Текст книги "Coupe"

Alerted by frantic calls from the Marauder,the other Death Commandos turned from their wanton destruction to face the Assault 'Mech in their midst. Hanse cursed them silently. Damn! There are so many of them!Grim determination filled him, and outrage burned in his veins. To hell with the odds and the numbers. They've attacked my home. If I'm to die in this war, let it be here.

Hanse dropped his targeting crosshairs onto one Locustand fired all four of his forward lasers. The four beams focused on the birdlike 'Mech's chest, slicing it open like a surgeon's scalpel. The beams lanced through the fusion engine, letting superheated plasma leak from the 'Mech's heart like puss from a boil. In a flash of heat and brilliant light, the Locustvanished.

Hanse ducked his ponderous war machine to the right as the enemy returned fire. He ignored the shafts of coherent light that melted scars across the BattleMaster'sbroad chest as he discarded the shattered remains of his PPC. He barely felt the shower of short– and long-range missiles peppering the 'Mech's flesh, pockmarking it with craters. For all the thunder of explosions and the rainbow of lights that made up the Liao counterattack, none of it breached his defenses.

The BattleMasterreached out for and grabbed the right arm of the downed Marauder.Hanse set his 'Mech's right leg against the Marauder'storso, crushing armor and warping the other 'Mech's skeleton. With a heave of myomer muscles, the Battle-Masterripped the Marauder'sarm free. Sparks shot from the ruined shoulder, the metal and armor screaming as though the Marauderwere alive and protesting its maiming. Like Beowulf raising Grendel's severed arm, Hanse Davion brandished the limb triumphantly at his foes.

Except for those moments that burned into his consciousness from stroboscopic explosions or the harsh glare of a PPC's azure fury, the scene was a blur for Hanse. The BattleMasterlunged forward like a bear into a pack of wolves. A Stingerignited its jump jets in an effort to escape him. It rose too slowly on twin columns of ion flame, so the BattleMaster's shoulder hit it at the knees. Upended, the light 'Mech slammed headfirst into the ground behind the Prince of the Federated Suns, crushing the cockpit and killing the pilot instantly.

Charging into their midst, Hanse turned the Death Commandos into their own worst enemies. In such close confines, a missed shot almost invariably hit a comrade, and in a few cases, enemy pilots actually squared off against one another. Lasers shot through the chaotic fray, vaporizing armor of friend and foe alike. Only Hanse, fighting alone, could strike without fear of damaging an ally.

Twisting and turning with an agility that only a master Mech Warrior could wring from his machine, Hanse repeatedly presented himself as a target, only to fade before an assault. Wielding the Marauder'sarm like a club, he laid about with it mercilessly. An overhand blow crumpled the right side of a Centurion,spinning it into the arms of a Crusader.Whirling, letting the blow's momentum carry him full circle, Hanse brought the arm up, catching a Cicadabeneath its chin and dropping it onto its back.

The BattleMaster'scanopy shattered as an SRM burst against it. Hanse felt the stinging fire of shrapnel as pieces of the polarized glass sliced into his left arm. A trickle of blood slicked the command couch's left arm. Hanse narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on the left joystick control. There it is, Mr. Green. I bleed for the Federated Suns. Is it not my right to demand the same from my people?

Hanse lashed out with the club, bringing it down like a fly swatter on the Liao Scorpionoff to his right. The blow flattened the quadruped 'Mech, crushing its missile launcher and splaying its four legs out in different directions. Missiles damaged in the magazine began to explode, jetting the canister into the sky.

Horrified, Hanse stared down as fire spread through the Scorpion'sboxy body. Punch out! Punch out!His heart leapt as the cockpit canopy sailed into the night, but instead of a command couch rising up on escape jets, an incandescent flamespear shot out through the cockpit opening. It imploded, leaving only a thick, oily, black column of smoke to mark the pilot's passing.

