"I wouldn't want to make this sort of thing a habit," Sortek allowed. "I'm bushed."
"Welcome to the club, Marshal." Leftenant Link's intonation was jovial, but Sortek sensed a bitter undertone. "If they're working us this hard with their groundpounders, what'll they do when they cut loose their 'Mechs?"
"We're about to find out." Cantrell's Dervish poked a rectangular forearm toward the north.
Ardan followed the line. Four Kurita 'Mechs were striding over the low ridge, spreading out into formation.
"Chargers," Link called out. "Gotta be with those shoulder baffles. They're too big to be Griffins, and they ain't got hand-helds. They'll be easy marks."
"Oughta be. They only pack small lasers. Won't be able to burn us at this range."
Two of the Kurita 'Mechs disappeared from Sortek's vislight scan in a cloud of smoke. Years of battle had taught him to recognize the signature exhaust of long-range missiles. "Break wide!" he ordered. "Evasive!"
The Davion BattleMechs scattered, but the surprise barrage had its effect. All of them took hits. The Stinger went down with a crippled leg.
"I don't think these things are Chargers" Cantrell said slowly.
"I think you're right," Sortek agreed. "The head's different."
"This is going to be a fight," Cantrell returned. "Well, Marshal," Ling quipped, "your schedule just took another hit."
Sortek found the Jocks' easy banter reminiscent of his old command, but he hoped that they were not minimizing the problem. These 'Mechs, which he had tagged into his computer as Charger-H, were a rude surprise. And the appearance of enemy 'Mechs this far behind their lines was bad news. The Kuritans were on the move. He wondered how many more surprises the Dragon had in store.
64
West Cerant County, An Ting
Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine
11 August 3039
From the command lance's position in the hills west of the city, Dechan Fraser could look down on the city of Cerant. Eleven years ago, he had fought for his life and the continued existence of Wolf's Dragoons in that city. It didn't look that much different today. A shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the cool breeze slipping down intermittently from the mountains.
Jenette reached over to place a gentle hand against his cheek. She tucked an errant strand of his blond hair behind his ear and away from the sleek pink skin at the side of his head, freshly shaven for better contact with the sensors in his neurohelmet. "You all right?"
"Yeah."
"It's the city, isn't it?”
“Yeah."
"Quite a conversationalist today."
He quirked the side of his mouth up in irritation.
"I feel it, too," she said, oblivious to his expression. One look at her face made him instantly contrite. "The ghosts are down there. All those lost Dragoons, asking why we're doing this."
"It does seem strange. The last time we were here, we were fighting the Ryuken. Akuma's Ryuken-ichi, to be exact."
"I'm glad Theodore ordered the name struck from the rolls," she said with sudden venom.
"Michi's idea," Dechan pointed out.
Jenette frowned. "Always Michi. He got us into this. He seems to be running our lives."
"We're not just paying back a debt," he reminded her. "You know there's more to it than that. We can't leave till the job's done. That's our mercenary honor. Even the Dragoon ghosts understand that."
She seemed unconvinced. "So why doesn't Michi answer our letters? Friends shouldn't abandon each other."
"He's still our friend, I think, and I know that he needs our help. We promised we wouldn't abandon him. That's why we don't leave." He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away and wrapped her arms around herself as though she were cold. "Isn't it?"
"I'm tired, Dechan. I want to go home."
Dechan understood her frustration and loneliness. Home. As if they had one. Their home had been the Dragoons, until they'd left to follow Michi Noketsuna on his quest for vengeance. The travails the three had shared made them friends, then led him and Jenette to agree to do all they could to help Michi see his goal through to the end. That promise had trapped them here among the Kuritans, fighting to save the realm of Takashi Kurita, the man against whom Colonel Jaime Wolf had sworn a blood feud. He wondered how the old Iron Man Tetsuhara would have resolved such a conflict of duties. Would Minobu have a better solution to Dechan's quandary than he'd had for his own?
The receiver in Dechan's ear buzzed, calling him to duty. He tapped it to life, and Tai-shu Kester Hsiun Chi's voice whispered to him.
"All is in readiness, Fraser-san."
