Jumpship Meschach, Camelot Command, Dark Nebula
Tamar March, Lyran Commonwealth
16 September 3050
"Blake's Blood," Hauptmann Miles Hawkins exclaimed as the shuttle carrying the Somerset Strikers' command team approached the flotilla of jumpships that had appeared only an hour ago near the abandoned Star League facility. "When your cousin said she'd brought the cavalry, she wasn't kidding."
"I had my doubts when she signalled us to meet her here, Hawk," Kommandant Adam Steiner admitted. "But I have to give her credit: she must have done some fast talking to persuade her parents that they should let come out here to the middle of the occupied worlds with an army like that."
"I guess the little princess wouldn't be allowed out without that many people to defend her," Hawk grumbled. "No offense, Kommandant, but she's just what I thought you were at first: a noble brat who got her rank because of her parents."
"She graduated near the top of her class at the Nagelring," objected Adam's aide, Leftenant Rachel Spector, as the shuttle closed towards the small bay of the jumpship they had been ordered to report aboard. The junior officer in the little deputation had taught there alongside Adam in the dim and distant days before the Clans arrived – all of six months now. "In fact, she was in same class as Ciro."
Hawk's face twisted bitterly and he resisted the urge to spit. "Yeah, well that says everything in my book," he retorted and an uneasy silence filled the shuttle. They had been mourning the apparent death of the young leftenant Ciro Rameriz when they last encountered the Princess of the Federated Commonwealth, herself retreating to Sudeten after the defeat of her regiment on Trell One. Now when they met her they would have to report that her classmate's status had changed from Killed in Action to one far more sinister: traitor!
"It's a troubling thought," volunteered the only passenger in the compartment who was not part of the Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth. "And the consequences would be far reaching if Prince Hohiro of the Draconis Combine – or an individual of equal rank – were to be persuaded similarly while in captivity."
Adam flinched. The last reports from Somerset suggested that his older brother Andrew was a prisoner of the same Clan, the Jade Falcons, who had induced Ciro to defect. And if Victoria Steiner-Davion were to change sides, then the repercussions could tear the Federated Commonwealth apart, just as a movement within the Draconis Combine had tried to raise up a pretender to that throne while Hohiro Kurita languished in a Smoke Jaguar prison. "We can't let that happen," he replied, sharing a significant look with the man who had spoken.
Franklin Sakamoto was the man who those Combine revolutionaries had seen as their prospective puppet – and when he rejected the role, it was Adam who had risked the Striker's mission: the return to Somerset, to rescue Franklin from both the betrayed rebels and from the Combine's Internal Security Force, who were of the firm opinion that the bastardborn grandson of Takashi Kurita was a loose end better cut off forever. Now he sat back in his seat, closing his eyes as the shuttle settled into the clamps that held it secure within the bay. No pilot – and Franklin was a good one – enjoyed being passenger to another, but Adam had to wonder if there was another reason that the engimatic merchant had broken off eye contact.
The boatbay crew of the jumpship were obviously a well practised team for it was less than two minutes before the hatch cracked open and Adam was able to lead his people out and onto the deck where a greeting party were assembling, led by a familiar looking redhead.
"Welcome aboard the Meschach," Victoria Steiner-Davion greeted them. "I hope we didn't call you away from anything important."
Adam shook his head. "We were just one jump away from getting back to Somerset, but you're not the first person to interrupt us at that point."
Victoria chuckled. "So I gather. Anyway, introduction time: I'm sure that you all remember Hauptmann Cox," she said, waving to him. "The handsome devil beside him is Leftenant Kai Allard, an old friend from NAIS. Kai, this is my cousin Kommandant Adam Steiner who taught at the Nagelring during my final year there. Leftenant Rachel Spector, his Tactical Officer; Hauptmann Miles Hawkins, lance commander; and Franklin Sakamoto… entrepeneur."
"Entrepreneur?" Kai asked.
Galen chuckled darkly. "I think her highness is too kind. The word is 'smuggler'."
"A useful person to know, when one seeks to move without notice," observed Kai equably, eyeing the other asian's calloused hands and stance. He said nothing about any other conclusions that he was drawing though.
"I'm pleased to meet you," Adam offered Kai his hand. "A little mystified as to why you're all out here, but pleased."
A smile crossed Victoria's face. "You didn't think I'd forgotten you, did you?" she asked. "I didn't send you a message to meet here to prevent you from reaching Somerset… I'm just inviting myself and a few friends along."
Adam's eyes went wide but it was Rachel who was the first of the Strikers to respond. "A few friends? You've got enough ships here for two regimental combat teams."
"Well estimated, Leftenant. That's exactly what I've brought: the Tenth Lyran Guards and the Ninth Federated Commonwealth, along with both regiments of the Kell Hounds. I can't promise we can hold Somerset forever, but we've got over four hundred 'Mechs, six hundred tanks, more infantry and sharp sticks than I can count – I wouldn't be surprised if there was a nuclear weapon stashed in some dark corner – so we can make a pretty good go of it."
The Strikers mood was already shifting as she spoke. "Sounds like Clan Jade Falcon's going to have a bellyache soon," Hawk chuckled.
