Текст книги "Wolves On The Border"

Автор книги: Robert N. Charette

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

43

ComStar Compound, Cerant, An Ting

Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine

3 January 3028

 

“Malkin' bugs!” the ComStar Acolyte muttered, slapping his neck at the sting. He scratched at the spot and cursed again.

“They're always bad this time of year, Seldes,” his companion said. His grin at his friend's discomfort vanished when one stung him, too. “Damn! They're big this year. If they get worse, we'll need antiaircraft artillery.”

“We'll need the artillery all right, but not for the bugs. The Dragoons won't take it lying down that ComStar has refused to let them send out messages. Mark me, Kent. They're gonna try something.”

“What can they do? ComStar is neutral, protected by all the Successor States so it can serve them all. Even if the Dragoons weren't on Kurita's bad side, the Draconians would defend the compound. This guard duty is a waste of time. Standing out all night trying to look watchful. What a pain! We should be getting a good night's sleep. We've got nothing to worry about. Anybody who tries to get in will get caught at the wall. You've seen those Kurita volunteers, haven't you? Tough mothers. I wouldn't want to cross any of them, would you?”

The answer was a ragged snore. Kent glanced over at his companion. Seldes had slumped against the archway, his head leaning against the lintel.

“Guess you're gonna get your sleep anyway.” Kent stifled a yawn. “It's not a bad idea. Hope the Precentor don't catch ...” The rest of the thought went unspoken as his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground.

A man-shaped shadow detached itself from the darkness and passed between the sleeping guards. It entered the building and joined the blacker darkness within. A few seconds later, it was back in the archway, waving twice before it vanished again.

More shadows materialized from the night and crept after the first. All seemed to move with feline grace, except for one who stumbled over Kent's rifle. At the slight clatter, the other shadows dropped into defensive crouches and froze into immobility. They remained fixed a few seconds before resuming their progress. One hustled the clumsy silhouette-man through the archway. Two others took hold of the fallen Acolytes and dragged them into the building. A fourth scooped up the abandoned weapons, and brought up the rear.

The shadow men flitted through the outer building and across the inner courtyard, stopping for a short, hushed conference at an unguarded inner door. Moments later, all but two remained at the entrance, sheltered in darkness.

Those two, one slim and graceful and the other stocky and clumsy, penetrated deeper into the edifice. The two shapes moved silently on soft-soled boots through the darkened corridors. Near a cross-corridor, the taller figure stopped its gliding progress and motioned to the other to wait. The second figure shuffled to a halt and leaned against a doorway. The first slid around the corner, out of sight. No one was there to see the waiting black-clad figure tremble as he huddled against the dark wood of the door.

Without warning, the door on the opposite side of the hall opened, spilling light into the corridor. The man who opened it wore the elaborate robes of a ComStar Precentor. By the look on his face, he was almost as startled as the shadow he had surprised. His hand reached again for the knob, but the intruder's gun spoke in a series of stuttering coughs before the Precentor could take the first backward step.

Bright bursts of blood starred the man's robes, and his body jerked as he staggered back into the room under the force of the continued impacts. He tumbled backward over a chair to land splayed on the floor. Slugs continued to tear into his body long after it had stopped moving of its own volition.

The first shadow returned. Its head-covering hood had been removed, revealing the face of Anton Shadd. The commando leader's face was set in a mask of rage. His hand snaked out to slap the pudgy, black-clad figure across its concealed face. The blow broke the paralysis that had welded the man's gloved finger to the trigger of his weapon.

“Unity, Scott!” Shadd gritted out. His voice was low to keep it from carrying too far. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Tech Chief Scott gasped like a gaffed pisciform. His left hand came up and dragged the hood and Blackwell night goggles from his head. His face was pale and slicked with sweat. He gobbled air. It took two tries before he could find his voice. Imitating Shadd, he spoke in a whisper.

“He came through the door. I thought he was going to give the alarm.”

“So you shot him!” Shadd's voice was full of disgust. “That was the Precentor. We needed him for the transmission codes.”

