Ion Rush never flinched, having two years before come to terms with Sun-Tzu over his old ties to Candace Liao. Sun-Tzu did notice that Rush missed quick glances of suspicion from both Sasha Wanli and Talon Zahn. He studied a nearby wall hanging for a moment to allow those suspicions to take root. You are all competent people, and while I do not doubt any of your loyalties at this time it is better for me if you do not get too close to each other. More than one Inner Sphere ruler has been replaced through a conspiracy, but a conspiracy is impossible without complete trust. When he returned his gaze to the floor the concerns were past, for now, and Kali was just leaving the room.
Sasha brought an end to the awkward moment with a new thought. "Chancellor," she said, glancing at both Rush and Zahn before continuing, "you realize, I'm sure, that this assault has effectively ended the usefulness of a Capellan deep-cover operative? We must arrange an extraction, in case Candace suspects."
Pacing slowly back toward the Celestial Throne, carefully placing each foot with studied precision, Sun-Tzu nodded. "Let's not be obvious. I trust the operative will arrange for the extraction." He glanced up and read the looks of interest on the faces of both military men but did not elaborate.
Talon Zahn merely shrugged and then shifted back toward a previous topic. "From all reports, Qingliu is suffering heavy collateral damage. Do you want me to make preparations for sending in engineers and humanitarian aid?"
That was something to be considered. Every day wasted in getting relief to the world might cost the lives of Capellan citizens, but then it would also increase the moral debt owed by the St. Ives Compact. A hard balance to gauge. "No," Sun-Tzu finally said. "Wait until the Lancers are closer to folding and then arrange for it three weeks—" No, these are my people. "Two weeks past the day of liberation."
Sun-Tzu fixed them all with a hard stare as he settled back again into the Celestial Throne and smoothed the front of his silk jacket with a quick brush of his left hand. "Keep on top of things. I want no slips in security and no mistakes. A lot of our people . . .my people . .. are going to suffer for the Xin Sheng effort. I refuse to allow their sacrifice to be in vain." He nodded a dismissal, and the others withdrew from the throne room.
Alone, with only his own thoughts for company, Sun-Tzu Liao welcomed the peace as he considered the various threads that tied to his overall plan of Confederation rebirth. Many of those threads still ran together in tangle, but slowly he sorted through each one as he studied them for flaws. The pattern, he trusted, would take care of itself.
12
Qingliu, Hustaing
Sian Commonality, Capellan Confederation
26 October 3060
Autocannon fire chewed into the Grasshopper's right arm while lasers seared the air around the BattleMech. Despite a heat scale already edging into the red, Captain Warner Doles engaged his jets and rode the 'Mech up into the air on plasma streams, performing a lateral jump that would bring him deep into the cover of a thick stand of alder but do little with regard to regaining the safety of Qingliu. Not that I expect to make it back this time. In mutual and unspoken commitment, both he in his Grasshopper and Major Smithson in her Victor had formed a two-'Mech rearward defense against the forward elements of House Hiritsu, buying precious seconds while the rest of the battalion regained the city's protection.
At the apex of its jump, a new stream of autocannon fire tore into the Grasshopper's left leg. Depleted-uranium slugs cut through the last of its armor and into the internal structure beneath. The 'Mech rocked violently, the destruction of one Leviathan Lifter jump jet throwing it off balance as it dropped down barely under control. Slender, gray-barked trunks splintered and cracked as the seventy-ton 'Mech landed roughly among the alder trees, left leg bowing outward due to a damaged actuator. It stumbled, but managed to straighten itself in time to catch a flurry of scarlet laser pulses that stitched into its chest and left side. Armor melted and ran, leaving dull gray trails down the Grasshopper's left side and leg. Some splattered to the ground, scorching the earth and starting smoldering fires in the drifts of damp leaves.
The Lancer captain fought controls turned sluggish from heat build-up and now a damaged leg actuator. Sweat beaded and ran down his bare arms and legs, and burned at the corners of his eyes. Though the padded shoulders of his cooling vest helped bear the heavy weight of his neurohelmet, his neck still felt stiff and brittle from several hours in the command couch. The battle was beginning to tell in his slowing responses, and he knew it.
