"Oh?" she replied coolly.
"This sprinting across the planet is taking its toll. It's wearing us out, weakening our men and equipment. And the Jaguars are gaining on us."
"I'm aware of the situation. Even at our present rate of movement, the Smoke Jaguar Cluster will be on our butts in five days' time." The Fusiliers were moving and so were the Jaguars, but the Clanners weren't encumbered by vehicles. That was what was slowing the Fusiliers down enough that the enemy was starting to gain on them.
"Chafing under my current strategy, Major?" Stirling asked. Cullen Craig didn't answer. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
"Speak freely, Major."
He blinked, then finally looked her in the face. "The Fusiliers are stretched to their limit. In my opinion, sir, now is the time to turn around and let them have it."
"In some ways you're right, Major. The whole point of the retreat was to buy us some time, but we can only keep it up for so long. We've been moving west for more than four hundred kilometers, putting us halfway between the isthmus and the Takashi Straits.
"We've been buying time, but you and I both know we'll end up dead if we press it much further. I've got a plan, though, a variation on our old WCS. We're going to try to take most of the regiment up onto New Scotland continent. A rear-guard force will remain to slug it out with the Jaguars when they show up—primarily our remaining ground armor, infantry, and those 'Mechs not operational enough to make the trek up."
"That rear-guard force won't stand a chance against the Smoke Jaguars, sir."
Stirling nodded. "Their goal isn't to beat the Jags, just to survive and buy us time. Hopefully enough for Jaffray and Mulvaney to get here."
"You'll be ordering those men and women to their deaths," Craig said quietly.
"Many may die, but some will survive. That's part of commanding a regiment. Sometimes you have to order men and women to their deaths. And the only reason I'll do it is because it could save more lives in the end. Those troops won't be ordered to fight to the bitter end. Just to survive and buy time—period."
Cullen Craig had also ordered people to their deaths more than once in his career. "Running the remaining BattleMechs up on the continent will be too risky. The air is so thin it's nearly a vacuum. The nights are bitter cold, and by day the sun will bake you alive."
"Our 'Mech recycling systems should be able to keep us going for several weeks up there, though it won't be easy. The hardest part will be food supplies. Even with the rationing we've started, we're low and it's going to get worse."
"Do you really believe Jaffray will return?" Craig asked. "Major Mulvaney's another story. She'll get here no matter what, but we can't be sure about Jaffray."
Stirling stared at him, her gaze chilling despite the heat of the fire. "You don't trust him, but as far as I know you have no reason not to."
"He's a Highlander in name only," Craig finally said. "You and the rest of the staff treat him as if he's one of us, but his family turned their backs on the Highlanders decades ago when most of the regiment returned to Northwind. I know Jaffray helped us beat off the Davions last year, but he's more Capellan than Highlander. And now he's deserted us."
Stirling shook her head furiously. "There's more to it than that. It's the fact he was made the Executive Officer, isn't it?"
Craig couldn't help himself this time. "That position was mine! I earned it. I served under you and Major MacFranklin for six years. I climbed the ladder of rank from the bottom up. I gave my all to the Fusiliers, and in payment you made him your exec. First that traitor, and now Blakadar."
Stirling looked at him first with an expression of shock, then her look changed to pity. "That's been it all along, hasn't it? You've been harboring this for months. You're jealous of Major Jaffray."
He opened his mouth to speak, to refute her statement, but apparently changed his mind about what he wanted to say. "Colonel," he said finally, perhaps ashamed at his loss of control, "if you're planning to leave any forces behind, I'd like to command them."
"Major—Cullen," she began, "you don't have to prove anything to me. I know your merits, but I also knew you weren't ready for that promotion. You've been blaming Major Jaffray, but in reality, it was my decision."
Cullen Craig seemed to look through her, as if something in his mind had given way. The pressure of the past few weeks had finally broken through, finally taken form.
