Текст книги "Way Of The Clans"
Автор книги: Роберт Торстон
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15
How well I remember the first time in a heavy BattleMech, Ter Roshak wrote. It is a sensation I recall so vividly, though it happened so long ago. I envy our current cadets this unforgettable moment. There is something different about getting into the cockpit of one of the big ones. After all the training in the lighter models, where you get used to a certain ease of movement, the heavier 'Mechs at first seem graceless and hard to maneuver. All that tonnage underneath their feet gives the neophyte pilots some qualms. They wonder how something as fragile as a neurohelmet working off one's brain waves is able to keep an unwieldy monster like a 'Mech in balance, keep it from falling flat on its angular face. And more than the balance, how can they trust the neurohelmet to make the 'Mech take its steps efficiently and naturally?
If we were not of the Clan, the first time in a 'Mech would perhaps be a worrisome experience. But the Clan blood charging like cavalry through the intricate pathways of our bodies tells us that no large conglomeration of metal and other materials is beyond our capabilities. The basic sensory difference between piloting a smaller 'Mech and guiding one of the big ones is only a temporary setback, a fear that comes only once. We gain control, and from then on are either warriors or failures. No other outcome is possible in the Trial of Position. The failures either survive and go to another caste, or they die. Here in Crash Camp we have swept countless corpses off the battlefield.
People I meet from outside the Clan, Periphery bondsmen and the like, often question the harshness of such trials, which, like so many of our customs, they find somewhat pitiless. They especially center on the Warrior Caste. They do not understand that the trials mustbe almost insurmountable; it is the only way to turn out exemplary warriors. Anything less, any cadet passed along and given the name of warrior while retaining flaws, renders the training meaningless.
We are not here, after all, to churn out the kind of dispensable soldier that in the past was called cannon fodder. Such warriors were the products of a certain democratization on Terra, when mass man was recruited to fight battles by power-hungry leaders or zealous rebels. It was considered glorious to charge an entrenched enemy, leaving behind many dead heroes in a triumph that gained perhaps two centimeters of the battleground. If one side had significantly more personnel than the other, that side could win a battle—not through strategy or tactics but through attrition of the other side. Such situations were not war, but rather mere organized slaughter. Personal sacrifice was an ideal that sounded better than it ever was in practice.
I do not criticize here the individual heroic act, which is admirable. In any kind of warfare soldiers who give up their lives to save others or whose acts of bravery damage or destroy enemy facilities to settle a battle that might have been costlier are examples of heroic deeds that stand apart from the issues of the war at hand. Victory or defeat, right or wrong, absurdity or glory—those concepts do not apply even to such deeds. The act justifies itself without benefit of doctrines.
The war that wastes lives disgusts me. Unnecessary personal sacrifice is a waste; the heroic act that saves no one is a waste. General Kerensky was right when he proclaimed that war and preparation for war must be accomplished with a sense of economy. The minimum number of warriors necessary for the battle is the only number that should be sent to it. Anything else is wasteful.
The bidding system is the Clan's greatest contribution to the actual conduct of war. We declare to our opponent what the prize of the battle should be—factory, genetic material, whatever we think necessary for the advancement of our Clan. The defender responds by naming the forces he will use in defense. We then bid among ourselves for the right to fight the battle and then engage in combat. Only the warriors and materiel bid by the individual commander are allowed to engage in the contest. Reinforcements can be called only up to the point of the second-best bid.
As a result, our warfare style saves lives as well as treasure. There are no crowds of noncombatants on the battlefield to be blown up by an errant missile. We do not engage in barbarous attacks against our opponent's industries or lower castes. We understand the necessities of war better than any force previously engaged in one because we so meticulously analyze how much of our own people and supplies to put at risk.
The principle of economy works for the other castes, too. Few citizens live in anything approaching luxury, except those who have clearly earned it. Even those in the merchant caste, famous for its shrewd dealings and carefully calculated profits, do not often seek what they do not deserve. It has often been said that our major blemish, the bandit caste, are people who could not grasp the wisdom of this system, and they are all the more detestable for that. Most Clan castes are, however, devoted to our major goal, the return to the Inner Sphere and restoration of the Star League. The lives of our people are dedicated to making the overall machine of society function.
