Текст книги "Decision at Thunder Rift"
Автор книги: Уильям Кейт
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 22 страниц)
Range 300 meters.
The Stingerfired as Grayson twisted his running 'Mech to the side. There was a momentary dazzle, but the battlemode imaging system controlled the light level, protecting Grayson's eyes. His thumb came down on the red button, and white light pulsed across the Stinger'ship joint.
Hit! Flakes of metal glittered in the midmorning sun as they scattered on the sand, and there was a trace of oily smoke near the Stinger'swaist. The Stingersidestepped, moving rapidly to make itself a more difficult target. Grayson spun, swinging his laser up to bear on the back of the enemy Wasp.
The Stingermust have called a warning. The Waspturned before Grayson could fire again, and the laser hit the Wasp'sleft side instead of the broad, almost unarmored back. The Waspstaggered as armor unable to dump the heat of Grayson's beam exploded in bright, molten globs. The beam was attentuated somewhat as the stricken machine continued to turn beneath it, creating a ragged black scar across its flank.
Lights went red on Grayson's control panel, and there was a shock that made the Locustshudder and twist. The Stingerhad fired, catching him on the right torso. The armor seemed to have stopped the worst of the beam, but there was minor damage, and another hit there would certainly penetrate.
He swung and fired at the Stinger,aiming low. There was a flare and a whirl of sand as the Stingerwent airborne on flaring jets. Grayson reacted without thinking with a twist and a lurch that evaded three quick-spaced shots that cratered the sand where he'd been standing. He rolled up and fired as the Stingerdescended.
Miss!
The Locustswung about, targeting the Stingeras it dashed across his field of fire. He triggered the laser and saw liquid metal splatter. He'd hit the upper left arm. There might be some damage there.
He pressed the control stick, and the Locustlurched forward. A flash... and another! Two shots, almost together, had missed. With the range down to less than 80 meters, he fired at the Waspand caught it square in the chest.
So far, most of the damage had been confined to the 'Mechs' armor. Very soon now, the shots would be falling on still-hot scars, burning their way into the delicate electronic innards of the machines, and then the issue would be settled. Grayson wiped his hand ineffectually across his brow under the impulse helmet's rubber padding. He was drenched with sweat, and the net shirt clung to him unpleasantly. The heat in the sealed cockpit stifled him, pressed in around him, making him light-headed.
The Waspspun before him. He lined up for a quick shot at the blackened upper chest, fired, and missed. With his left hand still on the control stick, his right hand found the jointed wrist and finger control that guided the Locust'stwin machine guns. Machine guns were generally used for firing at enemy troops, but as he had proven in his uneven duel with the Waspin Sarghad's streets, a heavy-caliber machine gun could penetrate 'Mech armor, given time and a bit of luck. Even in the padded and pressurized interior of the Locust'scockpit, vibrations hammered into his body by his seat. Tracers arced, crossed, and floated into the wildly twisting Stinger.He saw metal chips fly from the already damaged hip, saw the Stinger'sleft leg suddenly go stiff. Hit!
Grayson charged.
The Stingerwas slow turning to meet him, its leg dragging as it spun. The two 'Mechs collided in an earsplitting crash, and the Stingersprawled backward onto the sand.
Grayson followed it with laser fire, but the 'Mech rolled across its shoulder as the laser pulse traced a line of molten glass in the sand. The Stingerfired, and Grayson's viewscreen went white then black as laser Are screamed across visual sensors recessed into the armor of the Locustscombined head and torso.
He jabbed viciously at the keyboard that controlled the sensor array computer, meanwhile keeping the Locusttwisting and dodging blindly with his left hand. The screen cleared as reserve forward sensors came on line. The damage to his 'Mech's head was severe; another head shot would smash through the remaining armor and kill him.
He quickly checked the scale that registered the Locust'sinternal heat, chewing at his lip as he scanned flickering numbers.
None of it was good. The temp was climbing dangerously. The computer would be asking for a shutdown soon. He'd lost heat sinks on his outer hull, and the build-up was becoming critical. But he would worry about that when the time came.
Now... where was the Wasp? Damn! In his momentary blindness, he'd lost track of the...
