Far Country

by Fanpro

  Like a herd of wild, intemperate beasts, the armored forces rushed at the oncoming 'Mechs. Takuda saw them go, made one ineffectual attempt to call them back, and then gave up. They were a wild, green, enthusiastic mob. He would have to bring up the Locust in support.

  This wasn't as he had planned. He'd have preferred to let the mercenary 'Mechs get closer. Before revealing his surprise, he wanted them fully engaged with the armor. Now the green troops had sprung the trap too early. He toggled the boom mike and contacted Holly Goodall.

  She responded at once as the two Locusts began to move from their hide position in the tall trees to the rear. They came striding through the woods to support the careening armored vehicles. They were a little late, but there was still time to do some good.

  High above the battlefield no one saw the single, glistening reflection of sun on metal, the single flash that represented the position of the LAM. From four kilometers above the trees, Seagroves rolled the LAM back and forth to let the static sensors sweep the broadest possible path below. Tiny I/R returns showed the movement of the heat-generating targets. That was what he wanted. He rolled the LAM over into a broad split-S and powered down through the intervening kilometers of space.

  The targeting computer centered on the first of the heat sources, the targeting cross hairs flashing red on the screen. Good read. Sensor lock. He let the LAM drift off the center line while the target hung like a fly in a spider web. As the LAM pulled up from its dive, Seagroves was forced back into the command seat. He watched the range indicator digitize the distance, watched the numbers scroll downward toward the sweet range. The target showed no evasive action. Closer, closer, closer. Green board! Fire!

  The laser hummed in the armored right torso, the column of aligned light leaping through the carbon dioxide crystal that channeled the energy into a pencil-thin beam.

  The computer I/R sensor blossomed into a ball. Hit. Target destroyed. Seagroves rolled the LAM over and let the search and lock system play across the field.

  Almost immediately the cross hairs flashed. Green board. Fire. Target hit Target destroyed. He rolled the LAM into a tight turn and came back across the field.

  * * *

  The first vehicle exploded, and then the second, even before those on the ground knew the LAM was there. Takuda saw it dive, shouted a warning into the boom mike, but it was too late. The men in the charging armored vehicles did not listen, did not want to listen. They were too intent on closing with the towering 'Mechs beyond the trees. Then it was too late. Caught in the open field, the LAM swooping down on them like some demented bird of prey, one by one they burst into incandescent balls of fire. And still they came.

  Takuda wept to see them die. He called for support from the Locusts, but the medium laser in the Locust's lower torso could not elevate enough to engage the swooping LAM. Then the BattleMechs were inside the range of the armored vehicles. A cloud of fire enveloped the Javelin as it rippled both racks of short-range missiles, hammering vehicle after vehicle into the yielding ground. No survivors. No survivors from those immense explosions that combined high explosives with flashing fuel.

  The Locusts were in close, Jacobs with his good 'Mech firing blindly into the melee. Holly Goodall pranced and danced, trying to draw the Panther's fire away from the vulnerable armor. Leading a charmed life, she dodged one PPC blast after another. Inside the rearward 'Mech, Jacobs watched his displays light up with information he couldn't understand. He only knew that Goodall was out in front, drawing the Panther and the Javelin's attention away from the others.

  They were in retreat. The armor had had enough. Careening tanks rushed past the long legs of his Locust. It was time to go. His screen bloomed with the heat signature of Goodall's 'Mech. Hits on the outer armor were pushing the heat warning system beyond the safe range. He saw the legs freeze, saw the warning circuits fry under the hammering of the PPC. The Javelin was closing from the rear, a full dual six pack of short-range missiles loaded and locked on target.

  "Run, Jacobs! Run!" came the scream over the commlink. "RUN!"

  He watched transfixed as the red danger light blossomed on his heat scale. It was time to go, and still Goodall did not move, did not move, did not move. There was a cloud of fire from the chest of the Javelin, then Goodall's 'Mech vanished in an explosion of titanic proportions. With tears streaming down his sweat-streaked face, Jacobs turned the surviving Locust toward the woods and ran.

