Twilight of the clans III: the hunters Page 19

  Vaux had just been posted by his Lance Sergeant, Charlotte Kempka, when his commline crackled to life.

  "All units, all units, this is Dragon One. Drinker reports all systems are go."

  "That's great, Major." Vaux had the good sense to switch off his transmitter before indulging himself in the derisive snort. "Now, all we have to do is sit here for the rest of the day while the techies do their thing. Brother, how I hate picket duty."

  "All right, listen up," came Sergeant Kempka's voice crackling over the commline. "We're on a standard rotation schedule. Carasia, you got first watch, West, second, Vaux, third. I'll take cleanup."

  A chorus of groans sounded across the lance's tactical channel.

  "I don't wanna hear it." The link's metallic effect made Kempka's voice even harsher than usual. "Them's the orders, and that's what we're gonna do. Right?"

  They chorused, "Yes, Sergeant," with only slightly more enthusiasm.

  "And another thing. Stay sharp. Keep your scanners running, but don't forget about your 'Model 0 Mark Is.' " Kempka used the soldier's slang for the sensors every warrior was born with, his eyes. "Just 'cause we ain't in Clan space right now, don't mean there ain't hostiles out there."

  19

  Sweetwater Lake Basin

  Meribah System

  Deep Periphery

  16 November 3059 1730 Hours

  Nine hours later, the bright sunshine of morning had turned into a dull gray misting rain. It wasn't so bad for the Mech Warriors, who had dry, although stuffy, cockpits to shelter in. For the water collection crew, the conditions were awful.

  No one had counted on the fact that the seemingly clear blue water of what they had dubbed Sweetwater Lake was actually full of microfine silt that clogged the filter head so badly that it needed to be reeled in, detached from the pickup hose, washed clean, reattached, and replaced in the lake every three hours. The whole process took an hour to complete. A mission that should have taken twelve hours looked like it was going to stretch into fifteen or more.

  Alan Vaux sat in the cockpit of his Firestarter, grumbling to himself about the weather, the heat, the mission, and life in general. The young trooper did not realize how lucky he was. One of the often-overlooked features of the FS9 series of 'Mechs was the ingress/egress hatch. Where, on most 'Mechs, the hatch either swung horizontally, like a door, or slid open on runners, the hatch on the Firestarter hinged upward, like the lift gate on a ground car. In rainy conditions, which would normally preclude the opening of a 'Mech's hatch, the Firestarter's accessway could be locked in the up position, affording the pilot with some welcome fresh air.

  Vaux's cockpit was buttoned up tight. Whether he had forgotten about the built-in rain awning, or whether no one had told him about it was immaterial. The lapse that unnecessarily increased his discomfort probably saved his life.

  As the rookie trooper sat, his feet up on the control panel, listening to the rain dripping against his viewport, a piercing wail filled his cockpit. A crimson THREAT icon flared to life. His HUD jumped from standby to active in a split second.

  Before he could switch his startled gaze away from the blinking warning light, another automated system came on line. A tearing, high-pitched roar ripped through the rain-soaked copse of scrub trees in which he'd been sheltering, as his 'Mech's anti-missile system spat out a stream of steel-jacketed slugs at a rate of over three thousand rounds per minute. The screeching bellow paused as the weapon adjusted its aim, then the radar-aimed mini-gun filled the air with another cloud of bullets.

  Not more than twenty meters from his 'Mech, the slugs clawed most of a missile volley from the sky. The explosions sounded like a string of monstrous firecrackers exploding in midair. Shrapnel rang off the Firestarter's armor, followed by a triplet of heavy blows as the warheads not destroyed by the anti-missile system smashed into his 'Mech. Had his hatch not been dogged down, the steel splinters would have passed through the opening, slashing their way through cockpit and pilot.

  "Dragon! Dragon! This is Ember One-Four. I'm under attack!" Vaux screamed into his commline as he struggled to shove his feet back into the pedal well where they belonged.

  "Settle down, Four." Kempka's unpleasant voice had never sounded so sweet. "Just tell me what you got."

