Heir to the Dragon

by Robert N. Charrette

  For an hour, the "Kat" strode among the deserted hangars in the failing light. The fenced yards held crates of clothing, chemicals, and consumer goods—nothing of use to the embattled Legion. Using the Panther's strength to force open the doors of buildings whose interiors were not already accessible, Fuhito found no booty, not even with the help of the "Kat's" light-amplification circuits.

  He had just exited a warehouse showing the logo of Isesaki Shipping when he spotted a small shack bearing a hand-painted placard. The sign displayed twenty-five connected stars in the shape of the Kuritan dragon, the insignia of the technical branch of the Draconis Combine Port Authority.

  So ka. Perhaps the Techs had left something behind. Any tools would please Senior Tech Kowalski. Ever since he'd had to abandon his shop at Massingham, he had been repairing 'Mechs with what he referred to as "baling wire and spit." Fuhito didn't know what baling wire was, but he had understood the meaning. Without the proper equipment, even the Senior Tech's technical genius had its limits. Almost half the Legion's 'Mechs were no longer battleworthy. If the Port Authority mechanics had left even a few of the proper tools behind, the Senior Tech might be able to repair another BattleMech or two.

  Hopeful yet fearing disappointment, Fuhito opened the "Kat's" cockpit and climbed down. The shadowed air in front of the shack was cool against his bare arms and legs. The scanty shorts and cooling vest were just right in the hot cockpit of a fighting 'Mech, but not enough to keep a senshi warm in the fall air of a temperate climate zone.

  The door was ajar, and Fuhito shouldered it wider open as he entered the building. Switching on the lights, he scanned the debris that littered the interior. The Techs had left in a hurry, no doubt abandoning their barracks when first word of approaching BattleMechs had rippled through the city. He saw no precious tools, but Fuhito did find the chief's duty log open on a table. The last entry was a week old.

  He shook his head sadly. The Techs were frightened birds to run so easily before a rumor. Hens before a fox. He laughed humorlessly then, realizing the image would have been more suited to an attack by Davion forces. It was their Prince who was nicknamed "the Fox."

  Something had brought that image to mind, and it made him remember his father's admonishments that such flashes could be the voice of spirit, which was quicker and deeper than thought. With a troubled frown, Fuhito scanned the chief's last entry again. Ah, there it was! The first entry on the list of the day's duty read: "Arctic Fox readiness check."

  Fuhito tossed the duty log back onto the table and started to turn away before he remembered what the Arctic Fox was. He grabbed the log again and flipped rapidly through its pages. There was no location listed.

  "Frak!" he said aloud as he slammed the book to the floor. Fuhito knew that the Arctic Fox could not be in Sitika; it was too large to hide. He rubbed his palm across his chin, thinking furiously. The Elsies didn't have it; they would have cheerfully broadcast the news of its capture or destruction. The Arctic Fox was still out there somewhere. Even if it were not functional, it would have something for the desperate Legion.

  Inspiration struck and Fuhito bent to retrieve the abused log. "Ha!" he shouted in triumph as he located the computer disk nestled in its pocket inside the front cover. The fleeing Techs had not taken the technical data file with them.

  Clutching his prize, Fuhito raced outside and scrambled up the waiting Panther. He slid into the cockpit, skinning an elbow in his haste. Dropping into his command couch, he slipped the disk into the "Kat's" computer slot and tapped in the command to list the disk's files. He called for the one labeled "Arctic Fox" as soon as it scrolled onto the screen. Fingers flashing on the keyboard, he skipped through the data, a wide smile growing on his face.

  He reached across to the comm board and opened a line to his superior. "Sho-sa Olivares, this is Tetsuhara. I have something you need to see."

  "What is it?" Olivares growled, his annoyance clear. "I got a lance of Elsie turtles moving around out here."

  "This is more important than a few Steiner tanks, Sho-sa."

  "So you say, boy. Ain't got no time for nonsense—wait."

  Silence fell on the line for five minutes. Obediently, Fuhito waited, but his frustration grew almost unbearable.