A violent impact from behind smashed him forward. He pivoted, caught his balance and turned. The Waspcollided with him from behind and nearly knocked him down. He found himself staring into the muzzle of the Wasp'slaser, knew he had no time to bring his own laser to bear. But then, an explosion mushroomed at the Wasp'sback, slamming it forward, off balance. There was a second explosion, this one crashing into the Wasp'sback armor and sending it sprawling flat on its belly.
The eight hovercraft of Striker Four were racing toward the three 'Mech combatants, spreading across the desert floor. One of the missile launchers trailed puffs of smoke in the HVWC's windstream, and twin flashes caught the Stingerin its right shoulder. There was a blinding pulse of light, and the Stinger'sarm whirled into the sand, its gauntlet still clutching the grip of its laser.
The Waspwhirled and broke into a run away from the hurtling hovercraft, and toward Grayson. The Locust'slaser swung to track it, locked on, and fired cleanly into the 'Mech's already savaged upper torso.
The Waspstaggered, blue sparks playing along the visibly shattered circuits and torn wiring behind the crater in its chest It took one step, then froze there, locked in a rigid stance from which it could not escape. Grayson turned to track the Stinger,which was limping toward the spaceport. At 100 meters' range, he fired again, targeting the machine's already damaged hip.
The leg gave way and the second 'Mech crashed into the sand.
The battle ended so abruptly that Grayson found himself wondering if it could really be over. The hovercraft swung up, weapons trained on the two crippled 'Mechs. With relief, Grayson saw the pilots being hauled from their cockpits, battered, but apparently able to stand and walk.
He felt relief because of Lori, who knew one of them as a friend, as well as for himself. Those two might be willing recruits to the Lancers, if properly approached. Grayson smiled ruefully at the thought, and wondered how he would convince Nolem and Adel of that.
"Striker One!" Striker One! This is Three!"
"I hear you Three. Go."
"Code Red, Chief. We've got the big boys spotted, the Shadow Hawkand the Marauderboth. They're on the road coming down from the castle, and it looks like they're headed this way!"
"The Shadow HawklYou're sure?" He realized as he spoke that that was a silly question. How could they mistake the ID of a 55-ton armored battle machine?,
"It just came out of the Repair Bay! It looks good as
new... moving full speed!"
Grayson chewed at his lower lip, and tasted blood. The fight wasn't over yet.
19
"Got it." Grayson's throat felt tight, his mouth dry. "Okay, Striker Four! Company's coming. Deploy for Code Red."
External microphones on the Locust'shead picked up the thuttering of autorifle fire. He turned the 'Mech to bring telescopic sensors to bear, zooming in on where he could see flashes and running figures through the churning air above the ferrocrete apron.
A fuel tank had been blown. Black smoke smudged the northern sky, and the pavement underneath was cast into the rippling gloom of a smoke shadow.
"Striker One! Do you read?"
"We... hear... you!" Ramage sounded like he was gasping for breath.
"We've picked off our targets, but two big brothers are on their way down the mountain. You have ten minutes!"
"I copy! We're almost... Manning, watch that warehouse... fifteen high! Get him!" The transmission was broken off for a moment. Then, "Yessir... we're almost wrapped up here!"
"Do you have the transport?"
"We have it. It's on the way."
One of the most important vehicles in any 'Mech Lance technical platoon was a transporter, a huge, broad, powered sled used to recover and carry 'Mechs damaged on the battlefield. Until now, the Lancers did not have such a vehicle. Their only alternative hads been to take one from the bandits.
The Lancers' new transporter had been brought to Trellwan as part of a trade agreement with the Commonwealth long before Carlyle's Commandos had arrived. More sophisticated models bore their loads on air cushions. This one was an older, wheeled vehicle. Each of its eighteen tires was twice the height of a man, and a single drum winch secured 2 cm cross-braided diamond monofilament cables for recovery operations. Striker Two had been assigned to cause whatever damage they could to the spaceport facilities, but capturing the giant 'Mech transporter was their primary mission. And now, transporting the Waspwould be their first operation.
Grayson was already preparing the Waspto be hoisted when the transporter arrived on the scene. The Locustdid not have manipulative members like most humanoid 'Mechs, but there were cleats and rings to which cables could be attached. Troops from the tacforce hovercraft swarmed across the downed Wasp, securing it with heavy cables and passing these up through the eyes of the Locust'stow rings.
