5
Niederwald Crater
Hyner
Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zone
14 July 3052
The week was like a blur in Trent's mind. The work of rebuilding his physical endurance was not going as rapidly as he had hoped. On several occasions, he had passed out from over-exertion, but he ignored the MedTechs when they tried to slow him down. Trent knew this was not the moment to reduce his effort, but the time to go further and farther than ever before.
His bondsman had done a good job of readying his new Timber Wolf, though it would be hard to tell by its outer appearance alone. The Wolf was newly armored, but there had been no time for his bondsman to give it a special paint scheme. All it could boast was a dull, gray-green coat of primer, which in its own way gave the Omni a unique look.
Trent was pleased with how well it handled, especially since Judith had virtually no experience with Clan technology. She'd worked hard, approaching the task from a warrior's perspective. More than once he'd visited her for status reports and found her sitting in the cockpit not just running diagnostics on new systems, but trying them out in ways that no mere technician could do. It was a bonus he had not counted on, and he respected her for it.
As he stood next to the portable gantry overlooking the Niederwald Crater, he saw that the task before him was far from easy. A meteor had hit Hyner ages before mankind ever thought of exploring space. The crater itself was five kilometers in diameter and its sides and bottom were strewn with rugged boulders, loose rocks, and dry scrub brush. The contest for the Howell bloodname was being held on Hyner because the rim of the crater offered spectators good protection, and the terrain of the basin was perfect for the close infighting typical of a Grand Melee.
Brandon Howell, the current head of the Howell Blood House, had selected the location. As the leader of the Howell line, the choice of the venue was his alone to make. Fortunately for Trent, the journey to the crater was a short one, a transit of only ten hours to the equatorial region where it was located.
The circle of spectators would form the Circle of Equals. Crossing that line after the start of the match would end one's chances in the Trial. Unlike the Falcons and Wolf Clans, the Smoke Jaguars preferred their Melees to be held in places where combat, not exit from the field, would determine victors and losers.
The other participants were poised all around the rim, and there was a large gathering of spectators. Most were other warriors, a small handful of them there because they had already been sponsored for the upcoming Trials for the Howell bloodname. Trent saw the slender, cat-like Jez among them, standing alone. These observers were here to see and take the measure of a potential opponent.
Trent grabbed the handhold on the leg of the Timber Wolf with his semi-artificial hand as Judith inspected the ankle joints and feet of the 'Mech one more time. He had admired her on the field, and now was pleased to see her adapting well to the Jaguars thus far. The Master Technician had brought him none of the reports of insolence that might have been expected from an Inner Sphere bondsman. In fact, according to Phillip, he was worried that she was adapting too well.
Trent had merely grunted when Phillip made that comment. His only thought was that freebirths must have addled brains to spend their time speculating in such an illogical manner.
She walked over to him, slipping a noteputer into her pocket as she approached. "I have completed my work, Star Captain. There is no more to be done now."
Trent nodded, noting that her Clan dialect and speech was improving. He turned his attention to the crater and the inspectors who were making their way out of it, a sign that the fight would soon begin. "You have done well, Judith," he said carefully. He might have said more, but knew it best to withhold the praise.
"I did what was required of me." There was no pride in her voice, only an expression of duty.
"As a bondsman, that is what is expected of you."
"You are going to go down there and take them all on at once," she said, gesturing to the open maw of the crater. "I've watched you all week as well. The technicians who run the simulator say your scores were impressive despite still being on the mend from Tukayyid. Are you ready for this?"
"You will address me as Star Captain, bondsman, but given your work this week, I shall overlook this mistake. And to answer your question, aye, I am ready to secure my place in the Howell bloodline. The winner of this Grand Melee, the sole survivor, obtains the open slot for the formal bloodname competition. Then, through successive rounds of combat trials, a winner will emerge, one destined to carry the bloodname of Howell."
Judith looked out over the crater, following his gaze. "It is similar to the open arena matches on Solaris VII. I should think the key to winning would be survival more than inflicting damage, at least early on in the battle."
