BattleTech Legends: The Blood of Kerensky Trilogy, page 26
Kai looked to his uncle. “Colonel Allard will recall, I believe, that the Kell Hounds used an uncolonized star as a recharge point twenty-three years ago in the rescue of the Silver Eagle. Marshal, you and General Redburn will also recall using uncolonized stars during the First Kathil Uhlans’ invasion of the Capellan homeworld. Because of the threat of a drive failure, most transit routes are planned through inhabited systems so help can be obtained in emergencies, but we all know that’s not the only way to get around.”
“This has already been stated, Leftenant,” General Winston broke in impatiently. “It’s because of such systems that we have no way of knowing where the invaders will strike.”
Kai nodded enthusiastically. “Agreed. The invaders hit us on inhabited worlds because they know that’s where they’ll find us. Conversely, the only places we know to find the invaders are on the worlds they’ve already taken. Because there is no front, we can ignore the worlds they’ve targeted in their current push, and hit the worlds they took most recently. We have to hit them where they are, and if we start to cut them off from wherever their supply bases are, their offensive will have to turn back on itself because they’ll be losing ground every time they take a new world.”
“It stands to reason that they’d use their best troops as their vanguard,” Victor chimed in. “Their elite troops are conquering worlds, not garrisoning worlds already taken. We have to assume that their garrison troops are not as good as the conquerors. If we pit our elite units against their chaff, and avoid getting our good units ripped up by their elites, we can slow down their juggernaut.”
Dan Allard winced. “What if their garrison troops are as good as their elite troops?”
“Then all the planning we do is for nothing.” Kai shrugged helplessly. “They’ll just rip us up, no matter what.”
Morgan steepled his fingers and watched the two junior officers at the end of the table. “Your analysis and strategy are interesting, and at the very least, unusual. Not bad for just over a month of study and work. By the end of our time here, I expect a working proposal concerning this strategy, including likely units to be used and a suitable target.”
Before he could issue any more instructions, a knock at the door interrupted him. A staff aide entered the room and handed the flame-haired Marshal a small yellow slip of paper. Morgan read it, then dismissed the aide with a brusque nod. He waited for the door to close before speaking. “Our time to plan has been cut down, my friends.”
Kai felt a cold set of talons rake up through his middle. What has happened? What have the invaders done now?
Morgan pressed the paper flat against the tabletop. “I need your final reports in fourteen days. No less. The invaders have just hit Rasalhague.”
28
1ST RASALHAGUE DRAKØNS BRIEFING ROOM
REYKJAVIK NORTH, RASALHAGUE
RASALHAGUE PROVINCE
FREE RASALHAGUE REPUBLIC
12 JULY 3050
Tyra Miraborg shook her head. I couldn’t have heard him right. Raising her hand, she stood as Overste Siggurson acknowledged her. “I’m not sure I understand what you just said, Overste.”
The hawk-nosed leader of the Drakøns moved from the glare of the overhead projector at the center of the amphitheatre. “What don’t you understand, Kapten? I thought I explained it all quite clearly.” The irritation in his voice ridiculed his question.
Tyra lifted her head proudly, and glared down at him. “I fully understand the desperate situation of our forces, Overste. I understand how devastating is this attack on the Republic’s capital. What I do not understand is why you’re ordering the aerowing to stay out of the battle.” She looked at the other aeropilots in the room. “You’ve already given your MechWarriors their assignments and sent them out. But then you call us in to say that we’re to stay out of the fight! That, sir, makes no sense!”
Siggurson laughed coldly. “Spoken just like the daughter of the Iron Jarl. Don’t worry, Kapten. You’ll get plenty of opportunities to win yourself medals in the future.”
Fury shook Tyra. “Sir, that is not my concern at all.” She spread her arms to take in all of the pilots in the room. “We’re warriors, damn it, and it’s our right and our duty to be attacking this enemy. We deserve the right to make sure that our comrades, earth-bound though they might be, do not fight alone.”