  "Call me a purple-bottomed Marfik chickenhawk. They're pulling up." Olivares' voice was full of amused surprise. 'They must be gonna let the Sama play his honor game. Frak! That's got to be the reason they pulled the birds off our heads."

  "Then you have the time to see what I've found. The Elsies'll wait till morning."

  "All right, all right," Olivares grumbled. "I'll come have a look-see."

  27

  Sitika County, North Galfree, Marfik

  Dieron Military District, Draconis Combine

  27 September 3028

  "It would be cowardly to leave."

  "It would be foolish to stay," Tomoe snapped.

  Eyes narrowed and nostrils distended, Theodore stiffened at her harsh words. Around the chamber, men and women pretended sudden interest in other things: walls, fingernails, folds in their uniforms. Theodore and Tomoe's eyes locked, stubbornness meeting persistence.

  The code of bushido did not allow a commander to run from a hopeless battle, leaving his soldiers to die. All his life, Theodore had wanted to lead Kurita warriors in battle, and here on Marfik, it had finally come to pass. Even hamstrung by poor equipment and lack of supplies, his Legion had given a good account of itself. Now his forces faced the end, despite Theodore's best-laid plans. Bushido demanded that he face that end with them.

  Tomoe stood and stalked to the end of the table, almost out of the circle of light. She stopped there, but did not turn around. Light gleamed from the metal fittings on the bulky shoulders of her cooling jacket, but her anger still showed in the hunch of her shoulders.

  "She's right, Sama," Olivares rumbled. "You do not need to die here."

  Heads nodded agreement around the table.

  "The Arctic Fox is only a Union Class DropShip," Theodore protested. "She's not even big enough for the buso-senshi and their 'Mechs. Even if we abandoned all our equipment, we could not cram in the rest of our people. Anyone left behind will be slaughtered by the Lyrans.

  "Besides, we have no JumpShip. The Combine navy was chased from the system more than a month ago. We would have no way to leave the system."

  "Tai-i Kerai said he had a solution to that problem, Tono," Fuhito offered.

  "And where is he?"

  Fuhito shrugged and helplessly spread his hands wide.

  "Kerai-Kun may be quite remarkable in some areas, but even he cannot conjure up interstellar transport from nothing."

  Fuhito started to object to Theodore's dismissal of the issue, but the buzzsaw whine of a VTOL jet landing drowned out the words. The sentry threw open the door and announced the return of Tai-i Ninyu Kerai. Ninyu wore a sneaksuit, the hood pulled back to reveal his tousled red hair. The circlevision visor clattered against the holstered KA-23 subgun holstered on his right hip. His smiling face was a distinct contrast to the sober expressions of the officers gathered in the room.

  "What, still talking?" Ninyu asked. "I thought you'd be packed by now."

  "I'm not leaving," Theodore replied. "I have a duty to the Legion."

  "You're too important to die on this backwater planet."

  "I'm not too important to ignore bushido. As a Kurita warrior, honor demands that I do my duty. I must fulfill my duty to my soldiers and face what they must face."

  "Baka!" Tomoe shouted, spinning around. "You are a fool! You're not some simple warrior! You are not even just the commanding officer of a regiment. You are the leader of the entire Legion of Vega, not just the Eleventh Regiment. Two more regiments of your precious buso-senshi and forty conventional units are fighting on Vega, struggling for their lives against the Lyran invaders. What is your duty to them! Will you let them die without a leader?

  "You are also the Heir-Designate. If you are captured or killed he
re, it harms the Combine. The succession will be in dispute, and your father will be distracted from the conduct of the war. Can you believe that your death would serve the Dragon, no matter how nobly you contrive to arrange it?

  "You speak of your responsibility to your troops. What of your responsibility to the Draconis Combine? Does your belief in bushido allow you to throw your life away when you have important duties elsewhere? Will you allow the personal desire to be a noble warrior lead you away from your duty as a member of House Kurita?"

  Tomoe folded her arms over her chest as she drew herself to full height. Her eyes blazed. "A samurai's road is the path of giri. It is your duty to leave Marfik."

