Текст книги "Heir To The Dragon "

Автор книги: Robert N. Charette

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63

West Cerant County, An Ting

Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine

9 August 3039

 

Marshal Ardan Sortek bit off another chunk of the dark brown ration bar, which tasted to him like old sweat, having picked up the overall ambiance of his Victor'scockpit; the 'Mech had been run too long without a system flush. Stifling a yawn, he decided that he had been too long without something as well: a good night's sleep. Ah, the joys of life in the field.

If war's only price were the discomforts, he would gladly pay it to be free of the endless political intrigues of the Davion court. Years of having to play the court games had improved his ability, but could not make him like it any better. He was relieved to be back in command of a line unit and pleased that the unit was the First Davion Guards. Even with its death and tactical deception, war was cleaner than court intrigue. It left a man feeling less soiled.

There had been too much of the bad side of war, too much death and pain and suffering, here on An Ting. Contrary to intelligence estimates, the Kuritans had been waiting for the assault. Their conventional regiments had been in prepared positions, ready for the Davion attack. The Drac 'Mechs had so far only put in a brief appearance, striking to blunt Davion breakthroughs and then disappearing. In spite of that, the fighting had been ferocious, each day putting them further behind Prince Hanse's schedule.

Word had come in from scouts in the western foothills that the Kuritans were stirring. Wanting to see for himself, Sortek had set out in his Victor,feeling secure enough thirty kilometers behind the lines to travel without escort. That sense of security faltered when he spotted a Vedette tank crawling over the crest of the hill in front of him. The armored vehicle was not emitting any IFF signal that the Victor'sequipment could read.

He had not had his missile racks brought to full load and the Victorwas running hot, its heat exchanger system still malfunctioning from the hits he had taken in last week's battle. The last thing he wanted right now was a fight. As a precaution, he armed his lasers and opened the ammo feed to the Pontiac 100 autocannon that made up the Victor's right forearm. Optimistically, he kept the 'Mech on its heading. If the tank was friendly, its crew could not miss the wreathed sword-and-sun insignia on the Victor's chest. If not, at least he wouldn't be a sitting target.

"Merde,"he cursed aloud when he spotted the puff of white smoke from the Vedette's main gun muzzle.

He cut right, snapping ruby pulses from the paired Sorenstein 4.8cm lasers on the Victor's left arm as he charged. The tank's shot furrowed the ground between his 'Mech's feet. Sortek leaned into the accelerator, jolting with the rough ride over the broken ground. He continued his harassment fire as he closed with the tank. Only two bursts from the Kuritan's autocannon scored, and they did no more than flake off some of the Victor's armor plating in the 'Mech's lower left leg and upper chest.

At seventy meters, Sortek triggered the Pontiac, but the Victor'sviolent motion threw off his aim. The hillside cratered around the tank. Belatedly, it began to move again.

Sortek tapped a correction into his targeting system and fired again. The high-velocity shells ripped into the tank as it churned at the already-torn ground, seeking purchase for a turn. The armor-piercers cut through the Vedette's ProTecTech plating as though it were merely lacquered wood. Chunks scattered on impact, and a second later, the whole vehicle burst in an eye-searing explosion.

The Marshal had no time to congratulate himself. Two more Vedettes crested the hill. No more point in keeping it quiet,he told himself.

"Sortek to Pangolin Base. Hostiles in sector Tango-Romeo seven-three-six. Need support."

Sortek opened fire on the tanks. Without waiting to see the results, he backed away. A gap in the hill afforded him a glimpse of an entire armored column moving up the reverse slope toward his position. He repeated his call, and this time got a response.

"Pull back, Marshal," the cool voice of the base comm officer advised.

"Too hot, Pangolin. They'll swarm me. I've got a whole company here."

There was a brief delay. "Understood, Marshal. We had a lance on its way up to the front. They're vectoring in on your position. Your luck is holding, Marshal. They should be there in ten."

"You'd better be right, Pangolin. If these Snakes get through me, they'll be in your laps in thirty."

"Understood, Marshal. Good luck."

Sortek's battle against the Kurita company was a seesaw affair—him trying to stay out of the line of fire; them trying to get as many vehicles as possible into position to fire on him. The Snakes lost no time adopting tactics that kept them out of range of his Pontiac cannon as much as possible. Meanwhile, the heat in the Victor'scockpit rose steadily.

