• • •
Field Marshal Simon Gallagher was Champion for Katrina Steiner-Davion, Archon-Princess of the Federated Commonwealth. He wielded incredible power but at the same time served at her whim, and there wasn’t a moment that they were together that she did not remind him of that.
Despite his loyalty, he knew that he was always one mistake away from termination. He had wanted many times to correct her use of her own title; the Federated Commonwealth was gone—a memory—but he said nothing. Best not to make waves. Men like Gallagher were not allowed to retire or walk away from their mistakes; they took them to their graves.
The conference room was dark, lights dimmed so that his holographic slide show in the center of the briefing table would show up better. It made reading Katrina’s face difficult at best. It was just another ploy on her part to keep him off balance, this much he was sure of.
“What is Victor planning?” Katrina asked from her seat, elevated slightly higher than the others in the room. “And don’t rattle off facts and figures, Simon, I want your assessment.” There was a hint of bitterness in her voice.
“Highness,” he said, clearing his throat, “Wwe cannot ascertain for sure what your brother’s plans are. But our experts in military analysis believe that he will strike at the Portsmouth region, perhaps at the city itself.”
“Why do you think that?” queried a smoother voice, that of Jackson Davion, the leader of Katrina’s military forces.
“Distance and facilities-wise, it is the most logical location for establishment of a beachhead.”
“And Victor will lead the assault,” Katrina added.
“Not necessarily, Highness,” Simon replied. He saw her eyebrow cock at his words. Yes, this was something she had not planned. “Remember my reports a few days ago about the Outland Legion being reinforced?”
She nodded curtly.
“Well, it appears your brother was attempting to mislead us. It was not the Outland Legion at all. Our agents have discovered that the unit there is Archer’s Avengers—the First Thorin Regiment.”
She clenched her teeth and said nothing.
“More important, our recent intelligence operatives in Victor’s camp indicate that he has placed a high degree of emphasis on General Christifori and his Avengers.” He tapped the remote control for the holographic display and the image of Archer Christifori appeared in the middle of the table, a giant floating holographic head.
“Christifori?” Katrina asked, half-spitting his name. “Him again? You’d think that Victor would be tired of sharing the spotlight with this man. Isn’t it enough that he lured away that traitorous cousin of mine into keeping his units out of the fighting?” The reference to Adam Steiner’s ordering a portion of the Alliance to stand down from the civil war was not lost on the small gathering. Katrina’s ranting about the incident was legendary in the palace corridors. “You told me he was on Graceland.”
“As we thought he was. It was a ploy, just as is Victor’s failed attempt to hide him right in front of us as part of the Outland Legion. Once again we have penetrated his veil.”
“Hopefully not too late,” she added.
“Indeed, Highness,” Simon replied. “We are wise to not underestimate him. He was responsible for luring Snord’s Irregulars from their contract with the Alliance. He has been a thorn in our side for some time. And he has been meeting three times a day with Prince Victor and his staff. These may be indications that he is the leader of the first wave of troops. What few assets we have in place show him to be conferring on strategic issues—things we’d expect to see from an invasion leader. We’re confident that Victor will be with the landing forces, but our intel points to Christifori leading the assault.”
“Why him?” Jackson Davion asked.
“He has a grudge against the Archon-Princess,” Simon said carefully, knowing he was on thin ice. “He claims she is responsible for the death of his sister.”
“I’d never even heard of him until the last two years, let alone his tramp-sister. What he thinks means nothing to me. He is simply a tool, a pawn in Victor’s hands. What would I care about someone like him, a junior officer at best?” Her voice rang with contempt as she waved aside the allegation.
“I understand, Highness,” Gallagher replied. “Nevertheless, the accusations have been made and they have played well with the media. Adding to this, one of our operatives has learned that the holotable in his command tent has been used recently to go over terrain in and around Portsmouth. This only adds fuel to our belief that it is the target area.”