“He surprised me. I thought he was going to give us away.”

“You panicked.”

“So what if I did?” Scott shot back. “I wasn't trained for this. I'm a Tech, not a professional killer like you Sevens.”

Shadd clenched his jaw, biting off a retort. Instead, he said, “I found the HPG control chamber. Let's go.” Shadd closed the door on the carnage and returned the corridor to darkness. “Next time, leave any killing to the professionals.”

Not a word passed between the two Dragoons on the short walk to their destination.

Smoke from the presence lamps hung in a greasy haze below the chamber's high, domed ceiling. The red-tinted glass filled the room with a ruddy glow, and incarnadine reflections glinted from shiny chrome and pale plastic hardware.

The HyperPulse Generator's bulky regulator equipment and horseshoe-shaped control board dominated the center of the room. Heavy, shielded cables emerged from the machinery and ran to the north wall, behind which was hidden the massive generator. Lesser communications devices, computer consoles, and data storage units lined the walls.

An open stairway led from the entrance to a catwalk that circled the chamber three meters above the floor. The walk extended out to a platform overlooking the controls. The velvet-draped, high-backed chair was the Precentor's throne, positioned to give him a view of the actions of his Acolytes as they performed the transmission rituals.

Shadd checked for other entrances while Scott walked to the control console and studied the layout. The commando found a small door on the south wall. From the orbital photos of the compound that he studied, he knew it opened into the private garden of the Precentor's residence. There was little likelihood of disturbance from that quarter. The only other portals to the outside were the shuttered windows along the catwalk.

A rattling sound made Shadd swivel suddenly, his subgun at the ready. Seeing that the noise was only the Tech Chief removing a panel from the front of the control board, he relaxed. Scott was poking and prying at the exposed wiring and circuit boards in a desultory fashion.

“Come on, Scott. Every minute you waste fiddling with that thing means we're more likely to get caught.”

“This isn't easy, Shadd. This malking machine's a patchwork. It's been crosswired eight ways to Sunday. There are patches on top of patches in the wiring. So many that I can't be sure what circuit is what. I don't think the Robes had any idea of what they were doing.”

“I don't want to hear it,” Shadd growled. “You're supposed to be a communications wizard. Prove it!”

Scott grimaced but bent back to his work. His curses rose in a regular stream while Shadd busied himself checking the locks on the doors. At the back entrance, he was sliding a pair of file cabinets across the door when a subgun suddenly barked outside the chamber.

“Damn!” Shadd muttered. Somebody had slipped up, or else they'd found the Precentor's body. Either way, their penetration had been discovered.

An alarm began to sound as Shadd bolted up the stairs to the catwalk. He halted beside the window looking out over the inner court. The firing was coming from that direction. Careful to minimize his exposure, Shadd slid open the shutters.

Searchlights were sweeping the grounds. In their stark light, Shadd could see ComStar troopers and Kuritans trying to force their way across the courtyard. His team was laying down a withering fire with their silenced weapons. The sounds of the attackers' guns and the hooting alarm completely covered any sound those weapons were making. Shadd could not tell how many of his men were holding the entrance.

Shadd called down to Scott. “You've just been put on deadline, wizard.”

“It had better not be a short one,” Scott replied. His voice echoed out of the cabinet where he had stuck his head.

Returning his attention to the courtyard, Shadd spotted a trio of Draconians moving along the far colonnade, well on their way to achieving a flanking position. From the angle, Shadd could tell that the Snakes were out of line-of-sight from the entrance his men guarded. He swung into the window, fired a burst at the runners, and ducked back as soon as he lifted his finger from the trigger.

When no slugs came searching for him, he knew that the flash suppressor on his Ceres Arms Ranger had done its job. None of the enemy had marked his position. He risked a look to check the results of his fire. Two of the runners had dropped, sprawling. The third was skittering back the way he had come. The defense of the entrance was secure for a while longer.

