LE5760 - Ghost of Winter, page 4
"Yeah, our duty. You know what our duty is, kid? Our duty is to find whatever way we can off this desolate rock and get ourselves out there where it’s really happening. You know it, I know it, and even Lieutenant-freakin’ Holt knows it. Kore is a dead-end. It’s where the ’Riders send their washed-up MechWarriors to finish out their time to pension and their malcontents to spend some time cooling off. Hell, it’s gotten so bad they don’t even bother to send relief troops out here anymore. They’ve got to recruit guys like you and me to do the duty. But I’m not going to stay buried here for the rest of my life. I’m getting off this rock sooner or later. The Lancers are just the first step in my ticket out of here." Volker slipped his coolant vest on and began adjusting the fit.
"Hey," he said, "did you hear? Old Hans says he saw the Ghost again."
Sturm glanced up from fidgeting with the ties on his holster.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Of course, I’ll bet he had at least a little nip of something before that. Probably a big nip, if I know Brinkmann." Volker mimicked throwing back a bottle with a laugh. Hans Brinkmann did have something of a reputation as a drinker. He was the oldest MechWarrior in the unit, older even than Lieutenant Holt. Sturm had heard that he’d ended up on Kore as a result of some disciplinary action, but Brinkmann never talked about it and nobody else in the unit seemed to know much or, if they did, they weren’t saying.
Of course, it wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned a "ghost sighting." In fact, the Ghost of Winter was a regular story that circulated among the Lancers during long duty-shifts and off-duty drinking bouts. The story said that one or more of the Clan warriors left behind to defend Kore when the main invasion force moved on fought so fiercely when the Storm Riders came to retake Kore that he (or she, the story varied) swore to defend Kore against all invaders even after death. MechWarriors told stories about strange sensor readings and even sightings of a ghostly BattleMech out on the tundra or in the Jotun Mountains late at night.
Sturm remembered laughing off the stories at first, although secretly he did sometimes find himself double-checking his ’Mech’s sensor readings on night patrols. Sturm mentioned the stories to his father once. Dr. Kintaro dismissed them as "ignorant superstition" and rambled on about how the metal deposits and some of the volcanic steam vents might create a kind of false reading of a large, hot, metallic object that sensors could mistake for another ’Mech at first glance. Still, there was something almost mystical about the Clans and their legendary ferocity, their code of honor, their willingness to fight to the death, that gave the story some weight. Sturm wondered if every Mech Warrior and soldier on Kore didn’t look out across the dark tundra some nights and wonder. Volker probably didn’t, he guessed.
Sturm shrugged off the thought. Stewing about Volker or wondering about the Ghost was a waste of time and energy when he could be out there in his ’Mech where he belonged. He stowed the rest of his gear in his locker and turned to head out of the locker room.
"Hey, tiger," Volker called after him, "don’t kill all those cargo modules. Leave a few of them for the rest of us to handle. Don’t want you hogging all the glory." His bitter, mocking laughter followed Sturm out into the hall.
5
Kore Lancers Command Base
Outside Niffelheim, Kore
The Periphery
11 April 3060
Sturm climbed up the chain-ladder to the Thorn’s cockpit, shivering a bit from the icy wind that blew in through the bay doors. He swung into the cockpit and settled into the padded command chair. He triggered a switch and the cockpit hatch hissed shut with a thunk and the internal cabin lights came on, bathing the interior in a pale light. The main viewscreen lit up with a split 360-degree view around the ’Mech, compressed into 120 degrees on-screen. A heads-up display providing technical information was superimposed over the screen, while secondary displays provided additional information on the ’Mech’s weapons and other systems. Everything was in perfect ready condition.
Reaching up above him, Sturm pulled down the neurohelmet, a key command element of a BattleMech. The helmet was a bulky affair with an open faceplate in front and thick cables connecting it to the Thorn’s onboard computers.
One of the early design flaws with BattleMechs was the problem of keeping such giant machines standing upright. BattleMech myomer fibers worked similar to human muscles, contracting and relaxing in response to electrical current passing through them, allowing ’Mechs to move much like living beings. Still, a ten- or twelve-meter tall BattleMech lacked the balance and coordination of even a five-year-old; ’Mechs would simply topple over if their movements weren’t carefully coordinated. Part of that coordination came from an internal gyroscope and a sophisticated series of computer movement-models, allowing the ’Mech to function in ways similar to a humanoid.