“A ruse perhaps?” Jackson added. “Victor has proven himself a formidable military leader. He could be fooling us, fooling your people, Simon.” Unlike Katrina, there was no venom in his tone.
“I can’t rule that out,” he replied. “But you asked me my thoughts and I have provided them as best I can. Our experts believe that General Christifori will lead the assault in the Portsmith area. Victor will use him as a tool to show that this is a war, in his eyes, for justice. He’s become quite media savvy and will play that against us to take the hearts and minds of the citizens here on Avalon Island.”
Katrina rose from her seat and all eyes fixed on her in the dimly lit room. She stared at the holographic image in front of her. As she rose and closed with the image, Simon could see her the anger in her face. “Very well, Simon. Portsmouth is the assumed target. We shall send in additional troops there—not many, but enough. If you’re right, they’ll buy us time. If you’re wrong, I want to be prepared for defense elsewhere. For your sake however, I would not be wrong…
“And as for this General Christifori,” she said waving her hand at the hologram. “I want him dead. When his broken body is shown on the newscasts, it will shatter the morale of Victor and his people. Let him see what happens to those icons that are held against me. In fact, Jackson,” she said turning to her General, “I want you to assemble a team to do just that. When they come ashore, kill this Christifori…no matter what the cost.”
Chapter Three
Portsmouth, Avalon Island
New Avalon, Crucis March
Federated Suns
24 March 3067
As the DropShip Little Sorrell swung wide of the landing zone, Archer double-checked the tension on the five-point security strap of his cockpit. His BattleMech, a Penetrator, had been rebuilt so many times that he wondered just how many of its components were original. Do I really want to know? It didn’t matter really. It didn’t matter that it was built by the lowest bidder either. What did matter was that he was armed with replacement Clan weaponry, captured in a previous lifetime when he had been in the Revenants, serving with the Prince.
His urban paint scheme of grays and blacks covered up the temporary insignia of the Outland Legion, replacing it with his own regiment’s markings again. If they fought, it was going to be under their own names.
There was a comfort in fighting under his own colors. It was like being in a familiar chair.
Back then he had been a young wide-eyed officer, hell-bent for leather. He had fought the Clans, won, and then retired. War was gone to him. Then the loss of his sister. Her killer, pardoned by Katherine Steiner-Davion, had killed his only remaining family member and then paroled the man that had committed the crime. Since then all he had lived for was wrapped up in the events that were to follow this day.
The downfall of Katherine Steiner-Davion.
“Katya,” he said on the command channel. “I show us closing in on the LZ. Are you set and clear?” In their efforts to confuse the enemy even more, Katya Chaffee had drawn a critical role. She was not a MechWarrior by trade, but today would be piloting a ’Mech. It was a big one, hopefully safe for her.
“Roger that, General,” she came back in the speakers in his neurohelmet. “I’m showing us on drop-stand-by. I’ve got this beast ready for action. I sure hope you picked the right person for this.”
Archer allowed himself a chuckle. “It’s got to
be safer than piloting a command vehicle out there.”
“You’d think,” she replied. Archer suddenly heard a metallic grinding and saw the drop door in front of his Penetrator open up. Dirt and dust were kicking up. He could make out the forms of the cliff-tops where the landing zone was located. In the distance was the outlined shapes of Portsmouth City about a kilometer away. Warning lights came on in his cockpit. Yellow—prep for debarkation.
He switched to the channel for the rest of the command company. “Avengers, stand by for deployment.”
The light went green. The safety harnesses came free on his Penetrator and he tapped the foot-pedals. The gyro feedback was stable as he leaned forward slightly. They were in the right place, that was for sure. “Alright, Avengers, standard deployment, just like we practiced. Recon lance deploy to the north, command to follow.”
He stepped out onto the ramp and in three steps was on Avalon Island. Almost immediately he heard the familiar ping and thump of small arms fire slapping his BattleMech’s torso. Pivoting at the waist, Archer saw the source, a small building near the LZ. Infantry, huddled inside, were firing at him despite the odds.