Siggurson let the other pilots murmur their agreement with Tyra’s sentiments, then cut off all discussion by slapping his wooden pointer against a front-row chair. The pointer splintered with a sharp crack that produced immediate silence. “Let me answer your unspoken question, Kapten: Did I send out my troops with the mistaken impression that they would get air support? The answer is that those troops know you will not be there to cover them. In short, the other half of the Drakøns know I’m sending them out to die. It wasn’t any easier telling them that than it is to tell you that I need you alive.”
The Overste waved his left hand back at the image still projected on the wall. A map of Rasalhague’s northern continent, it showed where the invaders had landed and gave approximations of their strengths. “You can see everything as well as I can. The invaders have erroneously selected Asgard City, instead of the true capital of Reykjavik, as their target. We can now deploy our ground troops to intercept their troops as they return to the capital, but they will have to pay very dearly if they hope to take it. And the reason our people will fight so hard is because the enemy’s error gives you the opportunity to evacuate the Silver Fox from Rasalhague.
“If he lives, the Republic lives. If the Republic lives, then our sacrifice is not in vain.”
Tyra heard both the bitterness and the plea for obedience in Siggurson’s voice, but she could not leave it alone. “Overste, it will not take a whole aero regiment to fly cover for the Elected Prince. Give him a company. Let the rest of us help you.”
Siggurson shook his head. “No, and that is final. We might not need a regiment to get Prince Haakon off the planet, but we might well need that regiment to ensure his safety in the systems through which he’ll have to travel. The hopes and dreams of billions will be in your hands. May the gods speed you on your way and safeguard each and every one of you.”
“Tighten it up, Val Four.” Tyra glanced at the tactical readout on her auxiliary monitor. “Stay with us, Marnie, or you’ll be left behind.”
“Roger, Kapten.”
I hope you meant that, Lojtnant Ingstad, because this is no time for solo missions. The Wolves might not be after us on this outward run, but we’re the folks who have to make sure it’s clear for the Silver Fox to escape. I don’t like the mission, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let it fail.
Tyra flipped the radio over to the frequency she shared with Anika Janssen. “Clear to you, Nik?”
“Roger, Kapten. I’m clear on a vector to the Fox’s bolt hole.” Frustration tinged Janssen’s words. “I know what Ingstad is thinking, and I bet you and Karl are thinking it along with her. We’re supposed to safeguard the Prince so he can get away, but I don’t like the idea of leaving the rest of the Drakøns behind, no matter what Siggurson said. Dammit, they may be ground-pounders and mud-marchers but—”
“—They’re our groundpounders,” Tyra completed the sentence. “I know. I don’t like it either. Let me see if I can do something about it.” Tyra switched the radio to the taccom frequency. “Valkyrie Flight reporting in. Rakblad vector is clear.”
“Roger,” a distant voice crackled back through the speakers in her neurohelmet. “We have Viking Flight five minutes behind you, then Fox Flight will appear. Rendezvous in fifteen minutes, Vector Ressjuka for outbound travel.”
“Affirmative, Taccom. Valkyrie Flight transferring from eight thousand meters to the deck to continue sweep.” Tyra crossed her fingers and tried to keep anxiety from her voice. “Can you authorize mission status transfer, Taccom?”
Weariness filled the radio operator’s voice. “You and every other pilot in this aeroforce… No can do, Valkyrie Leader, but you’ll do it even if clearance isn’t given, won’t you? I am ordered to forbid you to change heading to two-seven-one and drop to Nape. I am further ordered not to tell you that twenty-five kilometers out we have a reported contact. Be careful, and be back in fifteen.”
“Thanks, Taccom. You can set your chronometer by us.” Tyra opened a frequency to the three other members of her flight. “Heads up. Change to course two-seven-one and glide on down till the trees tickle your undercarriage. We want to go in at 800 kph, which makes contact just over two minutes off. Stay close. We’ll have time for a couple of passes. You get hit and come back here. We’re out on Ressjuka vector in fifteen minutes, and I don’t want to leave anyone behind. Got it?”
Tyra got three positive responses, then stood her Shilone on its left wing and pointed its nose at the ground. She watched her airspeed indicator as the wing dropped like a rock toward the planet below. Feathering her thrust vectors, she trimmed the craft’s tendency to shift pitch in atmosphere, then pulled its nose up to transform the steep dive into a glide that sent her streaking across the face of the planet.
