43
DropShip Bull Run
Pirate Jump Point, Tarnby System
Smoke Jaguar/Nova Cat Occupation Zone
25 July 3058
"Damn it, Jura. Pull this bloody thing to the left," Mitch Fraser snapped as he and Glenda Jura attempted for the third time to move the makeshift replacement armor onto what was left of her Koshi. Hovering in the zero-G of the Bull Run's 'Mech bay, both wore straps that kept them strung to the 'Mech so that they didn't drift too far from their work. Both were also covered with coolant, grease, and sweat, and the two glared at each other as Mitch worked the pulley to get the armor in place. Similar sounds of work, strain, and frustration filled the rest of the bay as Loren's force attempted to rebuild what was left of their OmniMechs. Glenda moved the armor forward slightly, but off target, pinching Mitch's fingers in the process.
"Damnation," he hissed and pulled his fingers back. "I said to the bloody left, Glenda." He stepped onto the gantry and squeezed the hand that was in pain into a fist.
"Don't get mad at me, sir," she replied. "I'm a MechWarrior, not a frigging technician."
"On this ship you're both," Mitch Fraser shot back. All across the Bull Run's bay, Mech Warriors-turned-techs stopped to watch the confrontation. Tensions had been running high, finally reaching a boiling point with Glenda and Mitch.
Glenda took the heavy armor welder and slammed it down onto the gantry. "Fine, then I quit. If you want this armor in place, you can do it by yourself—sir." She started for the gantry ladder when suddenly she saw the figure of Loren Jaffray starting to move toward her in a slow drift.
"Attention!" he barked angrily, giving first Glenda, then Mitchell, a hard look. Both of them snapped to attention. The remaining Mech Warriors also stood at attention.
"Lieutenant Jura, Captain Mitchell Fraser is a superior officer and you will address him as such, do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," she said, giving Mitch an icy glance.
Loren looked around at the vast BattleMech bay where his people, dripping with sweat, were working on their own 'Mech repairs. He understood how they felt, but the time had come to remind them of who they were, and why they were here.
"I know you're all upset about our losses. So am I. Sergeant McAnis was a good MechWarrior, so were Macallen, Killfries, and Miller. But we've come too far to start going for each other's throats." In his mind he remembered the attempted recovery of the bodies. Killfries and Miller and Macallen's remains had been recoverable. From what he had seen, McAnis had burned alive in his cockpit because his CASE doors were blocked when his ammunition exploded. Only his carbonized form remained.
Gilliam had managed to eject, but his landing had been less than smooth, and he had broken his leg in two places. Trisha McBride was better off, but her 'Mech had been badly battered under Kerndon's piloting. In the end all that was left was Jura's Koshi, his and Hector's Masakaris, and McBride's Vulture. Burke's Dasher was functional, but was more broken parts than BattleMech. Considering the beating his small team had taken, Loren was forced to count the Dasher in. They had recovered Killfries's Black Hawk, but Mitch thought the repairs would take the entire trip home, and even then it was iffy whether the Omni would be even marginally operational by the time they reached Wayside V.
"In a few minutes we jump out of system. Another jump and we link up with the Kobayashi and return with it to Wayside. We've stirred up the Nova Cats, and they're bound to follow us after what we've done here. Mitch was able to leave them a trail, and they'll follow it back to Wayside. We're some two weeks from rejoining the regiment. And about the time we get there, Major Mulvaney and her force should also be arriving. They'll need us."
"Sir," came back the voice of Captain Mitch Fraser. "We're more replacement and combination parts than anything else. What kind of help do you think we'll be?"
Loren smiled and opened his arms to take in the scene around him. "These OmniMechs are all outfitted with Smoke Jaguar IFF transponders, aren't they?"
Mitch nodded, then a slow smile began to break over his face as he understood the hidden meaning of Loren's question. "I had no reason to change them out. After all, you wanted us to show up as Smoke Jaguars on their sensors." The Identity Friend or Foe transponders were devices used so that the targeting and tracking systems of the BattleMechs could identify who was who on the battlefield. In the confusion of battle, the IFF systems sent out a signal that told enemy and friendly 'Mechs alike which side you were fighting for. The fact that the transponders were still identifying the OmniMechs in his command as Smoke Jaguar 'Mechs was important. It meant that he could wade into battle and impersonate a Smoke Jaguar, even to the Jaguars' own sensors.