The rest of the balance came directly from the MechWarrior piloting the machine. In more ways than one, a ’Mech pilot was the real "brain" of the BattleMech. Contact pads inside the neurohelmet fitted tightly against the wearer’s scalp. They conducted neural impulses from the brain to the ’Mech’s control systems. The main functions of the ’Mech were still controlled manually; the lack of effective neuro-feedback limited the system’s effectiveness as a primary control mechanism. But it did allow the BattleMech to tap into its pilot’s own sense of balance and equilibrium. With the aid of the neurohelmet BattleMechs moved almost like living things, directed by the manual control inside the cockpit.
Sturm lowered the neurohelmet into place and inserted the medsensor plugs into the four sockets at the helmet’s throat. The board showed green and he felt the familiar odd sensation in the back of his head as the neural systems linked in, connecting his balance-centers to the drive systems of the Thorn. The helmet also ran a security scan of Sturm’s brainwave patterns, which served as part of the "key" to his ’Mech. He fastened the helmet down on the padded shoulders of his coolant vest.
The primary viewscreen lit up with a flashing status monitor and the words INPUT PASSCODE.
"Jenna’s Dream," he said. The screen flashed PASSCODE VALID, and the massive war machine came to life. The screen filled with a view of the ’Mech bay as Sturm ran a systems check and cleared all of the ’Mech’s connections with its maintenance cocoon. He pushed the command stick forward and the metal giant began slowly walking forward, footsteps booming against the ferrocrete floor. Sturm guided the Thorn out of the ’Mech bay and began moving at a brisk pace toward the landing pad.
He keyed open his comm channels with the touch of a button.
"C&C, this is Kintaro, I’m heading out to the landing pad. Over." There was a crackle of static in Sturm’s ear on the channel.
"kkkzzzzrtttt… Roger that Kintaro… bzzzzt… proceed zzzzzzzztttttt"
"Come again, C&C. I’m having trouble reading you."
"Sorry, Sturm…" The voice crackled from the speaker in his helmet. "…we’re having some… kkkzzzzzttt… trouble with the comm system… kkkkkrrrrrrrkkk… trying to track it down now."
"Might be some kind of magnetic interference," Sturm offered. His father was always talking about Kore’s unusually strong magnetic field, which sometimes caused trouble for electronics. Sturm had certainly been fooled more than once by false magnetic readings caused by the high-density metal ores in some of the local rocks.
"Probably all the second- and third-hand crap gear command keeps sending us," another voice cut in.
"Hey, Volker," Sturm responded, "glad you could be bothered to join us out here." He zoomed his ’Mech’s sensors onto the profile of Volker’s Panther emerging from the ’Mech bay. The sleek gray ’Mech was humanoid like the Thorn, but weighed in a bit heavier and mounted a large particle projection cannon on one arm.
"Couldn’t let you face those cargo containers all alone, kid," Volker shot back. "Thought you might need a hand."
"Then the both of you can cut the chatter and get your butts over here," interjected another voice. "The Tammuz is hitting its final approach." The tone was friendly, but still carried a hint of steel.
"Yessir," Sturm responded. Volker shot back with a jaunty "Yes, sir!"
"And Volker," Lieutenant Holt continued, "don’t forget that you haven’t been in a ’Mech cockpit much longer than Kintaro, and that he beat you on the last training exercise by a good margin." Sturm grinned at the sudden silence on the commline. Volker apparently didn’t have any smart remarks about that.
"C&C," Holt said over the channel, "keep working on the comm system. We’re going out to meet the Tammuz. Maybe they can spare us a couple of techs to help out. We’ll keep you apprised. Over."
"Roger that," the radio crackled. "Over."
Sturm walked his ’Mech toward the landing pad, with Volker’s Panther close behind. Suddenly the other ’Mech sprinted forward, moving quickly across the frozen terrain.
"You heard the lieutenant," Volker said. "Let’s go!"