I have prided myself on maintaining all my own commands well within the concepts of Clan utility and economy. Every usable piece of material is as strictly maintained as the 'Mechs themselves. I demand proper polish and the control of waste. Nothing is discarded without the approval of several of my subordinates. Anything that might be used again in any way gets a second, third, or fourth life. I know what they sometimes say about me and do not mind at all being described as the man who would rework garbage into gyros, crumbs into ammo, zombies into warriors if I could find ways.
Do I digress again? That at least seems to be one skill of mine that seems to increase with age. It is easy to see why the Clan removes aging warriors from active service, why it shunts them off to rear-guard support positions or assigns them to training units. Again it is a question of husbanding one's resources. When instinctive reactions come slower and the eyes can not focus as easily on the monitors or the targets and the body takes longer to perform any action, it is only logical that the warrior be removed from active service; he has become a detriment to the others in his unit. Waste creates waste. A mistake by an aging warrior can kill a younger one. Though age, and the experience that accompanies it, may bring some valuable wisdom, it is also true that too much detritus collects in the mind as the years pass. When something is no longer useful at or near the front lines, it must be utilized in other ways. So the aged and injured, both categories to which I now belong, are salvaged in order to perform other roles in the warrior caste. Nothing should be wasted that is in any way still usable.
Still, as in any cycle of waste and salvage, something is lost inevitably. I miss active service, and if ordered, would return to a combat unit without a second thought. Peripheral duties—no matter how important—offer no real satisfaction. Like any warrior, I still crave the pleasure of watching an enemy go down in flames or feeling a jaw crack underneath my fist or accurately slicing armor off the 'Mech in my sights.
I miss war and I do not mind admitting it, in the privacy of this journal.
But my fighting days are over and I have to live vicariously through these cadets. I am hard on them because my orders so require; I am even more rigorous because they are my enemy now. An odd thought, that. I had never perceived the cadets in that way before. With their innocent ways and their frequent ineptitude, they constitute all the obstacles to be overcome. I hate all their failures, want more from them when they succeed.
When the sibkos have been winnowed down, I then focus on the useful material—that is, the cadets who definitely could become warriors. Potential waste (in terms of warrior potential) has been eliminated and reassigned to worthwhile roles in the society.
Digression. Digression. Looking back over what I have just written, I seem to subscribe to what might be called an excremental view of history. Nevertheless, a control of human and nonhuman assets is essential to a successful military operation of any kind.
Which is not to say that I am overwhelmingly dedicated to saving everything. I will dispose of even human lives if the objective is reasonable. I will sacrifice a 'Mech if it means demolishing other 'Mechs. In the battle that cost me my arm, I had to send one Star on a suicide mission, and I still remember every single one of its members.
I pile digression upon digression. It is time for me to try to sleep, though I will probably be unable to. In three days the present sibko will fight its Trial of Position, and I think about that constantly. For the three who remain, I have ordered that they undergo the Trial together. I prefer that only two go out at a time, as is the declared custom, but when the number is odd, I reluctantly order three out against nine. Joanna is excited by the prospect, seeing the Trial as a kind of battle royal. She is a bit bloodthirsty, that woman. I think she would not mind if all the cadets were defeated. She has no sense of economy.
It is a pity that we lost one cadet so close to the Trial. When that happens, it is always a minor tragedy, not so much for the cadet who is killed, but for the loss of a warrior at a time when more warriors are needed.
16
It might have been better, more meaningful, if Rena's corpse were not so twisted and bloody. Aidan definitely wished her eyes were closed, and would have closed them himself if Falconer Joanna did not stand between him and Rena's body. Joanna's face was emotionless, looking at Rena as if she had not known her for so long, taken her through so much training. Aidan edged closer, sensing Marthe and Bret also moving in a step or two behind him. He had seen Rena fall, seen the dark spots appear on her fatigues before he realized that she had been hit.