* * *
Cat Stirling and her Executive Officer stood by a small and hasty campfire, a stopping point just long enough for the troops to gather their strength and eat some rations before going back on the run again. Despite the fire, Stirling rubbed her arms for warmth in the chill of the night air.
"So what you're telling me is that Craig's cracked under the pressure?" Kurt Blakadar said, rubbing his forehead at the idea.
Colonel Stirling shook her head. "No, I'm saying it's possible. There's a big difference, Blackie, and you know that."
"Sir, I've known him for years. He always has a chip on his shoulder about something, he's that kind of guy."
"Be that as it may, we have to decide whether to leave him in charge of our back door while we make a break for it."
"Hell of a decision, sir," Kurt said. "If he loses it while commanding the rear guard, we get fried. If he pops his cork while he's with us, we're in the same boat."
Stirling nodded. "If you want, I'll make the call on this one, Major."
Kurt Blakadar considered that only for a second. "No, sir, the task's mine. I'll go and tell the good Major that he's in charge of our rear-defense." He started to walk away, then turned to Stirling as though he'd forgotten one last thing.
"And God help us all," he said softly.
38
Nova Cat Planetary Command
New Lorton, Tarnby
Smoke Jaguar/Nova Cat Occupation Zone
25 July 3058
The massive bonfire raged like a piece of hell brought to the surface of Tarnby. At one end of it, a circular platform was suspended on a pedestal nearly ten meters over the roaring fire. Far from the prying eyes of the lower castes, this ritual was taking place in the heart of the Nova Cat command base in New Lorton, just off of the parade grounds near a small cluster of trees.
The Nova Cat warriors, clad in their ceremonial leathers, encircled the great fire. Their garb consisted of little more than black vests and shorts. Many wore laced leggings and boots, while others stood barefoot, especially the massive Elemental warriors. There was food and drink, though that was not the reason for the gathering.
This was the Nova Cat ritual known as the Chronicle of Battles. Once a month the warriors of Clan Nova Cat gathered under the stars and before each other, reading from The Remembrance and telling tales of glory. It was a bonding rite, one that brought the warriors of the Clan together and made them one. Tonight's Chronicle was different, though. This night the 179th was preparing for battle. This night, gathered around the sacred bonfire, the Nova Cats spoke not just of past triumphs, but also of a battle to come—a battle against the Smoke Jaguars.
Santin West stood at the fringe of the crowd of warriors, his Elemental height making him taller than most. He watched the sea of warriors, men and women of the three Clusters stationed on Tarnby, as if he were disembodied. His mind was elsewhere, thinking ahead to the foe he was sure was coming. They had invaded his dreams, turned them into nightmares.
He wanted an end to those nightmares, but he also sensed that matters would not end here on Tarnby. Something told him the real fight lay elsewhere. Here they could face at most a single Cluster of the Tau Galaxy. There would surely be more of them, and they were out there stalking his Clan.
A hand reached up from the crowd and placed itself on his shoulder. West looked down and saw Ajax Drummond, his fellow Star Colonel, at his side. "Greetings," he said. "It is a good night for us to praise the glory of the Nova Cat."
"Many are speaking of your vision, Santin West," Drummond said.
&
nbsp; "How is that possible?"
"Word has leaked, most likely from Angelique, but it has leaked nevertheless. It has been some time since anyone in our Clan has known such a vision, and in such detail. Look around you, Santin West. Do you not see how these warriors regard you? They have come to hear your words, to partake in your vision. Do you not see, quineg?"
West let his eyes travel over the gathering and saw that many indeed seemed to be watching him. "They would not wish it. The nightmare plagues my sleep, then I lie awake the long night. They should not look to me for such leadership. I am merely a warrior of the Nova Cat."
"Neg," Drummond rebutted. "You have been touched by the unseen. The hand of Kerensky has reached out and revealed to you the threat of the Smoke Jaguar. This will be a rallying point for our warriors. You are a nexus, a pivot point. Our warriors need to hear your voice."
"They need to prepare to face the Jaguar when he comes," Santin West said.