Franklin nodded slowly. "One thing concerns me, Princess Steiner-Davion," he said thoughtfully. "With such a formidable force, why did you arrange to also include the Strikers? Surely one company would make little difference to your plans?"
"Sharp," Galen noted. "Let's just say that Victoria remembered something that your fearless leader always says."
"'Information is ammunition'?" Hawkins quoted disgustedly.
Victoria chuckled. "If he starts loading ammunition into his head, remember to get pictures," she joked. "But there's some merit to that: while I have some reports smuggled from Somerset by the Intelligence Secretariat, there's nothing like having someone on the ground. Like, say a company of Mechwarriors most of whom come from the planet in the first place…"
Adam folded his arms thoughtfully. "What do you have in mind?" he asked, mind already working.
His distant cousin gestured towards the hatch leading deeper into the jumpship. "Let's go talk this over on the Barbarossa. It'll be easier to brief you with a proper tactical display."
Dropship Barbarossa, Camelot Command, Dark Nebula
Tamar March, Lyran Commonwealth
24 September 3050
Victoria awoke the instant the hatch to her stateroom slid open, spilling light from the corridor into the compact chamber. Her fingers tightened around the butt of the Mauser and Gray holdout under her pillow for a moment before she recognised Galen silhouetted against the light. "Katana?" she asked, looking automatically at the red numerals on the bedside clock, set to Somerset's clock and Somerset Military Academy's timezone. The sun would be setting there soon.
"We got a fax," Galen nodded. "Phase One is a success."
Pushing aside her blanket, Victoria scrambled out of the bunk. With the entire force on a high readiness, she'd slept in her mechwarrior shorts and undershirt, so it was the work of a moment to pull on her boots and start buckling her field kit on, slipping the small pistol into its waterproof holster. "Are there any changes to the schedule?"
Galen shook his head. "Colonel Allard wants full status checks in one hour for all units. That's still the final deadline: After that, we can jump at any time. No turning back."
"Adam and his people are on their way down to Somerset on a captured dropship," Victoria said flatly. "They're already past the point of no return. If we break off – if I abandon them – then they'll never get off Somerset again."
The blond mechwarrior nodded. "I understand, Kommandant. But one of the reasons he's going ahead is so that we can be warned if the situation is not as we expect. He wouldn't want you to do anything foolish if to try to rescue him."
Victoria ran her fingers through her red hair. It was getting longer and she chided herself for not taking the time to cut it back on Sudeten. "I'm aware of that, Galen. And I've no intention of writing letters to the next of kin for any more of our boys and girls than I have to. But I haven't come this far to fail either."
Pulling a on a loose jumpsuit over her mechwarrior gear she was still zipping it as she joined him at the door. "Let's get our people mounted up. We might have time to get ready between the jump point and the landing zone… but only if things go to plan."
"I take it that the Nagelring teaches the first law of battles then?" Galen chuckled.
"'The enemy's first target is your plan'?" Victoria asked as they descended the cramped stairwell between the quarters for the Barbarossa's onboard Mechwarriors and the bunkrooms installed nearby. Although an Overlord-class transport typically carried thirty-six BattleMechs, the forty-strong battalions of the Tenth Lyran Guards' Mech regiment had overspilled, forcing them to divide themselves between four of the ships and while the other two battalions had managed to remain mostly concentrated, with only a lance each detached to share Leftenant General Milstein's Command Overlord, Victoria had had to detach an entire company to fit her battalion aboard the Barbarossa, which had been stripped of eight mechbays years ago, making room for an infantry battalion.
"Well that's not quite the way it was phrased at the Tamar War College," Galen admitted, "But I think you've got the same idea." He banged his fist against the hatch of Hauptmann Rachel Meisler's stateroom while Victoria did the same for Hauptmann Charlie Krautmann, waking the two company commanders.
"Full readiness report in an hour," Victoria told them briskly once the two officers were awake and at their doors. "Have everyone mounted up and ready to go in forty. And..." She broke off and looked up as a grizzled infantryman wearing the triangular markings of a sergeant major started down the stairs. "And make sure that any of Kommandant Riley's boys and girls are returned to their unit," she added. A young infantryman had missed his bunk inspection and been found asleep with one of her Mechwarriors the previous month. The demerits for both of them had probably been less painful than the jokes at the couple's expense. "Has Kommandant Riley been brought up to date?" Victoria asked the sergeant major.
"He has, Kommandant Davion," the man confirmed, sidling past the little group while they edged over to give him space.
"See you on the Mechdecks in forty then," Victoria told her officers and headed for the next flight of stairs. As she walked she could not help but to review what was going less than thirty light years away on Somerset.
Rather than executing a combat drop on the academy, which intelligence had pinpointed as being the nervecentre of the plant's defences under the Jade Falcons, just as it had been for the Federated Commonwealth, Adam had come up with a better plan: seize one of the dropships being used by the Clan's to collect salvage from the brief orbital battle that had preceded the Jade Falcon's landing. The dropship could be used to ferry down two teams picked from the Somerset Strikers, one to infiltrate the Academy and sabotage the early warning system that could alert the Jade Falcons to the arrival of the Federated Commonwealth army, and the other equipped with the prototype battle armour they had been testing against the Clans, to disrupt the defenders on site.
