He had reviewed the situation tactically and knew that it would be difficult to take the base because he was outnumbered. Computer simulation indicated less than a fortyfive percent chance of success, but Trent was counting on a few things even the Clan battle computers could not factor in. Timing would be the key to victory. With that thought, he pressed the keypad on the cockpit console and overlaid the image of a digital clock on the secondary display. It slowly ticked off the remaining minutes before battle would commence.
Trent signaled his small force to stop at the top of the last ridge before they reached the HPG compound. Lucas in his Hatamoto-Chi was on his right, while on his left was Deleon in his isorla Komodo, sending up a flurry of dust as he came to a halt. On his far right flank were the rest of the solahma under his command. The ever-arrogant Krista in her dark maroon Gallowglas, Geronimo in his Daikyu, and Winchester's incredibly light and fragile Venom, missing paint where its armor plating had been replaced. Trent surveyed them, then checked the chronometer display in the cockpit.
"You all know the plan and the risks associated with it, I know that some of you are viewing this as a chance to die with honor in battle. Remember that victory is the most important thing here. Whether you live or die today, your codexes will reflect the honor with which you fought to protect our Clan from its enemies." He glanced again at the time display. "Jaguars, attack!"
They raced up the ridge and cleared it in unison. The compound lay before them. Surrounded by a hexagonal dull gray stone wall, the five structures composing the facility appeared impenetrable until Trent spied the holes where the Marauders had blasted their way through. Inside the base, moving to firing positions behind the waist-high walls, the remaining BattleMechs of the mercenary unit prepared to weather the assault.
Trent fired his PPCs at the largest of the 'Mechs as the rest of the Jaguars rushed toward the compound, each one with weapons blazing. The brilliant blue bolts of man-made lightning hit a Marauder Atlas in its upper chest just below the skull-like head, sending armor plating ricocheting off in every direction as the bolts seared their way in.
Two minutes, Trent noted as he moved down the ridge. In front of him Deleon's squat Komodo stopped and opened up on a lanky Quickdraw with his ten medium lasers. The scarlet beams reached up and over the defensive wall, and sliced the right arm off the Quickdraw, but not before the mercenary let go a salvo of missiles that seemed to swallow the Komodo and showered Trent with dirt clods and debris.
The Gallowglas and Daikyu poured their destructive energies into the defensive wall, blasting most of it away in a single salvo, pushing debris back onto a smaller mercenary Sentinel. Trent raised his targeting reticule as the Atlas, now recovered from his attack, returned the favor. The Gauss rifle slug hit his Mech's right leg with such force that it nearly knocked him off balance, but he fought the Marauder II's controls and kept it upright—just in time for the wave of missiles and lasers to hit.
His secondary display showed yellow all over his upper torso and shoulders where his armor had been mangled in the attack. Trent brought his PPCs and LB-X autocannon on the same target interlock, firing the moment he heard the lock tone in the neurohelmet speakers. The damage was mostly on the left side of the fearsome Atlas, smoke billowing from the holes where his PPCs had cut deep. Trent swallowed hard as the heat level in his cockpit spiked for a moment. This was an Inner Sphere 'Mech, not Clan equipment, and it was much more susceptible to the dangers of overheating.
The Atlas fired again, hitting again with its Gauss rifle, the slug twisting and ripping armor as it tore a gouge into the upper leg of Trent's 'Mech. From his cockpit he saw a Thunderbolt lay a deadly salvo into Winchester's Venom. The light 'Mech staggered for a moment, then crumpled, its leg struts giving out under the weight of the undamaged portions of the 'Mech. There was a brief flash of explosion as it fell, and Trent knew that the pilot inside had died. Lucas stood over the fallen Venom in his Hatamoto-Chi and avenged Winchester with every weapon he had. The Thunderbolt pilot lost his balance under the barrage and fell, the 'Mech disappearing behind the rampart wall.
A wave of missiles jarred Trent's Marauder II as he tried to locate the Atlas through the smoke and dust that now filled the air. The missiles slammed into his torso, ripping armor plating and throwing one of his heat sinks off line.