Scott's shout of triumph brought Shadd around in time to see lights flicker, then stabilize into a steady glow along the control boards of the Hyper-Pulse Generator. A whine began that climbed in a steady tone before dropping into a steady hum.

“It's ready,” the Tech Chief announced with satisfaction. “What about the codes?”

“Bypassed them.”

“Then send the message. Exactly as the Colonel gave it to us. Not a word out of place.”

“I'm not a novice, Shadd,” Scott grumbled, turning to the keyboard.

With the lull in the fighting outside, Shadd listened to the clack of the keys that seemed to mark time like the ticking of some ancient clock. But time was in short supply. Every passing moment reduced the strike force's chance of escaping from the compound.

The crackling roar of a plasma flamer echoed across the courtyard, announcing the renewal of combat.

Shadd looked out the window to see the upper body of a BattleMech visible above the roof of the outer building. Silhouetted in the predawn light, the machine resembled a headless scarecrow. Shadd recognized the shape as that of a Vulcan,a fearsome antipersonnel 'Mech.

When the machine's right-arm flamer belched a second burst of plasma, the backflash lit its torso. Shadd recognized the symbol that decorated the 'Mech's left chest as the black dragon of House Kurita. So, the Snakes had raised the ante.

The Vulcan'splasma burst scorched everything it did not set aflame. Screams came from the entryway. Good men were dying.

Kurita soldiers came boiling from the outer building. Nothing slowed them as they rushed across the courtyard. No gunfire. No grenades. His men at the entrance to the generator building were dead. Shadd hoped that some had been able to retreat deeper into the building and take up a new defensive position where the 'Mech couldn't reach them. If they had, the Snakes wouldn't winkle them out easily. The commandos would trade their lives for time.

The lights on the HPG console dimmed briefly with the power surge as the generator sent its interstellar pulse into space. Shadd found the Tech Chief grinning in pleasure, oblivious to his surroundings. Shadd could do nothing but shake his head.

The commando leader keyed his comm unit. “Muhammad to base.”

The response was immediate. “Go ahead, Muhammad,” said Jaime Wolf.

“It's a Snake nest here. 'Mechs too. Don't expect us home.”

“Success?”

“The word it out, Colonel. Get the people out, too.”

“You will be remembered in the halls.”

Shadd cut the circuit. The men of Seventh Kommando lived and died in darkness and deception. Remembered in the halls, the Colonel had said. He couldn't ask for more. Clicking a fresh magazine into the Ranger, he walked to the door to await the assault.

44

Dragoon Administrative HQ, Cerant, An Ting

Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine

3 January 3028

 

Dechan chewed at his thumbnail. In the long hours since the Hegira vote, the tension of waiting had soured his stomach. Enforced idleness had never sat well with him. He longed to do something ... anything. What he really wanted was to be in the cockpit of his Shadow Hawkchasing Snakes, but the Colonel's order was to stay put. Besides, his 'Mech was at Boupeig barracks halfway across Cerant, and the mob still roamed the streets.

He could see Wolf across the planning room. The Colonel's shoulders were slumped with fatigue as he took a break from the almost continuous negotiations with the terrorists. Negotiations! A strange word to use for political speeches. The criminals holding the Hephaestusdidn't seem interested in listening at all. They wanted to talk, condemning the Dragoons and exclaiming the virtues of the Dragon. It seemed to Dechan that they would rather discuss the games on Solaris than actually work out terms.

He didn't envy Wolf. The Colonel's nerves must be stretched tighter than any Dragoon's in the headquarters. After all, he was in the decision-making slot.

Two hours ago, a Dragoon DropShip's orbit had brought it near the station. After conducting a visual scan, the crew had confirmed Major Quo's assertion that members of Seventh Kommando were on the hull of the Hephaestus.That is, they'd been able to confirm that spacesuited figures were working their way toward the command section. When the ship had tried to radio the figures, the terrorists had murdered one of the hostages and threatened more deaths if any more transmissions were beamed at the station. Wolf had forbidden further attempts to communicate with the men on the surface of the station.