Familiar with the academy from his own days there, Adam Steiner had insisted on leading the first team, with the second under the command of Franklin Sakamoto. Victoria was sure that the decision had as much to do with the other use of Somerset Military Academy: a prison camp for captured AFFC soldiers who had refused to assimilate into the Clans. The Federated Commonwealth owed those brave men and women, and Victoria intended to repay them for their loyalty.
Parting ways from Galen, Victoria took advantage of the zero-gravity of the Barbarossa as it lay docked to the Meschach, and simply kicked off from the deck, sending herself flying across the lower deck, fast but not uncontrollably so as she ascended, catching hold of the railing on the gantry that pinned her Marauder into place while the dropship manuvered. Only a moment behind her, Galen was heading for his Crusader and on the other side of her, Mechwarrior David Jewell was boarding a Wolverine. Probably Galen had alerted the rest of the command lance before waking her – taking the initiative like a good aide should.
Sliding into the hatch of her 'Mech, Victoria began to run through the readiness checks. She'd have to be ready before most of her Mechwarriors, to assimilate the reports of her subordinates and make her own to General Milstein, so best to start now. Once the Meschach and the other jumpships delivered the flotilla to Somerset's orbit, the dropships would be making for their landing sites immediately – and if trouble arose, any of the force's battalions might be called on to execute combat drops to secure those landing sites ahead of the dropships' arrival.
Somerset Military Academy, Somerset
Tamar March, Lyran Commonwealth
25 September 3050
Victoria's first view of Somerset Military Academy was as she marched her Marauder down the ramp and out of the Barbarossa. Dramatic as it might have been for her to lead the combat drop personally, the vanguard regiment had been the Second Kell Hounds. "I like what Adam's done with the place," she observed, pointing with one weapon pod at the Federated Commonwealth flag flapping in the morning light over the buildings.
"It adds a certain something," agreed Galen as he followed in his Crusader. "As do those heaps." He used one of his 'Mech's hands to indicate the still smoking wreckage of the handful of Clan 'Mechs that had been posted here at the Academy before the Kwaidan landed the Strikers 'Mechs to complete the capture of the facility.
"Oh I like them," Victora concurred. "Check that they get loaded onto one of the dropships – we'll want as much salvage as we can get while we're here. One Vidar, a pair of Freya and… haven't seen them before but those two look like Hunchbacks, except for having two cannon. That's a good start – damn good work by Adam." She said nothing about the other 'Mechs on the ground, clearly having fallen in the process of overcoming resistance.
Already infantrymen swarming out of the Barbarossa were joining forces with men and women in the tattered remnants of cadet uniforms, taking control of the campus and herding prisoners into improvised cells. Standing protectively over the students were the Somerset Strikers' surviving BattleMechs. She could see Adam's Axman next to the old Awesome he'd piloted at the academy and wondered who Adam had tapped to pilot the older 'Mech. Completing the remnant lance were Hawkins' Daboku, captured during the War of 3039 she had learned, and a Bushwhacker – one of the handful of advanced prototypes given to Adam for evaluation in the field. Although battered, the medium 'Mech had survived the fierce battle without serious damage, which spoke well of it.
"Welcome to Somerset, your highness," Adam's voice greeted her across the local communication frequency. "As you can see, the reception was a little warmer than we had hoped."
"Did you lose anyone?"
Adam's voice was relieved. "No one's dead, although a couple will need a few weeks in the medical bay. There were some close calls though."
"You've got to be kidding me!" another voice cut in. "What idiot let little Vicky Steiner-Davion get anywhere near the Clans?"
"Excuse me?" Victoria asked sweetly. "'Let'? What colour is the sky in your universe, attardé?"
"Yeah, well I don't speak Davion, princess, but the way I hear it you got your butt spanked on Trell One and ran away."
Adam coughed. "Your highness, may I present my brother, Kommandant Andrew Steiner, who isn't exactly up to speed on things yet." His microphone cut out for a moment and Victoria could hear his voice relayed via his brother's microphone, clearly directed by a private channel. "Andrew, she's the one who convinced the Archon to launch a counterattack. Without her you'd still be rotting in a cell."
Victoria checked her status board. Both companies from the Barbarossa were fanning out around her position, and the company that had been with General Milstein were now making their way towards the location. Thus far everything was going to plan. What the hell is Murphy up to? If a problem hasn't arisen yet then whatever does go wrong, it's going to be a doozey, she thought. The possibility that nothing would go wrong was too remote to even consider: this was a professional military operation. "I wasn't expecting you to do all the hard work, Adam. Give me a quick rundown."
The younger of the two Steiner brothers – Which could get confusing: three Kommandant Steiners in close proximity. – opened his microphone again. "We infiltrated Somerset without difficulty," he reported. "No one suspected a thing when we entered the camp, pretending to be Clan military police transporting new prisoners and a technical crew combing through the Academy's facilities for salvage. Unfortunately, when the orbital sensor net was disabled the 'technical crew' were called in to repair it and the base commander recognised them."
