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SLDS John Graham
Antares orbit
"Be gone, Freebirths! This world belongs to Clan Jade Falcon."
"Looks like we found the right place," I observed.
"It does, doesn't it?" Liz asked. And indicator over her image flashed as she began to broadcast in the clear: "Oh good, I did find the right place," she said with a wicked grin. "And with what forces will you defend your claim, little bird?"
The indicator snapped off. "Too much?"
"Just right, I think," Atalanta said.
From a distance the Goliath Scorpion DropShip Aglarond, which had previously been known (albeit briefly) to most of the Inner Sphere as the Höllenhund Free Mercenary Company DropShip Basset, could have been mistaken for a Fortress-class vessel. To be fair to those same observers, that was essentially what it was, albeit one sixty percent more massive than the original. Capable of lifting a 'trinary' each of Mechs, vehicles, and battle armor, as well as a fighter star, it dated from the earliest days of the Clans when it was anticipated that three could carry a standard front-line cluster, a few garrison troops to guard the DropShips, and provide long-range artillery support. Rapid changes in organizational structure, emergence of the customs of safecon and of DropShips being 'captured' once an enemy got within long-distance weapon range, and a developed disdain towards artillery systems, had left them obsolescent in Clan space before they could reach volume production levels.
Which probably explained how one had been assigned to an 'aging freebirth' for use in the Inner Sphere. But as it was, Atalanta's unit had left sections all but empty with infantry quarters nearly deserted and barely half the aerospace fighter stalls occupied. Liz had taken advantage to free up another docking collar by moving herself and her small staff over to it.
"I am Star Colonel Devin Buhallin and I have two clusters of the Gyrfalcon Galaxy at hand. Come, dogs, if you dare. I shall promise that you taste of defeat only once at my hand, and that briefly."
"Two clusters. Shit," I observed.
"Perhaps, Colonel Roland," Latharn Fetladral said. "Perhaps… And perhaps not."
"What do you mean, Captain?" Liz asked.
Latharn hadn't been tied into Liz' comms, but had been tied into the Quarterhorse command net, and Durandal had apparently decided his comment was something Liz needed to hear. "Ah, I meant only that we are proud of our units."
"Who isn't?" Liz asked.
"Yes but…he did not announce his units' designations. It does not matter that you would not recognize their lineages, their battle histories. His own people would if nothing else. So why not name them?"
"I don't know. Does it matter?"
"Each Clan has its own idiosyncrasies in how it builds units," Atalanta said. Unlike Latharn she had been tied into Liz' net. "Is that what you are getting at, Captain Fetladral?"
"Aff, exactly so," Latharn said. "A Falcon Galaxy will have a number of front-line clusters, plus an Eyrie cluster and a Solahma cluster."
"And this concerns us how?" Liz asked.
"The front-line clusters would be most likely to announce themselves," Latharn said. "Or take insult from not being so named."
"More to the point, the Falcons frequently assign dedicated WarShips to front-line clusters," Atalanta said. "Not always for when such units are in garrison or on training exercises, but almost always for offensive actions. Is that what you were thinking, Captain?"
"Aff," Latharn said.
"And since there aren't any WarShips in system besides ours, you think these are those lesser clusters," Liz said.
"Yes, exactly so."
"What would we be looking at then?"
"Eyries are essentially training units," Atalanta explained. "Cadets who have just passed, or are awaiting, their Trials of Position."
"And Solahma?"
"Old warriors with second-line equipment," Latharn said succinctly.
Atalanta shrugged before nodding agreement.
"What do you consider second-line?" I asked.
"Star League-era mechs with comprehensive weapon refits. Similar for fighters. Many are left under-tonned. Front-line battle armor, but only because there really is no second-line equipment. Combat vehicles. If they are particularly decrepit unarmored infantry. No offense, Star Captain."
"None taken," Atalanta said in a mild tone that promised, whatever else, that there would be a reckoning for it, but also that it would be a friendly one as far as such things go. "Both would likely be understrength. Nobody actually stays in Eyrie clusters for long before moving up—"
"They function as a ready reserve?" I asked. "A place to stash warm bodies in anticipation of combat losses?"
"Essentially. And Solahma units, especially among the more...conservative clans such as Jade Falcon and Smoke Jaguar, are frequently used to spear-point assaults."
"Clan Wolf does a better job of keepings its second-line units filled," Latharn said mildly.