A drum began to pound, sounding twenty times, once for each of the original Clans formed by Nicholas Kerensky. The deep bass vibration seemed to stir the crowd, touching not only their hearts and minds but something even deeper. It was the signal, the start of the ceremony. The Chronicle of Battles began with each of the highest-ranking officers of the Nova Cats ascending the platform over the roaring flames.
"Seyla," the warriors chanted in unison.
Star Colonel Angelique emerged from the crowd, garbed in her black leathers. She stood by Drummond, and the two of them motioned Santin West to the ramp leading to the platform over the flames. They were granting him the honor of speaking first, paying hommage to his vision.
"Santin West," the warriors of the Nova Cats chanted. "Seyla!" they called out, speaking as one. Feeling all eyes upon him, Santin West began to ascend the ramp to the platform hovering just above the tips of the flames. From there, he would speak to the gathered warriors of the Clan.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were cut off by a fearsome sound from below. When he looked down, he saw the crowd part as the Nova Cat, the living, breathing embodiment of the Clan, roared into the night. Its growls were deep and powerful, reaching into the very heart and souls of those gathered. The Nova Cat was looking squarely at him. Then, as if on cue, the mighty beast dropped his front haunches, almost as though bowing to Santin West as he stood there. A murmur rose from the warriors gathered around.
It was time to speak. "Warriors of the Nova Cat, I am Star Colonel Santin West and I lead the Circle of Power Cluster—no finer warriors have been bred in the name of our Clan. Though I am bound to speak of battles past during this Chronicle, tonight I also speak of battles to come.
"I have had a vision. One that spoke to me of our age-old foe, the Smoke Jaguar. I have seen us fighting not only this enemy, but another great warrior cat in battle."
"Seyla," the warriors of Clan Nova Cat chanted, the word echoing in the night against the beating of the drum and the roaring of the Clan's namesake. In the midst of all this a young female tech had begun trying to edge her way into the circle from its outer edge. At first the thick ring of Clan warriors did not let her pass, but then they gradually parted, leaving a path to the ramp leading to the platform. She carried a portable holographic projector as she moved quickly forward, then began to ascend the ramp with a reverence that was obvious. Just short of the top, she stopped and gave a slight bow, hesitating to continue forward.
"This is a ritual for warriors and warriors alone," Santin West said.
"I beg pardon, Star Colonel, but your standing orders indicated that we were to interrupt you at any time for this. A batchall has been issued from a ship that recently entered the system via a pirate jump point. A Star Commander named Gregory of the Smoke Jaguars," the technician said, her voice wavering.
"Tie me in," he said. "Show all gathered here what has come—and how I will reply."
* * *
"Incoming response from the city of New Lorton below," the Bull Run's comm officer told Loren.
"Transfer signal now," Loren replied, activating his own holographic projection system.
This far he and he alone had handled the batchalls with the Nova Cats. However, Loren's knowledge of how military intelligence worked told him that sooner or later the Cats might figure out that they were only facing two Stars worth of warriors. To create the illusion of more forces, he would have Greg Hector issue the next batchall to make the Cats think his force was larger than it was.
He turned to Lieutenant Hector, who drew himself up firmly as the projector came on. The holo image of the man standing before them was that of a giant, standing nearly a half meter taller than a normal human being—obviously an Elemental. He wore a black leather jerkin, studded collar, and black finger gloves on his big hands. His expression showed power, resolve, and anger, all somehow controlled. At the edges of the projector's image display were flames, reaching up and around him.
"I am Star Colonel Santin West of the 179th Striker Cluster of the Clan that will crush and defeat you," he said. "Tell me, Jaguar Gregory, has your Star Colonel, the one called Loren, been killed by our forces on Boltin, or is he too fearful to stand before a true warrior, quiaff?"
"Neg," Greg Hector replied from behind his Jaguar mask. "Star Colonel Loren does not see this as a battle worthy of his attention and has designated me as the issuer of the challenge."
"Your insult and insolence are noted and are unbecoming a warrior—even a Smoke Jaguar."