"All right then, people, let's get these repairs done and over with. Once we're set, we can start the trek home."
"Major?" Greg Hector said.
"Yes, Lieutenant."
"It might go a little faster if Kerndon came down here and helped. We haven't gotten to his and Trisha's 'Mech yet, and it's a mess. Not to mention that thing we're all loosely calling a Black Hawk."
* * *
Loren Jaffray hung onto a handhold in the small cabin Kerndon shared with several other Fusiliers. It was tucked into the bowels of the Bull Run, and seemed to throb with the pulsations of the massive fusion drive idling only a few meters from where they were. Sensing Loren's presence, Kerndon unbuckled himself from his bunk and floated out over the decking to grab a nearby handhold.
"You were looking for me, aff?" Kerndon asked.
"Yes, your help is needed in the 'Mech bays with repairs. See Mitch for your assignment."
Kerndon nodded. "I'll go now," he said.
Loren held up a hand for him to wait. "There's one other matter between us before you go." Then he reached into his pocket with his free hand and drew out a knife. Letting himself float closer to Kerndon, he grabbed a handhold with one hand and severed the last of the bondcords wrapped around Kerndon's wrist with the other. The rope fell unceremoniously and almost silently to the deck. Kerndon stood there looking at it, rubbing his wrist where the cord had been. "You are releasing me, quiaff?"
"Affirmative," Loren replied. "The last cord was the one of prowess, and on Tarnby you showed me that."
"I am a warrior again." Kerndon spoke softly, as though not daring to believe it.
"Yes, you're a warrior again," Loren said, "and I'm going to need you more than ever in the fight still to come."
44
Surface of New Scotland
Wayside V (Wildcat)
Deep Periphery
29 July 3058
Up above the breathable atmosphere of the planet, the days were much brighter and brilliant than Colonel Cat Stirling would have thought possible. She was equally unprepared for the clouds—thin, wispy condensations that gathered around the feet of the Fusilier BattleMechs. Only visible during the hours of light, the clouds disappeared as the day wore on, transforming into frost and ice on the 'Mechs' legs. It was enough to remind her that there actually was some atmosphere up here, but so thin that survival was measured in mere seconds.
As she sat in the cockpit of her Grand Titan a warning light showed on her communications system. She reached over to put on her neurohelmet, and found the commline abuzz with voices and activity. Several officers were all talking at once, something about sensor readings and approaching 'Mechs.
"This is Cat One. Clear the channel and give me the story here."
"Black Adder Recon Three," a voice crisp and sounding so young that it tugged at her heart came on line. "We've picked up what appear to be several fusion-reactor signatures at extreme range. They've picked us up as well and have drifted off."
So soon? She had hoped to reach the petrified forests they'd named New Sherwood before the Jaguars caught up with them. Now, for a fleeting moment, those hopes were smashed. The terrain they were currently crossing was flat and offered nothing in the way of cover. This is the worst possible place for us to try and slug it out. Perha
ps the Smoke Jaguars aren't ready to press a full assault yet. Her mind raced through the various options as her voice, seeming to act on its own, barked out the commands.
"Bring the regiment to yellow alert. Move our forces north except for Adder Recon Lance. Have them run the flanks of these readings. I want to know numbers and types of what we're facing." Stirling pulled up her own long-range sensor readings and studied them.
"Colonel," Kurt Blakadar said from his Albatross nearly two kilometers away. "I can deploy an assault lance as well for fire support."
"No, Major. Move the regiment out to our destination. I don't want to fight the Jaguars now. I just want to know what we're facing."
"This is Adder Recon Two," came a voice over her speakers. "Confirm MAD signatures. Three bogies moving at forty-six kph on a bearing straight at us. IFF signals coming in.