  "Uh, I have four, no six, drek, ten, that's ten plus contacts, all converging on my position." Vaux struggled against the rising fear. Simulator runs and field exercises couldn't prepare anyone for the stark terror of hearing armor-piercing warheads detonating against your 'Mech's outer plating. Forcing himself to focus, Vaux read off the information scrolling across his data displays. "Uh, yeah. That's ten plus contacts, in two groups, four and six. Lead group seems to be four light or medium 'Mechs. Group two looks like heavies. The biggest MADs out at about sixty tons. No IFF signals, no EW emissions." Quickly glancing over the sensor display panel, Vaux confirmed that the Firestarter's Magnetic Anomaly Detector had correctly interpreted the mass of metal closing on his position.

  "All right, Four, just stay frosty." Vaux could hear the whine-thud of an advancing BattleMech behind Kempka's clipped orders. "Get your probes running. If a bad guy shows you a piece of himself, you blow it off, y'hear? Help is on the way."

  "Right, Sarge."

  The knowledge that the rest of his lance was moving to support him acted like a sudden infusion of courage to the green trooper. His scanners revealed the lead enemy 'Mech to be an old 3025 model Valkyrie. Mounting a Devastator Series-07 missile launcher in its chest, this was probably the 'Mech that had loosed that first volley of missiles. If so, something wasn't quite right here. A Val carried twelve reloads for its ten-tube missile launcher, yet the pilot hadn't fired a second pattern. The first volley had been loosed at over six hundred meters, nearly maximum effective range for standard LRMs. Perhaps the pilot wanted to close the distance before trying again.

  Vaux watched as the range counter ticked away the distance between his Firestarter and the lead enemy machine. On the tactical situation board, three more enemy 'Mechs were painted and identified. The first was a 40-ton Assassin, a standard Inner Sphere design. It was the leading pair of 'Mechs that sent an icy shiver of fear rippling along trooper Vaux's spine. Less than four hundred meters away, and closing fast, were the distorted, hunched-over shapes of two Clan OmniMechs.

  His Warbook program tagged the nearest machine as a Puma-B. The second was identified as an Uller. Both were light machines. Vaux felt confident that he could have taken either one of the Inner Sphere 'Mechs in a stand-up fight, but, in a four-on-one brawl, his 35-ton 'Mech wouldn't last long.

  "Sarge, I hate to rush you, but this is starting to get ugly here."

  As he spoke, the Valkyrie stopped. Flame blossomed from its torso as ten missiles leapt from their launch tubes. The missile defense system whirred to life, swatting half of the inbounds from the sky. Most of the rest fell short, scattering clods of earth, shards of rock, and shattered, burning branches in a dirty, smoke-laced cloud. A few missiles found their mark, gouging pits in the Firestarter's spindly legs. Vaux fought the controls, to keep the 'Mech upright.

  The range indicator clicked over to two-seventy, just inside maximum range of his 'Mech's lasers. Working the firing grip, Vaux brought the orange targeting pipper up to settle over the Puma's center-of-mass. A steady pulsing of the glowing ring indicated a lock. Mashing the trigger, Vaux sent a pair of laser bolts burning into the hostile's chest. Heat flooded into his cockpit, but was quickly dissipated by the 'Mech's heat sinks.

  The aggressor paused, fired. Armor slagged and ran away from his right elbow joint under the fiery caress of nearly invisible laser fire.

  Now, the Uller was alongside the Puma.

  "That's not fair, blast you!" Vaux screamed at the enemy. Something inside him snapped. Fear gave way to blazing rage. Despite his orders to hold his position, the young trooper shoved the control stick hard forward and sent his Firestarter into a lumbering run. Both attackers blazed away at him, scoring a coupl
e of minor hits, but failing to stop the charging 'Mech.

  Aiming for the nearest enemy, Vaux lowered his machine's shoulder like a grav-ball player bursting through a defensive line. At something over ninety kilometers per hour, the Firestarter smashed solidly into the Uller's jutting nose. The Clan 'Mech flailed its arms, trying desperately to keep its balance, but gravity won out. With a noise like thunder, the 30-ton battle machine crashed to the ground, falling heavily on its right side.

  Vaux didn't see his victim's fall. The impact had sent his Firestarter reeling. As he fought to keep his balance, the 'Mech's gyro screaming in protest the whole time, he pirouetted, quite by accident, to within thirty meters of the Puma.