"An old friend?" Victoria asked him.
"Kristen Redmond. Her rank is Star Colonel but she'd been posted here in disgrace after we held her captive for a while earlier this year," Adam explained. "She's locked up with the other prisoners for now. Anyway, she guessed I wouldn't have sent them in alone so she set them up to be executed and threatened to do so if I didn't come forward."
"That's when he called in his friends in the shiny armour," Andrew cut in. "I haven't seen a better sight in some time – except for the family Awesome perhaps."
"I take it Sakamoto-san and his team managed to keep things from boiling over until the Kwaidan landed and your Mechs could join the fun," Victoria pieced together. "Good work. Still, there have to be more than five 'Mechs on the planet."
"Thirty to forty," Andrew confirmed. "Their main base is near Old Exeter, almost sixty kilometers away."
"That means they could be here any time," Galen realised. "They have to know that something's going on here by now."
"We'll assume so," Victoria told him and checked her tactical displays. "Second Kell Hounds are providing a good perimeter for the LZ but I'll advise General Kaulkas to have the 19th Tharkad Cavalry Regiment move out to screen the routes from the city towards us."
"They're already moving out, Kommandant," the Hauptmann-General advised her, cutting onto the channel directly. "But good thinking. I'm assigning your battalion to hold the Academy while the Strikers load their salvage and get every bit of intelligence they can. Get all the cadets ready to board the dropships as well in case things go sour."
"Your orders are understood," Victoria confirmed, unsurprised. The operation would never have been accepted if it had put her in obvious danger: if nothing else, it would have reeked of showboating. As the least experienced regiment, the Lyran Guards were acting as the main reserve force and covering the LZ was the sort of necessary but boring work that could be done while they waited to be called in.
Andrew Steiner seemed amused by the posting however. "You know anyone would think that the Kell Hounds didn't trust her on their flanks," he observed to his brother, apparently ignoring the fact that the frequency was an open one that every officer in Victoria's battalion was listening too, in case the Strikers needed to call in one of their 'Mechs to help with moving something heavy.
It was not necessary to defend herself however, as someone else jumped to her defense. "She's got as many kills against the Clans as you do, Andrew Steiner," snapped Rachel Spector from somewhere out of sight. "And the Kell Hounds don't just trust her with their flank, they're trusting her to cover their backs in case you hadn't noticed while you were complaining. I don't know what's got into you!"
There was an embarassed silence on the communications frequency before Franklin Sakamoto diplomatically changed the subject, requiring assistance in loading one of the fallen Clan Mechs onto a heavy trailer.
"It's quiet," Galen observed quietly on a private channel after an hour. "I can't believe that the Clans haven't realised that we're here yet."
"I don't believe it," agreed Victoria. "Which means that they're probably not going to conveniently run headlong into the Kell Hounds like a band of antiquated samurai. They're thinking."
Galen chuckled humourlessly. "Wasn't that what made Theodore Kurita's new regiments so dangerous? Thinking?"
In her cockpit Victoria frowned and then switched over the the Strikers' command channel. "Adam, I've got a suspicion that the Clans are getting sneaky. How fast could you get the orbital sensor net up and running?"
"The orbital net?" Adam asked in surprise. "You think… actually, you're right. I'll find out."
A light lit up on Victoria's console. "Get back to me, Adam," she ordered and changed channel. "Kommandant Steiner-Davion here," she responded to the signal.
"It's Janos Vandermeer," crackled the voice of the Kell Hound's long standing jumpship commander. "I'm relaying this through the Nuada Argetlan," he added to clarify why the signal was from a ground station and not the jumpship flotilla in orbit. "We're picking up something big up here and it's heading in your general direction. Best guess is that it knows we're here and doesn't want you to reach us."
"When you say big, Captain, how big do you mean?" Victoria asked with a sinking sensation. Tell me it's just a dropship.
Vandermeer's voice was resigned. "Best estimate is twelve hundred meters long and it's not exactly built like a needle. Simple maths puts it at a megatonne easy."
"Understood Captain." Victoria bit back several swear words. It would be a week before the jumpships were ready to go anywhere and that meant that they would be easy prey. So easy that the Clans probably expected to simply pick them off once the ground troops were dealt with. "I'll do what I can."
A warship. And it sounds like a big brute – not many of those were more than a kilometre long. Probably manuvering for a geostationary orbit over the Academy.
"Kommandant Steiner-Davion to all officers," she announced on the local broadcast. "The weather report just came back with an increased chance of raining Clan 'Mechs and orbital artillery."
The sound of cannon and PPC fire could be made out in the distance, from where the Kell Hounds and the Ninth Federated Commonwealth RCT had boxed in the Clan's garrison – more or less a battalion force of Mechs and infantry – on three sides. Outnumbered nine to one, the Clanners were fighting stubbornly but even their technical advantages weren't doing more than delaying the inevitable.
The mood on the Task Force command channel was not triumphant however. "At best we're trapped here," Leftenant General Milstein commented bitterly. "Even if the ship isn't carrying any ground troops, we can't leave Somerset while it's in orbit so it's only a matter of time until they bring in reinforcements."