But I'll be damned if I don't sell myself as dearly as I can.
Riding out the new damage, Doles torso-twisted his 'Mech to the left in an attempt to return fire. Multiple threats littered his head's up display, but he struggled to float his targeting reticule over the fast-moving House Hiritsu Wraith that had just turned another half-ton of his armor into slag. Doles triggered his full complement of energy weapons in a shotgun attempt to score with just one. His large laser burned into the ground near the Wraith's feet, but one of his mediums did manage to tag the enemy machine in the right leg. Though it did little more than cut away at fresh, blued-steel armor, Warner still felt a few seconds' measure of retribution.
Then his heat monitor jumped up further into the red as waves of heat washed through the cockpit, sucking away his breath and hammering at his lungs with fiery blows. A shrill alarm warned of impending reactor shutdown. Gasping for air, his mouth parched and sore from lack of moisture, Doles slapped the shutdown override and quickly studied the HUD for a new target.
Targets there were aplenty. The only good news he read off the tactical display showed the green circles representing the rest of the Blackwind Lancer BattleMechs finally slipping back into the outskirts of Qingliu. The rest, minus Mech Warriors Jolles and Birkmeyer. Two more lost on this aborted run to reach the relative safety of the mountains.
An abortion, just what this entire mission had turned out to be. Doles remembered Major Smithson's cold fury when, during interrogation, the captured infantryman proudly confirmed Isis Marik's escape before refusing to cooperate further. The abandonment by their JumpShip had also been a hard blow, but so long as the Lancers thought Sun-Tzu still remained, a hope for victory remained as well. But then came yesterday's public address, which Word of Blake allowed through the blackout— shocking, hard evidence that Sun-Tzu Liao had never been on Hustaing. The whole mission, built on a combination of Smithson's rage and his own misplaced sense of duty, a complete bust. Nothing left but to return to the Compact and accept, at best, quiet retirement.
Only there was no way back to the Compact. A single communication from House Hiritsu had made it clear that the Warrior House would accept nothing less than unconditional surrender. Major Smithson thought to relocate what was left of the Lancers and their mercenary support to the mountains, the better to remain isolated until Duchess Liao negotiated for their return or possibly sent a retrieval force. But after four attempts, Doles doubted they would ever make it out of Qingliu.
A Gauss slug slammed into his right arm at the wrist, crushing the medium laser and ripping the Grasshopper's right hand clean off. Two Hiritsu BattleMechs pressed forward, identified by his computer as a Yu Huang assault 'Mech and a medium-weight Huron Warrior. His HUD showed that the Wraith had joined with two other 'Mechs to now threaten Major Smithson's Victor.
That Yu Huang will eat me alive, he thought. With a damaged actuator and heat levels still too high, Doles knew that jumping was his only real option. He fired his jump jets, arcing the Grasshopper skyward in a low-trajectory bounce back toward the city limits. Laser fire from the Yu Huang punched into his armor, carving away large chunks and piercing into the exposed internal structure of his right torso. The large 'Mech shook under the damage, and a grayish-green mist erupted from his right side as another heat sink ruptured.
Doles slammed a fist against his auxiliary console, pain lancing up his right arm as he vented frustration in the only way he could. He had to wait until his heat levels dropped bef
ore he fired any weapons. Lighting off his jump jets again in an attempt to close on the city, he checked his damage schematic. Another internal hit in the right side had too good a chance of rupturing his missile ammunition storage. And without cellular ammo storage equipment that would rip me apart. Cursing the designers who hadn't thought CASE a worthwhile modification, Doles punched the ammunition ejection button for his short-ranged missile system. Specially designed panels fell away at the back of the 'Mech and more than a ton of Streak ammunition rained out to litter the ground.
Whether the loss of the ammunition pushed him too far off balance or the dead leg actuator finally betrayed him, Doles came down too hard and lost control of the Grasshopper. Seventy tons of upright metal toppled over. The BattleMech's left shoulder drove into the ground, the impact tearing away the last of the armor protecting the left arm. Thrown mercilessly against his restraints, Doles' vision swam, but he quickly shook off the effect. If I pass out, I'm done for.