  At point-blank range, the 35-ton 'Mech pumped twin bolts of coherent light into the incendiary 'Mech's armor. A stream of tracers ripped through the air a meter from his cockpit. A rapid series of laser pulses added their mega-joule caress to the destruction being wrought on his armor.

  When Vaux recovered his balance, there were deep, smoking pits in the armor protecting his right side and leg.

  Facing his tormentor, Vaux unleashed his full weapon complement in one devastating blast.

  Suddenly, his 'Mech became sluggish as the heat threatened to fry the control circuits. A maddeningly polite, computer-generated female voice advised him that a reactor shutdown was imminent. Vaux slapped the override, praying that the heat sinks would reduce the temperature in the 'Mech's core before the computer overrode his override.

  None of this mattered to Vaux's opponent, however. Three gouts of burning fuel had washed over the Puma. Already running hot from its assault on the charging enemy, the pilot was forced to eject from his rapidly overheating machine.

  That's one. Vaux told himself as the suddenly pilotless Puma crashed to the ground. But I'm still in a world of hurt.

  A shattering one-two punch confirmed his assessment of the situation, as a pair of short-range missiles slammed into the Firestarter's already-damaged torso. The Assassin had joined the fight.

  "Dammit, Kempka, where are you?" Vaux yelled into the commline.

  "Calm down, boy. We're right here."

  Immediately, the sky was filled with twisting smoke trails as five volleys of short-range missiles blasted into the enemy ranks. The Valkyrie fell hard and didn't get up. The Assassin turned and fled.

  "I told you to stay put, Vaux."

  "Yes, you did, Sergeant. Sorry."

  "Save it. You able to fight?"

  "My right side's kind of toasted, but I'm okay."

  "Good." Secretly, Charlotte Kempka was proud of the rookie pilot. He had taken on four enemy machines, blunted the force of their attack, and gotten his first kill all at the same time, though he had violated orders to do it. "See if you can do what you're told this time.

  "We're falling back. The heavies are on the way, so let's not get ourselves killed before they get here, okay?"

  Before the recon lance could begin to withdraw, Oliver West's Javelin staggered and fell, smoke trailing from a tight cluster of shell craters in the center of its thinly armored back. The Uller, damaged, but not destroyed by Vaux's mad rush, had staggered back to its feet. The machine, painted in the black, red, and gray colors of Clan Nova Cat, had seized the opportunity to unleash a volley of laser, autocannon and missile fire into the back of the unsuspecting Light Horse 'Mech.

  This cowardly assault was a last act of defiance and desperation. Before West's knocked out 'Mech came to rest in the muddy grass, his lancemates swung around and blasted the Uller into smoldering junk.

  There was little time to analyze or celebrate the victory. Even as a dazed and wounded Oliver West was clambering out of his disabled 'Mech, Kempka's THREAT board flared to life again.

  * * *

  "Dragon, Dragon, this is Ember One-One. Flash, Sitrep." Sergeant Kempka's voice was loud and harsh in the speakers built into Major Calvin's neurohelmet. "Grid: Juliet Seven two-six-niner. Ember One has contacted the lead enemy elements, including two Clan Nova Cat OmniMechs. Sensors indicate more bandits are inbound. Ember One-One is jamming enemy communications. We are falling back on your position."

  "Ember One-One, say again, all after 'lead enemy elements.' " Half of the sergeant's Situation Report had been lost in a grating burst of static.

  "I say again: Ember One has engaged and destroyed lead enemy elements, including two Clan Nova Cat OmniMechs: one Puma and one Uller. Sensors indicate ten or more bandits are inbound our position. Ember One is falling back on your position."

  "Roger, Ember One." Calvin's mind raced. If the intruders were Nova Cats, the whole operation could be blown before it got under way. He knew from intelligence reports that all of the Clans were engaged to some degree in hunting down and exterminating the Periphery pirates that still existed along the rim of the Inner Sphere. Those same reports carried unconfirmed tales of former Clan warriors, disgraced because of some failing, who had been exiled to the Periphery to become bandits themselves.

  "Ember One, fall back toward the LZ, but maintain contact with the enemy. I don't want to lose them."

  A burst of static distorted Kempka's reply, again forcing Major Calvin to ask for a repeat.

  "I said, losing them isn't going to be an issue," Kempka snapped. "We waxed a couple of their buddies, and they're out for blood."