Once down on the deck, Tyra engaged the Nape guidance system. Under computer control, the Shilone raced 500 meters above the landscape that spread out beneath her like a rumpled blanket. The forests became an evergreen blur that seemed to stretch on forever except when the computer bounced her up and over a gray granite ridge. Even within the close confines of her cockpit and neurohelmet, the roar of wind rushing past reached her and set her heart beating faster.
As her flight came over the last mountain barrier and moved down into the Asgard Valley, Tyra switched off the Nape computer and engaged the tactical computer. Once again, a holographic composite representing the battlefield below filled the space between her and her instruments. The targeting light appeared on her faceplate and the armrests rotated until they filled her hands with triggers. All her weapons systems came online and reported 100 percent operational.
“Nik, you and I go in first. Val Three and Four, hang back, then follow us.” Tyra kept her hands steady on the triggers as the Shilone glided in like a hawk over a meadow. She took the fighter down to twenty-five meters above the ground, flying more by feel than conscious process. The neurohelmet enabled her craft to use her own kinesthetic sense to keep it skimming the valley’s golden, grassy carpet. Then, suddenly, targets appeared on the holographic display at more than three thousand meters out.
At 800 kph, extreme range passed to close range in the blink of an eye, but that hardly mattered. Tyra hit the firing buttons for her three lasers. The ruby beams raked the ’Mechs massed below, vaporizing armor and setting the grass ablaze. Over the invaders, Tyra boosted the Shilone’s nose into the air and punched out a flight of the aft-arc short-range missiles. As they exploded among the ’Mechs, she rolled the fighter, then swooped up and out of her enemy’s range.
Excitement filled Anika’s voice. “Beautiful, Tyra. They didn’t expect us, and they didn’t have time to track us. We left some armor hanging, but they’re still heading toward Asgard City.”
Tyra leveled out at a kilometer and turned to watch Karl Niemi and Mamie Ingstad make their passes. Both Slayers flew over the terrain like vultures racing to a carcass. Laser bolts stabbed through the cloud of ashen smoke surrounding the invaders. Because of the smoke, Tyra could not make out any actual damage done, but a roiling ball of golden fire erupting out of the smoke told her that at least one invader’s fusion engine had exploded.
As both fighters banked up and out of the smoke, she opened the radio channel to them. “Great shooting. Nik, crossing pattern at point-one klick. Three and Four, set up for a similar run, but rotate it thirty degrees. Go now!”
Anika’s fighter slipped from its position on Tyra’s left wing and spiraled around until it appeared half a kilometer below her and off her starboard bow. Tyra dropped her Shilone’s nose and began a slow turn to the left. Set up at ninety degrees to Anika’s angle of attack, she leveled her dive out and came in at 500 meters.
She let a full flight of LRMs announce her arrival. The invaders fired back along the missiles’ flight path, but Tyra had closed so much ground in that short time that their counterattacks passed beneath her. Even as a couple of invaders realized their error and started to adjust their aim, she began her strafing run. She held her right thumb down on the firing stud and tightened up the first two fingers of her left hand on the trigger buttons under them. Ruby lasers slashed through the smoke, and subsidiary explosions told her she’d found vulnerable targets within the enemy host.
Two seconds later, as she pulled up the nose of her Shilone and the invaders started to track her ship, Anika shot through the smoke at right angles to Tyra’s line of attack. Her raking laser fire provided more than enough distraction for the MechWarriors attempting to knock Tyra from the sky. Then, as the invaders maneuvered to kill Anika, the twin Slayers made their passes. In a dozen heartbeats, whole and unscathed, Valkyrie Flight reformed at eight thousand meters and raced to the east.
Tyra keyed her radio to taccom, but left the line open to allow the rest of her flight to hear what she said. “Taccom, Valkyrie Flight confirms contact at heading two-seven-one. We rolled out the welcome mat for them and showed them just how the Republic feels about them.”
The controller summoned a weak laugh. “Obliged, Valflight. Overste Siggurson wants to know what made you think you could violate his orders?”