Dragoon hopes had risen with the sighting of those figures. It meant that at least some of what Major Quo had tried to tell them was true. If the spacesuited figures really were members of the Seventh, things might not be as bad as they seemed.

Operation Recovery was put on hold when Wolf decided that the commandos—if commandos they were—had a better chance of rescuing the hostages than would a full-scale assault. If a Dragoon DropShip moved into position to attack the station, it would be in direct defiance of the Kurita Command System and might provoke a military reaction. Wolf still had hopes of limiting the incident. How could he be blamed for actions of any commandos already on the station?

Wolf's orders meant that there was little to do at the command center, except to wait, updating plans as bits of new information arrived. That was even more true for Dechan, who was only a ‘MechJock, not a planner.

When the word had first come in from Shadd at the ComStar facility, there had been a flurry of activity. The cheers at his success died quickly, however, when he announced the Kurita assault. Everyone knew there was no way the commandos could survive it.

Shadd and his commandos were gone now. Dechan thought about the gruff man who had insisted on calling him “kid.” He had not known the man very well, but no one outside the Seventh ever really got to know the Sevens. Within the tightly knit Dragoon clan, they were a separate family. Shadd had seemed to be a good man in a fight, even if a little too quick to start one. He would not have made it easy for the Snakes.

In the name of protecting ComStar, the Kuritans had done the raiding team, and the Dragoons could do nothing about it at the moment. If they tried to seek compensation, it would mean having to claim the commandos as Dragoons, drawing down the wrath of ComStar and much of the Inner Sphere against the unit for violating ComStar neutrality. Yet that was exactly what the Dracs had done by going after the commandos.

Dechan wanted to avenge the unit's loss by smashing the Snakes the way they had wiped out the Dragoon commandos. Shadd would approve, he thought. Shadd wouldn't stay cooped up at the command center. Shadd hadn't let the mob stop him from getting to Boupeig barracks.

“Colonel Wolf!”

Dechan looked up at Cameron's shout. The man's unflappability was a byword in the 'Mech regiments. If he was excited, it meant that something was up.

“Colonel, the terrorists are broadcasting on the wide band again!”

“Put it on the main screen, William,” Wolf ordered.

The wide band meant that the terrorists were cutting into the public-broadcast frequencies so that the whole planet would hear. The face that appeared on the monitor was drawn and haggard, with dark smudges under the glittering, fanatical eyes. The terrorist's head bobbed once in acknowledgement of something, then his attention centered on the camera. His face became animated as he spoke, his eyes boring into the viewer.

“In a foul blasphemy, the outlaw Dragoons have attacked the ComStar compound in An Ting. They have slaughtered hundreds of innocents and destroyed the compound. This is an unconscionable act. It is beyond the bounds of civilized behavior.

“By this outrageous deed, Wolf's Dragoons have proven that we did not lie about them. They show it now to the entire Inner Sphere. Wantonly. Without regret or denial.

“We are vindicated!

“They are the enemy!

“Such enemies of mankind must be exterminated. Ground into the dust. We must make an example of them so that no others will dare the same abominable acts. They will not be allowed to leave the sacred space of the Draconis Combine unpunished.

“We are but insignificant patriots, armed only with our dedication to the Dragon and House Kurita. There is little we can do to hurt the murderers who call themselves Wolf's Dragoons. We cannot stand against their BattleMechs. We cannot fight their spaceships. But we will do what we can. Look to the sky. See the star of dawning truth. Heed the call to justice! Glory to Warlord Samsonov!” screamed the terrorist, shaking his fist at the camera. Then the screen suddenly went dead.

“What happened to the signal?” Wolf asked anxiously. “William, get it back.”

Cameron made no move toward the control board. His jaw quivered and a tear rolled down his cheek. His voice faltered.

“There's a strong electromagnetic pulse from the Hephaestus'sorbit. The station's gone, Colonel.”

45

Government House, Cerant, An Ting

Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine

3 January 3028

 

Akuma laughed.