The mention of Solaris made Trent wince in disgust, but only the left side of his face registered any expression. The synthskin on the right attempted to wince with the left, but was more rigid, as if it were a cast mask. "Your Game World, this Solaris VII, will not exist when the Clans complete their liberation of the Inner Sphere. To compare it with the glory and honor of the Grand Melee is to belittle our traditions. You will learn this over time, bondsman.
"But you are correct in your statement that survival is the key in the Melee. I have run many simulations in the past week, trying to find the best way to survive the fighting. It would be early death for me to give in to the temptation to fight like the Jaguar."
"What do you mean?" Judith asked. "What is it to fight like a Jaguar?"
Trent looked at her, up at his 'Mech, and then out over the vast expanse of the crater once more. "Since my first day in the sibko I have been raised to fight with the heart of the Smoke Jaguar. Strike quick, fight strong, kill fast. It is the way of the Jaguar warrior and the style of fighting we engage in during trials and combat. The Remembrance tells us we have three strengths: "The jaguar's spring that brings the enemy down, The jaguar's claws that rend the enemy's heart, The jaguar's taste for the enemy's hot blood.'
"On Tukayyid, however, I learned a truth I will not soon forget. The way of the Jaguar warrior must include the cunning of the beast that gives us our name. The Jaguar is a hunter as well as a fierce fighter. He does not always rush in fast and furious, but measures his foe and plans what tactics might defeat him. This will be the key to my victory here."
Judith nodded, and gave him a long look, as though observing something she had not seen before. Trent picked up his neurohelmet and began the climb up to the Timber Wolfs cockpit. As he rose, he never heard Judith wish him luck.
* * *
Trent began the competition some one hundred meters down from the edge where the spectators stood. He had heard the formal proclamation of the opening of the ceremony over his headset, but he had been busy checking and rechecking every system on his refurbished Timber Wolf Its fusion reactor purred behind and under him as he scanned his nearby opponents, waiting for the flash on his secondary display to indicate the start of the competition. A Hankyu sat squatly nearby, its weapons and targeting and tracking systems concentrating on the gathering of 'Mechs near the bottom of the crater.
Poised to his left was a Cauldron-Born. This heavier OmniMech was of more concern. His sensors told him it was a Class A configuration, mounting a deadly Ultra Auto-cannon and two large lasers outfitted for extended range. And, unlike the Hankyu, the Cauldron-Born seemed to be scanning him.
The signal flashed on his display in bright red—the signal to begin the Melee. Trent's heart seemed to skip a beat when he saw it. Every muscle tensed as he swung his targeting reticule onto the Cauldron-Born, which had already begun to rush toward him. The other thirty-one 'Mechs taking part in the competition rushed forward and down into the crater, making the ground vibrate with a steady groaning tremor.
Trent's mind flashed for a moment to his last battle and the rumble of missiles exploding around him on Tukayyid. A chilled sweat rose over his
body as he pushed the memory away. No, this time would be different. With his mostly artificial arm and hand holding the joystick, Trent nodded to himself, resolve stronger than ever. It had to be different. . ..
His long-range missiles let go the instant he obtained a target-lock. They raced out across the open crater field of broken rocks and dry tumbleweeds, lancing into the front of the stout Cauldron-Born just as its warrior was slowing to a firing stance. The warheads made a distant popping sound, but Trent paid no heed. Instead he moved backward on the hillside, making his Timber Wolf a more difficult target. Even the bright flashes of discharging PPC fire and missile blasts from the cloud rising down in the heart of the crater did not shatter his concentration.
The Cauldron-Born pilot let go with his pair of ER large lasers combined with a medium laser. The brilliant red beams stabbed through the wisps of white smoke that rose from his missile hits, scarring the hillside around him. The two large lasers missed their mark, but the medium laser was dead on, striking just to the left of Trent's cockpit like a sword cut. Trent heard the sick sound of armor plating sizzling and blowing off. The slight spike in temperature told him the shot was very close to his cockpit. The synthskin on his arm and face seemed to tingle with the rise in heat, and felt like a thousand spiders crawling across his arm and face.