Tyra’s eyes narrowed. “Tell him it was bad blood.” She looked at her navigational computer. “Valkyrie Flight on heading oh-eight-nine for the Ressjuka out vector. Give ’em hell.”
“Roger, Val Leader. We’ll make you proud. Rasalhague out.”
29
REYKJAVIK, STATE OF ISLANDIA
RASALHAGUE
RASALHAGUE PROVINCE
FREE RASALHAGUE REPUBLIC
17 JULY 3050
Smoke drifted raggedly along the streets, snaking from small bonfires through the hollow shells of buildings. Bricks and mortar lay frozen in the dawn light. The bricks’ color reminded Phelan of dried blood and the gray mortar of the ashes he saw everywhere. My God, they actually had to fight their way into the city!
The captive MechWarrior followed a step or two behind Ulric as Star Colonel Lara guided the Khan and his entourage through the conquered capital. She walked at Ulric’s right hand, while the Precentor Martial accepted a place of honor at his left. A dozen of the giant Elementals formed a pocket around the visitors, but only two of them wore their metallic armor. In addition to Phelan, Clan MechWarriors trailed behind their leaders, including a smug-looking Vlad.
Lara pointed out a rough semicircle of buildings that marked the perimeter of destruction. “The Drakøns made a last stand in this area. We had not planned to be so destructive, but the tight quarters of the city made things difficult. And many of our people wanted to get it over with quickly after the strafing run their fighters made on us near Asgard.”
Phelan heard her words, but could find no relation between what she said and the scene before him. These buildings had not merely been blown apart. Rather, they looked like vegetables that had succumbed to rot. What had once been sharp angles had melted into curves. Buildings, their walls liquefied by lasers and particle beams, had sagged in on themselves. Blackened by fire and streaked with red where new flows of fluid brick ran down the surface, the buildings might have been some flaccid fungi wilting in the sunlight.
And those weren’t even the intended targets. The scraps and bits of Drakøn ’Mechs still visible seemed to Phelan far too few for this to have been a major battleground. I’ve seen the aftermath of a dozen battles, but this scene looks more like a thoroughly scavenged scrap yard. The largest concentrations of ’Mech debris were small hovels the refugees had thrown up, using armor shards for walls and roofs to protect them from the chill of night. Beyond that, the stripped skeleton of a ’Mech’s hand pointing loosely off toward the north was the only real clue that ’Mechs had fought and died here.
The Precentor Martial uttered Phelan’s question for him. “Did any of the Drakøn pilots survive, quiaff?”
Lara nodded. “Affirmative. Most, in fact. We decided early on that it would be best to base our occupational forces on cooperation with the Drakøns, who will be our ambassadors to the people on Rasalhague.” She smiled at Focht. “Of course, we will work through ComStar’s good offices, as usual, to facilitate the restructuring of the society.”
Across the street, Phelan saw a small knot of people standing around a fire inside an old petrochem drum. Their mismatched clothing contrasted sharply with the green jumpsuit and synthetic jacket he wore. Through holes in their trousers and burned patches on their coats, he saw that most of them wore several layers of rags to ward off the cold. The haunted look in their eyes revealed the state of their hunger and their hopelessness.
“Forgive my presumption, Star Colonel,” Phelan found himself saying, “but what provision has been made for the people whose homes were destroyed?”
Lara started to answer, but glanced at Ulric first, who gave her a slight nod. “We have housed the vast majority on the west side of the city. The facilities we are using were in disrepair, but they are adequate until things can be rebuilt.” The Clanswoman pointed to the people skulking around the ruins. “These people have refused to report to the facilities, and therefore, will not receive support.”
Phelan suddenly remembered a fragment of information. Camps on the west side of Reykjavik... Wasn’t that something described in Misha Auburn’s Freedom’s Bloody Price? “Would you be referring to the Kempei Tai barracks over on the other side of the Oslo river, quineg?”
“Aff. I believe that name was associated with the place.”
Phelan made no attempt to disguise his shock. “The Kempei Tai barracks was an ISF—Kurita secret police—reeducation center before Rasalhague became independent. The FRR maintained it as a reminder of man’s inhumanity to man. Fully a quarter of the people sent there never returned. Is it any wonder these people refused to be herded in there?”