One minute, he thought as he glanced at the chronometer on the secondary display. The Atlas moved closer to the defensive wall and suddenly broke through the wave of smoke. Trent fired at the same time the mercenary MechWarrior did, their shots passing each other in less than a heartbeat. This time the Atlas missed, the Gauss round slamming into the ridge next to Trent and instantly gouging out a crater. The enemy 'Mech's lasers and missiles found their mark, however, pitting and demolishing even more of Trent's precious armor, causing his own PPC shots to swerve and break off of target.
He swung the Marauder II around and saw the damage he had inflicted. The Atlas' skull-like cockpit was badly burned, with a long black scar running diagonally across its surface. Deleon's Komodo and Lucas in his Hatamoto-Chi advanced toward the hole in the wall, firing blindly at the defenders on the other side as they pumped every bit of their firepower out at the Smoke Jaguars. The Komodo wavered under a steady stream of autocannon and laser fire, its armor literally shredding and flying off backward as it seemed to evaporate into thin air. There was an explosion, then the 'Mech was no more.
Trent concentrated on his own foe. His Marauder II carried only one more salvo for its autocannon, and Trent knew it was better to use the ammo than risk having it explode. Activating the weapon, he sent a long stream of autocannon rounds up the surface of the wall in front of his enemy, then into the torso of the Atlas itself. He held his aim steady and true as the autocannon rounds burrowed into the internal workings of the Atlas, blasting myomer and reactor shielding on the way.
The Atlas wavered, sending another Gauss rifle slug streaking out and into his right leg, making the Marauder II quake violently under the impact. He glanced at the secondary display and smiled inside the neurohelmet at what he saw on the digital time readout. Now ...
Suddenly from the other side of the compound came a deafening roar that penetrated even the soundproof BattleMechs. The DropShip Dhava, flying low and fast, swept across the HPG compound only a dozen meters above the transmitter dish. Its turrets cut downward at the defenders from the rear. The 'Mech bays opened and Star Commander Allen's Elemental Marines leaped out, their leg jets flaming fully to slow their descent. They dropped down quickly onto the mercenary BattleMechs, firing their short-range missiles as they went, then grappling with the 'Mechs as they landed. The Dhava swung away, but in the confusion, Trent and the rest of his force were able to race forward through the gaping hole and directly into the compound. The sudden chaos had worked perfectly in their favor—just as he had planned it.
The battle was over from that moment, and there was no one on Pivot Prime who did not know it. The fighting lasted another five minutes or so as the suddenly panicked mercenaries tried to rally, then flee. The Atlas Trent had so viciously engaged attempted to rush him, but Trent charged also, slamming into the mercenary with such force and skill that the Atlas, or what was left of it, fell down, its gyro too badly mauled for the 'Mech to stand.
Geronimo's Daikyu had run out of ammunition but kept on fighting, engaging in a slugging match against the Thunderbolt, which had gotten back on its feet. The mercenary's last attack, a deadly punch, had gone through the cockpit of the Daikyu, sending up a black greasy cloud of smoke as Geronimo died, crushed instantly under the impact. The moment Geronimo was dead, Trent declared the Thunderbolt as his own and opened up with both his PPCs. There was a flash of a large laser, a brilliant emerald beam that seared into his Marauder II, then there was nothing, deadly silence. The Thunderbolt dropped, its chest section ripped wide open and pumping bright green coolant over the hot and torn armor. The Daikyu, still stuck onto the mercenary 'Mech's fist, went down with it.
>
* * *
Trent looked around at the debris that had been the battle site an hour earlier and rubbed his neck to relieve the tension. Smoke still spiraled from the fallen BattleMechs, and the compound technicians and MedTechs moved about, caring for the wounded or tending to the damage done. Judith was there, studying the staggering damage his Marauder II had taken.
Star Commander Allen stood at his side as the MedTechs went off bearing Deleon's charred remains on a stretcher. Trent looked down and saw the odd look of serenity on the burned flesh that had been a face only a few minutes earlier. The Elemental at his side rested his hand on his shoulder.
"Your plan was well laid, Star Captain," Allen said.