  44

  Seagroves rolled the LAM over again and swept down over the smoke-shrouded field. The environment was no longer as target-rich as before. Though he .could see the I/R signatures of dozens of targets, it was becoming increasingly difficult to tell the living from the dead. A steam-driven vehicle had such a significant heat return that a burning one was actually dimmer on the screen. There was no use hitting those destroyed or abandoned, so he switched from I/R to motion-sensitive. At least now he'd be able to tell what was moving and what was not.

  He checked the fuel readout and noted that soon he would be down a third of a tank. All the aerobatics and high-power runs were sucking up his fuel. He pulled back on the joystick and let the LAM rise in a gentle arc. Time to break off. The land 'Mechs could deal with the remnants of the Takuda force; he was headed home. Nice thing about flying was that you could do your job and be home by dark for a shower, a hot meal, and clean sheets. Let the ground-pounders deal with the stragglers.

  Takuda, meanwhile, stood in the woods and watched as the rabble that had become his force streamed by. Some still carried their weapons, but many did not. One recent refugee from Amatukaze came to an abrupt halt in a copse of trees and began to fire his weapon at his former comrades, probably in hopes that he would be mistaken for a member of the victorious troops when they arrived on the scene. Takuda raised his laser pistol to put an end to the little treachery, but he couldn't find the heart to pull the trigger. Instead, he walked quietly up behind the man and disarmed him. The trooper offered no resistance, just sat down heavily with his back to the tree and began to weep. Takuda secured the musket, patted the man on the shoulder, and walked away. There was nothing he could do for the sobbing recruit.

  Andi Holland hobbled past, still nursing a wound from the previous battle, but now with an injury in the left leg as well. The left side of her face had been savaged by some weapon, droplets of blood dotting the space from the jaw to just behind one ear. She could still walk, but only with great difficulty and only with the support of two Tetatae helping with her weapon and pack. Takuda would later learn that Holland had suffered three broken ribs as well as kidney damage and a broken right hand.

  Swalen Horg was not far behind her, also showing signs of battle damage. Something heavy had struck him square across the upper chest, crushing the armor and faceplate of his helmet. He staggered past where Takuda stood rooted to the ground, waiting for the advancing enemy. "It only hurts when I cough," was Horg's sole comment on his injuries.

  Knyte was the last one past. Stopping alongside his commander, he waited expectantly for orders. It was as though he could read Takuda's mind, and he began to prepare their tiny plot of terrain for a last defense. "Keep going," said Takuda, but the gun-so continued to fortify the ground.

  When Takuda protested again, the noncommissioned officer looked his commander in the eye. "I will stand with you, sir," he said, "or I will accompany you to the rear. But I will not leave you to this fate. There is nothing dishonorable about flight at this time. But we cannot lose you when we need you most."

  Takuda felt the weight of command slip back onto his shoulders. It wasn't comfortable, but it was familiar. He looked at his section leader and nodded his head. "Correct, Gun-so Knyte. Yes, you go on ahead and choose a place where we can rally. "I'll stay here just a little longer and see what I can do. I'll move from here in one hour. Less if the enclave troops begin to push." The statement was that of a commander taking charge of the situation. Knyte saluted and moved off.

  Takuda found the rally p
oint well after dark. He used the I/R glasses to discover the hidden fires in a deep ravine completely covered by the triple-canopy foliage. Even the supersensitive I/R devices carried by the LAM and the Panther would have been hard put to find them except at very close range. By the time the hostile 'Mechs got that close, they themselves would have been seen, and the fires could have been doused.

  As Takuda came in, he was aware of activity in the undergrowth around him. Dim figures moved to sweep away obstacles and hold back hidden branches. It was the Tetatae, looking out for their commander but allowing him to find his own way home. Clucking voices as soft as the darkness itself.