"She was aware this was a live-ammunition exercise, quiaff?"Joanna asked.
"Aff," Bret replied.
"And she stood up suddenly, quiaff?"
"Aff."
"And there was no reason for her to stand up, quineg?"
"Neg. No reason."
"Then it is clear she was not meant to be a warrior. She was, like all cadets who do not succeed, a fool. She should have died that first day, sparing me the time I spent training her. Dispose of the body, the three of you."
Joanna walked away without looking back. None of the cadets made a move to obey her directive.
As Aidan looked down at Rena, he wondered if he should remember something significant about her, perhaps make some sort of valedictory before she was carted off to the medical facility, where her usable organs would be extracted and stored, and the rest of her cremated. The leftovers. That was what faced most of them, unless they were lucky enough to be disintegrated in battle and rendered not worth dissecting or burning.
In idle moments, in classrooms or alone in bed at night, he had been able to call up all kinds of childhood memories, but now with the sibko itself almost a memory, he could think of nothing specific about Rena. No immediate image of her alive in pre-cadet days came to him. For that matter, he could remember nothing about any of them. All those memories he used to cherish about him and Marthe were, for the moment, denied recall. (Later, in his bunk, looking ahead to the Trail and back to the sibko, such incidents flooded his mind.)
Marthe touched his arm. At first he thought it was a renewal of the old friendship, but then it was obvious she was pushing him aside.
"We have a job to do. Bret, you take her feet. I will carry her by the shoulders. Aidan, you go ahead and make the arrangements."
Aidan took a step in the direction of the medical facility, then he turned back and addressed Marthe: "What happened? Why did she die?"
"It is beyond us as warriors to consider weighty abstractions, unless required for strategy."
"I did not mean that! I mean what specificallyhappened? How did she come to stand up? All of us knew better. Sheknew better."
"I suppose she could not have, considering that she did what she did."
With Bret positioned at the body's feet and Marthe at its head, they picked Rena up at Marthe's signal. As strong as they were, the carrying of a body required no strong effort.
"Unless she killed herself intentionally," Aidan commented.
"That is not possible. Rena was a warrior. Warriors do not kill themselves. Go on to the medical facility, Aidan."
"Are you sure? That is only classroom talk, as far as we know."
"You doubt what we are told?"
"No it is not that, it is just—I do not know what I mean. Forget I spoke."
"That would be easy."
"You sound more like Falconer Joanna every day, Marthe."
She turned and glared at him.
"And you sound like one of your hawks, squawking and growling at every chance. You complain too much, Aidan."
"I speak my mind."
"Whatever you call it, it is a bad habit."
He started again on the path toward the medical center. Marthe called after him: "You say I sound like Falconer Joanna. That is a compliment, Aidan. A compliment."
Then why, he wondered, had she been so angry when first he said it?
After they had delivered Rena and her body was on its way toward eventual dissolution in flames, the three remaining cadets returned to the exercise in which they had been engaged when Rena was killed. All passed the test with high scores.
In the midst of the maneuvers, with the heat of the fusillades descending on them like quick storms, Aidan did not think again of Rena. For him and his fellow cadets, her passing was like the departures of their fellow sibkin, sharply noted but easily forgotten. That night Aidan had his few moments of memories, but then he turned his attention to the important time ahead, when he would finally fight a real battle with a real 'Mech against real opponents. In spite of the Clan idea of utility, he itched to turn an attacking 'Mech into useless scrap.
17
The site of the test was kept secret from the cadets until the actual day of the Trial. In a rare speech, Falconer Commander Ter Roshak explained that the Jade Falcon Trial differed from simpler Trials used by other Clans such as the Clan Wolf. In contrast to those, he said, the Jade Falcon Trial of Position intended to recreate actual battle conditions, where warriors had to fight in unfamiliar terrain and with looser rules of engagement. All the cadets would know beforehand was contained in a map of the terrain and a brief "Recon report," both documents issued an hour before the Trial.