"Noted," Liz said. "Okay, so evidence points towards second-line units that are probably understrength. What about artillery?"
"Very few of the Clans maintain any standing artillery force, even in second line units. Clan Wolf is very rare in having artillery attached to front-line units and even there it is seldom used."
"And air assets?" Liz asked.
"There we may have a problem," Latharn said. "The Falcons are generally fairly good about providing their clusters with adequate aviation support."
"We have the air defense sections," I said. "We can have Latharn's artillery section carry some flak rounds, and we have air-defense missiles that are compatible with Atalanta's Padillas."
"Hit and run. Keep mobile and let our arty rip them up before we get it stuck in," Liz summarized. "Sounds good.
"Alright, Dev," Liz continued in an open broadcast. "You don't mind if I call you 'Dev', do you, Dev? I'll match your two clusters with a cavalry squadron and an attached, if understrength, combined arms battalion. Oh, and my command lance. I want safecon to the ground, after which we can mix it up and have fun."
"Accepted on the condition you tell me your name and unit so that I might inform the crows who they are eating this evening."
"Cocky sucker, isn't he?" Liz asked. "Fair enough. I'm landing the first squadron of the fourth Cav. The Quarterhorse. And I am Colonel Dame Elizabeth Hazen, Knight of the Sword, Keeper of the Star League's Honor, Commanding Officer of the Royal Black Watch."
Her smirk was decidedly nonregulation as she went on. "I am the Wraith of Olympia. I am the Right Hand of Vengeance, and the boot that is going to kick your sorry ass all the way to Terra. I am Death Incarnate, and the last living thing you are ever going to see. God sent me."
She sat back and grinned nastily at the screams and howls of outrage.
"Why, it's just like being back home," she said before thumbing a control to cut off the screams. "Seriously, too much?"
"It sounded like you were quoting something," Atalanta said carefully.
Liz nodded. "That's the thing about a guerilla campaign. If you're going to live long enough to accomplish anything you're going to spend a lot of time sitting on your ass doing nothing except waiting for the bad guys to come storming into your safehouse. After a couple months, that raid starts to sound pretty good because anything is better than the monotony. 'Licia found some seriously ancient vids—not holo, or even tri-d, flat-screen two-d only. We must have binge-watched, oh, two or three centuries of drama.
"'I can only conclude that I'm paying off karma at a vastly accelerated rate,'" she chuckled. "I'll see that you get a datastick. I can't guarantee it'll have everything, but it'll have the stuff worth watching if you ever get epically bored."
"I hate to cut in," I said, "but we're three minutes out."
"Excellent. Have they spotted our recon drones?"
"It doesn't look like they're even looking," Merlin replied.
"The base?"
"It looks like they've leveled the water treatment plant over it."
"What?" the exclamation wasn't loud, but it had a hard-edged fury I'd never heard from Liz before. For a moment hate stared at me, and I nodded slowly. This wasn't Liz, the cocky captain I'd known before the Coup. And it wasn't the hard-edged warrior I'd met after the Liberation. This was the raw-eyed fury that had haunted the Fat Man's waking moments and dogged his nightmares.
"They destroyed a water purification plant. I can't think of why they'd do that if they didn't know it was there. But it doesn't look like there's much activity. Either it's already been stripped, or they didn't bring the personnel or equipment to do so when they took the planet. The area's seen some really heavy fighting, though."
"Analysis," she demanded, rage disappearing into a remorseless arctic blast. "What is the local impact?"
"It can't be good," Merlin said. "Give the local ecology compared to the population density in the region of the plant… If they had anything like normal emergency reserves on hand with some pretty strict rationing they might have a couple months, maybe a bit longer. But that's guess on top of guess, Colonel. Any way you cut it though, once those reserves are gone the area's going to become mighty parched."
"You did your best," the Wraith said. "Make a note. If there's anything still there, we leave all the ROWPU's behind when we start pulling vehicle sets. It won't be enough, but a division's assets wouldn't be enough. Also, check to see if the base has cisterns. If so, make sure it's drinkable and then disburse it."
"Assuming they haven't already done so."
"Are you willing to make that assumption, Captain Fetladral?"
"No," he said in a cool tone. "But the Clans have a great deal of experience with inhospitable worlds. And most Warriors understand that civilians are required to free us to our duties. That does not necessarily translate into respect, but usually an analog close enough in function. These people's deaths would be wasteful. We abhor waste."