Snapping into his new role as a commander, Dechan asked, "The Davion air?"
"Quite busy. They were not ready for our reserves. They seem especially surprised by the numbers of our Sparrowhawks. After all, it is their design. Response to our ComStar-supplied Hellcat flights is encouraging as well. I think the professors at the New Avalon Institute of Science will be making some adjustments to Davion tactical doctrine."
"Then we will have a clear field for maneuver?"
"As much as I have been able to arrange. The Federated Suns troops do seem a little uncooperative, though. They have not yet surrendered," Chi said with a chuckle. His voice vacated Dechan's ear, leaving a sibilant, rushing sound that indicated the line was still active. In a moment, the gravelly tones resumed. "Please man your machines. I will need you to lead your Ryuken detachment into the attack soon."
"We'll be ready, Chi-sama."
"I am sure you will. Good hunting, Fraser-san."
The channel went dead with a click.
He stepped up to Jenette and put his arms around her from behind. "Time to saddle up."
She nodded as she turned in his embrace. "After this, we leave?"
"When we've finished our job."
Jenette hugged him tightly, face buried in the padded shoulders of his cooling vest. She pushed back and ran her soft gray eyes over his features. "Be safe." She kissed him lightly and slipped from his arms.
"Unity enfold you," he called softly as she trotted off to her Hatamoto-kaze BattleMech.
* * *
"Marshal Sortek! The Kuritans have breached the perimeter!"
The wail of the warning siren rose over the headquarters, as Sortek ordered the security lance scrambled. Directed chaos engulfed the room as men and women hurried to perform the tasks they had dreaded. The headquarters was to be abandoned. The door clattered open as an orderly carried the first armload of datadisks into the night.
Sortek turned to his adjutant. "Where and with how much, Jeanne?"
"North quadrant. Looks like two or three BattleMech regiments. We've got reports of their new heavies up and down the line. At least thirty of them."
"So many?" Sortek and Link's lance had barely escaped from a single lance of those machines two days ago. He shook his head. "Where'd they get all that stuff?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Well, intel doesn't seem to, either. If we make it out of this, it'll be their heads that roll, not yours." He massaged his red-rimmed eyes with both hands. "You oversee the evac. I'm going out to make sure our rear guard holds. See you at the DropShips."
She saluted his back as he ran for his 'Mech.
* * *
Dechan Fraser was tired, but his fatigue seemed to vanish when the battered and battle-scarred Hatamoto-kaze limped into the Ryuken camp. The eighty-ton 'Mech looked like it had been through a war. Which, of course, it had. Unlike his own Hatamoto-ku, the H-kaze showed heavy damage. The only area lightly affected was the chest plate, whose surface was blackened from missile exhaust and pitted by shrapnel marks. The 'Mech's radiator fin and one of the shoulder baffles were gone. The broad, flat sheaths that protected the antennae, and gave the 'Mech's head assembly the look of an ancient samurai helmet, dangled across its faceplate. The heavy armor on its left leg had been shredded and melted away. Tendrils of myomer pseudo-muscle floated throu
gh the gaps that revealed the cracked and pitted alloy structural members. No wonder the machine limped. Could the pilot have endured such destruction intact?
His fears were allayed when he saw Jenette climb whole and unharmed from the cockpit. He was waiting for her when she finished her descent. They held each other wordlessly for a minute before he broke the embrace to check out her condition. She was uninjured, but looked as beat as he felt. Even her smile was exhausted. He hustled her to the camp kitchen, thrusting a cup of hot tea into her hands until he could gather some food. They ate in silence, each finding the other's presence enough for the moment.
She placed her empty bowl on the ground. "The fight here is over?"
"I think so," he mumbled. "Davion DropShips have been lifting since midnight. They're burning straight for the jump point. An Ting has held, and without this system, the Davion thrust into Galedon will founder."
"Good." Her smile flashed in the darkness. "We'll be done soon."
Buoyed by what he took as her relief, he allowed the joy of a job well-done to fill his voice. "We taught Theodore's people well. The Ryuken fought a hell of a battle, more disciplined than I thought they'd be. The Iron Men would have been proud. These Jocks are almost as good as his old unit. They sure outshone the Eighth Sword of Light."
