Teton Field
Virentofta, Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine
13 September 3060
Alterations were made. Ordnance was loaded. Pilots were further briefed and suited up. Infantrymen checked and rechecked their equipment. After three hours, they were ready to go: nearly a hundred people, twenty fighters, and three transports dedicated to a single purpose: to rescue one man.
Yakovlev would take off first. The AV-4 had been fully restored and armed, and she taxied it from Phase Dock onto the runway. It did not have the high pitched whine of the other fighters or the roar of the bigger shuttles and DropShips, but a quiet hum. It whispered into the sky and seemed to disappear almost instantly.
Gota, Lyon, and Osbia stood on the runway's edge, with Vought and Siddeley just behind, waiting for the traffic to clear so they could walk to their aircraft. "There goes that ninja fighter!" Gota exclaimed, with a low whistle.
"Quiet son of a bitch," Lyon remarked.
"Yeah. The ninja's black paint really hides it at night," Osbia observed.
Siddeley, incorrectly but good-naturedly guessing that the three men weren't familiar with the AV-4, told them, "It's not called a ninja, guys—it's a Urei, which means 'ghost' in Japanese."
Osbia nodded, then shrugged. "Looks like a ninja to me."
Moments later, Baaz and Nesher followed Yakovlev into the air in their huge Stuka and Chippewa respectively. Unlike the Stuka, the Chippewa was all wing, with the canopy a mere bump where the wings met, and a twin tail joined by a single aileron. "And there goes the ninja's escorts," Gota said.
"There's aerodynamic design for you—got the stealthy ninja, the all wing Chippy, and canard-delta Stuka. Pretty darn impressive," Lyon nodded.
Osbia dismissed their comments with a snort. "Ah, all planes look alike to me, except that ninja fighter."
Siddeley raised an eyebrow at that. "I don't think they heard you, Noel."
"They did," Vought sighed once more, "and if I hear the word 'ninja' one more time, I'm going to scream."
They began walking towards their fighters. "Hey," Osbia said to Lyon, pointing at Vought. "I noticed the Major's carrying a nin—" Vought gave Osbia a look that would've frozen the interior of a sun. "A samurai sword," he hastily corrected. "Is she Kuritan?"
"I don't think so, Mo. She's got blond hair and blue eyes. You've been reading too many comics, man."
Siddeley laughed. "I think you guys have been taking lessons from Flying Officer Curtiss."
"Yeah, how'd you guess?" Lyon stuck out his hand to the two Fyrebirds. "Good luck up there, ladies."
Siddeley shook it, followed by Vought after a slight pause. The Gang Green boys were crazy and annoying, but they had as many hours in combat as she had. She would be depending on these men for her life, and they on her for theirs. "Good hunting," she replied with a smile.
"You betcha ass, Major," Osbia grinned, and then they separated.
Siddeley and Vought reached the Tigershark nest just as the two Goliaths thundered into the air. Siddeley pointed. "I see they changed the numbers on the Goliaths to confuse the Clanners."
"As if this overkill rescue mission isn't confusing enough," Vought said.
Curtiss and her Malthi were parked next to Vought's two-seat Tigershark. She came to attention and saluted. "Major."
"Hi, Terri."
"I want to thank you for letting me participate in this mission. I've been wanting this."
"Thank Katerina for that. It was against my better judgement, but she has faith in you, so I will too. You'll fly with us as far as Sector 46. If there's no ground opposition, you come back home. Katerina briefed you on this, right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Are you scared?"
Curtiss' cheeks colored, and she smiled a little. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Just don't let it get to you. Stay alert and you'll do just fine."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And don't get killed."
"Yes—I mean, no, ma'am. And thank you again."
Siddeley and Vought went to their aircraft as the Karnovs rose into the air. "Now we've got those in the mix," Siddeley said. "I never thought things would get this out of hand."
"I know. I just hope complexity doesn't cause chaos. The more we add, the more that can go wrong." Vought smiled wryly. "Well, once more into the breach, Reina. 'Luck."
"Skill," Siddeley grinned, and they tapped their helmets together.
"Commander St. Mawgan."
"Major Engram." Martin St. Mawgan stood, one foot on the ladder to his Jayhawk. There was no love lost between the two men. "What can I do for you?"
"I see you're wearing your old helmet today, sir." Engram pointed at the older model helmet, which carried a stick figure with a halo on either side; the rest was painted black.
"Yes." St. Mawgan wondered where Engram was going with this.
"With respect, it doesn't matter. I'm going to beat your score today."
Not this again, St. Mawgan groaned inwardly. He currently held the top ranking in the Sentinels with 62 kills, gained over a period of nearly six years. Engram was second and close behind, with 56, though he had scored his in half the time. St. Mawgan respected the younger man for that, but Engram had, in the fighter pilot vernacular, buck fever. He wanted to be the best. There was nothing wrong with that, St. Mawgan reflected, except he wondered if it wouldn't kill Engram first.
"Bobby," he said, "I told you before. I don't care if you shoot down more than me. This isn't a game!"
"No, sir. I never said it was. But nobody cares about number two, and I won't be a nobody! I'm only six fighters behind, and I will be number one. Sir." Engram threw his commander a dazzling salute, about-faced like a cadet, and marched towards his Hercules.
"You all right, Major?" Hangmaster Jones looked with concern at his pilot.
Engram grinned. "Never better, Jones m'boy. Let's go kill some Cats."
They went through the preflight, then Engram led the Gang Green out to the runway. He was buffeted by the jetwash from St. Mawgan's Jayhawk and Curtiss' Malthi, which took off first. "Green Flight check in."