The Wraith said nothing for a moment. Then it nodded and I saw Liz peeking out from around the edges. "Okay. Point made, Captain. Roland, I want a message sent, but we'll make it a clean one."
"Understood. Atalanta. Have one of your infantry teams secure a case of black spray paint for the Colonel."
"About that…I was thinking."
"That's a dangerous pastime," I noted.
She nodded. "I know."
"What were you thinking?" Liz asked when Atalanta didn't continue.
"What if we can neutralize the fighters before they ever take to the skies?" Atalanta asked. She explained briefly.
"You can do that?" Liz asked skeptically. It was, frankly, hard to blame her.
"I believe so, yes."
Latharn shook his head. "You might not be the necrosia-addled surat stereotypical of Goliath Scorpion, but, Star Captain—and I mean this in the nicest possible way—you are crazy."
It was, frankly, hard to blame him.
"And if it works?"
"It will still be crazy," Latharn said. "Effective, yes, but also quite insane."
LC-131419-11319117518
DropShip Spider Bite
"…not adverse to Colonel Kerensky meeting with us. However, the destruction of SLS Birkenhead has naturally made us cautious. This will, by necessity, complicate rendezvous.
"Should our terms be acceptable, we propose the following. Colonel Kerensky travel by DropShip to star LC-1019135-2315126. That DropShip will then be left, with only Colonel Kerensky onboard, in preparation for rendezvous. Colonel Kerensky will be allowed to transfer onboard one of our vessels with all of her personal gear, including a mech if she so desires, before we destroy the DropShip that she transfers from.
"We will allow Colonel Kerensky to forward messages if she so desires, subject to our censors. And we will guarantee her safe voyage to a system of our mutual agreement, if she chooses to depart.
"We will, however, destroy the DropShip that transfers her. If more than a single DropShip is present in LC-1019135-2315126, or any JumpShip, fighter, or smallcraft, we will destroy them all without further communication, and likewise any vessel attempting to transit into the area while we are present. Two weeks after the specified rendezvous you may dispatch an additional JumpShip as we will leave Colonel Kerensky and her vessel behind if it is decided that contact is not in our mutual interest.
"There will be no further communication from TH-X1138 on this matter."
The holographic man fizzled, replaced by a text block detailing a rendezvous.
Natasha sat back in her seat, enjoying the pleasant simulation of gravity that was a DropShip under thrust. "Ooh boy," she muttered. Then she shook her head. "I'm getting too damn old for this cloak-and-dagger shit."
She reached out and touched a stud.
"Bridge."
"This is Kerensky," she said unnecessarily. "There's been a change in plans…"
Antares System
"You realize this is insane, quiaff?"
Star Commander Montgomery unclenched and clenched his armor's battle claw—the only part of his Elemental armor not currently strapped down and immobile—in agreement with his second point, Jones.
It was not so long ago that he, and the rest of his 'star' had been four squads—not even a full point—of mechanized infantry assigned to two vehicle points. Solahma—the word left a bitter taste in his mouth. A polite way of saying a warrior had outlived his usefulness to his Clan.
But this…artifact of the Star League had wrested scores of suits of Elemental battle armor from Clan Wolf. Any sufficiently skilled warrior could make use of them, but only one of the Elemental genotype could make full use of them. And one Star Captain Atalanta just happened to have twenty aging members of just that genotype that she had offered to make available.
For a mission that was even more suicidal than riding into battle against mechs in the back of a Goblin infantry-support tank.
So now he—and his fellow solahma warriors—were undertaking a mission that only the best were qualified for, and almost certainly was going to end with their deaths. And there was his decidedly unusual promotion, and the understrength star he had never been qualified to command in the first place. The Founders only knew how it was going to turn out when the Khans and the Council found out that Star Captain Atalanta had acquired additional combat strength that she was decidedly not authorized.
Although compared to some of her other infractions, such as joining the Inner Sphere freebirths in combat against an invading Clan, such a charge was almost superfluous.
At least all of his personnel had at one point been posted to Specialist Trinaries, which meant they were at least nominally trained for such an operation. And all kept in regular practice in the simulators—although that had more do with with preventing boredom than out of any real hope of ever winning a line assignment again. Which meant they might—maybe—be allowed to pull off the insanity that one Star Captain Atalanta had dreamed up. But if they did, this would have to be worth a line or two in the Remembrance. Possibly even a nomination for a Bloodname.