"Given that diverting forces from the frontlines is one of the principal reasons for attacking Somerset, that would constitute a significant gain for the Federated Commonwealth," Victoria pointed out. "Now we just have to survive the consequences of our success."
Colonel Allard cleared his throat. "Now that we've defined the problem, we need a solution," he told them. He was speaking from his Wolfhound, just behind the frontlines and the sounds of the battlefield could be heard in the background. "General Kaulkas, we're going to be relying on the Tenth Guards to watch our backs while we finish off the garrison. If the Falcons land reinforcements, I need you ready to react immediately. In the meantime, we've got better than a hundred and seventy aerospace fighters between us. Effective immediately, I'm pulling them together into a single force under Major Kirk. Losing our air cover might hurt us down here, but not as much as holding back up in orbit could."
"Colonel," Victoria offered. "May I recommend activating Contingency Tall White Hat from the operations plan?"
There was a long pause – hesitation, she presumed, although it was possible that several officers were looking up that option to verify that she was suggesting what they thought.
"Desperate times demand desperate measures," Allard concurred reluctantly. "Very well, Kommandant. Co-ordinate it with Rob Kirk."
"What's so important that you have to pull me away from the Strikers?" Adam demanded as he dismounted from his 'Mech. "We need to prepare our defenses before the Jade Falcons drop more troops."
Victoria gestured towards the dropship that her Marauder and now Adam's Axman were standing outside of. This part of the landing field was occupied mostly by aerodyne-models that needed lengthy runways to take off and land, so naturally it was also occupied by most of the task force's aerospace squadrons, whose fighters had the same requirements. "I'll tell you inside," she said, and jogged up the steps leading to the hatch of the Leopard-class dropship.
To Adam's surprise, Victoria did not lead turn left after entering the hatch, which would have led to the battlemech bays. Instead she went up a deck, into the fighter bays.
"Hi Adam," a familiar voice called in greeting as the two officers entered the room. "Oh, sorry," the irrepressable Katiara Kylie corrected herself, interpreting his frown as being directed at her. "Kommandant Steiner and Kommandant Steiner-Davion, Sergeant Kylie reporting." She saluted sloppily.
Victoria chuckled grimly. "At ease sergeant. No problems with your fighter?"
"No ma'am," Kylie confirmed, gesturing at the ancient Shilone that lay behind her, a ground crew refuelling it. "A bit puzzled at why I'm in here and not outside flying cover… but I'm good to go, any time."
"I take it that this is part of your Contingency Tall White Hat," Adam asked.
"I guess you didn't have a chance to go through the full operations plan before you jumped into the Somerset system," Victoria observed. "Keeping it short then, it's the contingency for the presence of a Clan warship turning up in orbit."
Kylie's eyes went wide. "You have a plan for that!?"
"After Romulus City, it was sort of a priority," observed Victoria wryly, although there was nothing funny about the subject to her mind. The Jade Falcons had responded to an uprising on Romulus by bombarding the planetary capital from orbit with one of their warships. The death toll had been hideous. And unconfirmed reports from the Draconis Combine suggested a similar atrocity had taken place on the planet of Turtle Bay. "And we have plans for everything from Aleksandr Kerensky's legions returning to help us to finding out that Clan Mechs are piloted by green feathered parrots."
"So what's your plan for this?" Adam enquired curiously. "It's not like you have a warship to pit against them… you don't, do you?"
"I wish. No. Do you recall when you met up with us at Camelot Command and I made a joke about how well equipped we were?"
"Everything from sharp sticks to…" Adam paled. "Blake's blood," he whispered.
Victoria nodded solemnly, Kylie staring at them in confusion. "As I said: I wouldn't be surprised to find that we brought a nuclear weapon along… I'd be surprised if we didn't, given that I have the release codes for it."
"Oh wow, big bang," exclaimed Kylie with a whistle.
Was I ever that young? Victoria wondered, with a sidelong glance at Adam, then remembered that according to her file, Kylie – barely out of her teens – was only six months younger than she was. If the girl hadn't wrangled her way into the Strikers, she would still be in her final year at the Nagelring. "I just hope it's big enough," she said out loud. "We only have the one, so it's up to you to make sure that it isn't wasted," she told the young pilot.
Kylie squeaked. "Me?" Her face paled abruptly despite her olive complexion.
"Adam tells me you're one of the best ground support pilots he's seen in a long while. Your skills have kept the Strikers alive for the long journey here. Now we need you to do that one more time."
"What if I screw up?"
Victoria reached up and patted Kylie on the shoulder. "Don't." She turned to Adam. "I need another field grade officer to counter-authorise my release codes. Your Commonwealth identification number should do it." She gestured towards the other hanger, which was clearly not occupied by a fighter but instead by an anonymous bulk cargo container, securely anchored.
"The plan is fairly straightforward. As soon as they commit their fighters – probably to cover dropping 'Mechs - we'll launch a massed attack with all eight fighter wings. You'll be in the first wave, Kylie. Their entire job is to make sure you reach the target safely. Your primary target is the ship's engines – if that doesn't destroy it then it should hopefully prevent it from manuvering, which should let us avoid it as we come and go from Somerset."