Just as he was giving up hope of a timely rescue, the shrill passage of long-range missiles announced the arrival of the Davion lance. The Vedette that Sortek had just crippled shuddered under the impact of the rockets. Black smoke boiled up through the gaps the warheads tore into its armor. As soon as he saw the survivors of the crew bail out, Sortek turned his attention to the next opponent.

The Davion lance, two Enforcers,a Dervish,and a Stinger,stormed across the rolling hills. Their sudden, reckless attack stunned the Kuritans. A Vedette burst into a fireball under their concentrated fire.

The Pontiac's last cassette round clicked empty as Sortek bracketed the nearest Vedette with a burst of fire. The turret burst into flames as the main gun rocked free of its shattered mount to rattle down the Vedette's sloped armor. Its drive wheels mangled and treads shredded, the tank ground to a halt.

The odds had swiftly changed.

Outclassed by the newly arrived 'Mechs, the Kuritans withdrew. Sortek forbade pursuit. Feeling nervous about the Dracs' unheralded arrival, he wanted the lance nearby. "Take five," he called to his rescuers. "We're heading back to Pangolin Base as soon as I get this old warhorse's heat down."

"Tough fight, Marshal?" asked one of the Jocks. Soltek's comm board identified the signaller as Sergeant Sally Cantrell, the Dervishpilot.

"I wouldn't want to make this sort of thing a habit," Sortek allowed. "I'm bushed."

"Welcome to the club, Marshal." Leftenant Link's intonation was jovial, but Sortek sensed a bitter undertone. "If they're working us this hard with their groundpounders, what'll they do when they cut loose their 'Mechs?"

"We're about to find out." Cantrell's Dervishpoked a rectangular forearm toward the north.

Ardan followed the line. Four Kurita 'Mechs were striding over the low ridge, spreading out into formation.

"Chargers,"Link called out. "Gotta be with those shoulder baffles. They're too big to be Griffins,and they ain't got hand-helds. They'll be easy marks."

"Oughta be. They only pack small lasers. Won't be able to burn us at this range."

Two of the Kurita 'Mechs disappeared from Sortek's vislight scan in a cloud of smoke. Years of battle had taught him to recognize the signature exhaust of long-range missiles. "Break wide!" he ordered. "Evasive!"

The Davion BattleMechs scattered, but the surprise barrage had its effect. All of them took hits. The Stingerwent down with a crippled leg.

"I don't think these things are Chargers"Cantrell said slowly.

"I think you're right," Sortek agreed. "The head's different."

"This is going to be a fight," Cantrell returned. "Well, Marshal," Ling quipped, "your schedule just took another hit."

Sortek found the Jocks' easy banter reminiscent of his old command, but he hoped that they were not minimizing the problem. These 'Mechs, which he had tagged into his computer as Charger-H,were a rude surprise. And the appearance of enemy 'Mechs this far behind their lines was bad news. The Kuritans were on the move. He wondered how many more surprises the Dragon had in store.

64

West Cerant County, An Ting

Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine

11 August 3039

 

From the command lance's position in the hills west of the city, Dechan Fraser could look down on the city of Cerant. Eleven years ago, he had fought for his life and the continued existence of Wolf's Dragoons in that city. It didn't look that much different today. A shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the cool breeze slipping down intermittently from the mountains.

Jenette reached over to place a gentle hand against his cheek. She tucked an errant strand of his blond hair behind his ear and away from the sleek pink skin at the side of his head, freshly shaven for better contact with the sensors in his neurohelmet. "You all right?"

"Yeah."

"It's the city, isn't it?”

“Yeah."

"Quite a conversationalist today."

He quirked the side of his mouth up in irritation.

"I feel it, too," she said, oblivious to his expression. One look at her face made him instantly contrite. "The ghosts are down there. All those lost Dragoons, asking why we're doing this."

"It does seem strange. The last time we were here, we were fighting the Ryuken. Akuma's Ryuken-ichi,to be exact."

"I'm glad Theodore ordered the name struck from the rolls," she said with sudden venom.

"Michi's idea," Dechan pointed out.