  Parker Davud was there, waiting for Takuda to arrive. He had become the complete staff officer. Gone were the days of independent command as enjoyed by a DropShip commander. Now he thought in terms of the unit rather than himself. Not only had he been able to cobble together the first piece of mobile equipment, but he'd also managed to build additional ones from parts scrounged on the battlefield. His talents didn't seem to stop when the battle started. Even during the retreat, with the situation falling apart all around him, Davud had found the time to secure a desk, two chairs, a cot, a cook stove, and a can of coffee. Where the coffee had come from was complete mystery because Takuda knew that the last of it had been consumed weeks before. Yet there it had been, and now a hot cup of dark brew was waiting for him as he entered the tiny camp.

  Davud reported that Ariake Sanae was dead and Joha Miranda with her. Sanae had died at the SRM launcher position when the Panther's PPC finally obtained a target lock on her. Miranda had had no business being there, but he'd convinced the Tetatae assigned as his personal servant that he could be of some value with the weapon. The two had died as the last missile was firing. Dana Lost, griping to the very end, had stood against the forces of the enclave until it was too late to withdraw. Complaining that he would never have placed himself in this position, that he would have pulled out long before, he charged a block of musket- and bayonet-armed infantry, firing his laser rifle from the hip. Still complaining, he'd been swallowed up in the melee.

  Robert Fullerton came to the fire to report the status of his refugees. Out of the five hundred at the start of the day, fewer than two hundred remained. Where the rest had gone was a mystery, but he had his suspicions. There had been fewer than a hundred in the armored forces, and some of those were accounted for. The main losses had been among people manning the main line. Most of them, suspected Fullerton, had drifted back to their enclaves when the retreat began, probably disenchanted at the prospect of actually having to fight for their freedom. Interestingly enough, it had been the most vociferous, the most aggressive talkers, who had disappeared. "Small loss," Fullerton commented.

  Even the Tetatae ranks had thinned. Dakodo reported that the survivors of the original tribe were still with him, but there had been defections among the newcomers, especially those from farthest away. They had been the last into the group, and perhaps they'd decided that the trek had been in vain. In any case, they were gone.

  The reports in, the staff members fell silent, each one harboring his own thoughts of what daylight would bring. "Our choice, as members of a Draconis Combine Elite Strike Team," said Takuda, breaking the silence, "is quite clear. It is less so for the rest of you. We have the honorable way of liberating ourselves from the dilemma. Our honor is important to us, and we know that to die in battle for a greater good is to die well. We have established our position, and now we must die by it. As did the forty-seven samurai of legend, we have an honorable way to end this. We must remember that we will not die unremembered or unsung. Those forty-seven warriors made the ultimate sacrifice for their lord and their honor. We can only do as well. The DEST team will stay here and finish what we have started. Those of you who are not of DEST, and that means you, Parker Davud, are not invited to attend the ceremony."

  Stony silence greeted the announcement. What could be said to a man who had just announced that he and his compatriots were about to commit suicide? There was an uneasy stirring among the company as though someone had just stated that he was dying from a terrible, deadly, highly communicable disease. They all wanted to be somewhere else, but none was willing to break the bond of loyalty.

  "The men who fell from the sky with fire will continue," said Dakodo softly. "It has been this way for as long as I can remember. It will remain that way for those who come beyond."

  Takuda looked at the face of the little alien, his bulbous features lit by the fire. There was a long silence, and then Takuda said, "What about the others who fell from the sky with fire? Tell them the story I heard last night."

  Dakodo rose from his crouched position and closed his eyes. He began to rock back and forth as he spoke. "When the first men came from the sky with fire, there were many Tetatae who hid in fear. And well they should, for those who came had sticks that brought death. The Tetatae were driven from their lands and enslaved. Thus it was with the men who came from the sky with fire.

  "But there was another group that came from the sky at the same time. Their machine fell well away from the others and it did no harm to the Tetatae. It is said that at this place, beyond the blue mountains that lie on the land like an aoi mist, there is another group. It is said that they will rise to defend the Tetatae and then lead them to a land that is open and free. In this land the Tetatae will be able to live in peace with those who came from the sky with fire."