Hanse looked up and saw explosions from behind the Death Commandos pressing toward him. He saw Liao BattleMechs turn away from him to face this new threat. Relief flooded through him, but he suppressed it. The battle's not over until it's over.Searing another Liao 'Mech with his lasers, Hanse Davion fought on.

* * *

Hanse frowned as the doctor buckled the sling's crossband snugly around his bare chest. "Doctor, you yourself said the glass did not damage my muscles. You've stitched the cuts, packed them in salve, and wound enough gauze up and down my arm for it to be mummified." Hanse winced slightly as a tongue of pain lanced down from his shoulder. "It does not hurt, and I do not need a sling. The sling suggests I suffered much more of an injury than I did."

Doctor James Thompson pushed his long, slender fingers back through his sandy hair. "No disrespect meant, sir," he began forcefully, "but I'll tell you again what I told you before. While you and the Hong Kong Cavaliers were out there repulsing those 'Mechs, Death Commando infantry ran riot through the research and medical centers." Thompson pointed to a ragged line of bullet holes running along the wall behind the Prince. "They damaged diagnostic equipment I would have liked to use on you to make sure everything is all right. Furthermore, I've got Team Banzai pilots stacked up like cordwood out there, so I don't need static from a surly patient who's more in need of a seamstress than a doctor. Got it, Highness?"

Hanse saw the doctor's concern that he might have spoken out of turn, but the man's greater concern for his other patients swallowed it. By rights, in a battlezone, I wouldn't have been seen for days with these minor wounds. He's doing his job.Hanse nodded and extended his right hand to Thompson. "You are correct, of course, Doctor. I apologize."

The anger in Thompson's look melted. He shook the Prince's hand, then loosened the sling's strap. "You can raise your arms victoriously for the holovids once, then get someone to strap you back into this thing. I don't want stitches ripping out, because I don't want you back here before I've dealt with the others."

Hanse slid from the examination table. "Once only." He reached out as Thompson turned away. "And, Doctor, thank you."

Thompson smiled, nodding once, then left the emergency room through a door marked "Surgery." Hanse slung his bloodied cooling vest over his right shoulder, then marched into the hospital corridor. At the far end, behind two closed doors set with large glass panels, he saw a throng of reporters and cameramen. Halfway down the corridor, seated on a couch until they saw him emerge through the alcove's curtained opening, three men waited to greet the Prince.

Quintus Allard hung back as the other two men approached Hanse Davion. The Prince read their haggard faces like advertising broadsheets. They're worried and frustrated because of the injuries their men and women suffered fighting against the Death Commandos. How ironic that Team Banzai came to New Avalon to recover from the devastation of Northwind only to find the front had followed them here. But if they'd not been there... He shuddered at the thought.

The Prince warmly accepted Dr. Banzai's extended hand. "I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your efforts. You saved my life and at incredible cost to yourself and your people."

A distant look filled Banzai's blue eyes. "We fought to preserve the NAIS, and almost failed. The work done here—both in recovering old lost knowledge and in pioneering new research– is all that will keep man from blasting himself back into the Stone Age." Banzai looked down and broke his grip with the Prince. "Maximilian Liao obviously does not realize this. If he did, he'd never have launched such a relentless attack. Preserving mankind's future was a goal worthy of the sacrifice you and the others made."

The Prince's eyes narrowed. "Don't let yourself fall into the trap that snaps up battle survivors—especially those who survive a savage action like the one we just went through. You'll go crazy if you assume you weren't injured or killed because you didn't do your utmost. There's no way out of that trap. Acknowledge that you were good enough to survive and that you did your part. We did, after all, defeat them."

Banzai's nod of resignation, and the grim expression on his aide Tommy Lester's face, brought back to Hanse the last moments of the battle. Less than a dozen 'Mechs stood tattered and half-broken over a cratered hellzone. His own BattleMaster,missing its right arm and standing on an armorless left leg with its knee joint fused, was one of the more operational 'Mechs in that group. Hundreds of little fires burned in the hulks of dead and destroyed 'Mechs. A few pilots—all of them mercenaries– limped between the shattered bodies and debris that marked all that remained of the invading force. It was bad...