  Theodore was stunned by her outburst, embarrassed that she would shout at him before the Legion's officers. But she seemed so sure she had the right of it. Had he been blinded by his concern for the troops here on Marfik and by his sense of personal honor? As commander of the Legion, it was the first time other Kuritans looked to him with respect for reasons other than his position by birth. They had earned his loyalty. But was Tomoe right? Did his other responsibilities, his other duties, outweigh these? It was so hard to know the right path.

  "Arctic Fox is armed," he began. "Aloft, it will be easy prey for the Steiner aerospace forces. If we keep the DropShip grounded, we can adapt our defenses around it, build a firebase to gut the Lyran attack. The Steiner air power won't be able to do much against it as long as the ship stays in the cover of the forest. We can still win here on Marfik."

  "Staying is a hellacious gamble," Ninyu Kerai observed. "The Rangers want your head."

  "Senior Tech Kowalski's crew is already preparing the Arctic Fox for lift-off," Fuhito Tetsuhara pointed out.

  'The troops ain't changing their positions. They won't follow your plan to set up a defense around the Fox," Esau Olivares announced. "We got volunteers already dumping what's left of our supplies onto the ship, but nobody, not even the wounded, will be riding it out unless you're onboard, Sama. My Victor's waiting there for you. It's even got its circuits tuned to your base readings. I'll jockey the 'Revenant' in the morning. That'll keep the Elsies occupied."

  "The heir to the Dragon must leave Marfik," Tomoe Sakade insisted.

  Theodore looked at the faces around him, their eyes hard and challenging. Not one yielded before him. His officers were resolute. With or without him, the Eleventh Legion of Vega was going to die here on Marfik in the morning. These people did not want him to die with them. How could he betray such loyalty by running away from them?

  "I will take this under advisement."

  * * *

  Two fire lances from Wagner's Battalion moved forward on the left flank, lending their missile and energy weapon fire to the advance of the Twenty-third Armored Infantry. Kathleen Heany watched in satisfaction as her tanks and APCs drove the Snakes from their outlying defenses. It had taken all morning to get this far, and the Vegan Mech-Warriors had yet to put in an appearance.

  Two Lyran AeroSpace Fighters dove out of the sun. Skimming at treetop level, the aerojocks opened the valves in their belly-slung tanks. Dense clouds billowed from the crafts' exhaust as the chemical mix ignited in smoky combustion. The long streamers of artificial fog settled on the field, screening the advance of the Lyran tanks.

  Heany was pleased by the pilots' precision and adherence to the tactical plan. They were showing better discipline than that crew who had lifted their DropShip at first light, flying too close to Sitika on their way to orbit. As soon as she had time, the entire crew of that DropShip was going on report.

  Booming explosions returned Heany's attention to the field. She grinned in savage anticipation. The Drac center was breaking. The Twenty-third had created a corridor through the Kuritan defenses. The Lord provides for she who prepares, Heany thought.

  She pushed her Atlas to a run, signaling the rest of her command lance to follow. The Snakes would have to bring in their BattleMechs now. She and the Fourth Skye Rangers would be there to meet them. The battle's climax was to hand.

  Half an hour later, her hopes were confirmed. The Fourth Skye engaged what she estimated as half the remaining Kurita 'Mechs. The fighting was sharp, exhilarating. The Kuritans retreated, falling back on a position defended by the rest of the Legion. She watched the Orion that intel had identified as Theodore Kurita's own machine leading the fight.

  Under fire from the entrenched BattleMechs, the Skye Rangers advanced. Heany was pleased with their elan. They reached the Kurita battle line with minimal damage. Hunicutt's Quickdraw was first to reach the line. That was no surprise. The Sergeant's preference for close-in combat was legendary in the Fourth Skye.

  The Quickdraw came in on a Dragon from the left. The Ranger must have surprised the Snake, for the Kurita 'Mech made no effort to turn and face the Quickdraw. Hunicutt ripped off a flight of short-range missiles as he closed. Without waiting to see the results of his attack, he charged in.

  Smoke from the detonations of the rockets screened Heany's vision momentarily. As soon as it cleared, the Hauptmann-Kommandant was shocked to see the Quickdraw standing in a pile of scrap metal. Impossible! The Dragon was a sixty-ton BattleMech. Even Hunicutt's close-combat ability could not destroy a 'Mech that fast.

