in check, the PSL might just be an asset. The fact that he's volunteering for this mission in the first place is a start—a change for him.

  Andrea Stirling gave the PSL her very best cat's smile. "Very well, Sho-sa, you're on."

  31

  DropShip Bull Run, Approach Vector

  Boltin (System EC-EY-4189)

  Deep Periphery

  17 July 3058

  Loren Jaffray lay in his bunk and stared up at the plain gray of the stateroom ceiling, his mind wandering among myriad thoughts and fears. As the Bull Run began to burn toward Boltin, he knew that the Nova Cats would be hailing them at any time. It was late night by the ship's reckoning, but sleep continued to evade him.

  All his years in the military, his training, his discipline, his experience, all the battles on different planets throughout the Inner Sphere had prepared him for this moment. But prepared or not, he couldn't escape the fact that this was an enemy unlike any other he'd encountered. These were the descendants of the legendary Aleksandr Kerensky and his Star League army, the greatest military commander and force in the whole history of warfare. Their heirs were the finest genetic warrior stock ever conceived—the Star League Defense Force.

  Deciding that sleep would never come tonight, Loren got up from his bunk, threw on some clothes, and decided to take a walk. The ship's lighting was dimmed to simulate night, but the sequence of darkness would gradually get shorter and shorter. By the time they landed, his mock-Jaguars would be operating on the same relative daytime hours as the world of Boltin.

  Ten minutes later his feet brought him without thinking to the 'Mech bay, where his Masakari was carefully secured. In the dimmed lighting, the mighty Clan war machine loomed more menacing than ever.

  Standing at the base of the 'Mech, his face turned upward in longing, was Kerndon. It was as if the former Clansman were looking up at an old friend, cherishing faded but lasting memories. It was his 'Mech before it was mine, and he's attached to it still.

  Loren ran a hand through his hair and let out a small sigh. "I couldn't sleep and decided to try and walk the edge off my nerves. Now I'm more wired than ever."

  Kerndon turned sharply at the sound of Loren's voice, but he did not appear startled. "Perhaps you are thinking of the batchall, quiaff? We are close to optimum comm range."

  "Yes, er . . . aff," Loren said, attempting to adapt to the Clan speaking style, mostly out of courtesy. "I'm sure that's it. That, and I've been thinking of the Colonel and the rest of the Fusiliers."

  Kerndon shrugged. "Colonel Andrea seems to be an able warrior for her age. I am sure she will fight with honor." His words might have
offended Loren if he hadn't known this was simply the way Kerndon had been trained to think. "My thoughts are of the enemy we are to face."

  "Nova Cats keeping you awake, Kerndon?"

  He nodded. "Aff, Major Loren, I believe they are."

  "Tell me what you think of the bidding."

  Kerndon craned his neck to stretch his muscles, as if it would help him relax. "Solahma and provisional units that get posted to such duty are dangerous. As a Clansman, I was trained to fight to the death in combat in hopes of winning enough glory that my genetic material would be passed on to future generations. It was a hope for the future. To die, in a glorious battle, with great honor, was the best fate I could ask for.

  "Provisional units or freebirths posted to garrisons this far from the Inner Sphere will see themselves as one step closer to being solahma because there is so little opportunity for combat. Their best hope is to die in battle before they are relegated to solahma. That means they will press for a low bid so they might win greater honor by dying on the field."

  "Any suggestions as to how I should deal with that in the bidding?"

  "Take care not to be lulled into matching their bid too closely. Like the Fusiliers, they are fighting for a cause. For them it is the survival of their genetic heritage—a chance for the future. In that light, you are both fighting for your survival."

  "I expect nothing else."

  * * *

  The mask hid the stern mix of Oriental and Highlander blood that formed Loren's face, and only his piercing green eyes showed through. "Hail and tremble, Nova Cat garrison force of Boltin. I am Star Colonel Loren of the Smoke Jaguars. Hear this batchall and quake in your dens at your fate."

  Loren paused to give vehemence to his challenge. "I come in the name of the one true Clan, the Jaguars. I come in defiance of your presence on this soil, ground tainted with our blood. I challenge you to a Trial of Refusal for this planet, which is rightfully claimed by my Clan. I come prepared to fight you to the death and restore what is rightfully that of Clan Smoke Jaguar.