None of the Liao pilots even attempted to escape their machines. They fought to the end, even when we'd blown off their legs and destroyed all their weapons. They made us kill them, each and every one. I've never faced such fierce and tough opposition.

Hanse turned to Tommy. "How are your people?"

The blond MechWarrior let his expression lighten just a bit. "Those who got out are in good shape. Sprains and cuts mostly. Reno's got compound fractures of both legs, but I've been told he'll recover without any problems. Rawhide will probably lose a lung, but his prognosis is good, too." He looked back up the hallway. "We're waiting for him to come out of surgery now."

Hanse nodded. "Let me know if you need anything, anything at all. And let me know how Rawhide does." After shaking the hands of both men, he slipped past them and fell into step with Quintus Allard. "How's your daughter?"

The elder Allard smiled slightly. "Fine, really. She's angry at being held for observation. They only convinced her to stay by promising to notify her the second Kym woke up."

A pang of regret shot through Hanse. "How is she?"

Quintus's smile faded slightly. "Still unconscious, but all the signs are good." The Minister of Intelligence, Information, and Operations glanced back over his shoulder at Dr. Banzai. "When Banzai came in off the battlefield, they wouldn't let him work on his own people because the doctors thought he'd be too emotionally attached to function objectively. He immediately took charge of Kym's care, and she's already begun to respond to treatment. She won't remember the events that put her out, but she should be fine."

Before they could reach the doors and the waiting press of reporters, Hanse reached out and stopped Quintus. Turning his back to the throng, the Prince spoke in a low, urgent tone. "What happened? How the hell did that ship have the proper clearance codes to get a landing vector at the NAIS?"

Quintus shook his head. "I haven't tracked that down yet, but I would guess we had some sloppy security in the occupied territories. Most of the worlds we've captured are taking to pacification, but there are still Liao loyalists operating on them. If they heard something . . ."

"Were we wrong, Quintus? Did the message refer to this strike at the NAIS as opposed to a strike at Kathil?"

Shielded by the Prince's body from the cameras' prying eyes, Quintus shrugged. "I don't believe so. We got a faxed message this morning from Morgan reporting that a contingent of Liao DropShips had arrived insystem and were burning toward Kathil. We won't know for a couple of days yet what happened, but the tone of the message was confident."

Hanse drew in a deep breath. "At least we know he didn't have to face Death Commandos."

"But that's a minor consolation, I think."

Hanse nodded agreement. We stopped you here, Maximilian Liao, and I know Morgan stopped you on Kathil. That's it. . . that was your last gasp. Within three months, you and your mad recklessness will be behind us forever.

Composing his expression, Hanse Davion turned to face the questions and the cameras of the media.

43

Dromini VI

Kessel Prefecture , Dieron Military District, Draconis Combine

15 September 3029

Duke Frederick Steiner winced in pain as the Draconian guard grabbed a handful of white hair and forced his head up. On his knees, with his hands and wrists bound together in a peculiar, cross-shaped set of shackles, Steiner stared up at his captor, but his blue eyes did not admit defeat. You have me in body, but never in soul.

Clad in a gray shitagiand traditional black zubon,Theodore Kurita frowned at the guard. He shook his head as he rested his right hand on the pistol holstered at his right hip. "lie.Do not treat the Duke so. His surrender brings no dishonor on him."

The guard released the Duke's hair, and Frederick slumped back down onto his haunches. "Thank you, Prince Theodore." Frederick's head rose slowly, as did the emotion in his voice. "I would not have imagined that your code of Bushidowould see anything but gross cowardice in my action."

Theodore did not answer Frederick directly. Addressing the guard, he ordered Frederick's right hand freed, then dismissed the soldier. Theodore turned from the Duke. Staring out the plate-glass wall at the city of Kanashimi, he granted the other man a moment of privacy to stretch and unknot the muscles of that arm. "We have most of the fires under control now."