Sturm smiled and shook his head. Volker just wouldn’t give up. There was no need to move so quickly, and it was often dangerous to travel too fast across the frozen terrain of Kore. Even something as big as a BattleMech could slip or skid across the snow-covered ground, as Sturm knew from his training. He let Volker go and picked up his own pace slightly. Better to do the job right and get there in one piece than to grandstand. Let Volker have his fun, if that would make him feel better.
Already he had a visual on the Tammuz. The DropShip was descending toward the broad ferrocrete landing pad on final approach. Nearby were two other BattleMechs, standing like silent sentries watching the sky. The first was Lieutenant Holt’s Centurion, the same ’Mech design in which Sturm had trained that morning. The fifty-ton ’Mech carried a decent array of armaments, particularly its arm-mounted autocannon. Hans Brinkmann’s Javelin stood nearby. The thirty-ton ’Mech was squat and broad compared to the Centurion, its chest puffed out to contain racks of short-range missiles that let it pack a wallop at close range. Both ’Mechs were painted in the standard white and gray cammo of the Kore Lancers.
Technically, the Lancers would be classed as a scout lance by most Inner Sphere units. The Centurion was their heaviest ’Mech and it was classed as medium, almost puny compared to monsters like the Atlas or the Banshee. None of the others counted as more than light ’Mechs. Still, they were all Kore had, since it made little sense to assign a full twelve-’Mech company or even a medium or heavy lance to such an isolated world on the edge of known space, with little strategic value.
The Alfin Corporation wanted Kore protected, but they also had to be cost-conscious. That was why the Lancers often had to make do with less than top-line equipment and supplies. Kore simply wasn’t a priority garrison. Volker’s probably right, Sturm thought. The comm system is secondhand junk. That’s why it’s not working right.
The Tammuz isn’t in much better shape, Sturm mused, as the giant DropShip resolved itself from a rapidly growing dot to a familiar outline. The ship was a giant metallic sphere some eighty meters in diameter, with a flattened tail mounting four powerful guidance thrusters around the central fusion drive. It had already turned so the thrusters pointed downward, firing controlled blasts to slow the descent of more than three thousand tons of metal through the atmosphere of Kore. The metal plates making up the ship’s hull were dented and pitted from micrometeorites and atmospheric debris. The paint job was patched and scuffed, giving the ship a battered appearance. Still, it was an impressive sight. Used to working in and around giant BattleMechs, Sturm was still stunned by the sheer size of the DropShip.
Normally, Union Class ships like the Tammuz weren’t used to visit planets like Kore. The Tammuz had room enough in its cavernous hold to carry a full company of BattleMechs and support fighters, more than enough space to carry supplies to a small colony like this. But supply ships arrived on Kore infrequently, and there was always a full load of processed ore to be taken back to Alfin facilities in the Inner Sphere, so those huge cargo bays were filled with ore carriers rather than ’Mechs. Sturm watched the ship descend as his ’Mech walked across the frozen tundra, thinking of the day when he might be able to board a DropShip like this and travel out across the stars.
The Tammuz fired its thrusters again and settled majestically into the landing pit in the center of the platform on a giant pillar of smoke and flame, resting on a set of four landing-columns that extended from the lower sides of the sphere like tiny legs. Sturm thought the whole thing was a strange cross between impressive and almost comical.
"Wait until they give the all-clear," Lieutenant Holt said over the comm. Then he began to move his Centurion around the outskirts of the landing pit, toward the Tammuz’s massive hatchway.
The next moment, a blazing bolt shot out from the DropShip, striking the Centurion in the torso. The PPC blast melted armor and sent the ’Mech staggering backward. Lasers mounted on the DropShip’s outer hull followed the blast with several blazing crimson beams that sliced into the ’Mech’s armor.
"What the hell…?" Sturm said.
"C&C, I’m under attack!" Holt was shouting over the comm. "Some kind of ambush! C&C, come in!" Only static filled the airwaves where the response from the Command and Control Center should be. Something was very wrong. Sturm pushed the control stick forward, driving the Thorn up to its maximum speed, closing in to help provide some cover for the Centurion to withdraw. Holt’s voice came over the comm system again.