  The Dragon was a fake, a decoy! All across the Kurita position, Heany could see Ranger 'Mechs discovering the same thing. Some had punched through sheet metal, shattering light metal structures built to resemble BattleMechs. Within those Trojan horses, infantry gunners and rocket teams had sheltered, simulating the firepower of BattleMechs. Only a few of the shapes in the position were real 'Mechs, and those were crippled, unable to escape the Ranger machines and incapable of utilizing more than a fraction of their weaponry.

  She had been fooled again.

  Heany ran a full scan of the area. Radar picked out a flock of targets moving southeast between the hills, headed toward the cursed forest. She focused the visual scanners on them: ten Kurita BattleMechs led by a drab green Orion.

  "Oh, no, you Satan-driven Snake!" Heany shouted. "Not this time."

  She was ready for that trick, at least. She opened the channel to the Ranger fire base. "Achtung! Achtung! Fire mission six-three-three. Execute now!"

  Leading the Ranger 'Mechs in pursuit of the fleeing Kuritans, she awaited the results of her order. They would not get away this time.

  The first artillery shell streaked in two minutes later, splintering into bomblets as it fell. The ground erupted in front of the Kurita 'Mechs. More shells followed, throwing the landscape skyward to join the atmosphere.

  Heany watched the Orion go down within the hell of the artillery barrage. Got you! "Achtung! Cancel fire mission six-three-three. Repeat, cancel fire mission."

  Two minutes later, the ground ceased its shaking. In the morass of torn dirt, Kurita BattleMechs lay battered and dismembered. Alloy bones showing through torn armor skin, the Orion was sprawled on its back.

  Heany was surprised when her comm panel indicated a microwave transmission emanating from the fallen 'Mech. As she tuned in the channel, her video screen brightened with a picture.

  The MechWarrior in the cockpit of the Orion had removed his neurohelmet, a sign of submission because he would not be able to control his 'Mech without it. His grime-smeared face was scarred and he wore a red scharacki feather in his right ear. White teeth shone amid a halo of black stubble as he grinned at her.

  "Ohayo, Hauptmann-Kommandant Heany. Tai-sa Kurita regrets he could not attend your party. But don't be upset. He ain't got enough hair on his chest to keep you Elsie gals happy, so I stayed to be sure ya got taken care of. Come and get me!"

  Heany smashed her fist into the screen, her Sanglamore class ring scarring the plastic surface. Where in the cursed galaxy was Theodore Kurita? How could he have escaped her again?

  28

  Nadir Jump Point, Marfik System

  Dieron Military District, Draconis Combine

  1 October 3028

  "Captain."

 
; Walter Garrett felt Hans Alders' hand on his shoulder and wished he did not.

  "Captain, you told me to wake you before docking."

  "You did, Hans. You did," Garrett mumbled. "What's the status?"

  "We're two hours from zero point on this leg. Hauptmann-Kommandant Heany's DropShip will intercept that position in 128 minutes. I've delayed the restart on gravity maneuvering until after docking."

  "We're going to have trouble if their comm is still screwed."

  The DropShip's comm laser had been destroyed in the fighting, and the radio was only working fitfully. Even the IFF transponder was putting out a garbled message, but it was enough to recognize the DropShip as one of their own. Not that there was much chance that it was a ruse; system command had not reported any Kurita DropShips in space since the week after the invasion and all of the Legion's DropShips had been captured at Massingham.

  "It's still malfunctioning, Captain. Their Techs can't seem to trace the problem. But I had an idea about that. Sure surprised me when they agreed; I never thought those

  MechJocks would agree to let a Navy man touch their controls."

  Garrett shook his head in confusion, the motion sending him into the bunk's restraining straps. He was still muddled from sleep, exhausted from the long duty shifts necessitated by the Kit Carson's short-handed crew. He understood the importance of the Pony Express system of which his JumpShip was a part. The system was named after an ancient Terran mail-carrying network that once served the vast western frontier of North America. Instead of horsemen relaying across the plains, there were JumpShips playing tag across the stars, transferring data pulses and DropShips to keep information flowing from the front to the high commander and back again.