The transporter arrived at the apex of a gradually dispersing cloud of dust and was positioned alongside the Wasp.With the Locustsupplying the muscle power, they eased the Wasphalf up off its back until it rested on its heels, then swung around 45 degrees and lowered it back down to a ramp that extended back behind the transporter deck to the desert floor. Working swiftly, men used the vehicle's winch and three-meter pry bars to work the damaged 'Mech into place, and then the transporter's winch hauled the ramp and its 20-ton burden aboard.
Black smoke boiled into the cold green sky above the spaceport. Seconds later a pair of dull thumps sounded across the desert, followed by the rattle of small arms fire in the direction of Mount Gayal. From where his 'Mech surveyed the edge of the port, Grayson could see the brooding, truncated pyramid of the Castle halfway up the slope.
"That'll be our friends," Grayson told Sergeant Larressen. "What do you think? Can we manage the Stingertoo?"
Larressen stood close by the Locust'sleft foot, gloved hands on his hips, puffs of white vapor issuing from his mouth in the frigid air. He was breathing hard after the struggle to raise the Wasp.
"We can try." He panted a bit over the radio circuit. "The question is whether we can move it once we get it up."
"Try it"
The Locusthelped maneuver the transporter sled across the sand to the side of the fallen Stinger,and they repeated the loading process. The ramp was long and broad enough for only one 'Mech, and so the Stingerhad to be piled on top of the Wasp.As the Locustbacked the Stingeronto the heap, Larressen detailed eight men to retrieve the 'Mech's arm from the sand 50 meters away.
"Striker One, this is Three."
"Yeah, Three. Go."
"Can't hold 'em much longer. We ambushed 'em with rocket launchers, but it didn't slow them down. The Shadow Hawkis closing on us, while the Marauderis still headed toward you... and we can't do a damn thing about it."
"Right Scatter your mines and, withdraw. We're rollng."
"On our way."
Grayson gave the go-ahead to the transporter's driver, who was perched in the vehicle's cab high above the desert, almost at shoulder level with Grayson's 'Mech. The vehicle was rated for 60 tons, but the pair of 20-tonners on its salvage deck were so precariously fitted that Grayson did not want to trust even diamond monofilament lashings when the accelerating vehicle hit rough ground.
Grayson opened a combat channel to all units. "All Strikers, this is One. Mission accomplished! pack it in, we're going home!"
"Striker One, this is Two!"
"Go ahead, two."
"Ramage, Lieutenant. We've got a bit of a problem here."
Grayson closed his eyes. Problems just now were what they did not need. "What is it?"
"Civilians, sir! A couple hundred of them! We got into a firefight with sone sentries. Turned out they were guarding a quonset hut full of prisoners."
"What's the problem?"
"God, Lieutenant, how're we supposed to get them out of here? Half of 'em are sick, and none of 'em fit to run ten klicks back to town!"
Suddenly, Grayson had a mind's eye image of the prisoners – shocked, weak, tired, and nowhere to go. He remembered Renfred Tor saying the bandits' prisoners would end up as slaves, remembered Claydon's pain at the memory of his mother. He couldn't leave those people to the mercy of the bandits. Twisting the Locust'scontrol stick, he urged the machine into a lurching, thudding run. Once across the shredded remnants of the spaceport fence, he pressed toward the sound of gunfire.
Machine gun fire howled and whined from the damaged armor of the Locust'shead. Grayson swung his 'Mech, tracing IR shadows of hidden men. The Locust'smachine guns stretched out with lazy, probing streams of tracers, then ignited a hastily constructed barricade of fuel drums and wooden crates. As the barricade exploded into mere dust and splinters, Grayson's external mike picked up a ragged cheer from men trotting out from cover. Their tired faces were blackened with grime, and many were missing helmets and other gear. Several were being helped along by unwounded comrades, but his men still had the strength to cheer.
The former prisoners, however, were dazed and uncomprehending. The assault team had liberated a half-dozen scout hovercraft from somewhere in the port, and these were crowded to overflowing with the weakest and sickest of the ex-prisoners, and with some of the women. From the shattered windows of the port control tower, tracers flashed and spat, seeking the refugees. A soldier screamed, thrashing on the ferrocrete. The Locust'smachine guns fired again, and broken glass and fragments of stone showered from the tower to the ground.