Jenette frowned. "Always Michi. He got us into this. He seems to be running our lives."

"We're not just paying back a debt," he reminded her. "You know there's more to it than that. We can't leave till the job's done. That's our mercenary honor. Even the Dragoon ghosts understand that."

She seemed unconvinced. "So why doesn't Michi answer our letters? Friends shouldn't abandon each other."

"He's still our friend, I think, and I know that he needs our help. We promised we wouldn't abandon him. That's why wedon't leave." He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away and wrapped her arms around herself as though she were cold. "Isn't it?"

"I'm tired, Dechan. I want to go home."

Dechan understood her frustration and loneliness. Home. As if they had one. Their home had been the Dragoons, until they'd left to follow Michi Noketsuna on his quest for vengeance.The travails the three had shared made them friends, then led him and Jenette to agree to do all they could to help Michi see his goal through to the end. That promise had trapped them here among the Kuritans, fighting to save the realm of Takashi Kurita, the man against whom Colonel Jaime Wolf had sworn a blood feud. He wondered how the old Iron Man Tetsuhara would have resolved such a conflict of duties. Would Minobu have a better solution to Dechan's quandary than he'd had for his own?

The receiver in Dechan's ear buzzed, calling him to duty. He tapped it to life, and Tai-shuKester Hsiun Chi's voice whispered to him.

"All is in readiness, Fraser -san."

Snapping into his new role as a commander, Dechan asked, "The Davion air?"

"Quite busy. They were not ready for our reserves. They seem especially surprised by the numbers of our Sparrowhawks.After all, it is their design. Response to our ComStar-supplied Hellcatflights is encouraging as well. I think the professors at the New Avalon Institute of Science will be making some adjustments to Davion tactical doctrine."

"Then we will have a clear field for maneuver?"

"As much as I have been able to arrange. The Federated Suns troops do seem a little uncooperative, though. They have not yet surrendered," Chi said with a chuckle. His voice vacated Dechan's ear, leaving a sibilant, rushing sound that indicated the line was still active. In a moment, the gravelly tones resumed. "Please man your machines. I will need you to lead your Ryuken detachment into the attack soon."

"We'll be ready, Chi-sama."

"I am sure you will. Good hunting, Fraser -san."

The channel went dead with a click.

He stepped up to Jenette and put his arms around her from behind. "Time to saddle up."

She nodded as she turned in his embrace. "After this, we leave?"

"When we've finished our job."

Jenette hugged him tightly, face buried in the padded shoulders of his cooling vest. She pushed back and ran her soft gray eyes over his features. "Be safe." She kissed him lightly and slipped from his arms.

"Unity enfold you," he called softly as she trotted off to her Hatamoto-kazeBattleMech.

* * *

"Marshal Sortek! The Kuritans have breached the perimeter!"

The wail of the warning siren rose over the headquarters, as Sortek ordered the security lance scrambled. Directed chaos engulfed the room as men and women hurried to perform the tasks they had dreaded. The headquarters was to be abandoned. The door clattered open as an orderly carried the first armload of datadisks into the night.

Sortek turned to his adjutant. "Where and with how much, Jeanne?"

"North quadrant. Looks like two or three BattleMech regiments. We've got reports of their new heavies up and down the line. At least thirty of them."

"So many?" Sortek and Link's lance had barely escaped from a single lance of those machines two days ago. He shook his head. "Where'd they get all that stuff?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Well, intel doesn't seem to, either. If we make it out of this, it'll be their heads that roll, not yours." He massaged his red-rimmed eyes with both hands. "You oversee the evac. I'm going out to make sure our rear guard holds. See you at the DropShips."

She saluted his back as he ran for his 'Mech.

*  * *

Dechan Fraser was tired, but his fatigue seemed to vanish when the battered and battle-scarred Hatamoto-kazelimped into the Ryuken camp. The eighty-ton 'Mech looked like it had been through a war. Which, of course, it had. Unlike his own Hatamoto-ku,the H-kazeshowed heavy damage. The only area lightly affected was the chest plate, whose surface was blackened from missile exhaust and pitted by shrapnel marks. The 'Mech's radiator fin and one of the shoulder baffles were gone. The broad, flat sheaths that protected the antennae, and gave the 'Mech's head assembly the look of an ancient samurai helmet, dangled across its faceplate. The heavy armor on its left leg had been shredded and melted away. Tendrils of myomer pseudo-muscle floated through the gaps that revealed the cracked and pitted alloy structural members. No wonder the machine limped. Could the pilot have endured such destruction intact?