  "Is it true, Dakodo?" asked Takuda.

  "We so think. We thought you were of the same group. The legend says that there will be those we know who will lead us to those we know not. You are the ones to lead us to that spot. You cannot here stay and die."

  Takuda shrugged. "I think, Dakodo, that you know how I feel about that. I don't want to become part of your legends. Being a DEST commander is responsibility enough for me. I would act as your advisor and your leader, but I don't intend to become part of your legendary past, present, or future."

  "I fear, Sho-sa Yubari Takuda, that you have no choice. No matter what you choose, some in the tribe have already made that decision for you. Now you must decide whether to accept the task they would give you. For better or for worse, already you are part of our legends."

  "So now I have the choice of dying here in an attempt to defend you, and thus give you the chance to escape, or I can lead you out while the mercenary and enclave forces destroy those too sick, too old, or too injured to move quickly. And what do I do with the refugees from the enclaves? They are also part of this equation, and I have heard nothing from them."

  Robert Fullerton had been listening to this conversation in silence. He took some time to answer. "As far as I'm concerned, and I think I speak for the rest of my people, we'll go with Takuda, wherever he goes. I think I'd like to try Dakodo's idea. Let's go to wherever it is he thinks the other humans are. I liked what Takuda said when I joined up, and that dream hasn't changed. I'm willing to let him lead us."

  Takuda felt the weight of command pressing down upon him. Now he would be responsible for the DEST team, the Tetatae, and the humans on a trek to some place only the Tetatae knew of, and only that from a legend. But it was something. It was a chance. It was a future that would continue for more than one morning.

  45

  The response among the humans was not so universally positive. A variety of responses ranging from acceptance to outright revolt greeted the announcement that they would be heading for the mountains in search of another civilization. The most strident protesters suggested that all things must pass. This would pass away as well. All they had to do was return to their enclaves. They didn't want to make a big deal of it, just go home. With all the fighting and turmoil caused by the BattleMechs, there would be massive confusion in the cities. No one would remember who had done what when. And the 'Mechs would be like a bad dream. The ones who piloted the 'Mechs would not be around forever, and after a time they would be no more than a bad memory. They would pass into the realm of legend as ha
d all the others. Nothing would change. The extremes of today would even out. Everyone's life would return to normal, and all would again be quite simple. Better to give up and go home now while they had a chance.

  There were others who were not about to stake their lives on anything that a Tetatae might say. The little bug-birds were stupid subhumans who had no culture and no value. The whole bunch should be exterminated by the more powerful humans. To believe some bogus legend about another human settlement was as foolish as wishing that humans could fly. Even without the evidence of the LAM, these people still believed that the stories ranked as pure foolishness.

  Half the people were willing to give the plan a try. Either they were too tired to think of any other response or they actually believed in the possibility of another settlement. In either case they accepted Takuda's leadership and were willing to make the trek across an unknown distance to a legendary destination. Was there, they asked, a better choice?

  Then Holly Goodall stumbled into the campsite. She sank down by the fire and gratefully accepted a steaming cup of coffee culled from the last of the supply discovered by Davud. The others stared at her, waiting until she'd recovered before besieging her with questions. She drained the cup in three deep swallows, not seeming to notice the scalding heat of the liquid. Then she looked at the others and began to speak. She'd been able to eject from the damaged Locust just as the whole thing cooked off under the pounding of the Javelin's multiple SRM hits. She'd been captured and turned over to Vost. The mercenary commander had been absolutely charming, just as he always was when he wanted something. Which he did now.

  Vost was making an offer to any of the deserters, as they were now being called, to join him. There would be a base pay of fifty monme per day. The offer also extended to any of the human refugees who had fled the enclaves, although the amount of monme was lower. Vost, it seemed, was willing to accept the rebel humans on the assumption that they would be loyal to him out of fear of retaliation if they returned to their homes.