"Do you know what it is yet?" Kylie asked, suddenly serious. "I mean, if it's a serious flak-wagon then there will be a lot of casualties."
"Closest match the warbooks can come up with is an old SLDF battleship - Texas-class if that means anything to you. It doesn't mention anti-fighter capability one way or another," Victoria told her bluntly. She clapped Kylie on the shoulder. "And it doesn't matter if it does or it doesn't."
"You could lose every fighter we have," Kylie protested. "I don't think you know what a ship that big could be having."
"I'm fully aware of the potential weapons load of a ship massing a megaton and a half," retorted Victoria. "It isn't a factor because as long as that ship's up there the Task Force is effectively lost. Which means that the aerospace brigades have to go in, regardless of the danger. It's the only way – unless, of course," and her eyes narrowed dangerously "- you're suggesting that we lay down our arms and surrender Somerset?"
"Hell no!" the Somerset native protested sharply. "You give me that nuke, your highness and I'll take it's fuckin' legs out. Guarenteed."
"Good. Come on, Adam. Let's get the Sergeant her candy and see if she can feed it to the baby up there."
Adam Steiner gave his cousin's back a look that mixed respect and concern as she led him over to the container. "A little harsh there, don't you think?"
"I'm trusting her with a nuclear weapon. I think I'm entitled to check her mental stability. It's not like anyone's going to be in the cockpit to ride herd upon her."
Victoria was pleased to be back in her cockpit before the next development. The Falcons were forcing the pace at the moment, with the Somerset Task Force on the ground forced into reacting to their movements in orbit. That wasn't desirable, but at least they weren't being forced to rush.
"Blizzard Six, we have two dropships and approximately two wings of aerospace fighters making a high orbital pass over the area," reported an unfamiliar voice. A sideband on Victoria's command console identified the signal as coming from the dropship being used as a command post for the air defenses over the Academy. "Probably – correction, we have multiple seperations. They are dropping Mechs and infantry. The fighters are splitting, looks like half will stay with the dropships and half cover the dropping forces."
"Understood, Mechs and Infantry executing orbital drop, with cover. Thanks for the heads up," she told the officer. Kylie's Shilone was just exiting the dropship hanger, a crane lowering it onto the improvised taxi-way that flanked the small dropship. Beneath the heavy fighter, a single ominous piece of ordnance was visible. Of course, it might be her own knowledge of its nature that was bothering Victoria, as no one else seemed terribly excited by it.
She flipped the channel over to the aerospace command. "Major Kirk, this is Blizzard Six. The Hat is on the field and I am releasing command to you."
There was a crackle on the line. "Confirmed, Blizzard Six. I have the hat." Or in less opaque terms, command authority over the nuclear weapon had just been delegated to the mercenary pilot.
"I'd wish you a clear sky, Major, but we all know what's up there. Good luck."
Kirk's voice was amused, showing no sign of apprehension. "You just watch your upstairs, Blizzard Six. We won't be there to keep the buzzards off of you."
Victoria chuckled. "We'll try to keep it together without you." She flipped the channel to her command channel. "Right then boys and girls, mount 'em up and roll them out. We've got company on its way. Tracking, what do you have projected as their drop zone?"
"Transmitting now," the air defense officer advised and a diagram popped up on a secondary display, cones spreading across the map of the area, each shrinking as the 'Mechs and infantry descended, options cutting off. Triangulation from dozens of radars – dropships, air defense Mechs and portable field units – was narrowing down the drop zone and it looked like it was going to be almost on top of the Academy.
"Now that's just insulting," Victoria noted, looking at where the incoming Mechs were expected to be, matching it up to suitable areas that the Clans would probably try to use. There was only one that made sense, but it was so obvious that she had trouble believing it. "Are they really that arrogant?"
"Some of them are," Adam confirmed, moving what remained of the Strikers up to support her command lance. "And that looks like a full cluster – whoever it is hasn't bargained down his force, he's going to hit us with everything he has."
Victoria looked at the open plain that wrapped around the campus on two sides, previously used for manuvers by the Academy and now about to receive a force unlikely to be using training settings on their Mechs. "Well, I suppose we don't have to worry about them calling in reserves then," she decided and punched the button for the RCT command channel. "This is Blizzard Six to all Storm commanders. Looks like my position is the target. I'll use my battalion, the Strikers, the 339th and the Artillery Group as an anvil, the rest of the RCT plays hammer. Confirmed?"
"Storm Five to Blizzard Six," Milstein's voice cut across the channel. "Negative. You'll be fighting them at even numbers and that's not viable. Fall back on the Dropships – their firepower should hold them back until we can rally to your positions."
"Storm Five, they can stand back and fire at the dropships from outside our range," Victoria snapped. "In the Academy they'll have to enter close quarters. We can hold them long enough for you to pin them." She looked at the display again. "They're dropping too close: if we fall back now we'll just be showing our backs."
"That's enough, both of you," Hauptmann General Kaulkas voice snapped out on the command band. "Blizzard Six, your plan is approved. Storm Five, get the Thundering Elephants moving. If we're going to 'play hammer' then we'll need the momentum."
