The DropShip lurched as it descended through Mira's upper
atmosphere, and I heard muffled curses.
There wasn't much of the usual pre-drop banter on the com channels, but
that was only to be expected. My people were still new to one another-and to me.
And it hadn't exactly been a comfortable passage.
Worst of all, nobody really knew what to expect when we hit Mira.
Outside, the DropShip looked like a battered old Mule-class cargo hauler, and in fact that's what the old hulk had started life as. But the Maskirovka boys had got hold of her years ago, and the good ship Sun Tzu hid a lot of secrets now. Like 40 small BaftleMechs making up what the official TO&E was calling "4th Battalion, 2nd Kearny Highland Regiment, Northwind Highlanders." They called us that because the paymasters and the supply clerks back on Jonathon had to call us something when they filled out requisitions, pay vouchers, and personnel files. And they called me a Brevet-Major because the Book said a battalion was supposed to be led by a major or equivalent. Neither designation, strictly speaking, was accurate.
"Descent profile nominal," said a voice on the ship's Control frequency. It was a cold, unfriendly voice. Or maybe I was just reading a chill into it because everyone thinks of Maskirovka people as frosty, heartless spooks. The "Masked Rovers" aren't popular with MechWarriors, particularly MechWarriors who have the kind of reputation for outspokenness as Highlanders. This "Recon in Force" the spy laddies had whipped up into Davlon space wasn't doing much to change my opinion of them either.
"This will be a simple mission, Major," a little man with a round face and old-fashioned glasses had told me at the beginning of the last briefing on Jonathon. "A good chance to season the men in your battalion, and an easy way to give the Davions a headache or two."
Right. My "battalion" was an ad hoc affair, a collection of light 'Mechs scraped together especially for this recon mission. Every unit in the 2nd Kearny Highlanders had donated men, of course-all the hotshot Recon Warriors who couldn't take orders or didn't get along with their COs. Add a sprinkling of newbies called in just to fill out ranks a bit, and scatter mixed mercs who wanted to sign on individually because no regular merc unit would have them, and you had the perfect recipe for trouble We'd been together as a unit less than a week before the spooks packed us aboard the Mule and sent us on our way.
Somehow, I had a feeling the Davions on Mira wouldn't be the ones getting headaches.
"First Company secure for landing, Major." That was Campbell, and as usual he sounded irritated. I was the one Major Stirling had picked to lead the new battalion, even though Captain Colin Campbell had reached a company command slot nearly a year before my promotion to the same rank. Probably he thought he could run things better. I was tempted to offer him a chance to try. Campbell piloted a Phoenix Hawk and had most of our best-trained Warriors in his three lances. But most were in Commandos, lightweights handicapped by a lack of decent jump jets.
"Second Company ready." Unlike Campbell, Sandy Sinclair was someone I knew I could rely on. She'd led the Recon Lance in my old company in ls' Battalion; now she was a new captain with a larger command. Maybe she wasn't experienced-but lack of experience wasn't stopping me from pretending I knew what I was doing. At least Sandy would have a shot a job she already knew. Her company was mostly Wasps and Stingers that could act as "eyes ahead" for the rest of our people.
I waited a long time before I keyed in
the Company Command circuit. "Third
Company, report status," I said. It didn't come
out as the level, unflappable voice of command
I'd hoped to project, thanks to some
unexpected lurching that threw me against the
harness of my Vindicator's cockpit.
"Voelker, aye, aye." He was even slow answering. I didn't like Fritz Voelker, and I suspect the feeling was mutual. He was a mercenary, piloting an ugly Jenner that had seen better days. Voelker didn't get along with people, but he'd campaigned on Mira twice before and had an impressive service record. He wasn't my choice to command Third Company, though ... that was a decision Colonel MacHenry, the 2nd Kearny's CO, had made for me. Odds were Voelker was in the slot because the Maskirovka wanted him there, and his loyalty wasn't likely to be to me, to the rest of the Battalion, or to the traditions of the Kearny Highlanders. Voelker struck me as someone whose loyalty began and ended just beyond the skin of his 'Mech. His status report wasn't encouraging, either. "We're as ready as we'll ever be, I guess. 'We who are about to die' and all that..."
I could sympathize with the man even if I couldn't like him. A Mule is not designed to carry 'Mechs in the first place, and it certainly isn't equipped to deal with a combat op. This ship had been heavily modif led to accommodate the battalion's 40 'Mechs, with spartan quarters and extra supplies for the 'Mech pilots set up on one of the upper cargo levels. But there was still a difference between these makeshift cocoons and proper 'Mech bays on a real DropShip. Sun Tzu couldn't drop us to target from orbit; she had to land. She didn't carry any spares, and we'd left all our Techs behind back on Jonathon. We were on a quick recon mission--get in, investigate reports that the Davions were building a new base out in Mira's equatorial jungles, stomp on it "it feasible," then head for home. The Mule with its Maskirovka crew, hidden gimmickry, and innocent appearance, was supposed to get us down on Mira without being noticed. So tar it had worked.
"Three minutes to touchdown," the crewman's voice reported. "Initiating Operation RedLine." Now the bumps and jars were worse than ever, and deliberate this time to boot. Sun Tzu, broadcasting the ID of a Federated Suns supply ship with a military shipment for the base we were to investigate, was now giving a very convincing imitation of a vessel in distress. The plan was to look like a freighter gone out of control, drop past Davion radar, and debark the battalion before search & rescue birds showed up.