Trent watched his secondary display, switching it to tactical mode to show the placement of the other 'Mechs. Most of the fighting was below him in the bowels of the crater. The Hankyu was moving down to join the fray, at least for now. Trent continued to move backward, keeping the distance between him and the Cauldron-Born. If Trent let the other 'Mech get too close, he'd be at the mercy of its Ultra Autocannon. And he did not plan on doing that.
He let go a volley of missiles again, this time combined with his own lasers. Trent had aimed low, hoping to inflict the most damage into the legs of the 'Mech closing in on him. One laser missed, the other hit above the Cauldron's right leg knee, the leg that was higher on the crater wall. The Cauldron-Born fired its autocannon as the missiles slammed into their mark. Behind it was a flash of light from the other melee contestants, the signal that a fusion reactor had gone critical.
The first two autocannon rounds whizzed past Trent's right side just past the cockpit. He began to twist the Timber Wolfs torso as the rest of the rounds began to slam into his right and center torso. The Ultra Autocannon was a deadly weapon system, and the Cauldron-Born pilot was obviously a skilled marksman. The shots shook and rattled the Timber Wolf as if it were caught in a hurricane. The whole 'Mech swayed under the shuddering impact of the rounds, and Trent listed forward, leaning into the incoming fire to keep the giant war machine from falling.
The stream of shells moved suddenly upward, one hitting the massive shoulder missile rack, the others then passing into the crater wall and some even higher. Trent turned and was readying another salvo when he saw why the weapons fire had stopped. The Cauldron-Born had stumbled onto one leg, the left, on the edge of the crater, then it had teetered and fallen down, sending its shot wide. Trent's concentration of missile fire against the Cauldron's legs had been enough to make the pilot lose his or her balance, which sent the 'Mech roaring down into the crater amid a spray of rocks, dust, and shattered armor plating as the 'Mech tumbled.
A glance at his tactical readout showed Trent another 'Mech approaching from below—most likely jumping upward toward him. The Timber Wolfs armor had been badly damaged in the previous attack, but he was still holding the high ground. Locking onto the incoming 'Mech he saw that it was the Hankyu emerging from the battle below, and about to land on him at almost point-blank range.
At 30 tons, the Hankyu was not an ominous threat, but its range would all but eliminate Trent's use of missiles. Trent moved backward up the crater wall, struggling to keep the Timber Wolf upright on the incline. A flicker on his internal sensors showed a problem with his left hip actuator. The light flickered on, then off again, and the leg seemed slightly sluggish. How could it be damaged already? The Mech had not taken any hits to the area.
The Hankyu landed just seventy meters below him, its array of short-range missiles and small laser shooting up the hillside at Trent. Half the missiles dug into the rocks some ten meters in front of him, while the others plowed into his legs, going off like fireworks and shaking the Timber Wolf like a ground quake. The laser and flamer lapped up at him, hitting his left and center torsos. The cockpit temperature spiked with the hit, and Trent broke out into a beady, wet sweat.
He swung his machine guns on line with the target interlock circuits on his firing joystick and dropped the targeting reticule squarely on the head of the Hankyu, perfectly outlined between the shoulder missile racks. Trent fired both weapons in a steady barrage, the armor-piercing bullets and flaming orange tracers slamming into the cockpit dead on. Under normal conditions the machine guns were virtually useless, but at this range, they were perfect for in-fighting.
Trent stopped his backward crawl up the crater and brought his recharged laser on-line, sweeping it into the same targeting position as the Hankyu reeled from the direct hits to its cockpit. Trent fired again as the Hankyu let go with another wild salvo of short-range missiles. His single medium pulse laser burrowed in exactly where the machine guns had done their damage, penetrating the cockpit viewport with a stream of ruby-red light. The cockpit held, if only for a second, then seemed to implode. He saw the explosion and fire at the same instant that the wall of SRMs splattered his Timber Wolf.