"And executed," Trent replied nodding to his comrade warrior. Those who died did so with honor—Deleon, Geronimo, Winchester, and the others who might never recover from their wounds.
"Thank you for allowing me to fight again in true battle. Such pleasures are rare for me." Trent was about to tell Allen that no thanks were needed between fellow warriors when the MedTechs passed with another stretcher, this one bearing a man in a white jumpsuit with the ComStar logo on one sleeve. The injured man was soaked in blood and was almost as white as his uniform, but somehow still conscious. Judith came up alongside Trent and looked down at the man on the stretcher, who locked eyes with her.
"I know you, Judith—Judith Faber ..." he said, attempting to reach for her.
"Precentor Purdon," she said softly. Trent saw the pain on her face, a flash of memories of her life before the Clans. "I am just Judith now. I am a bondsman of the Smoke Jaguars." It was obvious that the use of her former surname had disturbed her.
The man on the stretcher coughed painfully. "It's true, then, what I've heard. Some said you were MIA, but others said you'd changed colors. That you'd turned against us. You're a traitor!" he said, coughing so hard that his whole body shook.
"Neg," she replied. "I am part of Clan Smoke Jaguar now."
The injured man's voice was weaker, almost fading at moments. "No, you're worse than a traitor. It's not just ComStar you've turned against, but the . .. the whole Inner Sphere."
Trent nodded for the stretcher to be carried away, but the man's eyes continued to glare at Judith even as the MedTechs hurried off with him.
"You are not a traitor, Judith," Star Commander Allen said firmly, seeing the look of pain on her face.
"Neg," she said, looking at Trent. "I am not a traitor."
Trent nodded, understanding her hidden meaning. Neither was he a traitor. Not yet.
25
DropShip Dhava
Huntress
Kerensky Cluster, Clan Space
19 February 3056
Trent looked out of the DropShip Dhava's viewing port into the globular cluster that hid the Clan homeworlds and saw the flicker of reflection that was the recharging station they had left several days earlier. Docked to it, he knew, was the Admiral Andrews. From what Star Commander Allen had told him, the ship was due for a month-long overhaul before beginning the return trip to the Inner Sphere.
It was a return trip that Trent was also determined to make. Moving his gaze downward, he saw the green and blue planet growing larger below them as the Dhava sped closer for a landing only a few hours away. Huntress. The home of Clan Smoke Jaguar. After almost a year of travel, during which he and Judith had secretly gathered data on every jump and star along the way, they had finally arrived in Clan space. Now, all they had to do was get back to the Inner Sphere with their precious data.
The sway of light gravity as the DropShip spun was enough to let him take a seat in the small observation lounge. Judith sat there too, quietly drinking in the same view of the Jaguar homeworld. The door to the small room opened, and the giant figure of Star Commander Allen filled the doorway as he bent his head enough to clear the portal.
"Welcome to Huntress," he said proudly. "It is a magnificent sight, is it not?"
Trent nodded. "This is my first time here. I noticed that the ship's computer included no maps of the planet."
Allen nodded. "Security protocols prohibit any of our ships from carrying maps of any Clan world."
"A wise precaution," Judith said sagely. "Should anyone from the Inner Sphere get his hands on knowledge of Clan space, they might use it to strike at our homeworlds;" She spoke in her most loyal Smoke Jaguar tone.
"Aff," Allen returned. "And the risks are real. For some time during our trip here I suspected a spy, or at least a murderer."
Trent's heart raced. "Neg! A spy in our midst?"
"Aff," Allen continued. "A tech named Miles was killed in the jump drive core. It could have been an accident or it could have been murder. I investigated, but the only one of his contacts we were able to verify throughout the day was with you, Star Captain."
"Me?" Trent said. "Impossible. I do not even know a tech named Miles. But I do remember you mentioning the incident just before the action on Pivot Prime."
"Aye. The very one. It is possible that Miles did not die a natural death, but you certainly had no hand in it either. I would stake my life on that," Allen said. "I have come to know and respect you during our long voyage together, Star Captain. You are an honorable man."
"So, was it murder?" Judith said quickly.