The current leader of the Wolves Ward bloodhouse had been thirty-six when she won her bloodname, and there had to be examples even older than that.
Freebirth, yes. But his genemother had been a Trueborn who had tested into the Technician caste, and his genefather had been a trueborn Elemental abtaka from the Hell's Horses; and the Clan had secured the right to use his genetic legacy so there was no problem there…
Besides, Montgomery thought to himself, I am of the right bloodhouse for…this.
Which was why he and twenty other warriors were currently strapped to backboards that had been loaded onto the underwing hardpoints of OmniFighters (since they lacked the more normal Kirghiz such an operation would normally have used). And in little more than—Montgomery glanced at the chrono on his HUD—fifteen minutes as the fighters returned to Aglarond they would be jettisoned.
At which point we get to take part in what is undoubtedly the highest-altitude airborne insertion ever.
Devin
the Boneyard
"'A scrapheap' she says," Ariana Olan muttered.
Battle damage had clearly caused the battleship to break apart before it ever kissed atmo. Instead of one God-awful big crater it had made a dozen giant craters and two or three times that number of really big craters. There was also a not terribly small mountain range of 'stuff'. A lot of it was former battleship. But while said ship might have been the single largest contributor, in comparison to everything else it was in the minority.
And it wasn't a particularly sizable minority either.
The good news, such as it was, was that she hadn't once had a blip that suggested the nuclear ordnance locker had managed to come down intact and survived the centuries and had live warheads in it. Those same sensors suggested that if someone were willing to move, oh, a few hundred thousand tons of stuff, they could make quite a bit of money from salvaging the germanium from the destroyed KF drive-core.
She didn't even bother looking for the communications shack. Yes, it would be potentially very bad if their current codes were uncovered. But it was hard to imagine them not having the SLDF codes anyway, and since it was Aleksandr Kerensky who'd pulled them out of the Inner Sphere they had to assume the TH and Black Watch codes were compromised as well. And then there was the little matter of that cult that Jerry Blake had left on Terra.
"Thanks again, Captain. We really appreciate it."
"Not at all, Colonel," she replied, turning back towards the man standing next to her. Colonel MacPherson was the senior of the two Devin Armored Battalions, which made him the de facto senior field officer on the planet. "Glad to help. Besides, it's not like we're being paid to bring the cataclysmite home with us."
"Are you Special Service?"
"Dragoons, actually," she replied, which had the benefits of being both honest and untruthful at the same time. "Except Singh and his boys. They're heavy assault."
"I didn't know the Star League trained its dragoons in asymmetric warfare?"
"Oh, well, there are dragoons and then there are dragoons. Only the line formations were all neat and orderly, everything else was pretty chaotic. Deliberately so, really. You aren't the first to ask, by the way, even back up-timers got confused. If you got the big guns coming after you, the SLDF wanted you to know what was coming. And if you didn't get the big stick, we wanted you worried about what you were getting for much the same reason."
"Oh?" he asked. "I suppose that makes sense. By the standards of most militaries today you were so massive most of us wonder why bother with deception. Who could stand against you?"
"The Fat Man did a pretty good job of it," Ariana said bitterly.
MacPherson stiffened, then nodded slightly. "Sorry, Captain, that was thoughtless of me."
"Not particularly so. To you we're just names in a history book."
"If you don't mind my asking, what kinds of deceptions were built into your OrBat? If you can't tell me I understand," he added hastily.
"Well…" Ariana thought for a moment, relieved by the change of topic. "There wasn't one standing armor regiment in the entire SLDF OrBat, but pretty much every division had at least one regiment of armor attached. And your ride—the DropShip you were transported in—depended partially on whether your unit was tasked and trained for securing a planetary beachhead. DropShips were assigned to the escort fleet, not to the groundpounders, so unless you looked at both it was really easy to mistake one for the other." She smiled, "as for my own chain of command, I'm going to have to respectfully decline to answer."
Her comm chirped.
"Olan."
"This is Li in grid 8735. I have something you're going to want to see, Boss."
Antares
South of Alba
Buhallin had chosen the broad plain south of Alba as our battlefield.
To the north was the city, which sprawled north and east, though for some reason had never really grown to the south. Most likely the true reason for that quirk was some long-ago decision that made sense and had continued because that was just how things were done. Off to the west was an ocean that wouldn't kill you to swim in, but you wouldn't want to drink the water and you would want to wish off when getting out.