I'm done for anyway.
Working the controls to regain his feet, Warner Doles noticed that no less than three enemy 'Mechs were closing on him too quickly, including the Yu Huang. He would never make it in time. Or at least he shouldn't have.
From his right, Major Smithson's Victor came barreling in at a full run. Her Gauss ammunition spent a week ago, she used the large-bore rifle that was her BattleMech's right arm to smash aside an enemy Snake. She then took up a position thirty meters in front of Doles, apparently ready to take on all comers. Her Victor weathered an intense barrage of laser and autocannon fire that would have been meant for the Grasshopper. It staggered, but did not go down, and returned with its two medium lasers. A paltry response but all Smithson had left.
Doles' comm set crackled to life just as he regained his feet. "Back to the city, Captain. You have command."
He might have argued. If nothing else Doles might have refused the order, and stood alongside the major to meet the enemy. There might have been a chance then that both of them would make it back. But she never gave him the chance. Instead of standing to meet the charge, the Victor surged forward, firing its lasers and swinging its spent Gauss rifle as it went on the offensive. In the condition the Victor was in, Doles knew that Smithson couldn't survive the beating she was about to take. And neither could he if he stayed. That would only leave the unit bereft of command.
He fired his jump jets again. And again. Each low-trajectory hop took him further from the battle that had converged around the struggling Victor. Doles saw the Snake go down with a crushed cockpit, and a kick from Smithson's assault machine sent the Wraith stumbling back, but there were simply too many of them. They tore at the Victor like wolves on a wounded bear, and then the Yu Huang closed and it was all over. Caught in a barrage of emerald laser fire from the Yu Huang, the Victor succumbed, falling to its knees and then sprawling out over the ground.
That's how we will all go eventually. Torn down a piece at a time until the battalion is dead. Doles cut out his jump jets and limped into the city where several Lancer 'Mechs waited to provide screening fire if necessary. It wasn't. House Hiritsu was apparently satisfied with its victory, and wouldn't need to claim a new victim until tomorrow or the next day. Two weeks, Duchess. If you're going to save us, you've got two weeks at best before we can no longer hold.
* * *
"We'll hold, I tell you. And no I won't sit down!"
Aris Sung stood to one side of Ty Wu Non's desk, Nakjama laser pistol out and ready, as the House Master "interviewed" the Blackwind Lancers' commanding officer. Removed from the field to an administrative building at the spaceport, which currently doubled for House Hiritsu's base of operations, she had been spewing venom at least for as long as Aris had been in the room. She paced the floor like a caged animal, alternating between predictions of a Lancer victory and threats of reprisals from the Compact. At first Aris had tried hating her as a representative of the Compact, but even her anti-Confederation rhetoric hadn't been able to stir his hatred. Looking at her, at the obvious signs of her Capellan heritage, Aris felt pity for her more than anything.
House Master Non, for his part, never became upset or reacted in any way to the major's threats. He simply sat behind his desk, trusting to Aris and Senior Company Leader Jason James to handle the prisoner if she grew violent. "Will you not consider surrender?" Master Non asked with inexhaustible patience.
"Like hell," Smithson spat. "Surrender unconditionally and give Sunny-boy carte blanche to try my people and have them shot? Not likely. We have a good month of supplies left. Plenty of time for the Compact to send in a retrieval force."
Aris studiously blanked his face. That is good information in itself. If Smithson were to settle down, she would see that her fury is only helping us.
"There will be no retrieval force," Master Non stated clearly. "If you persist in abandoning your unit, the way the Compact has abandoned you here, then you force my House to destroy your Blackwind Lancers battalion. Is this what you desire?"
Smithson snorted her contempt. "Our 'Mechs might be battered, but they still have fight left in them. I counted three Hiritsu 'Mechs down, one pilot dead, and maybe five Home Guard armored vehicles burned out today. What did you get? My Victor and a couple of light 'Mechs." She laughed. "Hardly a fair trade."