Frederick took some comfort in that, though he kept his face blank of any emotion. Six hours after the fight is over and the fires still burn. Good. That means this mission may actually have accomplished something positive."You will forgive me if I take little joy in that news. I would much prefer to hear that the fires are utterly out of control."

The younger Mech Warrior turned from the window, his expression bemused. "I would expect no less from you, Duke Frederick. I would probably feel the same way in your position because we seem to be much alike. I always imagined that we would face off with one another, but that the circumstances and timing would be far different."

The note of regret in Theodore's voice confused Frederick. "You and I are both MechWarriors, Prince Theodore, but there the similarity ends. With our vocations, was this not the only sort of meeting we could have? Perhaps we could have fought on the battlefield, but I see no other conflict being waged between us."

Theodore crossed to the sideboard and splashed some sakeinto a pair of small bowls. "Well, Frederick, as we are both MechWarriors, there should be no titles between us." The tall, slender Prince brought one bowl of the rice liquor toward Frederick, but set it on the floor where the Lyran captive would have to shuffle forward to get it. Then he drew back beyond Frederick's possible striking range.

Frederick bowed his head in Theodore's direction. He appreciated the gesture indicating he might be dangerous despite being hobbled. Frederick worked his way forward and lifted the bowl. "How didyou see us battling, Theodore?"

The Coordinator's heir smiled emotionlessly. "I had imagined you and I waging war as the heads of our respective nations." His eyes half shut. "I had expected by now for you to have supplanted that woman ..."

Frederick spat to the side in disgust. "As I have lately discovered, I would have been a puppet controlled by Aldo Lestrade were I on the throne. I feel no honor in making such an admission, but this is not the time for self-deception. Only through Aldo would I have outsmarted Katrina Steiner, but the sword that cleared my path to the throne would have become the dagger pressed to my throat."

Theodore sipped his sake."Of this I am aware." He smiled, but his eyes focused distantly. "I had standing orders with some of the Nekekamito kill Lestrade as soon as he had succeeded in his plan to make you Archon."

The sharp-tasting liquid burned a path through Frederick's chest and warmed his stomach. "A puppet with no puppetmaster would not be difficult to deal with."

Theodore set his bowl down on the sideboard to free his hands. "You grossly undervalue your abilities as a military leader. With you on the throne, the Lyran Commonwealth and the Draconis Combine could have joined in a glorious war. You would have learned that I ordered Lestrade's death, and you would have sent the forces of Skye against me. It would have been spectacular... a straight contest of military power—the ultimate fulfillment of Bushidofor all involved."

Frederick laughed derisively. "Easy for you to wish for such a battle with me in chains and you the victor."

Theodore turned, waving a hand at the window wall and the thin trails of gray smoke rising from half a dozen locations. "In some ways, this actually increases my estimation of you. You brought a crack regiment in to destroy the supplies for an invasion, knowing you would be facing at least three times your number in defenders."

Theodore turned, his eyes ablaze. "Through your leadership, your Mech Warriors sublimated their own dreams of personal glory. They fought as whole units—almost like hive minds—in their relentless drive to reach their targets. When one fell, another moved to take its place in line. Those who were damaged fought on beyond all reason, forcing my people to destroy them before they could pursue the bulk of your strike force. Many of the companies actually reached their targets and caused great destruction before we stopped them. It was magnificent."

Frederick narrowed his eyes. "But then I spoiled it by surrendering?"

Theodore waved away Frederick's inquiry. "No, not at all. You exacted a promise from the Archon to leave one JumpShip behind to carry away the survivors, but you assured her that you would not be among them. You negotiated a deal with me to let some of your people live, trading yourself for them. You must recall that Bushidodemands not only perfection in the arts of war, but perfection in the art of being a warrior. Compassion and concern for your people is very much a part of that, and as such, does you no dishonor."