"Acknowledged," responded Victoria and punched a private channel through to Leftenant General Foreman of the 339th Donegal Heavy Armor Regiment, which had been held back to defend the landing site. "General, I recommend getting your Demolishers inside the campus walls and pushing the Schreks out to cover the enemy LZ."
Mara Foreman's response was crackly and interspersed with jolts as her tank crossed rough ground. "Concur, Kommandant. I'm heading out that way. Until I get my Schreks back to the walls, you have command of the Demolishers."
In the sky above the academy, aerospace fighters roared overhead, squadron after squadron forming up and then beginning to climb, joining the column of contrails reaching up towards orbit. "I should probably think of something profound to say," Victoria noted. "But who wants to hear that? No heroics, boys and girls. Fire by lance, don't engage them one on one unless you have to."
She could see the glowing trails now of the re-entry pods peeling away from their burdens.
Pacing along the positions of her battalion, Victoria watched icons creep across her tactical display as units fanned out. The other subcommands of the 10th Lyran Guards were manuvering to flank the anticipated landing zone, still sharpening up on the display as the falling Clanners were now beginning to reach the range where individual units could be predicted with some pretense of precision.
Of course, that was the point when the fun started as aerospace fighters dived past their compatriot 'Mechs, drawing attention away from the vulnerable ground units as they began to plaster the defenses with their weapons. Crackling PPC bolts criss-crossed the air above the Academy as the Schreks outside exchanged fire with the fighters, tracer rounds from autocannon joining in as the Partisans of one of the few dedicated air defense lances brought their turrets to bear on the fast moving targets.
"Blizzard Six to all Blizzard units," Victoria snapped, seeing a Rifleman begin to twist its torso towards a low flying fighter. "Concentrate your fire upon the Mechs." There was an explosion from off to her right and she spared just barely enough time to see that it was an ammo truck that had been racing to resupply something. Shame, but at least it wasn't one of the combat units.
Matching action to words, she brought her Marauder to a halt and locked the targeting computer onto one of the falling shapes. It was more or less irrelevant – even with data being fed from a dozen tracking stations, the computer just wasn't up to calculating the trajectories for something that distant and unpredictable now that the Clanners were firing their jump jets and supplementary packs in order to slow their fall, but someone might get lucky.
Or unlucky. A Wasp, its light weapons of no value at this long range, disintegrated as a swooping aerospace fighter managed to rip into the ammunition for the light 'Mech's SRM launcher. A Javelin from the same lance turned and fired its own SRMs fruitlessly after the departing fighter only to be caught in the rear by the fighter's wingman. The ammo bins were not destroyed, but the scout 'Mech fell anyway, its reactor reduced to wreckage. The trailing fighter was not as fortunate as the leader however: a volley of long range missiles from inside the Academy rose up in front of it and blew the nose off, sending it into a terminal dive towards the far side of the campus.
Victoria saw one of her particle beams intersect with one of the falling suits – one of the armoured infantry. The armoured infantryman continued to control its descent, much to her disgust. It was hard to believe that anything so small could survive a hit by an anti-Mech weapon, but she'd just confirmed reports that the damn things could survive even the reliable punch of a PPC that would have reduced the arm or leg of a 'Mech twenty times as heavy to twisted wreckage. "Damn monsters," she muttered to herself. "But we'll learn your secrets and then there'll be a reckoning."
The air outside Victoria's cockpit rattled as shells began to arch over her position towards the dropzone. The RCT's artillery group wasn't holding anything back… unfortunately, they only had twenty artillery pieces to work with, three batteries of lightweight Thumpers and two of the larger Snipers. The first enemy 'Mechs reached the ground bracketed by three explosions but it walked out of them, barely marked at all.
We need heavier guns. I hope things are going better up there.
There had been eighty-one fighters in the first wave: one wing of twenty from all four of the regiments on the ground, and Katiara Kylie's Shilone.
Perhaps half that many were still fighting, depleted by those damnable heavy missiles (one Sparrowhawk had been eviscerated by a missile that looked larger than the fighter itself), the sheer damn luck of having that many capital lasers blazing away and – of course – the defending fighters. The fighters that still twisted and turned through the age old deadly dance of the dogfight.
Metal disintegrated as a split second's inattention on the part of Kylie let an aerospace fighter in jade green livery unload a burst from its autocannon into one of the stablisers. It wouldn't manage – much – out here, but steering back in the atmosphere would be interesting, she thought, committing an optimism, as she twisted away, one of her loyal guardians from the 607th dropping in on the tail of the enemy fighter and opening up four large lasers. Not enough to stop it, but enough to distract the clanner pilot from his prey.
Closer, closer, she chanted in the far corner of her eyes as the mass of the battleship swept closer. No one had used a nuclear weapon against a warship in living memory – hells, no one had seen a warship in near enough two hundred years, but the tactics had not entirely been forgotten, passed down in the myths, legends and collective memory of the Inner Sphere's fighter pilot community. And they all said to take the shot close, minimising the time for point defense to damage the missile before it could hit. And to aim forward or aft, for the command decks or for the engines.