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, the battle was over. As soon as he heard that the recon lance was taking fire, Major Calvin ordered the watering party back aboard the DropShips. Leaving his battalion's Seventh Company to protect the DropShips, he hustled the rest of the Fourth and Twenty-fifth through the thin, scrubby woods lining the shores of Sweetwater Lake.

  Whoever the mysterious attackers had been, they weren't Clanners. As the Twenty-fifth came up, they ran smack into the bulk of the enemy force, a hodge-podge of old-model 'Mechs, mixed in with a couple of updated types. The biggest of these had been a brand-new Quickdraw.

  The fight was short and sharp, almost a classic 'Mech battle in miniature. The Light Horse recon lance had encountered the enemy's lead four 'Mechs, also light reconnaissance jobs, and destroyed them. Then, both sides brought up their heavy combat units for the main event. The Light Horse lost only two light and one medium 'Mech. The intruders had been utterly destroyed. Of the sixteen 'Mechs that had entered the fight, none had escaped. Most were taken out in the first few minutes of the engagement. A few, like the Quickdraw, hung on a while longer.

  Now, as his infantry support platoons rounded up the few attackers who had ejected from their disabled 'Mechs, the ComStar techs resumed their task of collecting and purifying water for the Task Force.

  Twisting in his seat, Calvin popped his hatch and clambered out onto his 'Mech's shoulder to watch the mop-up operation. Soldiers dressed in the dark olive and brown-striped uniforms of the Eridani Light Horse moved among the disabled enemy machines. Here and there, he could see a figure, clad only in shorts and a T-shirt, hands raised, being herded along by a few camouflage-clad troopers.

  "Dragon One, this is Hatchling Leader."

  Reaching through the hatch, the Major plucked the commline headset from its place next to his control couch.

  "Go ahead, Hatchling," he replied, holding the boom-mike to his lips rather than settling the headset over his sweat-matted hair.

  "Boss, we got a problem. These guys are pirates. They tell me they got a base about thirty klicks west of here."

  "Oh, great." Calvin's tone left no doubt that the news was anything but great. "Listen, Jed, make sure your boys round up all the bad guys. I'm gonna call this in."

  Before the infantry leader could reply, an alarmed shout cut across the commline.

  "We got a live one here!"

  Calvin swung himself back into the cockpit, where the tactical display showed an active enemy 'Mech darting into the trees on the far side of the field.

  "Somebody catch him!" What the angry shout lacked in tactical finesse, it made up for in effectiveness. Three Light Horse 'M
echs, all from Recon Lance, Fourth Company, lunged into the trees after the fleeing bandit.

  * * *

  "All right, people spread out. Use your scanners and find this son of a buck. We can't let him get away." Sergeant Kempka's voice was hard and angry. The bandit 'Mech, a new model Jenner, badly battered, but still bearing the markings of the Tenth Pesht Regulars, had darted right past her Raven while she stood in stunned surprise. During the fighting, her battered 'Mechs had moved forward to screen the Light Horse's main body from enemy reinforcements. When none were forthcoming, her lance had been relieved of picket duty. They had just entered the main battle area, heading back toward their DropShip, when the bandit machine suddenly came to life.

  Her scanners had shown that it was shut down. She had assumed that the immobile 'Mech had been knocked out. When the ugly, bird-like machine came back to life, she was so surprised that she didn't even get a shot off. Trooper Vaux had reacted first, lacing the fleeing 'Mech's back with laser fire as he shouted out the alarm.

  Kempka moved her Raven cautiously through the trees, picking her route with care. The woods were not dense, but the ground was littered with large rocks and deadfalls, making footing treacherous. Her 'Mech, with its lanky, backward-acting legs, was especially vulnerable to knee and ankle damage. She did not want to be crippled while stalking a wily enemy through unfamiliar territory.

  "Ember One-One, this is Two. I think I've got him." Carasia's whisper barely carried through the link, as though he were afraid the enemy warrior might hear him.

  "Two, where are you?"

  There was no reply.

  Then, stunningly loud in the rain-soaked woods, the woosh-crack of a missile launcher rent the air, followed by the rapid, firecracker detonation of warheads against armor.

  "Holy Mother!" Carasia was shouting now. "This guy's a freaking ghost!"

  "Two, what the devil's goin' on?"