"This duplicates battle conditions," Ter Roshak said in his loud but unemotional voice, the voice of a warrior who had gone half-deaf from too many combat engagements. "Prior to an action, a military unit often has little or no data to go by. Sometimes it has even less. This Trial will assume that you have been separated from your unit in enemy territory. You have had to leave your BattleMech for reconnaissance purposes. Your recon has discovered traces of the enemy's presence, so you are alert to potential danger. The Trial begins as you are making your way back to your 'Mech. Remember, you are in hostile terrain. You may be attacked anytime during the initial part of your trek. At this point, the training in hand-to-hand combat may come into play, so be prepared for anything."
The camp pipeline had it that a small contingent of freebirths had been shipped in during the night to portray enemy footsoldiers. Even Ter Roshak knew that the cadets had probably heard about the importation of the freebirth squad. Though he had no intention of informing the cadets of the freebirth presence during his talk, he thought it appropriate to hint at it. The danger the "secret" squad posed was, after all, no different from what might occur in a similar wartime situation. In many of the battle situations the commander had experienced, even when his unit landed in known terrain (especiallyin known terrain), there had been unexpected surprises.
"Once in your 'Mechs, you will have to mobilize them from an inactive state. That is when your cockpit training will come into play. Check everything rapidly but meticulously. Then you must start your search for the enemy."
Aidan felt a little dizzy, not from Roshak's words or his warnings about the Trial, but from the realization that, after all this time and all this effort, it was about to take place. Everything they had known and lived since their earliest childhoods had been leading up to this, focused on this, and now the moment was at hand. In his mind seemed to congregate all the members of the sibko who were not here, in this room, listening to the pre-Trial indoctrination. There were those who did not make it to warrior training in the first place, those who flushed out from training, and those who were dead. Dead and alive, they were all like ghosts, vaguely outlined, appearing momentarily in memory, then vanishing like wraiths.
"During the search for the enemy, the three of you must operate as a unit, even though eventually you will have to split off to fight your preselected opponents. Consider at this point the lesson I gave you not long ago. The camaraderie of your sibko is behind you; it is the stuff of childhood now. Your loyalty will be to whatever unit you are assigned. Sometimes that unity is quickly established on a battlefield. Fortunately for the three of you, you do know each other and I think, have reunited as a fighting unit, much like a Star and unlike a sibko. This is good and should serve you well in the first phase of the Trial.
"Discovering the enemy will depend on your individual abilities and the skill with which you use your sensors. But make no mistake: if you do not find them, they will find you. As you know, in the trio of 'Mechs lined up against you, the lightest will engage you first, according to custom."
Yes, Aidan thought, unless you engage first. A strategy had formed in his mind, and he intended to act on it. He had awakened one morning with the firm realization that it would be better to do more than just succeed in the Trial; he would attempt to defeat two, and perhaps all three, of his opponents. Achieving a double "kill" meant entering active service with the rank of Star Commander, while a triple would immediately earn him the rank of Star Captain. Not only did he desire the power of a higher rank, but it seemed to him that the better rank he could achieve, the closer to a Bloodname he would be. And that was the point of it all, was it not? Becoming qualified to compete for a Bloodname, then going on to have your genes included in the gene pool.
"The opposing 'Mechs will engage you one after another. However, engaging any 'Mech other than the one you are fighting will open up the battle to general melee. This includes the 'Mechs that are opposing your sibkin. In such a case, any 'Mech that you kill will count for a score. Remember that your opponents are all experienced pilots who have served the Clan for some time, so never lose the watchfulness we have inculcated within you."
Perhaps they areexperienced, Aidan thought, but they are also prepared for certain strategies, certain modes of attack. Which made it all the harder for the cadets, who had been taught conventional assault against conventional defense. The best route to a super-kill would be the unconventional one. And Aidan was surer than ever what his route would be—what, in fact, it shouldbe.
"Each of you starts with a Summoner,whose weapons are fully charged and supplied with the ammunition loads you have selected for your configurations. Your survival will depend on how you use the skills we have trained into you, plus your natural aptitudes and instincts. If you are alive when the Trial is over, you will be warriors or . . . something else. The Clan can open its ranks only to the best, so that is what you must be, only the best. In fifteen minutes, you will be transported to the battle site. When this session is ended, Falconer Joanna will distribute your maps and recon surveys. Study them well, now and on the way to the site. Intelligence is just as much a key to success as battle skills."