A cold, impassive mask settled over House Master Non's face, and Aris knew that Smithson had gone too far. "You're right," he said simply, with not a trace of emotion in his voice. Then he called out, "Infantryman Chess!"
The door to the office opened at once and a member of the House infantry looked into the room. "Yes, House Master?"
"Infantryman, Aris Sung is responsible for my safety. You have a new assignment." He glanced at Smithson then back to the soldier. "Take a vehicle over to the Dainwu," he said, naming his command DropShip. "Shoot two prisoners from the Blackwind Lancers' battalion that are being kept there. Make sure you get Lancers, no mercenaries. Return straight here from the Dainwu."
Horror replaced the contempt on Major Smithson's face, followed by disbelief. "You cannot do that!"
"You have your orders, Infantryman." House Master Non returned his icy gaze to the major as the door was shut. "Who will stop me, Major? Now, I'd say that evens things up a bit for today."
For a brief second, Aris had also been taken in by the House Master's savage ploy. Until he realized that all prisoners were aboard the House's Condor Class DropShip, not the Dainwu, and Infantryman Chess had been specifically ordered to the Dainwu and straight back. But Major Smithson can't know that.
The major stood there a moment in silence, hands clenching in anger and obviously held away from the House Master's throat only by Aris' ready weapon. "I'll see you dead," she promised, voice thick with fury. "I swear I will."
Ty Wu Non shrugged his indifference to her threat. "I doubt you will see much but a prison cell," he said calmly. "With First Lord Liao's address to the Confederation and other Star League member states, we've been informed that your actions are under serious attack. If you are ever allowed to return to the Compact, I predict a military court martial in your future."
For the first time since Smithson had been brought in, Aris read some sign of concern on her face. A quick darting of the eyes and fingers rubbing together in nervousness. Master Non apparently did not see it, so Aris took it upon himself to push her a bit further. "You led your people here," he said softly, playing off the concern any officer has for the troops under his or her command. "They trusted you. Are you going to let them be destroyed?"
Smithson's unease grew more readily apparent as she glanced from Ty Wu Non to Aris. Then her anger returned, and she shook her head. "Better destroyed on the field than handed over to Capellan butchers," she said. "There is nothing that would ever convince me to surrender unconditionally except a direct order from Duchess Liao. I am sworn to serve the Compact, and it is not my place to give away the Lancers' rights."
Aris almost sympathized with Smithson. Her devotion, however mi
splaced when she jumped the border, was commendable. So like the Warrior Houses' defining rule that "the will of the House Master is the will of the House." But to Aris' way of thinking, it was still a mistake. The Lancers' days were numbered, and so were the Compact's.
Whatever House Master Non felt, he kept it hidden. "Major, I asked you to help spare the lives of your warriors and of civilians who will be caught by the fighting around Qingliu. But if you are adamant, then I will try no further. We will continue to break down the Lancers, and without your fire to lead them I doubt it will take long. Your fate, however, is sealed in the orders I received last week. You will be placed in solitary confinement until such time as the Pearl of True Wisdom can safely travel back to Sian.
"And I very much doubt you will ever leave."
13
Home Guard Staging Grounds
Hazlet, Nashuar
St. Ives Compact
3 November 3060
Maurice Fitzgerald's fifth session in a real BattleMech, and the novelty had yet to wear off. He stepped from the gantry to the small recessed platform at the back of the Blackjack's head, enjoying the grease and hot metalwork scents that mixed in Hazlet's small Home Guard 'Mech bay and the cool touch of armor against his outstretched hand. The small wheeled hatch leading into the cockpit already stood open. He grabbed the handholds, leveraged his feet up and through the opening, and then wormed into the cramped space, pulling the airtight hatch shut behind him and dogging it down with a spin of the wheel.
From the storage compartment beneath the command couch he withdrew a cooling vest and quickly slipped it on, cinching it down over his lean frame by the straps under his right arm. He then crawled around into the couch, pulling the harness straps forward to fasten into a quick-release four-point buckle. He pulled the coolant line for his vest out of a nearby receptacle and snapped it into a twist-lock socket at his left side. A powerful rumble built within the Blackjack's chest as he threw a series of toggles, bringing the fusion plant to life.
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