Twilight of the clans III: the hunters

  DEADLY DANCE

  The Warships had been engaged in a close-quarters battle that alternately resembled a graceful waltz and a brutal slugging match. The Clan Whirlwind, with her superior speed and maneuverability, danced around the ponderous battle cruiser, pricking the Invisible Truth's hide with weapons better suited to destroying fighters than attacking a capital ship.

  "He's swinging around again!" the Truth's tactical officer shouted. "Cannons firing."

  On a secondary monitor, minute flashes sprang from the Clan warship's bow. "For what we are about to receive, the Lord make us truly thankful," one of the bridge crewman quipped, seconds before a volley of autocannon shells slammed into the Truth's port bow.

  Armor shattered. The Invisible Truth trembled under the impact of the explosive shells. Then it replied with a PPC blast.

  Seconds later, a pair of gray-painted missiles left a thin layer of black soot on the Truth's outer hull as they leapt free of their launch rails. There was a brief explosion, as bright as the flare of a match. A heartbeat later, a brighter fireball flashed into existence, expanding until it seemed to engulf the Whirlwind, and then dying out.

  BATTLETECH

  LE5624

  THE HUNTERS

  Twilight of the Clans III:

  Thomas S. Gressman

  ROC

  Published by the Penguin Group Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A. Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane, London W8 5TZ, England Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, Australia

  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2 Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  First published by Roc, an imprint of Dutton Signet, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.

  First Printing, December 1997

  10987654321

  Copyright © FASA Corporation, 1997 All rights reserved

  Series Editor: Donna Ippolito Cover art by Bruce Jensen

  Mechanical Drawings: Duane Loose and the FASA art department

  BATTLETECH, FASA, and the distinctive BATTLETECH and FASA logos are trademarks of the FASA Corporation, 1100 W. Cermak, Suite B305, Chicago, IL 60608.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT QUANTITY DISCOUNTS WHEN USED TO PROMOTE PRODUCTS OR SERVICES. FOR INFORMATION PLEASE WRITE TO PREMIUM MARKETING DIVISION, PENGUIN PUTNAM INC., 375 HUDSON STREET, NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10014.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

  To Jonathan Powers or Catherine Elizabeth, whichever you are. I'm looking forward to meeting you.

  Thanks and a tip of the hat to Blaine Pardoe and Bill Keith for all their encouragement, and to Mike Stackpole and Donna Ippolito, who forced me to think about what I was doing and to be the best I could. Thanks to Brenda for her patience, and thanks to you, Lord, I know where the opportunity to write this book really came from.

  Prologue

  It is the year 3058. After centuries of warring against one another, the Great Houses of the Inner Sphere have joined forces to defeat the greatest threat humanity has ever faced—the invading Clans. But this time they will do so as a united force. And they will do it under the banner of a new Star League.

  When the leaders of the Inner Sphere gathered on Tharkad to decide how they might defeat the Clans once and for all, it was not long before they came up with a plan—to take the war to the Clans and destroy one of them utterly. They choose Clan Smoke Jaguar as their prey, most ruthless of the invading Clans.

  In the midst of the planning comes stunning news—a renegade Jaguar warrior has revealed the route to the Clan homeworlds, until now a secret guarded so closely that even Clan JumpShip captains only know the way-stations and transit points they need for their own leg of the journey to and from the Inner Sphere.

  The plan suddenly changes. Not only will the forces of the Inner Sphere, under the banner of a new Star League, strike boldly against the Smoke Jaguars on their occupied worlds, but they will send a second force to Huntress, the homeworld of the Smoke Jaguars, and raze it utterly.

  Victor Steiner-Davion will lead Operation Bulldog, an attack on the Jaguars' occupied worlds in the Inner Sphere. Marshal Morgan Hasek-Davion is given command of a second operation, Task Force Serpent, which will secretly make its way to Huntress.

  Morgan and the ships and men of his task force will be following the Exodus Road, the same path through the stars General Aleksandr Kerensky took when he led his people into exile three hundred centuries before. Kerensky had left everything behind to save mankind from itself. Now, Morgan will be following in the legendary General's footsteps, trying to save mankind from Kerensky's own descendants.

  1

  Smoke Jaguar Garrison Compound

  Reega, Bangor

  Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zone

  12 August 3058

  0422 hours

  Tai-i Michael Ryan paused in his ascent up the high wall surrounding the Smoke Jaguar garrison compound. Three meters above his head, a massive Elemental leaned the clawed hand of his battle armor on the stone parapet and gazed out over the dense jungle blanketing the low rolling hills for as far as the eye could see.

  Despite the heavy overcast that blotted out the faint starlight that would otherwise have filtered dimly through Bangor's thick, humid atmosphere, Ryan had no trouble making out the rough details of the Clan sentry's suit of power armor. Leaning out a bit, he could see the mottled darker patches of gray and dark green against the armor's gun-metal gray plasteel, though the light-intensifying equipment built into his helmet visor rendered everything in shades of gray. The Elemental, with his pot-belly and slanting viewscreen, made Ryan think of the O-bakemono, demons his maternal grandmother used talk about. The triangular short-range missile launchers looming over the warrior's shoulders like folded wings did nothing to dispel the image. Ryan shook off the thought as he glanced at his wristcomp. 0422 Hours. Right on schedule.