We're showing these as two Fusilier 'Mechs, Kilsyth Guards by designation. One is showing as neutral on my sensor."
Stirling lit up. She opened a direct laser communications beam, enough to reach out through the Wayside night to the targets. "This is Colonel Stirling, incoming 'Mechs, identify yourselves."
A voice crackled, the communications system obviously damaged. "Major Jake Fuller reporting, sir. Mission accomplished." An audible sigh of relief followed as if all the tension he'd been feeling had finally dropped from his shoulders.
"Is that Sho-sa Parkensen with you?" she asked.
"Yes, sir, but all of us are having comm system problems. His range is less than a hundred meters. If he was on line, I'm sure he'd be sending his congrats."
"Excellent job, Major Fuller," she said. "Regiment, stand down. Major Fuller, form up in ranks and tell me what happened out there..."
* * *
Cullen Craig stared up into the black but starlit night and tried once again to flush the images of death from his mind. He'd lost track of the battle after his Victor was knocked down by a hit from a Gauss rifle. But the memory was blurred. When he'd regained consciousness the fight was over. The Smoke Jaguars hadn't even stopped to see whether he was alive or dead.
But he'd gotten a good look at what was left of the rear guard. There must have been some survivors. The missing repair vehicles seemed to say that the techs had either managed to escape or been captured and sent back as booty to the Jaguar base. But the bodies of others who had not been so fortunate were all around him, bloated, the skin a sickening bluish-white. He could still see them where they'd fallen and the memory woke him screaming in the night. I should be dead with them. Guilt over his failure weighed heavily on him.
Since then he'd been running, fleeing the images of the dead and trying to find those responsible. In his mind it was as much Stirling and Blakadar who had killed his people as the Smoke Jaguars. If she had only put me in command, everything would've been different. So many wouldn't have died so needlessly there.
He had charged up the hills leading up from the old seabed and eventually reached the nearly airless void of the continent of New Scotland. One thought consumed him. He had to see this to the end, even if it was his own.
* * *
The audible alarm got both Loren's and Spillman's attention. "Report contact," the DropShip captain demanded. The sensors officer responded crisply. "EMPs multiple, twelve thousand kilometers off of our current settings. Size indicates three large JumpShips." The Bull Run had reached the nadir jump point of the Boltin system, and had shuttled over from the Fox's Bane to the Kobayashi, waiting to jump across the stars through the energy field known as hyperspace.
Loren stood up for a moment, staring at the viewscreen as if he could see the ships so far away. "Class of vessels," Spillman requested firmly.
"Two bear the outline of Clan Star Lord JumpShips. The other—" The flight officer checked the screen. "Computer IDs it as a destroyer vessel . . . most likely a Lola III Class WarShip."
Spillman stared off into the stars for a moment, then turned to Loren. "Well, laddie, I'd say the trip was worth it so far. It looks like the Nova Cats are a'followin' us back."
Loren nodded. "Contact the Captain of the Kobayashi, Captain Spillman, and tell him to jump us out of here ASAP."
"Yes, sir, but you do realize that if we don't take enough time recharging for our next jump there's a chance of a mis-jump or just melting away the JumpShip's core? The longer we take the better, that's the key."
Loren shook his head. "Unfortunately I do understand the mechanics of JumpShip ops. But as we speak, Major Mulvaney is racing to Wayside while Colonel Stirling and the others are fighting for their lives. We've got to take some risks and push the safety margin to the yellow zone if we're going to arrive in time to help out. Besides, I want to get back before those kitties all show up."
45
Dropship Bonnie Prince Charles
Pirate Jump Point CEXC-0021-A.2122.97
Wayside V (Wildcat)
Deep Periphery
6 August 3058
Something was wrong, deadly wrong. "Position and numbers of Smoke Jaguar forces one more time," Major Chastity Mulvaney asked the sensors officer as the bridge crew of the Bonnie Prince Charles suddenly snapped to with excitement over the initial readings that had come from the planet. In the zero-G of the bridge, she held herself in position with the handholds near the control panel.