Allen shrugged. "I judged it to be accident. If it was murder, he was most likely killed by one of his own caste. No matter how closely we monitor security, members of the lower castes sometimes lack control. His loss is a waste of resources, but in the end he was merely a freebirth tech."
The Dhava rolled just then, bringing the planet into view. Allen's eyes turned back to the image of Huntress through the viewing port. "Look, you can see the green waters of Lake Osis from here." He pointed to the largest continent.
"Tell me more about Huntress, Star Commander," Trent said, relieved that he was not under suspicion in the death of the Tech Miles. He was also pleased that Judith had held her tongue at the freebirth comment, remembering her station in the Clan.
Allen nodded. "The largest continent is where our people live. It is called Jaguar Prime. The, other, smaller continent is Abysmal and is aptly named. It is mostly barren desert, and the only thing there is a small training base.
"We will be putting down in the capital city of Lootera. Someone told me that is the Hindu word for predator. A fine name, quiaff? Lootera is on the eastern coast, sitting at the point where the Black Shikari River runs into the Dhundh Sea. It is a fine city, a tribute to the suffering and sacrifices by which our people survived and flourished. Overlooking the city is Mount Szabo. From anywhere in the city you can look up and see the mountain. It is truly stunning and a reminder that the Smoke Jaguar rules Huntress."
Trent nodded. He had heard of Mount Szabo. Carved into the face of the steep peak overlooking Lootera was a lunging jaguar, symbol of Clan Smoke Jaguar. Etched and lasered into a nearly two-hundred-meter high rock face, the image was lit at night and visible just below the cloud line. He had heard many stories of how impressive was the sight.
"The genetic repository is in Lootera, is it not?" Trent had not had to think of Jez or her giftake for months. He had deliberately put the whole business out of his mind, but that was no longer possible.
"Aye," Allen replied. "I have never been inside, but I have admired the building often. It is at the base of Mount Szabo, a pyramid marked with an eternal flame. If you are in the Warrior Quarter, it is hard to miss."
Trent rose and looked at Judith. "We have much to do. I must ready our warriors for arrival. I am to turn them over to the garrison commander." Thoughts of Jez stirred memories of fire and burning flesh. He walked out of the room. It was time to prepare himself for landing on the homeworld of the Smoke Jaguars.
* * *
Trent had called his command together in the ship's 'Mech bay. Gathered around him were the remaining solahma warriors, each wearing his or her pristine gray dress uniform. The BattleMechs standing silently in their storage bays spoke of
the battle they had fought on Pivot, the 'Mechs burned and badly damaged in the fight against the mercenaries on Pivot Prime. They were secured and barely moved as the DropShip brought them down to the surface of Huntress.
At the head of the line stood Krista, a scar running down her cheek from the fighting on Pivot. She had survived, as had Lucas, though his survival had been uncertain for two long days while the MedTechs tended to him. A full pace behind them stood Marcus and the others who had not tested out to pilot 'Mechs. Trent was proud of his small command, and saw that his training and their stand on Pivot had restored some of their pride and confidence.
"Ten, hut!" he barked. His warriors snapped to attention.
Trent took his position at the head of the formation and began to lead their march with the same drilling precision he had learned in his sibko. He led the way to the unloading door and out onto the soil of Huntress.
The air outside was heavy, full of moisture and unfamiliar smells. On the tarmac, the techs were busy unloading the Dhava of her cargo. They did not seem to notice Trent and the handful of warriors coming down the ramp. The city of Lootera rose in the distance, but what Trent could see was disappointing.
The only thing that seemed to stand out was the peak of Mount Szabo to the north. On its face was the enormous carved image of the Smoke Jaguar looming over the city. It is gray and bleak. I expected so much more after all the talk I have heard of this place.
There was a small band of Jaguar warriors in the distance, standing and talking among themselves, barely noticing either the DropShip or Trent and his little group. Trent marched toward them, back ramrod-straight and head held high. He stopped less than five meters from three officers and went to full attention. He waited while the bright sun beat down on them and drew a sweat from the real skin on the left side of his face. Finally, the officers turned to him, and the sight of one of them lit a deep angry fire in Trent.
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