His fears were allayed when he saw Jenette climb whole and unharmed from the cockpit. He was waiting for her when she finished her descent. They held each other wordlessly for a minute before he broke the embrace to check out her condition. She was uninjured, but looked as beat as he felt. Even her smile was exhausted. He hustled her to the camp kitchen, thrusting a cup of hot tea into her hands until he could gather some food. They ate in silence, each finding the other's presence enough for the moment.

She placed her empty bowl on the ground. "The fight here is over?"

"I think so," he mumbled. "Davion DropShips have been lifting since midnight. They're burning straight for the jump point. An Ting has held, and without this system, the Davion thrust into Galedon will founder."

"Good." Her smile flashed in the darkness. "We'll be done soon."

Buoyed by what he took as her relief, he allowed the joy of a job well-done to fill his voice. "We taught Theodore's people well. The Ryuken fought a hell of a battle, more disciplined than I thought they'd be. The Iron Men would have been proud. These Jocks are almost as good as his old unit. They sure outshone the Eighth Sword of Light."

"You want another Misery?"

The bitterness in her voice, and the thought of the awful weeks on that barren planet where the Ryuken had fought the Dragoons, crushed his growing sense of accomplishment. His delight in the success of his charges turned to ashes as he remembered those bitter days on that bitter, cold world. The Dragoons had fought for their lives against all House Kurita could throw at them, including the old Ryuken regiments. The Dragoons had won, barely. Dechan's own lance had brought down the Iron Man ... barely. He had no wish ever to experience anything like that again.

Had he rebuilt the unit that had almost destroyed the Dragoons, only to allow Takashi Kurita another chance? He forced away that fear and put assurance into his voice. "That can't happen again."

"Are you sure?" she asked softly.

In the night around them, Dragoon ghosts seem to echo her question.

65

Henschel Basin, Exeter

Kentares PDZ, Draconis March, Federated Suns

2 October 3039

 

"Fuhito– kun, orbital reconnaissance confirms that the DropShips coming in are the Fourth Davion Guards," Theodore announced to the man seated in the forward couch of the BLR-1C BattleMaster.

His only response was a grunt.

Theodore took the rebuff in stride. He had no desire to interrupt his pilot's concentration. They were, after all, in the midst of a battle. One that he had best pay some attention to, instead of spending all of his time on system-wide operations. With deft finger motions, he reconfigured the main screen to display the area around the Samuelson Military Reservation, and slaved the secondary screens to the data feeds for the continental situation and the transatmospheric dispositions. He studied the displays, issuing orders to redirect Combine efforts to put more pressure against a poorly sited fire zone that he detected in the Davion defense. With a little more effort, Ryuken-go's second battalion could crack the hedgehog of the Davion Militia's Thirty-fifth Combined Services Brigade and sweep through to raid the proving ground's laboratories.

The BattleMastershuddered.

Rather than querying Fuhito, Theodore called up a window on the main screen. The 'Mech's systems were all nominal, though the schematic display of the BattleMastershowed reduced armor in the left-torso area. From the pattern, Theodore recognized a PPC hit. Local resistance must be stiffening. He was wise to leave Fuhito undisturbed. He went back to his screens.

Fuhito pivoted the BattleMaster,but too slowly. The Davion Warhammer'sPPC blast caught his 'Mech in the left chest. The Fedrat Militia 'Mechs were old and time-worn, but their pilots fought hard. It was to be expected. They were defending their homes.

This pilot was a brave one. He had come on through the fire of the rest of the command lance to challenge the BattleMaster.The lesser machines of his companions had, with the aid of their armored support, engaged the attention of the other four Kurita 'Mechs. It was a valiant but hopeless effort. The Warhammerwas battered, sparks and smoke trailing from its right-arm PPC. The BattleMasterwas barely scratched until the Davion MechJock had scored with that last shot from the Hammer'sother PPC.