"You want another Misery?"
The bitterness in her voice, and the thought of the awful weeks on that barren planet where the Ryuken had fought the Dragoons, crushed his growing sense of accomplishment. His delight in the success of his charges turned to ashes as he remembered those bitter days on that bitter, cold world. The Dragoons had fought for their lives against all House Kurita could throw at them, including the old Ryuken regiments. The Dragoons had won, barely. Dechan's own lance had brought down the Iron Man ... barely. He had no wish ever to experience anything like that again.
Had he rebuilt the unit that had almost destroyed the Dragoons, only to allow Takashi Kurita another chance? He forced away that fear and put assurance into his voice. "That can't happen again."
"Are you sure?" she asked softly.
In the night around them, Dragoon ghosts seem to echo her question.
65
Henschel Basin, Exeter
Kentares PDZ, Draconis March, Federated Suns
2 October 3039
"Fuhito-kun, orbital reconnaissance confirms that the DropShips coming in are the Fourth Davion Guards," Theodore announced to the man seated in the forward couch of the BLR-1C BattleMaster.
His only response was a grunt.
Theodore took the rebuff in stride. He had no desire to interrupt his pilot's concentration. They were, after all, in the midst of a battle. One that he had best pay some attention to, instead of spending all of his time on system-wide operations. With deft finger motions, he reconfigured the main screen to display the area around the Samuelson Military Reservation, and slaved the secondary screens to the data feeds for the continental situation and the transatmospheric dispositions. He studied the displays, issuing orders to redirect Combine efforts to put more pressure against a poorly sited fire zone that he detected in the Davion defense. With a little more effort, Ryuken-go's second battalion could crack the hedgehog of the Davion Militia's Thirty-fifth Combined Services Brigade and sweep through to raid the proving ground's laboratories.
The BattleMaster shuddered.
Rather than querying Fuhito, Theodore called up a window on the main screen. The 'Mech's systems were all nominal, though the schematic display of the BattleMaster showed reduced armor in the left-torso area. From the pattern, Theodore recognized a PPC hit. Local resistance must be stiffening. He was wise to leave Fuhito undisturbed. He went back to his screens.
Fuhito pivoted the BattleMaster, but too slowly. The Davion Warhammer's PPC blast caught his 'Mech in the left chest. The Fedrat Militia 'Mechs were old and time-worn, but their pilots fought hard. It was to be expected. They were defending their homes.
This pilot was a brave one. He had come on through the fire of the rest of the command lance to challenge the BattleMaster. The lesser machines of his companions had, with the aid of their armored support, engaged the attention of the other four Kurita 'Mechs. It was a valiant but hopeless effort. The Warhammer was battered, sparks and smoke trailing from its right-arm PPC. The BattleMaster was barely scratched until the Davion MechJock had scored with that last shot from the Hammer's other PPC.
Fuhito elected to meet charged particles with like. He ripped off a blast from his 'Mech's hand-held Donal PPC. The blast struck the Warhammer high on the right shoulder, eating through armor to gouge a trough in the Davion machine's superstructure. Fire reached out through the opening as the alloy launcher-feed mechanism for the 'Mech's Holly SRM system burned, ignited by the heat transfer. Slowly at first, then with a sudden, shuddering crash, the Holly SRM launcher fell free of its mounting. The boxy launcher struck the protruding rear of the 'Hammer's autocannon and spoiled the pilot's aim before hitting the ground. There, it exploded in impotent fury as the loaded rack of missiles detonated from the heat of the flames engulfing the mechanism.
The Warhammer advanced, heedless of its loss. "Meiyo to nam sensei, buso-senshi-san," Fuhito saluted aloud.
Conscious of his passenger, Fuhito dodged the big BattleMaster in among the trees dotting the slope where the machine stood. He was sure that the Davion Jock would follow. As soon as he had put enough of the tall trees between them to screen him from the enemy sensors, Fuhito brought the 'Mech to a halt, damping its heat output. He did not have to wait long.