"Sergeant Ramage!"
"Sir!"
"Check those buildings over there." From his higher vantage point, Grayson could see what looked like storage sheds to the north. The Locustgestured with a gun arm. "See if you can round up more vehicles."
"Sir!"
"Striker Four!”
“We're here!"
"You're going to have to run interference for us. Go for the Marauder!Slow him down!"
There was no response, but Grayson didn't have time to pursue it. The hovercraft carrier's commander must be in shock with orders like that
"Transporter!"
"Yessir!"
"Change of plan! Swing north toward the port. You'll have some passengers.”
“Yessir!"
His console warned him of probing radar. "Move it men! We're out of time!" Explosions echoed across the desert. The Marauderwas there, four kilometers off and closing with ponderous, slow-motion strides. The hovercraft peeled off to meet this new menace, snarling low across the wastes to loose missiles and pulses of laser light.
Grayson had a new worry now. None of the ex-prisoners had cold-weather gear. The sub-zero temperature would quickly kill them if they weren't moved to shelter fast. It was also possible the Maraudermight get them.
Grayson tracked and fired with his laser. At over three klicks, he thought he had scored hits, but could not be sure. At such ranges, even the most powerful ‘Mech-borne lasers were practically useless.
The Marauder'sautocannon winked fire in return. Flame gushed from a striken GEV, strewing metal, plastic, and bodies across the sand. The other hovercraft circled around, seeking to strike their target from the rear, where the armor was thinnest. The Marauderslowed, paused, searching for ambush or concealed attackers.
The transporter ground to a rumbling halt, and the freed prisoners swarmed up along the sides, grabbing handholds and being pulled up by troopers onto the broad deck. Heavily laden hovercraft thrummed past, racing for Sarghad. Others deposited their passengers beside the transport, then swung north to gather more stragglers.
The ferrocrete emptied, except for the littered debris of battle. Grayson called all units.
"That's it! Fall back! Striker Four, drop your mines and break off! Rendezvous at Sarghad!"
Autocannon shells probed and followed, falling short.
They were well underway when the Marauder,perhaps suspecting an ambush, broke off the chase.
* * * *
Thirty hours after the battle at the wadi, Harimandir Singh stared at an image of the boy he'd thought was dead.
"So," he said. The word held calm acceptance, as well as grim anticipation. He fingered the 2-D photo his spy had handed him. "So Carlyle's son is alive. And you say he'sthe one behind this... this situation?"
Stefan nodded jerkily. Singh terrified him. He never knew how the Red Duke's man would react to the news he brought, and the uncertainty was wearing on him.
Stefan had been recruited by one of Singh's agents in Viscount Vogel's staff shortly after the Commonwealth representative had arrived at the Castle. The Young Trell was proud and ambitious, and bridled under the subtleties of custom and prejudice that separated the offworlder starmen from the "indigs", the locals. That agent had played on both Stefan's pride and his greed. Stefan now had more money in one of Sarghad's banks than he'd ever seen in his life, and had been promised even larger rewards for continued loyalty in service to the Red Duke.
Stefan swallowed hard. "I was at the celebration, Lord. The King gave him a medal – his second, I believe – and made a speech. He called Carlyle's son the Deliverer of Sarghad."'
Singh's eyes flashed, sharp and cold. "He didn't see you?"
"No, Lord. I was in the back of the room. The light on the stage was bright. He couldn't have seen me, not in that crowd. I think everyone in Sarghad must have been there."
"That's good. Otherwise he might recognize you from our assault on the Castle."
"Yes, Lord."
"Carlyle will have to die, of course. The question is what to do with this new unit he's forming. Singh looked thoughtful. "They have a full Lance now. Four 'Mechs."
"Only three, Lord. I overheard two astechs talking at the reception. I gather that one of the Waspscannot be repaired, and they're using it for salvaged parts."
"Three 'Mechs or four, it cannot matter. Light 'Mechs are no match for a Marauderand a Shadow Hawk."He flipped Grayson's photograph aside. "Carlyle knows he cannot win. Perhaps he will try something desperate." Singh smiled to himself. "Now, thatwould be... pleasant."