Waste of perfectly good infantry. He brought his pulse lasers online and using his joystick, swept the targeted reticle onto the small building. Archer didn’t wait for a weapons lock. Hitting his secondary target trigger, he unleashed a burst of crimson energy bolts into the building. The small stone and brick structure seemed to pop. Smoke and steam rose from the debris. It didn’t stand a chance, nor had the men hiding in there.
“Sit Rep,” he queried on the command channel.
“Sir, we’ve secured all five LZ’s,” came back Katya’s voice. We are showing indications of substantially more troops present than we anticipated. Saber Beach LZ reports that two companies of troops, ’Mechs and armor attempted to swarm their LZ upon landing. Similar reports coming in from the White Tigers at Halo LZ.”
“Sounds like someone knew we were coming,” he replied, moving his Penetrator out to deploy. The Little Sorrell’s turrets were firing at some targets off in the distance, too far for him to make out even with the visual enhancements of his T&T system. Whatever it was, it was firing back at the DropShip, no minor accomplishment. Maybe our little bluff worked after all.
He switched to the broad command channel and set his comm unit to scramble. “Specter One to Avengers,” he snapped as he angled further away from the DropShip. “Move out to your assigned targets. Be warned, we are getting signs of reinforced troops in the area.” He then sent an encoded message back to the command post near Portland for Prince Victor and his people.
“Red Rover, Red Rover.”
• • •
Jackson Davion stared at the multiple reports scrolling by his screen. The map of the area showed the landing zones. Five, possibly six. Multiple reports of deploying ’Mechs. Despite moving in the reserve 4th Avalon Militia, a unit mostly made up of reservists and veterans, it was clear that something was going on in Portland and that they were facing the invasion of Avalon Island.
Possibly…
Behind him, arms crossed defiantly, Katrina Steiner-Davion stood brewing. “So, Jackson, is this it or some sort of ruse on the part of Victor?”
Jackson didn’t look at her; he kept his eyes focused on the reports. “Someone is hitting Portsmouth, which is what Simon had predicted. It seems to be multiple regiments, but right now there is a lot of confusion. We’ve tossed in the 4th Avalon Militia, which is wreaking some havoc with whoever is landing there, but we can’t be sure if this is a diversion or the real McCoy.”
“Well, troops are deploying. Isn’t that enough?” Her tone was demanding, it always was demanding.
Jackson didn’t waver. “If it’s a diversion, Highness, it could have us shifting troops that we need elsewhere.”
“You’re my Marshal of the Armies. What do you recommend?”
“Patience,” Jackson replied. “Until we are sure.”
• • •
The Militia Gallowglas swept behind the water reservoir tank just as it fired off its ER PPC. Archer winced as the bolt of blue energy stabbed outward at his Penetrator. The shot went just a little wide of his right leg, but an arc from the blast of manmade charged particle burst seared the paint on his knee joint. A small residual arc of blue electrical charge danced up the thigh of his ’Mech. Too damn close.
Archer swept the opposite direction and brought his medium pulse lasers on-line to the second and third target interlock circuits. The Gallowglas had gutted a Hitman from his command company, leaving it a smoldering heap tossed into the side of an apartment building. He had been chasing it for ten minutes and was not about to lose it now. As the Gallowglas rounded the far side of the water tank, Archer locked on half of his pulse lasers—three of them—and fired.
The shots were not aimed at the militiaman, but at the base of the water tank. It was a city reserve tank, probably for fire control. He didn’t want to target it, but this was the final fight. Now was not the time to hold back. Katya will castigate me for this afterwards. The crimson bolts stabbed at the thin metallic skin of the tank and suddenly it collapsed. The rush of water was nearly 20 feet tall and slapped into the side of the Gallowglas. The MechWarrior fought the sudden imbalance, but it hit the side of his left leg with such force it was almost impossible. He fell sideways into a ten-story office building, sending a shower of glass and metal raining down onto the street below.