The Warhammer came hunting, its functional PPC swaying back and forth as the pilot covered possible hiding places for his quarry. Unknowing, he bypassed Fuhito's position by thirty meters.
Regretting that he could not afford to meet this noble warrior in a fair battle, Fuhito opened the heat sinks and stepped the BattleMaster forward. The Warhammer's pilot must have caught the rise in heat on his IR sensors. The Davion 'Mech started to turn as Fuhito unleashed the full complement of the BattleMaster's formidable array of forward-mounted energy weapons. The Kurita 'Mech's own Holly launcher added its six missiles to the attack. Had the machine carried the usual pair of Sperry-Browning machine guns, Fuhito would have fired them as well. The Warhammer was a threat to the Kanrei and had to be eliminated as soon as possible.
The Warhammer staggered under Fuhito's flawless gunnery. The previously untouched armor over its lower rear torso vanished under the hellish energy that laved it. Out of control, it started to topple. The white brilliance of the fusion flame escaping its ruptured magnetic containment ate the upper half of the Warhammer before it had canted more than thirty degrees. The blackened stumps of its legs struck the ravaged earth. The torso had dissolved, and the Mech Warrior was gone, either blown out of sight or vaporized.
Fuhito turned the BattleMaster back the way it had come, moving to rejoin the rest of the lance.
* * *
Theodore felt the flicker of heat pass through the cockpit. Fuhito must have fired all of the 'Mech's weapons to tax its cooling system so. Under normal operating circumstances, the machine stayed cool, thanks to the Star League-vintage heat sinks that some ComStar clerk's mistake had left in it.
Those sinks were valuable, but not as precious as the command and control systems that took the place of the antipersonnel armament in this eighty-five-ton behemoth. They and the second seat, the commander's seat, were what really made this BattleMech live up to its name. They made it a true master of the battle. With this machine, the commander had a mobile, well-armored vehicle, able to survive on the battlefield. With the expanded cockpit, the machine could carry two men: the pilot, whose responsibility was the control of the BattleMaster's power and the safety of the passenger, and the passenger, a battlefield commander who was free to worry about his real job, the command of his formations in battle. The commander could function without the distractions of keeping his 'Mech running, and without loss of command control when he came under fire and was for
ced to concentrate on simple survival.
Transmitting his current orders to the onplanet forces, Theodore wiped the main screen and brought up a display of overall strategic situation. He reviewed the planets involved in his counterthrust against the Davion invasion. Those on the Kurita side of the border, such as Fellanin II, Sadalbari, and Matar, had fallen easily at the start, their Davion occupiers confused and shocked by the sudden onslaught. Theodore had caught them as they prepared for their own attack; many had been hit while in transports.
More shocking to the Davion defenders, and to their High Command as well, was the sudden appearance of Kurita forces deep within their own space. Planets such as Cartago, Doneval II, and Clovis had not been expecting to be attacked while Davion was making its own push into the Combine. The DCMS intercept division, the ISF, the O5P, and the wary but still helpful ComStar people were for once in complete agreement. Hanse Davion—the Fox—had been caught off-guard.
So far, everything had gone like a finely choreographed program. Even the mercenary strikes at Le Blanc, New Ivaarsen, and Dobson had yielded suitable repayment for the investment. The Kurita counterattack, Operation Orochi, had proceeded with pleasing efficiency and success. On every world the Combine forces attacked, they had come down hard, formation after formation. Or so it had appeared. Every buso-senshi was doing the work of a 'Mech lance. Each unit was doing its best to look like more than they were, battalions acting like regiments. Theodore knew that Hanse Davion must suspect, at least, that the Combine had been rearming far faster than could have been predicted. He hoped to fool the Fox by appearing to have more units than actually existed.
The apparent scale of Theodore's counterattack was designed to give the appearance that the Combine had enough resources and enough confidence in its defenses to launch a major offensive in the middle of an enemy invasion. His goal was to make Hanse Davion worry. To make him suspect that his intelligence apparatus had completely failed him. To make him fear for his own state's survival. It was that fear that would save the Dragon.
Heir to the Dragon Page 33