She was going for aft. Harder to repair in the long run. Scheisse, if the ship had the wrong trajectory, it might kill the whole thing in the long run: send it into a terminally decaying orbit before anyone could salvage it.
Crosshairs inside her helmet flared golden and Kylie felt her breathing quicken. In range now. She'd press home further before firing if she could… but she was close enough now for even the ancient guidance circuits of the missile to take it to its destination.
Needless to say, that was when the pair of T-shaped fighters somewhat like Lucifers slashed down upon her and the one Stuka still on her wing. Lasers, cannon and missiles sprayed across their dorsal surfaces as the two enemy fighters cut down behind them and yellow marked Kylie's status boards, with a couple of red spots appearing. One – a fuel pump – went back to amber as the alternate took up the slack and reduced the pressure upon it. The other, representing one of her wing mounted lasers, didn't spring back.
The Stuka was even more seriously hurt, one wing all but severed and fire visible inside the cockpit. "Good luck, Striker," called the pilot and the burning heavy fighter jinked slightly and then fired all retrothrusters. One hundred tons of Davion aerospace fighter came abruptly to a dead halt… right in the path of one of the deadly duo. The explosion of two fusion thrusters sent fragments rattling off the armour of Kylie's Shilone and presumably if the destroyed Clan fighter's partner.
And then there was one. "All fighters, red. I repeat: red." With a moment's regret at not getting any closer, Kylie took the moment's freedom while the last Clan fighter was still disorientated, flipping the arming switch for the nuke and bringing her thumb onto the suddenly live trigger button for her ordnance.
There was a complete lack of result.
The moment of disbelief almost killed her as the remaining fighter managed to close in again. A PPC shot hammered into the Shilone's spine and every screen in Kylie's cockpit fuzzed for a moment before the computers managed to compensate for the ionisation effects of the heat. Fortunately, the controls didn't cease to respond and she broke into a barrel roll to break the lock, laser beam missing the wide wings of the fighter by inches.
"Aren't you aggressive?" Kylie muttered as the fighter chased after her, trying to reacquire her. "Chasing my ass like that, must be a guy." She deliberately delayed her next zig-zag until the fighter was immediately behind her and then triggered the aft missile launcher, firing four SRMs into the face of of the Clan pilot, who clearly wasn't used to fighting Shilones judging by the sharpness of his break off to evade them.
Two Corsairs, one reduced to little more than a metal dart by the damage to its wing surfaces, pinned the fighter between them, keeping it from chasing Kylie as she lined up again, one hand dancing over the controls as she tried to establish why the missile hadn't launched. It took three separate diagnostics to trace the problem: one of the laser shots had hit the external bracket, severing some of the control runs and fusing others. The warhead itself tested fine… but the missile was a complete loss.
Kylie grit her teeth. Everyone's depending on me, she thought, faces flashing through her mind and she started flipping switches on the ordnance control system, eliminating safety lockouts. Usually several mission-specific criteria needed to be met before the nuclear warhead initiated fission. In this case, several of those restrictions were intended to prevent the weapon from detonating while attached to the parent Shilone.
Without that restriction, and with the warhead already armed, the only remaining criteria was for the targeting computer to confirm that the missile was within a few milliseconds of contact from a target. The battered fighter creaked as it pulled a painfully slow turn, all that the tortured structure could manage and then Kylie opened up the throttle, sending it roaring down towards the massive thrusters that dominated the rear of the Texas.
The Shilone creaked around her, warning lights flickering from amber to red as the stressed air frame began to fail. It didn't matter, she wouldn't need it for more than a few more seconds…
The range towards the Texas shrank, the huge ship visible even to the naked eye and Kylie watched the numbers shrink towards the threshold distance. "All fighters!" she shrieked, broadcasting without regard to who would hear her. "Red! Red! Red!" And she grabbed the eject lever with both hands and yanked it towards her.
Even before Katiara Kylie's cockpit was hurled clear of the Shilone, the warhead had already come to it's conclusion and began the final count down. The cockpit and the pilot were barely a dozen yards away when explosive charges rammed the subcritical plutonium masses together and rendered them critical. Were it not for one freak chance of battle, she would still have been well within the lethal range of the weapon when it went off: the barest instant before the five kiloton nuke detonated the Shilone, given a slight downward impetus by the ejection, entered the massively armoured thruster itself, the nose crumpling against the inside of a fuel feed as the nuke went off.
A flash of light tore through the thruster and deep into the systems behind it. Hundreds of failsafes cut in aboard the Texas, generations of faithful service by Jade Falcon technicians repaid as they prevented a fatal chain reaction from reaching the main fuel tanks and tearing the ship apart but nothing could save that engine block and it disintegrated, millions of fragments scattered like shrapnel into space around the rear quarter of the warship. Almost forty aerospace fighters were reduced to metal splinters, two thirds of them from the Texas' own onboard complement, the others every surviving pilot of the 607th Avalon Wing.
Kylie herself was protected by the warship's bulk as her cockpit, retaining the velocity of the destroyed fighter, hurtled down the length of the ship and off past its bow.