Another cargo hold aboard contained some lovely-looking wreckage they'd find floating in the sea, while the Mule sat at the bottom of that same ocean and waited for our signal to bug out. A squadron or two of AeroSpace jockeys were supposed to be staging a raid further out in the system to draw off local ships and give us our chance to run for home when we had to.
I just hoped the fake wreckage was all there'd be. If the Mule's performance was any more like a ship out of control than it felt at the moment, there'd be a lot more flotsam out there than anybody had planned for.
Suddenly the violent motion ceased.
"Down safe," someone told me from the
Bridge. "Get your people out, Major." Big cargo
doors were already grinding slowly open on all
sides of the Mule's large main cargo deck.
"Right." I switched to General Command channel. "Fourth Battalion, debark."
"First Company, by the numbers, debark," Campbell was saying before I'd even finished the order. His'Mechswere ourbest for securing a perimeter fast; Voelker's would follow. Third Company had a heavy proportion of Panthers and Vindicators, 'Mechs that packed a good PPC punch, and in fact it contained most of the battalion's largest machines. Of course, our largest 'Mechs were only 45 tons, so that wasn't saying much. Some goofball back on Sian had decided that the "recon" part of our mission orders should outweigh the "in force" and decreed we were to stick to light stuff-- Vindicators and Phoenix Hawks, Wasps, Commandos, and a few other machines that were supposed to compensate for small size with better speed. I wished that fellow a long and interesting life, preferably in a Maskirovka interrogation cell.
Sandy Sinclair took her people out once Voelker's "heavies" were clear. I followed, leading the four 'Mechs of my Battalion Headquarters Lance. A lot of battalion commanders would have gone out firstthe old "don't send men into any danger you won't face yourself" routine. I stayed back. Too much caution? No, not really. Sending your commanding officer into the field first when you don't know the score is an open invitation to disaster.
That's doubly true with an untried unit. A live CO watching a situation map and shouting orders can pull together even the most confused mess. A dead CO won't help anybody. At least that's what they taught us at the Academy.
Mira was even worse than the briefings had said it would be.
They say the polar regions of Mira actually had had snow showers a couple of times in the past century. Most of the time, though, temperatures at the poles are in the comfortable 150-200 C. range. The same goes for the high mountains and plateaus closer to the equator. According to the background I'd been given, over two billion people had found reasonably comfortable places to live on Mira. Very few of them had tried to settle in the lowlands near the equator, though.
My external temperature gauge read 840 C., a cool, breezy day in Mira's lowland jungles. That would mean trouble later; shedding heat was sure to be a problem. The atmosphere outside my pressurized cockpit was more than twice Earth standard. Weird vegetation rose in stumpy, twisting, sprawling shapes on rugged hillsides near the LZ. The ground under my Vindicator's feet was muddy. It was hard to tell where the ground ended and the ocean began.
And the mist made everything indistinct. Except for the high mountains that rise above most of the planet's thick atmosphere, the majority of Mira's surface is swathed in clouds and perpetual mist. A humidity of 90% is considered low in these jungles. Gear rusts out fast under these conditions, and the mud and the damp get into everything, which makes keeping your equipment working that much moredifficult. I had to remind myself that we weren't supposed to be here long enough to need our Techs.
"Battalion off ship," I reported tersely to Sun Tzu. "Preparing to move out."
"'Firm," the controller answered in a distracted tone. "You have two minutes before main engine ignition." Any 'Mechs near the ship would fry if they were caught in the circle of destruction those engines would create. Knowing that crew, I knew they'd keep to their timetable whether we actually got everybody clear or not. They had to get the freighter underwater fast before the Davion garrison scrambled search craft.
"Two minutes," I acknowledged. Switching to Company channel again, I repeated the words, adding, "Let's move out. Recon Company to the front."
"Recon Company, disperse by lances and advance to 264 degrees," Sinclair ordered promptly. "Command Lance on point." Sandy was one officer who liked to lead from the front, Academy training or not. That was fine for a lance commander. Whether it would work for the whole company was another question, but I kept quiet. Things were shaky enough in this unit; I wasn't about to try to force my people to change their styles now. The'Mechs of the Recon Company, all twelve of them, started moving quickly into the jungle and the mist.
"First Company, take the right. Third Company to the left. Advance by column. Battalion HQ, take the center." I was uncomfortably aware of the seconds ticking past.
The battalion responded smoothly, and I started to allow myself a shred of hope that they might pull the mission off after all. Like most of the "good ideas" that filtered down to the field from Sian, this raid looked easy enough on paper. Every year Hanse Davion put his people through a series of wargames, code-named "Galahad," to rattle cages along the frontiers and intimidate his enemies. This year somebody maybe the Maskirovka people, maybe the Chancellor or his staff- wanted to rattle back.
Before we left Jonathon, Jock Armstrong, whose Wasp was already taking up its accustomed position behind me, had claimed that the orders must have originated with "Mad Max" himself-Maximilian Liao. He'd said it in a whisper, though, and with no one else around. "Mad Max" wasn't the kind of appellation you used for the Chancellor when there were other people, particular Maskirovka types, in earshot.
In any event, the 4th Battalion moved into the dense jungle in search of a Davion base that might--or might not--be part of this year's "Galahad" operation. Once we located it, we were supposed to do as much damage as possible, reminding Davion that House Liao still claimed Mira as its own.