* * *
The map and supporting material in their hands, the cadets went about their study in different ways. Marthe read coolly and methodically, while Bret seemed to race through the material, then went back to a section, then on to another one, and so on. Aidan at first had difficulty in focusing on the diagrams, drawings, and words, the whole packet seeming to have been written in some alien language. All he could think of was the Trial itself. He was so eager to get to it that in his fingertips he already felt the tension of maneuvering the Summonerand firing its weapons. He saw himself mowing down not only his own opponents, but Marthe's as well. Helping her would perhaps thaw the coldness of their relationship.
Then the pages of the survey and the details of the map finally came into focus. First, Aidan saw that the terrain was mixed. The stretch through which they would have to pass to reach their 'Mechs was relatively flat, but with plenty of greenery, including a wide, thick stretch of woods that obscured any view they might have had of their 'Mechs. The 'Mechs themselves were cached near a row of hills that hid them from enemy view. On the other side of the hills was a wide meadow crossed by a stream running down from the hills. The stream widened and deepened at several places. At the meadow's far end, just before a forest, the flatland became more hilly, with many militarily advantageous mounds and knolls. On the left, the stream emptied into a small lake.
Switching to the recon report, Aidan saw that it postulated a Trial of Possession for an armor-producing plant. The enemy had chosen to defend with a Cluster-sized unit of 'Mechs and Elementals in a sector of terrain that was mixed with woods and rolling hills. The enemy was also reported to be using unarmored garrison infantry. Aidan grinned, thinking that those irregular infantry would be the freebirths. Approximately two Stars of heavy 'Mechs were known to be operating in the immediate area.
The recon report indicated that the infantry strength in the immediate area was not known, nor was its available weaponry. Aidan knew that they were not skilled fighters, however, or else they would not have been assigned Trial-site duty. They were no better and no worse than the obstacle courses through which the cadets had been put in recent weeks. If he could climb a wall with a rope, then rappel down its other side, he could outsmart any freebirth obstacles they put in his way.
The weather projection was unsettling. Strong winds were projected and it had rained overnight. That meant the ground might be muddy, creating the risk of an accidental fall. Aidan had had some difficulty piloting the lighter 'Mechs in heavy winds, but the heavier Summonershould, in that respect at least, be easier to maneuver.
Would the skimmer ever reach the Trial site, he wondered as the itch to get to battle seemed to travel all through his body.
* * *
Reaching the general area of the Trial site, the cadets were given a choice of personal weapons for the first phase of the Trial. While Marthe chose a pulse laser-rifle and Bret a submachine gun, Aidan decided on a laser pistol. Bret questioned his decision and Aidan replied that he wanted to travel light, so he was willing to sacrifice range for the one-gram comfort of the pistol. He did not say it, but he also intended to use survival techniques instead of artillery power should any freebirth opponent get in his way.
Then they boarded a personnel carrier, which would take them to the actual starting point. Joanna and Roshak rode with them inside the dark, expansive carrier, whose window slits had been filled in so that the cadets could obtain no advance views of their destination.
When the carrier doors opened and the cadets climbed out, Aidan saw that clouds had gathered but there was no rain. Ahead of them was the Trial site. Although it no doubt conformed to the coordinates of the map they had been issued, it still seemed a long way from their starting point to the hills where their 'Mechs were. As they started on their way, the flatland ahead of them was not as flat as it had seemed on the map. There were numerous trees and rocks, large stretches of tall grass, all good ambush points.
As the trio stood at the line from which, in half a minute, they would be ordered forward, they visually scanned the terrain just ahead of them, searching for any sign of a freebirth out to improve his lot by hitting a trueborn with a lucky shot. Aidan wondered if he should have chosen a weapon with heavier firepower and range. But he did not have time to decide, for the half-minute was up and Joanna ordered that the Trial now begin.