"Words," Hector said firmly, "have little sting. Tell me, with what forces will you defend your HPG?"
Santin West stood proudly and unshaken by their verbal sparring. "I refuse your Trial of Possession. If you wish to use our HPG, then do so. What I come to say is that I challenge you and your Tau Galaxy to a Trial of Grievance. You insult us with your raids."
Greg Hector's eyes darted to Kerndon. The bondsman nodded slowly, indicating that the challenge should be accepted. "We accept your challenge and will defend our honor with . . ." Loren held up nine fingers, one for each of his remaining OmniMechs.
"With nine Points worth of force," Hector said.
The Nova Cat Elemental standing in the firelit scene laughed out loud, and he was still laughing when the transmission cut off abruptly.
39
South of New Scotland
Wayside V (Wildcat)
Deep Periphery
25 July 3058
Cullen Craig walked over to where Kurt Blakadar and Colonel Stirling stood waiting for him in the makeshift campsite. In the distance the ground seemed to rise up like a hill that never ended. The green sky of Wayside had taken on a darker tone as storm clouds rolled in, blotting out the bright sunlight. The entire regiment had pivoted hard to the north, ninety degrees from their previous westbound drive. Now they were heading upland, toward the continental surface.
Somewhere out there, only a few hours distant, was the vanguard of the Smoke Jaguars, or so the sensor picket devices they had left in their wake told them. Relentless, the Jaguar forces refused to give up their pursuit.
"You and the Colonel are worried I can't handle the pressure. That's it, isn't it?" Cullen Craig demanded. "Well I'm not cracking," he said, shooting an angry glance at Stirling, who stood to one side, arms crossed over her chest. "I just don't have confidence in Jaffray, but this isn't the first time you've heard that. You and I have talked about it a hundred times, Blackie. He's no friend of yours, either, as I recall."
"That's not the point, Cullen," Kurt Blakadar said. "I just need to know you won't let your feelings interfere with your duty in the next part of our operation."
Craig rubbed his temple, as if he were pressing down a massive headache. "I just need a little rest, Blackie. Hell, we all do at this point."
"While you hold those Jags in place, the rest of us are going to continue north, then back to the east," Kurt said. "There's a petrified forest up there on New Scotland. It's going to be a stretch without our techs, but we can do it."
Stirling finally spoke up. "The Stonewall Jackson is back at the LZ. It's ruined for flight, but it would provide you adequate shelter until our relief force arrives."
Craig looked at her in disbelief, then back at Kurt Blakadar. "And what about my battalion?"
"They'll be attached to me until we manage to link up again," Blakadar said. "You'll command a heavily reinforced company—all our remaining infantry, techs, vehicles, and all the BattleMechs too damaged that they wouldn't last up on the continent. It's not a weak force, but one not suited for that environment. Hit the Jaguars, get their attention, then get out of there. The LZ is a ways off, but go straight there. We'll rendezvous with you once Jaffray and his team have returned, or once we get relieved by Mulvaney's battalion."
"You don't really think Jaffray's coming back, do you, Blackie?" Craig asked, not hiding his bitterness even though Colonel Stirling was present. "Once our force splits up, we'll never see each other again and you know it."
* * *
Seated in the cockpit of her Timber Wolf, Star Colonel Patricia had analyzed the situation again and again, always arriving at the same conclusion. They are trapped. They have grown weary of the chase and now they are ours. In her mind she could see the freebirth Stirling turning her ragtag regiment around to face the Smoke Jaguars, and then the whole battle played itself out in her mind. She could see the enemy charging into her pristine Cluster in their old-tech BattleMechs, then a fight so brutally one-sided that it ended with her standing over the body of Andrea Stirling, her boot driving into her enemy's chest.
The commline squealed slightly and she activated it on her secondary monitor—seeing the face of Galaxy Commander Devon Osis looking back at her. "Star Colonel Patricia, have you reviewed the recon flight data?"
Impetus of War Page 25