McCarron's Armored Cavalry had done the same sort of thing five years back as part of a whole string of border raids; now we had a single small target and one battalion instead of a dozen worlds and five regiments. Times were getting tough in Capellan space, and a bigger operation was out of the question. So we were told.
Behind us the thunder of DropShip engines shook the ground as the Mule lifted off. So far, everything was going as it was supposed to. Davion aircraft would have Stefan's own time spotting our 'Mechs in the dense jungle; on Mira even IR wouldn't do much good. Our Intel reports placed the Davion base about 30 klicks away, near another inlet on the shallow Equatorial Sea. We wouldn't reach it before nightfall; Mira's short day would be over all too soon. I was just as happy that we would be making our final approach under cover of darkness; with the perpetual blanket of clouds overhead, it would be a black night.
We kept our pace slow, with frequent stops to let our heat sinks do their jobs. The terrain alternated between rugged, jungleclad hills and rugged, jungle-infested swamps. A time or two we spotted some of the native swamp life, oversized behemoths like Old Terran dinosaurs lumbering through the muck. Safaris to hunt the beasts were supposed to have been popular with the Tikonov nobility back before Mira was taken into the Federated Suns, but I didn't want to go hunting for one of those things inr anything less than a fully- loaded Atlas. After dark we couldn't see them anymore, but we heard them now and again.
Our progress slowed to a crawl as visibility dropped. Between the darkness and a thickening fog, we weren't going anywhere very fast. I finally ordered a halt, setting Sandy Sinclair's people on rotating perimeter guard. One lance at a time would keep their scanners peeled for trouble; everybody else reduced to maintenance power only and tried to get as much rest as they could in a cramped 'Mech cockpit.
I studied Intel maps and reports on the base from Maskirovka contacts for what seemed like the thousandth time. As usual they didn't tell me much. Aside from some local units- infantry and armor, with a few antiquated 'Mechs-the only real garrison on Mira was supposed to be Davion's 2nd Crucis Lancers, a pretty good regiment. But everything in the Intelligence data pointed towards a base about five times larger than a single FICT would need. We knew they were bringing in supplies, spare parts, repair facilities, all sorts of goodies, and dropping it down in the lowland jungles where nothing would show up from orbit. But was the project as extensive as the reports claimed? The number of question marks and speculations in the reports made it clear that no one was sure. Fourth Battalion was there to find out ... and it was an honor I was none too eager for, just now.
"Ian! Major Fraser!" I woke up with a start, doubly surprised that I had gone to sleep in the first place. Sandy Sinclair's voice was sharp and urgent. "Perimeter patrols have found remote sensor units to the north."
That brought me fully awake. "Did they trigger them?" If they had, our presence here wasn't a secret any longer.
"Can't tell. I've pulled them back ... but you know how hard it is to spot stuff around here. We could've set off alarms twenty times already, for all I know."
"Right. Get all Recon Company 'Mechs on a tight perimeter, full sensor scans. I want to know about every leaf that comes through here on the wind." Switching circuits hurriedly, I sounded the general alert. "All Lances fall in. Company Commanders, report ready status."
Then I keyed in my situation map. We'd stopped near the edge of a marshy area, about five kilometers south and east of where we believed the enemy base might be. It was a good defensive position, with swamps impassible to 'Mechs on one side and high, rugged hills on the other. A sluggish, shallow river marked our front, ideal for battle cooling. If there was an enemy patrol coming our way, we could hold them off without much trouble.
I hoped. First Company was strung out along the river bank already, with the Third drawn up further back to keep an eye on our escape route. As I watched the map, the symbols representing Sinclair's Recon 'Mechs began to gather at the northern end of First Company's line, ready to spread out to watch for enemies approaching our camp.
Then it didn't matter any more as the
northwest side of my map came alive with
symbols representing enemy units.
"Bad guys bearing 295 degrees, range 5500, closing," said Campbell. His voice was unnaturally calm. "Orders?"
I thought about it. The data being relayed by First Company sensors showed a regiment or more massing beyond that river. Our 'Mechs were lighter, presumably faster, than most of what the Crucis Lancers used--if that was the 2nd Crucis Lancers out there. We could outrun them. And miss getting any idea of what was at that base.
"I've got blips to the south," Voelker reported at that moment. More trouble.
"First Company, wait one," I said, panning my situation map to study Voelker's portion of the line. Units south of him would be in the swamp... "Third Company, do you have an ID on those targets?"
Voelker took several seconds to reply. "No visual yet, Major," he said at last. "But our external mikes are picking up sounds that could be hoverfans."
"Wonderful," I muttered. The swamp was impassible to BattleMechs-but not to hovertanks. Ordinarily tanks would be poor matches for 'Mechs, but this was no ordinary situation. If they broke around behind our position, they'd cut our line of retreat across the plains. Pulling back into the hills would be a lot harder, and a lot slower...
"General orders," I said, switching to Company Command channel and trying to think fast. "First Company, form a defensive line in that river and hold as long as possible or until I say different. They probably don't have a clear idea of our strength yet, so make it look like there's an army here. Third Company, stop those hovertanks. Be ready to move out on my orders. Second Company..."
I studied the map again. The Davions were closing in from two sides, and that made the hill line look awfully attractive. Too attractive. "Second Company, I want scouts in those hills. Look for unf riendlies. And see if you can get a visual on that base if this damned fog ever thins out at all. Dawn'll be here in half an hour or so."