Fuhito elected to meet charged particles with like. He ripped off a blast from his 'Mech's hand-held Donal PPC. The blast struck the Warhammerhigh on the right shoulder, eating through armor to gouge a trough in the Davion machine's superstructure. Fire reached out through the opening as the alloy launcher-feed mechanism for the 'Mech's Holly SRM system burned, ignited by the heat transfer. Slowly at first, then with a sudden, shuddering crash, the Holly SRM launcher fell free of its mounting. The boxy launcher struck the protruding rear of the 'Hammer'sautocannon and spoiled the pilot's aim before hitting the ground. There, it exploded in impotent fury as the loaded rack of missiles detonated from the heat of the flames engulfing the mechanism.

The Warhammeradvanced, heedless of its loss. "Meiyo to nam sensei, buso-senshi-san,"Fuhito saluted aloud.

Conscious of his passenger, Fuhito dodged the big BattleMasterin among the trees dotting the slope where the machine stood. He was sure that the Davion Jock would follow. As soon as he had put enough of the tall trees between them to screen him from the enemy sensors, Fuhito brought the 'Mech to a halt, damping its heat output. He did not have to wait long.

The Warhammercame hunting, its functional PPC swaying back and forth as the pilot covered possible hiding places for his quarry. Unknowing, he bypassed Fuhito's position by thirty meters.

Regretting that he could not afford to meet this noble warrior in a fair battle, Fuhito opened the heat sinks and stepped the BattleMasterforward. The Warhammer'spilot must have caught the rise in heat on his IR sensors. The Davion 'Mech started to turn as Fuhito unleashed the full complement of the BattleMaster's formidable array of forward-mounted energy weapons. The Kurita 'Mech's own Holly launcher added its six missiles to the attack. Had the machine carried the usual pair of Sperry-Browning machine guns, Fuhito would have fired them as well. The Warhammerwas a threat to the Kanrei and had to be eliminated as soon as possible.

The Warhammerstaggered under Fuhito's flawless gunnery. The previously untouched armor over its lower rear torso vanished under the hellish energy that laved it. Out of control, it started to topple. The white brilliance of the fusion flame escaping its ruptured magnetic containment ate the upper half of the Warhammerbefore it had canted more than thirty degrees. The blackened stumps of its legs struck the ravaged earth. The torso had dissolved, and the Mech Warrior was gone, either blown out of sight or vaporized.

Fuhito turned the BattleMasterback the way it had come, moving to rejoin the rest of the lance.

* * *

Theodore felt the flicker of heat pass through the cockpit. Fuhito must have fired all of the 'Mech's weapons to tax its cooling system so. Under normal operating circumstances, the machine stayed cool, thanks to the Star League-vintage heat sinks that some ComStar clerk's mistake had left in it.

Those sinks were valuable, but not as precious as the command and control systems that took the place of the antipersonnel armament in this eighty-five-ton behemoth. They and the second seat, the commander's seat, were what really made this BattleMech live up to its name. They made it a true master of the battle. With this machine, the commander had a mobile, well-armored vehicle, able to survive on the battlefield. With the expanded cockpit, the machine could carry two men: the pilot, whose responsibility was the control of the BattleMaster'spower and the safety of the passenger, and the passenger, a battlefield commander who was free to worry about his real job, the command of his formations in battle. The commander could function without the distractions of keeping his 'Mech running, and without loss of command control when he came under fire and was forced to concentrate on simple survival.

Transmitting his current orders to the onplanet forces, Theodore wiped the main screen and brought up a display of overall strategic situation. He reviewed the planets involved in his counterthrust against the Davion invasion. Those on the Kurita side of the border, such as Fellanin II, Sadalbari, and Matar, had fallen easily at the start, their Davion occupiers confused and shocked by the sudden onslaught. Theodore had caught them as they prepared for their own attack; many had been hit while in transports.

More shocking to the Davion defenders, and to their High Command as well, was the sudden appearance of Kurita forces deep within their own space. Planets such as Cartago, Doneval II, and Clovis had not been expecting to be attacked while Davion was making its own push into the Combine. The DCMS intercept division, the ISF, the O5P, and the wary but still helpful ComStar people were for once in complete agreement. Hanse Davion—the Fox—had been caught off-guard.