Frederick kept his face impassive. Were you in my shoes, you would ask to commitseppuku to cleanse your family's name of shame. This mission was my act of atonement. Now, having survived this long, I do not wish to be dead. Does this invalidate what I tried to do?"My people are being sent offworld?"

"Yes. About two hours ago, your JumpShip moved from the pirate point and began heading in for a rendezvous. The Drop-Ship left an hour ago and should link up in a day or two." The Prince frowned slightly. "I hate to tell you that your assault, brave as it was, did not succeed in destroying enough supplies to stop my plan. With the JumpShips already insystem, I have enough transport to bring in the supplies needed for the invasion. Conti and the Fifth Sword arrive next week, and with them come more supplies. You have cost me, at best, a week. I am sorry."

Frederick shook his head. "Not as sorry as I am."

"Spoken like a warrior." Theodore retrieved and raised his bowl in Frederick's direction. "A toast, Frederick. To what could have been—a return to the honorable ways of the warrior."

* * *

As the Lyran JumpShip Tyrmoved from its position amid the seven Combine JumpShips still recharging at a pirate jump point off Dromini VI, it jettisoned all the refuse produced during its wait. Waste water crystallized instantly into glittering ice fangs, while more solid garbage and scraps spun away from the ship and slowly fell toward the Kurita fleet and the planet rotating below them.

Hidden in silvery bags emblazoned with the yellow and black tags used to denote biohazards, fourteen Lyran Intelligence Corps Loki operatives floated toward the enemy JumpShips. Each agent gently guided his bag toward his target ship using specially modified jump infantry flight packs to accomplish the job. Though sent in pairs to the target ships, their assignments had been drawn by lot and created by a computer program that randomized among the optimal assaults needed to cripple a JumpShip. Neither agent knew who else was being sent to the same ship. That meant he could not give his compatriot away in the highly unlikely event he was taken alive.

Raised from birth to be a Loki agent, James felt his heart pounding as the MonolithClass JumpShip Samayou Hitofilled the tiny viewport of his EVA bag. Long and silver, the twin-domed sensor pods at the head of the craft looked like giant, composite eyes, accentuating the vessel's wasplike appearance. Mobile arms attached to the trio of docking collars evenly spaced along the body of the ship were locked down in their stowed position, but James angled his amoeboid craft toward the arm directly amidships, nonetheless. Splayed out in absolute rainbow brilliance, the doughnut-shaped solar collector hung from the ship's stern, soaking in the energy needed to recharge the Jump-Ship's fragile Kearny-Fuchida drives.

After an hour of casual movement through space, James reached the JumpShip's central docking arms. From afar, they had looked much like the mechanical arms used by mining robots in hostile atmospheres. Up close, the Loki agent saw their true size. Each of the twin fingers was a cylinder six meters in diameter that ended in a docking collar. By extending the arms, the JumpShip could link up with six DropShips. In addition, the three docking collars on the JumpShip's hull meant it could accommodate a total of nine DropShips. This capacity left no doubt in James's mind about why the MonolithClass JumpShip was most highly prized in the Successor States, and why the successful completion of his mission was of the utmost importance.

He guided his bag into the gaping maw of one finger, then sliced the bag's silvery flesh open with a vibroblade. Stepping free, he wadded up its thin skin and stuffed it into a thigh pocket of the gray fatigues he wore over the skin-tight vacuum suit. For a moment, it pleased him that the Draconis Combine saw fit to give their astechs such utilitarian garb, but he shut away that tiny emotion as he had been taught. Like a mantra, he murmured, "Reason is the engine that drives us, and passion for success is the only fuel we feed it. Clear mind, clean victory."

He worked his way through the shaft by feel. A hundred meters into it, he reached the large, iris-type hatchway, shut now to keep the ship's atmosphere inside. Off to the left, he found the slender doorway that admitted the astechs who traveled out to monitor docking operations. The mission had gone well so far, but he felt a pang of regret. Because one Kurita JumpShip had moved off toward a rendezvous of its own and out of range of the operation, the Loki teams' mission could not be 100 percent successful.