General Christifori didn’t hesitate. He unleashed the remaining pulse lasers at the suddenly stationary target. The scarlet bursts of light stitched the frontal glacial plate of the round cockpit. At first they seemed to do no damage at all, then the cockpit popped like a balloon. It imploded under the burst and instantly charred black inside. Smoke billowed from the holes made by the laser bursts, wisp-like, marking the end of the ’Mech. The heat in his cockpit had risen slightly, enough to make him start to sweat for the first time in a few minutes.
“Scratch that tally-ho I called,” he said on the comm channel.
“Roger that,” came back Katya’s voice. “We just managed to drive out that Demon tank that was pulling the hit and run. Chalk that up to the White Tigers. Fraser has the MA devices running. Anyone scanning this area of the city without our filters is going to think that we have another twenty ’Mechs running around here.”
“I wasn’t planning on this militia,” Archer said as he angled his Penetrator down a wide boulevard. Some small arms fire, mostly manpack PPC’s, danced out ahead three blocks, signs of another firefight.
“Orders sir?”
“Let’s give them something to see. Katya, deploy into the city. Let them see you,” he said.
The ’Mech appeared a few moments later. He saw it first on his tactical display. It was massive, a Daishi. Lumbering down the street, in its blue and white paint scheme complete with silver piping, he saw it approach and felt the streets rumble slightly under each thundering footstep. The plan had been to deploy the ’Mech and a few other decoys. This one was special, and Katya was piloting it.
The ’Mech was painted to look exactly like the one piloted by Prince Victor.
“Got you on my scopes,” he said.
“Roger that,” she replied, firing a burst down the street in the direction where he saw fighting. Apparently from her angle she had a shot. “Looks hot down there.”
“Yes, it does. You head down that street, I’ll take your flank. Let that enemy infantry get a good look at you before you open fire. Then blast them.”
“Why the pause?”
He juked his Penetrator out to the middle of the open street for a better angle as he watched a missed short range missile snake into the air, run out of propellant, then drop into the side of a building, blasting a hole in the fifth floor. Flames lapped up from the hole.
“I want them to have time to signal their command that Prince Victor is on the field. Then they need to be put down. You have a war to win,Highness.”
> He heard her chuckle.
• • •
Jackson Davion stared at the image that was being relayed from the suburb of Portsmouth. That was the ’Mech—that damned Daishi. Prometheus. He had seen it before, studied the images from other battlefields. Too many other battlefields. It meant something. Victor. He was there, in Portsmouth. Reports from his sentries and infantry troops with scanning gear indicated there was at least three regiments operating there, possibly more.
Yes, it could be deception. That was why he had called in Simon Gallagher.
“So, is that him?” he asked, stabbing his finger at the freeze-frame image of the massive BattleMech.
“I have reports of a highly painted up and modified Centurion leading the strike on our satellite relay facility at Reamuth.”
“Yen-lo-wang?” Kai Allard’s deadly ’Mech.
“If the reports are accurate, and I have little reason to doubt them,” Gallagher replied. “Taking out that facility is the kind of mission that Victor would send his trusted friend to lead, don’t you agree?”
Jackson said nothing for a moment. Instead, he stared at the image of Prometheus looming on the holographic display in front of him. He wanted to believe that this was a diversion, a ploy. But it appeared to be a direct assault. Moving in the Fourth Avalon Militia had stalled the assault, bought him time to confirm who it was. Victor, Christifori, and the others had been in the city for an hour now. There was still time to drive them into the sea.
“Final recommendations, Simon?”
The older man flinched. “I believe this is the main assault.”
“So do I,” Jackson replied. That is what makes me nervous. “Very well.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What I’m supposed to do: my duty. I’m sending our front-line units straight at Portsmouth. I will crush them because if I don’t, Victor will do the same to me.”
BattleTech Page 24