The damage display showed that none of the missiles had done serious damage, but had spread out all over the 'Mech, hitting its arms, torso, and legs. Trent saw the flicker on the hip actuator turn into a steady red glow on the outline of his 'Mech, and he bit at his lower lip in consternation. The loss of the hip actuator meant that walking, already tricky enough against the steep angle of the crater, would be more tricky. He glanced at the Hankyu just in time to see it tip backward—its head cockpit in flames and belching black and green smoke as it fell. There was no sign of ejection, and Trent knew that his shot had been true.
Checking his secondary monitor, he saw that he was still operational but had been peppered badly by the battle thus far. Four damaged tubes had shut down in one of his shoulder missile racks, but his armor, which had been mangled almost everywhere, had thus far not been breached. Except for the damaged actuator, he was still a formidable foe.
The short-range sensors told him that the battle was continuing to rage in the pit of the crater below him, with over half of the participants already shut down or dead. That was fine. His position on the outskirts of the fighting was a good one. Rushing into the middle of that chaos of fire and death was not how the Grand Melee was to be won.
On his flank a Nova rose on its jump jets and landed at his same relative depth on the crater's slope. The Nova pilot must also have figured out that holding the high ground was the key. Trent toggled through the battle computer readout until he saw that the other 'Mech was configured in its primary mode—mounting a dozen ER medium lasers and the heat sinks to help support them. Getting in too close was going to be suicide for him.
Trent aimed higher up at the boulders and broken rocks above the advancing Nova. The ledge-like formation was impassable but could be used as a weapon. Just as he was about to fire, the Nova closed to its extreme range and opened up with everything it had.
The air came alive with pulses of red laser light streaking at Trent from his foe. The Timber Wolfs legs and weapons pods vibrated as their armor shredded under the impact, and Trent fought the controls as the 'Mech teetered under the assault. One laser slammed into the side of his cockpit and a throbbing ripple of neural energy pulsed between his eyes, fed back through the neurohelmet. Trent closed his eyes in agony, fighting the sensation of vertigo and nausea that was common with such a cockpit hit. He watched as his communications system shorted out, leaving a faint odor of ozone in the air.
His missile barrage of thirty-six long-range warheads rac
ed outward not seeking the Nova, but the rock face above it. Hitting immobile rocks was much easier than aiming at a moving and firing enemy. The entire section and its boulders erupted in a cloud of smoke and dust before the advancing pilot could react. The landslide raced downward at the Nova, catching it squarely and pushing its legs down the hill while the upper body seemed to remain in the same place. The pilot fought hard to maintain his or her balance, but it was a hopeless cause. The Nova dropped hard, but only slid a few meters before coming to a stop, leaving a trail of broken and shattered armor plating on the rocks and dirt. Almost immediately, the Nova warrior began the process of trying to right the 'Mech.
Trent decided to move further back, to get out of the range of the Nova's weapons should it get upright. As he tried to take a step, the hip actuator locked up, refusing to move. The Timber Wolf rocked as a new ripple of heat rose in the cockpit. Stravag! He tried again, throttling more power to the legs of the BattleMech's myomer muscles, but the hip refused to move, and the incredible shaking almost made him lose his balance.
He was unable to move the 'Mech. If he was going to win, he would have to do it from here.
He locked back onto the Nova at the same time that the other 'Mech regained its feet. This time he let go with a wall of laserfire and his own deadly array of missiles. The lasers hit first, gouging the left leg of the Nova just shy of the hip, the leg that had borne the brunt of its fall. Green coolant splattered and sizzled onto the bright brown rocks like blood as his weapons dug deeply. The missiles spread out all over the Nova, sending up billows of white smoke as armor plating shattered.
The Nova did not fall, but stood motionless after regaining its feet, telling Trent that he had either done considerable damage or the 'Mech was unable to move due to massive heat build up from firing all its weapons—possibly both. He tried once more to move the Timber Wolf but the hip refused to give way, frozen in place. The Nova held its fire a moment, cooling down, then it took careful aim with its right arm and unleashed another barrage of six lasers. Trent averted his eyes as half a dozen red spears of laser energy reached out for him, blasting into his OmniMech.
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