"All ’Mechs, Tammuz is considered hostile! Repeat, Tammuz is considered—" A burst of hard static cut off the communication as another burst from the DropShip’s PPC struck the Centurion. The lieutenant’s comm system might be damaged, or just temporarily overloaded by the charge of the particle blast.
As he closed in, Sturm thumbed the firing button at his left, and the Thorn spat a volley of LRMs from its right-side launcher. They streaked in toward the DropShip and impacted on the hull with a dull boom. The heavy armor, designed to withstand battles in the depths of space, held against the attack, although Sturm registered some new scarring on the hull plates. It would take forever to blast through that armor. He had to try and target some exposed system, like one of the weapons pods.
Brinkmann and Volker had also opened fire on the DropShip. In the smoke wreathing the ship’s hull, Sturm could just make out the other ’Mechs falling back from the ship, trying to cover the lieutenant’s more damaged ’Mech. The crackle of radio static filled his ears as his sensors began to pick up something else.
"Enemy ’Mechs!" Brinkmann shouted over the com. "We’ve got enemy ’Mechs incoming!"
Sturm zoomed the Thorn’s scanner in on one of the open cargo hatches of the DropShip and saw several giant, metallic forms emerging from it. On each of them, painted on the limbs and torso, was the crest of Clan Jade Falcon. Sturm’s heart froze in his chest as the last of the invading BattleMechs stepped out of the DropShip. It was a massive seventy-five-ton Mad Cat.
The Clans had returned to Kore.
6
Kore Lancers Command Base
Outside Niffelheim, Kore
The Periphery
11 April 3060
Hans Brinkmann was the first to die. Enemy missiles screamed in toward his Javelin and exploded in a shroud of smoke and flames.
"Critical damage to the reactor!" Brinkmann yelled over the commline. "I’m not going to be able to keep it under control!"
The enemy Puma leveled both arms toward the Javelin and there was a boom like thunder as artificial lightning lanced from the ’Mech’s twin PPCs. The blue-white beams of energy struck the Javelin’s cockpit and it exploded. A cloud of smoke and fragments showered over the area, leaving the rest of the ’Mech standing out on the ferrocrete landing pad, frozen in the midst of its last motion, as if it were as dumbfounded as the rest of the Kore Lancers at the sudden and savage attack.
"Bastards!" Sturm yelled and slammed down on the firing stud. A cluster of LRMs streaked toward the enemy ’Mechs, and twin lances of crimson fire shot out at the Puma. The Puma was already moving and the missiles went wide, exploding against the ferrocrete, while only one of the lasers scored a hit, melting and burning some armor on the ’Mech’s arm. Off to Sturm’s right, the PPC of Volker’s Panther gave a crack of thunder as he fired his own energy weapon at the invaders.
"Pull back!" Lieutenant Holt ordered. "Volker! Kintaro! Fall back toward the mountains and keep trying to get in contact with C&C."
"But Lieutenant, what about…"
"That’s an order, Kintaro! GO!"
Sturm hesitated for only an instant. The lieutenant was right. There was no way they could defeat the more powerful Clan ’Mechs, especially not without Brinkmann. He turned his ’Mech around and began heading toward the Jotun Mountains, pushing the control stick forward and coaxing the Thorn up to its maximum speed. In moments he hit the edge of the landing pad and braced for the jolt as the ’Mech went from the hard, level ferrocrete to the snow-covered tundra. Fortunately, Sturm was practiced at piloting a ’Mech across the often treacherous terrain of Kore. He only hoped that the Clan pilots weren’t as prepared for the slippery surface; it might slow them down just enough to buy the Lancers some breathing space. Then they could regroup, contact C&C, and find out what the hell had happened. Assuming C&C wasn’t already under enemy control. But how could that be?
Sturm forced himself to push aside all of his questions and concerns for the moment. Right now he needed to focus on the matter at hand. He checked his display. Volker’s Panther was right behind him. The heavier scout ’Mech wasn’t as fast as Sturm’s Thorn, so Sturm had a good head start on the other pilot. As for the Centurion…
Sturm slowed his ’Mech as quickly as he could on the frozen terrain.
"Kintaro! What are you doing?"
"Lieutenant Holt—he’s…"
"There’s nothing you can do for him, kid," Volker said, "except to do as he ordered. Now keep going, damn it!"