We had some time to prepare, but not much. Without knowing what Sandy would find, the situation in the hills was still a mystery. The regiment or more facing Campbell's men had a little under ten klicks to cross. The hovertanks were closer and moved faster. I decided to take my lance to join Voelker and see the situation there firsthand. We cut in jump jets and bounded southwards, ignoring the fires we were starting in the dense, moist underbrush.
Voelker's Jenner was standing like a stone statue in the middle of a clearing, facing out towards the marsh. It looked like the machine itself was staring out at the impenetrable mist, searching for the enemy. My board showed the other 'Mechs4 Vindicators, 5 Panthers, and a pair of Javelins taking up positions in a ragged line along the edge of the marsh, spaced at 90-meter intervals to cover as much ground as possible in the shortest possible deployment time. My scanners showed multiple targets flickering at the very edge of detection range, out over the marsh. The whine of hoverfans floated in across the marsh, surprisingly loud. Sound carries better over water than land, and the high atmospheric pressure of Mira amplifies noises all out of proportion.
"What's the bastard doing?" Voelker was muttering softly. "Why doesn't he attack?"
I kept my eyes on the sit board. "He's circling. Why attack if he can outflank us?"
The mercenary grunted at the other end of the comline. "Then we'll shift to meet him."
"That I doubt," I answered. On the map, a cluster of blips was starting to close in fast. But others were still hanging out at extreme range, still moving towards the far end of Voelker's lines. "Looks like he's going to harass us while some of his boys get in position."
Down the line a Panther raised its PPC arm and opened fire, aiming off into the mist. Even the awesome energies of a particle beam had trouble piercing the fog. I started to speak--old habits die hard--when Voelker's voice snapped out a reprimand. "Belay that firing, Ling," he said harshly. "Let them get close enough for it to do some good."
Trouble was, visibility was so low the PPC would be at a real disadvantage once the target was close enough. The bulky weapons were powerful, but ponderous to aim at short ranges.
I keyed in my Vindicator's LRM system and let fly, more to give the other guy something to think about than with any real hope of hitting. The mist swallowed up the missiles in an instant, but the situation map followed them in. Explosions rippled on the map, while distant thunder sounded off in the foggy swamp. My on-board tracking computers showed a probable hit on one of the hovertanks out there.
"Good shooting, Major," Jock Armstrong called out. At the same time Voelker, rather reluctantly, chimed in with his own congratulations. A moment later an answering volley of missiles replied from the enemy, but they were scattered. A spurt of water from the edge of the marsh 10 meters in front of Voelker's Jenner was the closest shot. Meanwhile the hoverfans were growing louder, and the blips on my screens continued to accelerate.
"Get ready, boys," I said softly. Hovertanks were fast and maneuverable ... but no match for BattleMechs in a standup fight. Their commander was being smart, risking some of his tanks to keep us busy. We had to drive this group back fast so we could still react to the others in time.
With beautiful precision, ten hovertanks cut through the clinging, swirling fog like parts of a single machine. In the darkness they were shadowy blobs, their running lights giving just enough illumination for LI gear to pick them out. We probably looked much the same ... and that gave me an idea.
"Switch to normal imaging," I ordered Voelker, "and cut in searchlights. Let's give these laddies a sight to remember!" Voelker, for once, was quick to react. I could almost hear the wolfish smile on his face as he passed the orders on to the rest of his men. I flipped up the light intensifiers over my eyes and dropped ordinary binocs down to replace them, then swept my hands over the board that controlled the Vindicator's external lights.
Searchlight beams stabbed through the dark and the fog, a startling glare even for someone ready for the change. Someone still using LI gear would surely be blinded for a moment or two.
Continuing the same motion I brought both my 'Mech's lasers on line and centered the crosshairs on a looming Saracen. The beams lanced out, bathing the tank's lower hull in an eerie glow. Armor boiled, and an instant later smoke billowed out of the cratered hull. Around me the other 'Mechs of Voelker's company, backed up by Battalion HQ, were letting fly with SRMs, lasers, and PPC beams. A Whirlwind tank seemed to disintegrate before my eyes as four different Panthers found the range and unleashed their particle beams. That was too bad. A better- trained unit would have selected more targets and spread the joy around more.
A big Drillson hovertank swept within a few meters of me, swerving aside at the last minute as the driver regained his sight and realized just what he was headed for. I saw a blue crest blazoned with a rampant gold unicorn and a brief glimpse of a black raven painted over the grey and green camouflage on the glacis.
Then the tank was gone, the turret swinging to pump laser fire into Voelker's Jenner. The whip antenna made it likely this was a command tank, maybe even the command tank, but I couldn't shift fire fast enough to catch it.
"Advance into the water," I
ordered as the tanks wheeled and
skimmed back out into the swamp.
Those Panthers would be building up heat
fast firing their PPCs; and even at night,
jungle temperatures on Mira were
nothing to laugh about.
A few shots pursued the hovertanks before the mists closed in to hide them from view. As the 'Mechs advanced into the murky water, I glanced around. Three of the enemy tanks were smoking hulks along the shore ... but one Panther's head was a twisted ruin, and five other 'Mechs had taken a number of hits. Cavalry rarely had much hope of taking on 'Mechs in open combat, but a few skirmishes like this one could sap Third Company's strength as badly as a stand-up fight with a unit of BattleMechs.
"Shift east," I told Voelker. "We've got to cover more of this shore line and keep them from getting around our flanks."
"Right," the merc: answered. "But we can't block everything, Major. And enough bad guys can knock out our line sooner or later ... we've got to pull out."