  The Elemental leaned on the parapet for what seemed like an eternity, the powerful anti-'Mech laser mated to the suit's right forearm following his electronically enhanced gaze. Ryan flattened his body against the wall again, not sure whether this weapon-follows-your-eyes action was a routine part of sentry duty or whether the hulking sentry had detected the faint metallic scrape of the nekade's steel claws as he'd slipped them into a shallow crevice in the thick stone wall.

  Ryan glanced down past the climbing claws strapped to his hands and feet. About five meters down, he could make out the dim shadows of six other DEST commandos fanned out at the base of the wall in a cover formation. Glancing up again at the still-tracking sentry, he clucked his tongue into the headset communicator of his infiltration suit, breaking static in a short two-one-three pattern.

  In immediate response, a sharp, sizzling crack ripped the humid air. A laser bolt fired by one of his men concealed in the jungle brush a hundred meters from the wall sliced through the Elemental's visor. The giant form pitched backward, a sma
ll hole melted into the faceplate of its armor. The steam was still rising from the ruined visor as Ryan climbed up and over the wall and rolled across the parapet. He dropped into the shadows, taking in the whole scene with his electronically enhanced vision.

  Everything inside the thick stone wall was dark and quiet. He could detect no movement. A few lights gleamed weakly from a low wooden building off to his left, a structure his pre-mission briefing had designated as a barracks. The compound was surrounded by five-meter-high stone walls that had once belonged to the Draconis Combine. The installation, some three kilometers outside of the planetary capital of Reega, had once been a repair and refit facility for Bangor's militia, but that was before the coming of the Clans.

  The Clans. Ryan gave a silent snort of disgust as he retracted the claws of his nekade with a quiet click. Nine years earlier, a massive invasion force, greater than any in the annals of military history, had poured into the Inner Sphere, bringing with it a level of technology and destruction the people of the Inner Sphere had believed lost through the centuries of warfare. At first, the identity of these implacable warriors was unknown. Eventually, through contact and conflict, the truth was revealed.

  The mysterious invaders were the descendants of the Star League army that had followed General Aleksandr Kerensky beyond the borders of known space almost three hundred years before. They had ravaged over a third of the Inner Sphere, ruthlessly destroying any who attempted to stand in their way. There were six invading Clans, each one bearing the name of a ferocious predator native to one of their distant, unknown homeworlds. The Jade Falcons, the Steel Vipers, the Wolves, the Ghost Bears, the Nova Cats, and the Smoke Jaguars. Even among these warriors genetically bred for war, the Jaguars were the most ruthless, the most vicious.

  The Jaguars had killed and burned their way across nearly a third of Ryan's beloved Draconis Combine, while the rest of the Clan invaders had sliced off another huge hunk of the Inner Sphere. The onslaught only stopped when ComStar revealed, at the eleventh hour, that not only had the once-secretive organization preserved technology for centuries, but they also had a secret military force whose technology equaled that of the Clans.

  The ilKhan of the Clans and the Precentor Martial of ComStar had agreed to a proxy battle to take place on the planet Tukayyid. If the Clans won, they would claim Terra, the birthplace of humanity and the invasion's most sought-after prize. If they lost, they agreed to halt their invasion for a span of fifteen years. In three weeks of bloody fighting, the Com Guards defeated the till-now invincible Clans. But the Clanners still occupied the worlds they had taken, and they still had their own agendas.

  Both sides had continued their raids, despite the truce, with the Combine inflicting any possible damage and stealing whatever technology they could carry off for study and development. That was why Ryan and his team had been sent to Bangor.

  Bangor had been a relatively unimportant planet until the Clans arrived. Now, the Smoke Jaguars were using the old militia compound as a way station and clearinghouse for replacement warriors and materiel coming into the occupation zone. With so rich a target lying only so close, the Combine decided to send in a team of DEST commandos to do what they did best. Draconis Elite Strike Team Six drew the mission, and like every other team of their kind, they were some of the most highly trained, most ruthless military spies, saboteurs, and assassins ever assembled.

  Ryan's survey of the compound revealed no indication that his presence had been detected. Moments later, he was joined by six other ghostly figures pulling themselves up onto the parapet with the faint shushing of fabric against stone. They were more humanoid in appearance than the Elemental his team's sniper had just killed, but only barely. Their bodies were clad in baggy fatigues, which slowly shifted color as the ghoulish forms crossed from the dark stone of the wall to the lighter gray flagstones of the walkway. Their heads were encased in close-fitting helmets made of the same high-strength plasteel as a BattleMech's viewscreen. Though the helmet visors were a dark red-black, the men inside could see through them. All but one of the intruders cradled powerful Blazer carbines in their arms. A centimeter-thick, black insulated cable linked the double-barreled laser rifle to one of the many ballistic nylon pouches hanging from each figure's black combat harness. There were a series of metallic clicks as claws snapped back into their retracted position.