So far, everything had gone like a finely choreographed program. Even the mercenary strikes at Le Blanc, New Ivaarsen, and Dobson had yielded suitable repayment for the investment. The Kurita counterattack, Operation Orochi, had proceeded with pleasing efficiency and success. On every world the Combine forces attacked, they had come down hard, formation after formation. Or so it had appeared. Every buso-senshiwas doing the work of a 'Mech lance. Each unit was doing its best to look like more than they were, battalions acting like regiments. Theodore knew that Hanse Davion must suspect, at least, that the Combine had been rearming far faster than could have been predicted. He hoped to fool the Fox by appearing to have more units than actually existed.

The apparent scale of Theodore's counterattack was designed to give the appearance that the Combine had enough resources and enough confidence in its defenses to launch a major offensive in the middle of an enemy invasion. His goal was to make Hanse Davion worry. To make him suspect that his intelligence apparatus had completely failed him. To make him fear for his own state's survival. It was that fear that would save the Dragon.

Theodore was gambling with the life of the Dragon, but he had no choice. The Combine's resources had been stretched dangerously thin. If Operation Orochi failed, the Combine would fall. But if he had been content just to defend the worlds of the Combine, the Draconis military would eventually have crumbled under the pressure of the mighty Davion-Steiner war machine. He was staking everything on this audacious operation.

The arrival of the Fourth Guards was the sign Theodore had been waiting for—the Fox had fallen for the bait. Theodore had been right in his assessment of Hanse Davion as a man who took few chances when playing for such high stakes. The Fox had chosen to protect his own instead of going for the Dragon's throat. Davion was no coward, but he was not foolishly blind, either.

Theodore checked the deep-space feed. The Davion Guards' DropShips were still on course for Exeter. The Guard would want Kurita blood. They would want to stop the Dragon before he took Robinson or thrust any deeper into their state. Theodore had succeeded in arousing Davion's fear.

Smiling with satisfaction, he fed course instructions through to Fuhito's screen.

* * *

Fuhito ran the BattleMasterup the hill, seeking a clear field for his sensors. At the crest, he halted and oriented the massive torso toward the distant Samuelson Military Reservation. The Kuritans had cracked the Davion defense. 'Mechs stalked through the outer reaches of the reservation, headed for the laboratory and testing compounds.

A pair of missiles smashed into the hillside at his right. Only one explosion geysered dirt, rocks, and vegetation against the BattleMaster's leg. He gauged the origin point and snapped off a shot from the 'Mech's paired rear-defense lasers. The ruby pulses caught a deadfall, exploding it to flinders in a cloud of flash-heated steam. As the debris fell and the smoke cleared, he watched an infantryman stagger away, the flesh of his hands welded to the plastic of the launcher he had used. The man had survived firing on the Kurita 'Mech. Without thought, Fuhito triggered a single pulse that vaporized the stumbling figure.

Downslope, the Dragon, Sentinel,and Crabthat made up the rest of the lance were prowling through the remains of the First NAIS Cadet Cadre. There would be no counterattack against the Samuelson Military Reservation.

The BattleMaster'sinternal comm screen lit with a map, a projected course highlighted in red. Fuhito tapped an acknowledgement, satisfied that Theodore would read it on his screen when he could spare attention from his strategic concerns. He radioed the movement order to the lance. The expeditionary force had performed this smash-and-run routine across Exeter's northern continent, just as they had done on each planet they had hit between here and the Combine's border. Now it was time to withdraw. The Kanrei must have decided that they had done enough damage here.

Perhaps not quite enough,he thought, as the BattleMastercame on a staging area for Davion infantry. Fuhito charged his 'Mech forward, lasers flaring from its chest. At his right, the hunched, alien shape of Barnaby's Crabstrutted, blasting with its heavy laser forearms. The Fedrat troops, surprised and demoralized by the sudden appearance of the Kurita 'Mechs, panicked to scatter in all directions. The Kuritans continued on, unscathed by the encounter.

Theodore's face appeared on the internal comm screen. "Everything in order, Fuhito– kun?"

"All clear, Tono."

"Good."

"What's next, Tono?"

"Next we leave Exeter, Fuhito– kun. The Fox has taken the bait."