"I hear you. But we need to buy some time first. I've got to get the rest of the battalion out..."
As if on cue, Sandy Sinclair's voice sounded in my ear. "We've got troubles, Sir. You'd better get up here and see this."
Second Company was leapfrogging slowly into the hills north and east of the river, slowed down by the dense jungle growth and the rugged ground. By the time I brought my HQ Lance up to join her 'Mech, daylight was beginning to brighten the clouds. The mist was starting to lift some, too, especially away from the marsh's edge. That was a mixed blessing, though ... dense fog would protect our people from the overwhelming strength still moving slowly towards Campbell's river line. But it also made it that much harder to fight back.
I had the sit board scaled up to cover the entire battlefield. Those 'Mechs facing First Company were almost creeping; if they had wanted to attack, they could easily have done so by now. Perhaps they were still uncertain about our strength-we could have concealed a lot of extra 'Mechs in the denser jungle behind the river-but it seemed more likely that they were going slow to let other troops deploy on either side without spooking us. They'd be fast enough pushing forward if they thought they had us on the run. Meanwhile those hovertanks were still causing trouble off to the left; since I'd left the scene, Voelker had reported two more sorties and three more of his 'Mechs badly enough damaged to leave them all but out of action.
And now there was Second Company's news to contend with. On the other side of the hill line, moving slowly through the jungle, one of Sinclair's troopers had spotted a column of heavy 'Mechs. Archers led the group, and their big LRM batteries could chop us all to shreds if they had a chance to get into position behind our lines. We were fast running out of options.
It was already clear that we were up against more than just the 2nd Crucis Lancers here. At least one regiment was massing on the open ground across the rivermore could be hidden behind them--and Sinclair's reports made it plain that there could be anything up to another regiment in the flanking move to the north. Nor were hovertanks supposed to be attached to Mira's regular garrison. Intel data programmed into the Vindicator's Warbook said the unicorn crest I'd seen on the command tank belonged to a merc regiment, the 6th Armored Cavalry ... and last reports had placed them on the Kurita frontier with the 1st Crucis Lancers. What other surprises were out there?
So far the Davion 'Mechs in the jungle hadn't taken any notice of our scout'Mechs. With luck, they didn't even know we had spotted them yet, and they didn't know we were in position in the hills. I didn't much like relying on luck, but right now it was about the only thing we had to cling to. If we were going to get out of this trap we'd need all the luck, and all the skill, we could muster.
Leaving the rest of the HQ Lance lower down on the slopes, I moved up to join Sinclair's Javelin on a spur of the hillside above the enemy column. The bright greens and oranges of the 'Mech's camopaint blended in perfectly with the jungle backdrop. Anyone down below would have mistaken her 30-ton machine for another clump of trees. I hoped my own 'Mech was blending in as well.
Visibility had increased quite a bit with the dawn. The Davion column was perhaps two kilometers off, still well north of our lines and fighting through the jungle at a snail's pace. It was hard to judge numbers, but I counted six Archers for sure. Through image intensifiers, I caught a glimpse of a regimental crest on the leading 'Mech. In a flash the Warbook identified it.
The 1st Crucis Lancers were on Mira, too.
Sinclair seemed to know what I was thinking. "Just how many of them are there, anyway?" There was a pause. "Major, take a look northwest. Bearing ... 348."
I called up a new external camera view, looking out beyond the upper end of Campbell's line. For a few long moments the mist lifted, and we had our first clear view of the Davion base.
It was big ... even bigger than the reports had claimed-those reports we'd all dismissed as exaggeration. There were four Union-class DropShips sitting on ferrocrete pads. Around them was a small swarm of LoaderMechs extracting supplies and equipment. Figures in E-suits scurried about purposefully. I counted eight 'Mechs in plain sight near the perimeter fence, and several huge Mobile Repair Bays with partly-disassembled machines standing near the center of the facility. A row of regimental banners drooped listlessly in front of what had to be the base HQ.
I picked out the colors of five different Crucis Lancer regiments before I stopped counting. And it wasn't just the 'Mech units, either. I saw several tracked vehicles scurrying about, a dozen or so armored hovercraft, and the lean, wicked shape of a Long Tom sniper cannon. House Davion was here in force, and my scratch battalion of Kearny Highlanders had blundered right into the middle of their concentration.
"We've got to pull out fast," I said. "Any objections?"
Her chuckle was grim. "None from me, Major. But I think they might have something to say about it..."
The first glimmerings of a plan were starting to take shape, but it was going to be tight. If all our 'Mechs had been equipped with jump jets, we might have made it out easily. But most of Campbell's men were in Commandos and couldn't jump. That would make things tough.
"Situation reports," I ordered. "Voelker, what's going on?"
The comline roared with the sound of SRMs discharging before he spoke. "Another wave of them attacking now," the merc responded at last. "I've got three undamaged 'Mechs left, and three more that can still maneuver, at least a little bit. Two are destroyed, and all four of my Panthers have taken leg hits, and one of them's lost jump jets entirely." He paused. "That cavalry CO knows his stuff. I don't think we're hurting him near as bad as he's hurting us, and I figure we've only got a few more minutes before he's got us blocked to the southeast."
"Start falling back towards Campbell's line," I told him. "Have pilots eject if their 'Mechs can't keep ahead of those hovercraft."
"Into that heat?" Voelker's voice was grim. "I think they'll stay put and take a few of the bastards with them. I know I will." That was the first time he'd admitted that his own Jenner wasn't able to keep up with the others.
I couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound trite. "First Company," I said at last. "Campbell, your report."
An unfamiliar voice, sounding young and scared, responded. "The Captain's dead, Sir," he said. "So's Commander Dunbar."
I cursed silently. The enemy wasn't even that close yet--maybe another kilometer off. They must have started some long-range shooting to break up the river line early. And of course Campbell's light 'Mechs couldn't stand up long against any kind of firepower. "Who is this?"
"Commander Crane, Sir. Fire Lance." I could picture him now, a fresh-faced youngster proud to be given a shot at his own lance command. Now he was trying to run a company.
"Right, Crane. What happened?"
"Arty, Sir," he answered. "They caught the Skipper--Captain Campbell--on their first shot. Commander Dunbar bought it trying to pick him up after he ejected."
Artillery! With visibility what it had been up to now ... what it still was along the lowlying river banks ... that meant spotters. A few Davion soldiers in E-suits nearby could bring in Long Tom fire and break the line in no time flat. "Crane," I said slowly. "I want you to get your people looking for artillery spotters near your position. Take them out, or get your line out of that river before another salvo comes in. Got it?"
"Yessir." The youngster sounded like he was about to break down.
"I'll be down to help you as soon as I get through up here." Another complication. Extracting the battalion from all this would take a miracle.
"Best let me go," Sandy said quietly. She could hear everything that went on over the command channel. "You have better things to do than get mixed up in the fighting."
It echoed what I'd been thinking ... but I didn't want to send her down there. Leading from the rear was all very well for debarking from a DropShip in a quiet LZ. Here, it smacked of cowardice. I wanted to be down there, to help my people fight. The temptation to lose myself in battle and forget about command responsibilities was overwhelming.
But if I did that, no one would make it out. A commanding officer has to watch the big picture and let his subordinates handle the little ones. Voelker was out of the action now, Campbell dead. Sinclair was the only officer with enough experience left who could hold that line while I found a way out of the trap. "Okay," I agreed. "Take command of the First. Which of your Lance leaders do you want to take over for you?"
"Hsien," she said after a moment. "But keep an eye on him. He's had experience as a merc, but I don't think he's quite up to the the 'Obey for the Honor of the Regiment' bit just yet." Her Javelin backed away from the edge of the ridge, then cut in jump jets and bounded into the valley once the Davions couldn't spot her. I passed on new orders to her company.
Voelker's men were starting to fall back now, taking advantage of a lull in the action in the marsh. The First was holding, waiting while their enemies continued the relentless march towards them. Monitoring their company communications, I heard young Crane organizing a hunt for Davion infantry.
A few minutes later jubilant shouts proclaimed the discovery of a small hovercraft and a five-man scouting team in a patch of trees near the river's edge. A barrage of SRMs, more than we could really spare under the circumstances, took it out. After that, artillery fire from the base was more a nuisance that a threat, particularly after a new bank of fog rolled in off the ocean and reduced visibility again.
Some of us would get out of the trap;
the Davion Archers couldn't cut through the
jungle as fast as light'Mechs could move on
jump jets. But there were some of Voelker's
people who couldn't keep up, and there were
all those Commandos in First Company Could I leave all those Highlanders behind to
die? There didn't seem to be any way out.
I had Commander Hsien start to filter Recon Company 'Mechs down the slopes past the head of the Davion flank column. Some of them would make it out, whatever happened to the rest of us. By the time they were in motion, Sandy Sinclair had taken charge by the river.
"I've got them ready to fight," she told me. There was an artificial cheerfulness in her manner that was jarring. "Voelker's people are starting to come in, too. I'll send the ones with jump jets up to you. They'll be able to get out."
She was reading my mind again. "Maybe better to pull the Commandos out and hold with some jumpers," I said.
"Come off it, Major," she said quietly. "They'd never get clear. Best thing for the Commandos to do is to hold on and buy you some time. If we do it right, they'll never even realize the rest of the battalion's slipping away." She paused before going on. "They've all volunteered, Ian."
I swallowed. First Company was almost entirely old Highlander hands. They took the 2nd Kearny's motto, "To Obey," seriously. I was just finding out how seriously. Damn the High Command and their recon mission, I thought angrily. They were throwing away these men's lives ... for what? News that there were more Davions on Mira than we'd thought. Was that news worth the cost?
It had to be. I didn't want the sacrifice those Warriors were offering to be worthless.
.All right, Sandy," I said at length. "I'll come down to take over. Pick someone to trade 'Mechs with me, so we can get the Vindicator out with the others."
"I'm ahead of you, Major," she replied. "But you're getting out with the troops. My Javelin's already on the way up; I'm sitting in MacNeil's Commando now."
"Belay that!" I was angry-at her, at the Davions ... at myself. More than ever I felt I should stay with the rearguard. "You're pulling out!"
"With all due respect, Sir," she said with an ironic edge in her voice. "I know the situation here now. I'm already in position. And I volunteer."
"But..."
"The brass needs to hear about the troops here. And that base. Somebody goofed on the Intel for this one, and it won't be easy to get them to believe what we've found. Who are they more likely to listen to? Me ... or you?"
She was right, of course. The CO's first duty was supposed to be to the Mission. Higher-ranking officers were supposed to know more about strategic questions than their juniors. But that didn't make the situation any easier to accept.
I turned my 'Mech to face east, away from the river line and the Highlanders digging in for their last stand against Davion. "You've got the command, Captain," I told her. It was hard to keep the emotion out of my voice. Words couldn't convey all things I wanted to tell her. "Give'em hell."