"You will attack, then, Lord?" Singh's relaxed and talkative mood made Stefan more bold.
"Eh? Not while they remain in that city. Those narrow streets and alleys are deathtraps for 'Mechs. No, we will remain here, and wait."
"But Lord, how will you bring them out to fight?"
"We won't need to. They cannot attack us here in the Castle, and very soon we will no longer need to attack them."
"I don't understand, Lord."
"And it is not desirable that you do. If you knew the Plan, I would kill you now."
Stefan paled, and remained silent.
"I want you to return to Sarghad. You've been my eyes and ears there, Stefan. Now you will be my hand." Singh smiled at Stefan in his icy fashion, and the young Trell found the expression horrifying.
* * * *
Sarghad's hospital complex lay mosdy below ground in the southern part of the city. Its ground level was domed-over against Trellwan's extremes of climate, but an open patient lounge and exercise area was bathed in ruddy light through wall transparencies during the day. Trell was westering. The spaceport battle was a standard week in the past
Captain Renfred Tor shook Grayson's hand.
"I take it you didn't get the job you were looking for," Grayson said.
"They refused rather bluntly, I must say." Tor was well on the way to recovery, though he remained in a wheelchair while tissue grafts healed on his toes. He had been carried to the transporter by another escaping prisoner when his frostbitten feet had given out The bruises on Tor's face had healed, but there was still a haunted look to the man, some secret honor that he would not discusss.
"Well, things have changed in Sarghad. I've got a job for you, if you want it."
Tor eyed Grayson's dress greens with exaggerated distaste. "Your choice of tailors seems to have changed for the worse. You're a soldier now?"
Grayson shrugged. "They haven't signed me up formally, but yeah, I guess I am. We've been putting together a 'Mech unit. We're listed as a regiment on the staff command's T.O-., but that's wishful thinking so far. One working 'Mech, some captures, and three companies of eager but very raw recruits. We could use you."
The freighter pilot looked thoughtful. "Doing what? I'm not a military man."
Grayson walked to the wall transparency and gazed out at the frost glittering on the sand outside, which was red in Trell's westering light.
"Helping us get a ship, for one thing. Piloting us to Tharkad for another."
Tor's eyebrows climbed his forehead. "Tharkad?"
"Well, maybe to a Commonwealth base, first. Drune II is a possibility. It's only about 90 light years in." Grayson turned suddenly to face Tor. "We've beaten the pirates a couple of times, but we can't expect that to continue. What we need to do is get Commonwealth forces back here to help fight them. Carlyle's Commandos... what's left of them... probably went to Tharkad. Maybe we could join up with them."
"If they're still in commission," Tor said gently. "With no 'Mechs to their name, and precious little equipment, where could they go?"
"The Commonwealth has to know what's happening here," Grayson continued, stubbornly ignoring what Tor had said. "They could dispatch a 'Mech regiment and mop those pirates right off Mount Gayal."
"From what I've heard, your Commonwealth was more than happy to turn this cinder over to Hendrik in the first place. Why should they bother?" Tor stirred in the wheelchair, "but that's really all beside the point because you need a ship before you need a ship's captain."
"Exacdy! And that'swhy I need you. Your DropShip is still at the port. Your freighter must still be parked at the jump point If we could capture the DropShip, pack it with soldiers..."
"And have them all flamed by the Invidious'meteor defenses the moment they get within 500 klicks of her. Lad, I don't think you know what you're up against."
Grayson felt discouraged, but rallied with an effort of will. It was too early yet to know what might work and what would not. "But you'll help us? When you get up and around? I'll make you my advisor, put you on my'staff."
Tor sighed. "There's no stopping you, I see." Then he grinned. "I always did love a good fight, youngster, and I sure as hell don't know how I'm going to pay for my room and board here!" Grayson knew the government had already promised to pay the hospitalization expenses of those the Lancers had rescued from the spaceport But Tor was an outsider in the same curious limbo as Grayson, and belonged nowhere on Trellwan. With a shrug, Tor added, "Besides, you need someone to keep you out of trouble."