As always, Sho-saAndrew Subato Chou found the sound unnerving. It made him wonder if Akuma was quite sane.

Chou flicked a glance across the richly appointed office at Quinn. The bodyguard stood by the transplex window that dominated the room. In his black uniform and backlit by the Dragoon arclights from across the square, the figure seemed more a shadow than a man. Chou would find no consolation there.

Quinn was usually paired with the shorter Panati, but Chou had not seen the squat Japanese all day. Not that his presence would have made any difference. Likely, the second of Akuma's guards would have been as cold and detached as the first. Chou detested being the only military officer with Akuma. Gazig at the swirls and arabesques in the design of the room's carpet, he fidgeted, wishing he were somewhere else.

Seeing his second-in-command fight to hide his agitation only fueled Akuma's humor.

“Look at them, Chou,” he commanded, indicating the one active viewscreen among the bank on one wall. “They are confounded, demoralized.”

Chou obediently turned his eyes to the screen, which showed a slightly fuzzy view of the planning room of the Dragoon administrative headquarters. In the center, Jaime Wolf stood stock still, hands clenched at his sides. Dragoons milled around him, as a young Captain in the background slipped from the room. The audio was dominated by shouting, a babble of many voices.

“The destruction of their orbital station has left them in disarray. Listen to them bawl. They scurry like ants from a mound that's been kicked,” Akuma gloated.

“Chu-saAkuma,” Chou said, having finally heard a single word clearly through the noise. “It sounds to me as though most of the Dragoon officers are calling for revenge.”

Chou knew he was contradicting his superior, but it had to be said. He was pleased that his voice remained steady.

“Does it?” Akuma ran his right index finger along his upper lip, then rolled his hand over and straightened his fingers in sequence. The gesture was nonchalant. “It does not matter. They have no target. Their anger and frustration will only ripen them for the blows to come.”

While Akuma spoke, the volume of noise coming from the speakers diminished. The abrupt change drew the attention of both Kurita officers to the monitor.

What they saw was Wolf calling for order. As calm fell over the Dragoon planning room, those present began a controlled discussion. Most of them wanted immediate revenge, and many wanted to start by razing the city. Wolf adamantly opposed military action by the Dragoons until the civilians were safe. To accomplish that, he had ordered DropShips down to begin loading.

One officer violently objected to Wolf's plan and berated the Colonel as a senile old man. A heated argument followed. Vanquished but still full of emotion, the officer vented his frustration by hurling a portable comm unit at the wall.

For an instant, the device seemed headed straight for the spying camera's lens, for the image wobbled as the missile struck. When the image stabilized, it was clearer than before and showed the amazed expression of the Dragoons staring directly at the camera. Someone at the back of the crowd fired a pistol, and the viewscreen went dark.

Chou ducked when the shot was fired. He straightened, grinning foolishly, to find Akuma tapping his fingers on the marble-topped desk, an annoyed pout on his face. Chou was startled when Quinn spoke.

“We cannot place another monitor at this point.”

“It does not matter.” Akuma dismissed the issue with a wave of his hand. “We no longer need one. The Dragoons are demoralized, distracted by their concern over worthless civilians. Their commanders are divided. Half of them are ready to overthrow Wolf.” He laughed strangely. “This will be almost too easy.

“If we dispose of the mercenaries here on An Ting, we cut off the head of Wolf's Dragoons. They may have gotten their message off, but what good will it do them? Their words will never reach the ears for which they were intended. Other hands will see to that. The rest of Wolf's Dragoons will remain ignorant of An Ting until it's too late. The remaining mercenaries will be easy prey to be hunted down at our leisure. Perhaps Ryuken– nican be assigned to lead the chase.” Akuma's face lit with pleasure at the thought.

Chou waited a moment before clearing his throat to remind the Chu-saof his presence.

“I have not forgotten you, Sho-saChou.”

Something in Akuma's voice suddenly made Chou wish that he had.

“This is your moment of glory,” Akuma continued. “Send out the attack orders. You may personally lead the assault on Boupeig barracks.”