  Stooping over the Elemental's inert form, Ryan peered dispassionately at the ruined visor and saw that the shattered face had once belonged to a woman. That fact caused Ryan no distress. His only concern was that the potential threat to his mission and his team had been eliminated. Assured that the lone sentry was dead, he gestured sharply at the rest of the raiding party. He felt little remorse at the Elemental's execution. The massive, genetically engineered warrior would have killed him had she spotted him. The Jaguar sentry had been an enemy asset, nothing more—an asset that had to be removed. And the Strike Team's sniper had done so with as little compunction as Ryan would have shown at capturing an opponent's counter in a game of Go.

  He motioned again to the team. Without a sound, the raiders split off into pairs, one team moving away to the left, another pair to the right, while the third team—Ryan and another man who carried a large nylon satchel over his right shoulder—slipped silently toward a flight of narrow stairs that led down from the parapet walk. Each two-man team had its own assignment to carry out within the darkened installation. A single man remained behind. Armed with a man-portable machine gun rather than a Blazer carbine, he sank into the shadows atop the wall. From his concealed position, the team sentry visually swept the inside of the compound, searching for enemy activity.

  Briefly, Ryan paused in his descent of the stairs, straining to locate the source of a faint sound. Satisfied that the noise presaged no threat to their mission, the ghostly figures of Ryan and his partner crossed the large open courtyard, dodging from shadow to shadow. Eventually, the pair reached the large bay doors on the opposite side of the parade ground. Ryan paused for a moment to pick the lock before slipping inside. His companion followed close behind.

  The sight that greeted their eyes was awe-inspiring. Ten new assault class OmniMechs, all freshly painted in the light and dark gray mottling of Smoke Jaguar "dress colors," stood, seemingly at attention, gleaming faintly in the dim glow of the overhead fluorescent panels.

  BattleMechs had been around for centuries. Huge war machines ranging in size from small, fast, 20-ton scout 'Mechs to massive, lumbering monsters weighing as much as 100 tons. Mounting a staggering array of lasers, missile launchers, rapid-fire autocannons, and charged-particle cannons, protected by thick layers of hardened steel and composite armor, BattleMechs were the ultimate in war machines. Or so the warriors of the Inner Sphere had thought.

  The 'Mechs used by the Clans were technologically superior in every way to the machines fielded by the Inner Sphere. Called OmniMechs, they were capable of being outfitted to suit specific battlefield assignments or the personal fighting style of the individual pilot. This ability, coupled with their greater scientific sophistication, meant that the double handful of 'Mechs Ryan and his partner now surveyed represented the cutting edge of military technology.

  The commandos went to work. They selected the nearest 'Mech, the 85-ton monster once dubbed the Masakari by the Combine warriors who'd first encountered it. Only later did they learn that the Clan name for the machine was Warhawk. Either way, the massive vehicle, with its quartet of long-range PPCs and heavy armor, was a walking nightmare from which many Inner Sphere MechWarriors never awakened.

  The shadowy figures clambered up onto the Omni-Mech's torso, their sneak suits rippling through color changes as they went. Standing on the 'Mech's left hip, they were able to reach a half-meter-square access panel in the machine's back. Lifting a manual-release lever caused the hatch to spring open, revealing a tangle of electrical conduits coolant tubing, and myomer bundles. Ryan checked the small data display terminal set into the back of his left
gauntlet, tapping in a few commands before he got the information he wanted. As he queried the device, his companion dug into his satchel to produce a small, plastic-wrapped packet.

  Ryan eventually finished his calculations. Taking the package from his friend, he eased the device in through the hatch. Once he was satisfied that the object did not impinge on any of the 'Mech's vital systems, he used a set of powerful spring-loaded clamps to attach the small package to one of the power cables, then withdrew his arm. Quickly, the intruders sealed the panel and moved on to the next 'Mech, a humanoid-looking Gargoyle. Fifteen minutes later, all ten of the Clan 'Mechs had been visited by the ghostly pair. Each vehicle now carried an identical package somewhere in its insides. Silently, Ryan tapped a new set of commands into his wristcomp, and, with a jerk of his head, signaled his companion to follow him.

  As quickly and as silently as they had come, the two men flitted back across the compound, mounted the stairs to the parapet, deftly scrambled down the wall, and faded away into the deep gloom on the other side.

  Fifty meters into the woods, they stopped beneath the overhanging tendrils of a vine-covered palm. Taking concealed positions on either side of the huge tree, they watched their back trail carefully. Soon, a second pair of camouflaged troopers faded into view, betrayed only by the blurring of the jungle around them. Ryan lifted his chin slightly in a gesture of inquiry. One of the newcomers nodded as he settled into the shadow of the creeper-shrouded tree.

  Before long, the last pair of commandos, along with the machine-gunner sentry, rejoined their companions. One had a small black metal briefcase clutched under one arm. Ryan knew that no one had been carrying the case when they'd taken the stairs down from the wall-top parapet for their assigned task of crippling the installation's communications and sensor equipment. Why the contents of the case were so important that his team member had chosen to drag it along would have to wait until the team was debriefed. After getting a nod from this ghostly threesome, Ryan tapped one of the men on the back and crooked his thumb over his shoulder.