It was not so easy to convince Claydon, however. He had been among the 180-odd civilians and soldiers freed during the spaceport raid. Grayson saw him as the group disembarked at the Militia HQ, and had run up to him with a shout and a grin. But his greeting was rebuffed.' "I should be glad to see you?" The Trell asked bitterly. "After what happened to my home... to Father?"
"I – I'm sorry, Claydon." What could Grayson possibly say to bridge that rift? "Look... it wasn't my fault!"
"Not your fault?" Claydon's pale face flushed. "Listen, young Lord, you have a marvelous faculty for using people, for riding them like 'Mechs until they break down or you get where you're going. I'll have no more of it"
"Claydon, we need you!" With another Tech of Claydon's qualifications, the technical platoon would have half a chance to get the captured 'Mechs in fighting order. But, gods of the old League, the anger that was in him!
"But I don't need you! Leave me alone." Claydon had turned on his heel, leaving Grayson standing by the massive wheel of the transporter.
He mused about Claydon as he made his way north through Sarghad's streets toward Mara's apartment. He'd decided to walk despite the cold because he needed the time to do some thinking. Anyway, his cold-weather gear kept him warm enough. The streets were filled with the usual merchants, civilians, and soldiers going about their business, though there were no crowds this far from the merchants' quarter.
Grayson had not seen Mara in more periods than he could count, and schedule or no schedule, he'd promised her that during his next rest period they would get, in her words, reacquainted. Somehow he could not keep his mind on Mara, though, because something Claydon had said continued to echo in his mind. Use people? Of course he used people! As Lance Commander he had to use them daily to get anything done, trading favors for favors, bolstering egos to get work done, pulling strings on juniors and superiors alike. And the job HAD to be done.
But Grayson was becoming uncomfortable, certain that Claydon had been referring not to what he was doing, but why. In his heart, Grayson knew he was working to create an antiMech infantry unit, not merely to guard Trellwan, but as a tool for bringing down the black and gray Marauder.But revenge or not, if what he did also benefited Trellwan's people, what was the wrong?
A four-wheeled transport squeaked to a stop on the road beside him.
"Grayson! Wait!" Lori climbed out of the transport's cab. "It's all right," she said to the driver. "I'll be with him."
Grayson caught the green-coated driver's answer. "My orders, Sergeant. I'm to stay with you."
Lori's expression was one of frustration as she approached Grayson. A soldier, usually a Royal Guard, watched her whenever she went beyond the Lance HQ or the apartment that had been assigned to her.
"Hello, Lori. What can I do for you?"
"I need to... talk." She glanced over her shoulder at the driver, who had parked the vehicle and stood beside it now, just out of hearing.
Oh, hell, not now, he thought, but he managed a half-smile. "Sure. Walk with me?"
She nodded and fell into step. Her guard followed at a discreet distance.
"What's the problem?"
"What isn't? Grayson, this just isn't going to work!”
“Ah. Cultural problems again?" That was their private code for the difficulties Lori faced working with men from a culture that did not accept women in leadership or military positions.
"And then some! I've been trying to requisition ammo reloads, and those red tape-stuffed bureaucrats won't even talk to me. Insist they want to talk to a quote responsible officer or NCO unquote."
"You show them your warrant?" It had taken a special pass with Jeverid's seal and signature on it to let Lori accomplish much of what she'd had to do.
"Of course. And now there's the problem with Garik."
Garik Enzelman was Lori's former comrade, captured with his Waspat the battle for the spaceport. After talking with Lori, he had agreed to join Grayson's command, but staff officers and even other members of the unit had ferociously resisted the idea.
"Did you get him sprung?"
She nodded. "Finally. They have watchdogs following him around, too."
"I can't really help that, Lori. You have to admit you two could do a lot of damage if you set your minds to it,"
"But they don't seem to understand that we owe Harimandir Singh and his bandits nothing! Nothing! He practically kidnapped us, killed one of our people on the way here..."
Grayson knew this really wasn't the right moment for the discussion. "Look, I'll talk to someone next work period..."
"Gray, I can't take this any more! Either they let me do my job, or I'm..."
He put his hand out. "Wait.
A noise, a low-pitched hum from behind, had alerted him. He turned just in time to see a small, dark-haired man stepping up behind him. For a frozen instant, Grayson tried to place where he'd seen the man before. But there was no time to pursue the thought. The vibroblade in the man's hand was white hot.