"Tell the folks back home we went out swinging," she answered. "I think those Lancers are in for a few surprises."
The Battalion HQ followed me as I moved down the hillside, angling south to move past the head of the slow-moving Davion column. My board showed the rest of the Recon 'Mechs strung out in an uneven line ahead of us, with a few tail-end Charlies still climbing the hills out of the river line to join us.
The Archers of the Crucis Lancers were still almost a kilometer away. They had probably seen our retreat by now, but the terrain and visibility problems made it unlikely that they would be able to attack for a while longer. And we could safely ignore the hovertanks to the south, now. The jungle was too dense for hovercraft.
"All 'Mechs, jump jets may now be used. Let's speed things up, people!" Jump jets are uncertain things at best, particularly when you've got inexperienced pilots ... and especially when the terrain is as difficult as those Miran jungles. But they'd give us a fabulous edge in speed over the slowmoving Davion BattleMechs, which had to fight their way step by step through the thick vegetation.
Over the Company Command channel, I heard Sandy Sinclair exhorting her people to stand fast. "Let 'em know they're up against the Northwind!" Someone back there had switched on a tape of regimental bagpipe music; the wavering notes sounded distantly over the comline. My external mikes picked it up, too, off in the distance-the defiant "Northwind March" was being broadcast over a 'Mech PA system for all to hear. At this range it sounded like the far-off howling of a chill Arctic wind ... or the cry of a wounded animal fighting for its life. It might have made some Davion pilots think twice before attacking. I know I would, faced with crazy Warriors raising such a din as they calmly waited to face such odds.
Switching frequencies, I called the DropShip. "Warlord, this is Clansman. Emergency call. We need a dust-off ... fast."
"Acknowledged, Clansman. Coordinates?"
I remembered a clearing about a kilometer back along our line of march. A quick glance at a computer readout gave me the reference numbers, which I relayed to the ship. "We have at least two regiments of 'Mechs plus armored cavalry in the area," I added. "Get in here fast, Warlord ... or there won't be a reason to come at all."
"'Firm," the cold voice replied. There was no comment on my estimates of troop strengths. "ETA ... 12 minutes."
It would take us longer than that to get there. And a lot could go wrong before we were safe on board-assuming we would be safe there. I hoped the AeroSpace feint at the other end of the system was really keeping the enemy occupied.
I held up my lance near the base of the ridge line, waiting for the last refugees to catch up. The sit board's projections of the Davion march rate were not looking good; it was starting to look like some of their 'Mechs would be pretty damn close by the time we were able to round up the last stragglers and head for the new LZ. And I was starting to worry about them showing up while we were still boarding the Mule.
More than anything, though, I was wishing for a chance to vent some of my frustration on the enemy. I wasn't going to step meekly aboard the DropShip without firing another shot. The Kearnys dying on the other side of the ridge deserved better than that.
SubCommander MacNeil in Sinclair's Javelin was the last fugitive to join us. By that time I had six other 'Mechs at hand-my Vindicator, two Wasps, a Panther, and two Stingers. Not exactly a formidable force, not compared with those Archers. But the Davion 'Mechs were primarily designed for long-range fighting, and in the jungle we'd be able to use guerrilla tactics-strike quickly, then jump fast to disengage. All we needed to do was cause enough confusion to keep the flanking column off balance. One good attack would make their commander a lot more cautious in pressing the pursuit.
At least it sounded good when I explained it to the others.
We set up in a series of muddy, softbottomed depressions close to the projected route of the Davion march. The minutes dragged by like hours as we waited. Off to the southeast Sun Tzu landed, and the first few 'Mechs were reported boarding. I spent some time updating the DropShip's captain on the situation, but mostly I watched, waited, and worried. Was I doing this to make sure the others would have time to board ... or just to assuage a guilty conscience? I wasn't sure, and I didn't really want to know.
Then the waiting was over.
The first Archer broke through the jungle growth like a maddened animal, thrashing at clinging branches and ripping a small tree out of the ground the way a man might toss aside an uprooted weed. Mud smeared the camo paint and oozed out of the ankle joints as the machine moved forward. A second hulking metal figure was just visible behind the first. With the jungle so thick here, it was doubtful if they knew we were waiting for them, but by now MAD readings in the lead Archer's cockpit would be going wild as they registered the hulls of my seven 'Mechs.
"Fire!" My order wasn't necessary; even as I spoke all seven 'Mechs were letting loose a barrage of beams and missiles at the lead Davion machine.
No light or medium 'Mech stands much chance fighting an Archer one on one. When seven small 'Mechs unleash everything from light lasers to PPCs on a single target, with missiles thrown in for good measure, it's a different story. Hits erupted all over the 'Mech's body. My PPC struck it square in the upper torso, only a meter away from another particle beam hit by SubCommander Ling's Panther.
The Archer staggered back, armor boiling from half a dozen places and pieces of one arm crashing into the undergrowth. It caught the second 'Mech in the line by surprise; the lurching collision kept both of them busy long enough to allow us all a second volley. This time the lead Archer went down and stayed down, the head blown away by lucky missile hits.
"Fall back," I ordered tersely, triggering my jump jets and bounding straight backwards. Flames reached upwards to lick the feet of the Vindicator, adding to the fires the other'Mechs were starting as they jumped over the tangled foliage. I saw the second Davion 'Mech push aside the smoking wreck of the leader and swivel its torso, tracking us, but we were down and hidden by the trees again before it could get a shot off.