The sensors operator studied the readings carefully. "I'm picking up just under a hundred BattleMech-reactor neutrino signatures, concentrated in two locations. Some are obvious repairs and most likely inoperative, but this gives you a worst-case scenario. Concentration one is the Jaguar base, the others are on one of the continental masses. Lots of broadcast traffic down there. I checked their aerospace fighter base and show it to be inactive—no functioning reactors, no sign of defenders."
"Hellfire!" Mulvaney burst out. "A hundred 'Mechs! That's at least two of their Clusters. No—more like a Galaxy." Her mind raced over the figures as she tried to comprehend the hundreds of things that must have gone wrong on the mission.
"Where are the Fusiliers?" She couldn't—-wouldn't—let herself think that her sister regiment had not survived their landing.
"On it," the sensors officer said. "Here we go. I show them fifty-five klicks northeast of the Jaguar force. According to the maps we got from the satellite dumps, they're just about at the petrified forest on the continent we named New Scotland."
Chastity Mulvaney knew that things must have gone wrong—very wrong. In the airless void of Wayside's old continental surfaces, both MechWarrior and BattleMech would be pushed to their limits and beyond. To move such a large force up onto a continent with the enemy so close behind was too risky for the situation to be anything but grim.
"Can we contact Colonel Stirling? Is their regimental net up?"
"No, sir. From what we can detect, she's running with a battalion-level net."
"Here's another signal—one that hasn't picked us up yet," came the sensors officer, his voice more tense now. "It's a JumpShip—no, its thrust is too—oh god, Major, I'm picking up a Clan WarShip. Destroyer, Essex Class!"
"A destroyer?" Mulvaney was as shocked as the young officer sounded, but all she could think was, where the hell was Jaffray? Thanks to this pirate point, they were only two days' burn from landing, but was that going to be enough?
"There's more, sir. I'm picking up the remains of three Fusilier DropShips. All inoperative."
"What about the fourth ship?"
The sensors officer shook his head. "No trace, Major. Either it's out of range of our sensors on the other side of the planet or it was taken out by that Warship." This was bad news indeed. The loss of even one of Stirling's DropShips could mean the loss of upwards of a third of the Fusiliers.
Mulvaney stared out the viewpoint and tried to maintain her composure as she watched the green, blue, and white ball spinning below her. Its mountains of gray and brown poked up into the stark darkness of space, far above the atmosphere.
Chastity reached out and activated the
communications channel. "All right, people, our mission has just changed to rescue and extraction. All senior officers report to the ready room in five minutes to begin planning. All hands, yellow alert."
She nodded to DropShip Captain Andrew Defoe, and he immediately activated the warning alarm, which echoed throughout the ship. "We are at general quarters until this is over with."
"Sir," the sensors officer said, staring at his screen in disbelief. "I just picked up an EMP at very close range— approximately four hundred kilometers off our starboard bow."
"JumpShip," Captain Defoe said calmly. "Suggest we scramble out fighter support."
"Captain, Major," the sensors officer said, "that ship is leaking massive amounts of helium. It looks like a misjump, probably lost the entire jump core."
"A misjump into a pirate point that only we know about?" Mulvaney said, almost to herself. "Sensors, run an ID on that ship."
"Ship is the Kobayashi" the sensors officer said with obvious relief. "It's one of the Fusilier ships." He paused and checked his readout again. "Carrying a lone DropShip ... it matches the IFF transponder of the Bull Run." It was as though a silent cheer went up from the bridge crew.
Suddenly the commline crackled to life on the bridge of the Bonnie Prince Charles. Hearing the voice, Mulvaney was relieved, but somehow not surprised. "Attention, First Battalion of MacLeod's Regiment, this is Major Loren Jaffray of Stirling's Fusiliers."
Suppressing a smile, she activated the microphone in the comm panel next to her station. "This is the Bonnie Prince Charles to the Bull Run. Major Jaffray, do you mind telling me what in the name of hell is going on here?"
"I'd love to, Major Mulvaney," he replied, "I toasted our JumpShip trying to get here. I only hope I'm not too late for the party."
Impetus of War Page 28