"Two." Gota.
"Three." Lion.
"Four. Let's kick ass!" Osbia.
"Roger that." They were cleared to takeoff, and the four Hercules thundered into the air seconds later.
Behind them came the parade of Tigersharks, Vought in the lead. "Sandy Flight, check in."
"Two," Siddeley barked.
"Tiger Flight, check," Koolhoven ordered. Seven more female voices chimed in.
"Tigers are go," Vought said when they were finished. She pushed the throttle forward and followed the Gang Green into the black night.
"That's one busy rescue mission," Larzac said as the last Tigershark lifted off.
"This isn't a rescue, this is war," Koenig replied. He turned to head back to the suddenly quiet Phase Dock, noticing Cavalier on the way. The latter still wore the remains of the noose around his neck. "Take that off, dumbass."
Most would call it pure luck. J.J. Condorcet would call it pure skill that he had reached the ground floor of the Promontory Point base without being detected. He had noticed a few of the Nova Cats' battlearmored infantry, Elementals, standing around, but most of the guards were simple rifle-armed foot soldiers. None looked particularly pleased, and most loafed about with the ease of garrison troops without much to do. He had overheard two MechWarriors, distinguishable by the abbreviated uniform they wore to ward off the heat of fighting in a BattleMech, saying that it would be ten minutes until the next patrol came in. That's my play, Condorcet thought. When they open them doors, I should be able to just fly right out.
He visually measured the length of the runway that led to the black hole of the closed entryway. Looks like they made it long enough so you don't need the catapult to launch. Even better. He looked at the Jagatai again. Weight on the landing gears. Must be fully loaded with fuel and ammo. I guess they're not worried too much about safety. He took a quick glance around from his hiding place behind some boxes, then ran under the fighter's nose by the internal ladder, staying low. No one noticed. Getting his breath back and waiting for a few more seconds, he hauled himself up the ladder and climbed into the cockpit. It was surprisingly cramped, and then Condorcet remembered that Clan fighter pilots were genetically bred to be smaller than average, supposedly because it made them better pilots. Didn't work in my experience. Lemme see if I can operate this here gizmo. The layout seemed simple enough, and not very different from other Aerofighters he had flown. His hands automatically went to the throttle and stick, the latter on the right side of the cockpit rather than the center. Easy enough. Probably can't figure out how to use the internal navigation system, but who caresonce I get airborne, it's a hop, skip, and jump to Teton. Have to figure out how to land without getting shot down by my own folks, but first things first.He hunkered down in the cockpit as a guard walked slowly past. Now all I gotta do is keep these yokels from seeing me until that door opens.
St. Mawgan and Curtiss led the strike force in, St. Mawgan going high and Curtiss at medium altitude. It was hoped that, if they were detected, the Nova Cats would decide that it was only a standard patrol or a recon mission and keep their fighters at the base—wherever that was. Obviously, the Clanfolk had some sort of radar coverage, because they were able to intercept the Fyrebirds over the Targhee, but they had only gone after large formations, not smaller ones, such as when Vought had been chasing Hind.
Curtiss, her heart in her throat, made a pass over Sector 46, half expecting to find laserfire coming up at her. There was nothing. "Nail One to Saint. No activity over target. Repeat, no activity."
"Roger, Nail. Break. Saint to Sandy Lead. Code is Irene, repeat, Irene." That was the prearranged code signal for no opposition, proceed with mission. He reached down and switched on the ECM pod, which began generating all kinds of electronic noise, hopefully blanking out what ground radar might be present.
In Bruno 11—now redesignated Bruno One—Jackson heard the code word. She gave a thumbs up as she steadied herself against the hull. "Okay, Sentinels! Mount up, check your weapons! Two minutes to the LZ! Looks like it's quiet so far!" She slung her own Ryonex submachinegun around her middle.
Condorcet nearly jumped out of the cockpit when he heard the alarm klaxon go off. It was time to leave before another pilot showed up to take his Jagatai. He strapped in, reached up and slammed the canopy down, which caused more than one head to turn. Pushing the throttle up slightly, he was rewarded with the sound of the fusion engine warming up. "Got it, baby! Piece o'cake!" To his surprise, a Clansman in the universal overalls of an astech ran out and began giving him the same signal that an Inner Sphere DropShip catapult officer would give. He sat up in the cockpit and gave the man a thumbs-up, which was a mistake—the astech's jaw dropped open at the sight of a non-Nova Cat uniform. While he gaped, Condorcet opened the throttle and began taxiing forward. The catapult holdback bent and snapped with a squeal of tortured metal.
The door at the entrance opened, which he had expected with the alert siren. What he hadn't expected was the sight of a Nova BattleMech, what the Inner Sphere codenamed a Blackhawk, standing in the doorway. By the sudden rearing back of the 'Mech, the pilot was just as surprised as he was, but Condorcet recovered quicker. With the throttles to the stops, he raised the nose. "Thanks for opening the door, 'Mech-boy!" He felt the wonderful feeling of flight as the main gears came off the runway, but he held the nose down as the cavern ceiling whirred by only inches from his head and the Jagatai's tail. He looked at the 'Mech. It was going to be close. "Better raise the landing gear " He had a split-second to look around the cockpit, and saw nothing remotely resembling a gear lever or anything marked as such. Then it was too late, because he was skimming the top of the Nova. The landing gears were snapped off like twigs. "Well, that was easy," Condorcet laughed. "Guess I'll just have to belly—" His eyes widened as he looked up.
Directly in his path was a Tigershark.