A moment later a random spread of LRMs arced overhead, exploding uselessly almost a hundred meters beyond us.
We waited again, venting overheated coolant and refilling our missile racks for another strike. The external mikes picked up the sound of heavy metal feet marching through water, mud, and soft clay; other 'Mechs in the column were certainly deploying to take us in a skirmish line this second time. Surprise wouldn't help us any more.
"Keep your eyes open," I said softly. "Remember, focus fire on the target I designate before you jump. Move fast ... don't give them time to react. Stick to the plan." The litany was supposed to help them keep calm. Or was I doing it strictly for me?
This time two Archers appeared almost simultaneously, about 60 meters apart and moving slowly. I heard sounds that were probably others further away in the same line, but they were swallowed up by the jungle. Turning quickly, I blasted the farther of the two 'Mechs with laser fire, then triggered missiles and a PPC blast. At this short a range, the particle beam went wild, but the other shots hit. An instant later explosions and slashing energy beams rippled over the 'Mech. It barely had time to launch a volley of LRMs in our general direction before it toppled and fell with one leg missing.
But the second Archer struck back, engulfing Armstrong's Wasp in a green flare of laser fire. This pilot didn't waste missile shots at such short range.
"Jump!" I yelled. My jump jets flares again as the Vindicator leaped, forward this time to pass directly over the second Archer and land behind it. Flames rose around it; the other 'Mechs in my rearguard added to the fiery confusion. The pilot of the Davion machine would be desperate to break free of that ring of fire--maybe desperate enough to let us get away.
Jock Armstrong cried out as his 'Mech landed, stumbling. A leg actuator weakened by the Archer's laser fire failed; the Wasp sprawled face-down in the muck. And just then another Davion 'Mech, this one a Crusader, came crashing through the trees, lasers firing as it advanced.
A beam splashed across my Vindicator's right arm, scouring a gash in the PPC mounting. I pivoted and backpedaled, firing one of my own lasers in return. By now the heat gauges were redlining; jump jets and PPCs and laser fire coupled with the humid Miran heat were all taking their toll. So was the burning vegetation only a few meters away. If I could get off a shot with my particle cannon ... if it was accurate enough to hit ... if it wouldn't push my heat levels past the shutdown mark...
Too many ifs. I loosed a volley of SRMs and backed up again, but fiery green lances kept on playing across my 'Mech. An Archer, maybe the one we'd trapped in the fire before, edged into the little clearing and paused while its pilot took in the situation.
I reached for the jump jet control, then jerked my hand away. Red lights were flashing on my board, warning me that the heat buildup was reaching critical. If I tried to cut in the jets now, odds were I'd push the reactor over the line. Anything I did would probably have the same results.
But I'd forgotten about Jock Armstrong. In those critical seconds as the Crusader pilot sized up his chances, Jock's Wasp was levering itself upright between the two enemy 'Mechs. The Archer opened fire on him, but in an instant Jock made his move. Fire roiled from the Wasp's jump jets, sending billowing smoke and spurts of flame into the undergrowth at the Archer's feet. Newton's Laws did the rest.
Jump jets are meant to be used to lift a 'Mech straight up, from a standing position. For Jock's Wasp, starting almost prone, the thrust was straight back. The Wasp plowed forward into the Crusader's back, knocking it over. The larger 'Mech's legs were left a tangled ruin.
I doubt if anyone could have salvaged any usable parts from the Wasp at all.
Armstrong's sacrifice gave me my chance. The Crusader was down, the Archer recoiling from the flames. I turned and ran, watching my gauges and jumping just as soon as I could. Following the plan I'd sketched out only a few minutes before--or was it a lifetime or two-the rest of my guerrillas had scattered. Ling's Panther was due north of me, its PPC blazing out to ignite the jungle and attract attention his way while MacNeil led the others towards the landing zone.
"Ling! Withdraw now!"
"Can't do it, Major," the MechWarrior replied. "Both hip actuators are out. I'm stuck."
"Then eject! I'll pick you up."
Like so many others that day, he refused to listen. "Never mind me, Sir. I'll just keep up the diversion a while longer. You get out of here and let them know what's happening. Bring back the whole damned Northwind and give these guys a kick in the ass from me!"
"I'll give 'em two or three, Ling," I told him, turning east again. Behind me, light played off swirling fogbanks as Ling fought the last baffle along.
They bought us the time. Voelker at the edge of the marsh, Campbell and Sinclair by the river. Ling and Jock Armstrong and Archie MacDougall, all lost in the rearguard action. They slowed the Davions down long enough for the DropShip to pick us up. At least the AeroSpace forces did their job, drawing off the Davions so we could reach our JumpShip and head for home.
But in the end it wasn't worth a damn. No one in the Capellan High Command believed that the entire Crucis Lancers could really be on Mira. I remember one fatherly chap with enough braid to clothe a small army saying, "Hallucinations are only to be expected when you're dealing with Mira's oxygen overpressures, after all."--as if I'd been driving with my cockpit unsealed, breathing that air direct the whole time.
His was the charitable view. Other Liao officers, though just as eager to deny my reports, were less willing to look for excuses that might protect me. So now the Northwind won't be going back to avenge the men of the 2nd Kearny who died on that hellhole ... and Ian Fraser won't be there to argue the issue.
I just hope the ones who did make it keep the memories of those brave Warriors alive.
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