Since the Falcons apparently liked to find a target and then smash into it with a minimum of maneuver, strategy, or even tactics, I kept everyone concentrated, Ivania Chomskya—whose promotion to captain had been confirmed by HPG shortly before we jumped—had Comanche troop spread across my front in a broad skirmish line with orders to make a fighting withdrawal when she found the enemy.
Behind Comanche was Dragon in a V formation. Atalanta had put her heaviest nova—Nova Three—on the left, while her own Nova One was on the right with its VTOL's scouting around the edges of Apache. Nova Two with its mechanized infantry separated from their normal transportation was in the center and somewhat back.
George had his lance—Stetson—out behind Nova 1, while I had seaboard. Between us were spread Latharn's Regulator artillery section, Merlin's Rustler element, Annabelle Oakley who was coordinating our air defense, and Liz's command lance.
Eugene Mahler had Apache gathered into its component lances and spaced across our rear, while his command element was far enough forward it was practically part of the command group. And Penn-Drakkon had Big Horn troop off preparing a surprise.
Antares
Alba Interstellar Starport
Montgomery snapped his battleclaw as he paged through the tac-feeds.
The fighters had done their best to release them with near-zero lateral movement relative to the ground resulting in a (mostly) straight fall. Gravity had, of course, accelerated them to a pretty good clip when they hit atmosphere, but each of the 'backboards' they had strapped to had one side layered with ablative tiles that should have made the twenty warriors in battle armor look like a cluster of micrometeors to anyone who happened to be looking the wrong way at the right time.
He wasn't certain whether they had looked like rocks burning up on encountering a planetary atmosphere or not. Mostly it was an academic question that he didn't care about so much as he cared about the results. The result had been that a space-to-ground night drop, followed by a landing using parasails, and with jumpjets, active sensors and comms all locked down to prevent stray emissions, had put all of his people on the ground alive and mission-operable. And once they were all under the camoblankets that should have rendered them all but invisible to optical and thermal sensors, they had turned off all but the most critical life-support systems as well.
For once, all of the 'should haves' and 'we hopes' and 'ifs' in the battle plan had seemed to be paying off.
So far.
That or the Falcons had already detected them and they were walking into an ambush.
Since there was nothing he could really do if they had, Montgomery decided to carry on as though they were completely unaware.
Besides, the Falcons had only a star or so of fighters up on guard against Inner Sphere perfidy. If they knew about Montgomery's star, they would have antipersonnel munitions slung on the hardpoints under their wings.
If this worked, they would soon find themselves the Falcons only air assets.
"The fighters are breaking off. Heading south."
Shit. Too early. But there was no use for it.
Montgomery keyed his comms awake, then set the transmitter to a frequency-hopping microburst package that would record what he said, compress and cypher it, before sending it off. "Stalkers. Go, no-go."
"Two."
To be expected. Two was tasked with securing the control tower and base transmitter. Not only did they have not as far to go, they had better cover for the approach.
"Three."
An interminably long wait…
"Four."
"One," Montgomery said, hiding his relief behind the ritual of the exchange. "All points. Execute."
He bounded out of the brush-snarled culvert his point had spent the last four hours using to mask their approach. Jones reached the fence and tore a section out, and then they were out and on one of the two long runways with a line of Jade Falcon fighters not far off to their right.
The first pilot was quick off the mark and slammed his throttle past the stops and straight into burner. Montgomery snarled an oath as it sped past, already gathering speed.
"Loose!" he ordered.
Ten missiles streaked from back-mounted launchers and blew holes in the runway.
On the small tactical map the light designating Three blinked well to the left of his own position.
"Loose!"
Another ten missiles streaked out, this time with a body-shaking 'clunk' as the launchers blew free.
Montgomery glanced to the left in time to see the fighter's left wheel find a hole. Instantly the Stuka transformed from a hundred tons of aerospace fighter, into a similarly-massed ball of flaming alloy and a not small debris field…That instantly became a much smaller ball of alloy and a much more substantial debris field as the hydrogen fuel tanks let go and the magazines and external ordnance enjoyed a sympathetic detonation.
"Move!"
Jones bounded towards the line of aerospace fighters.
The cratering charges would delay and disrupt them while they tried to maneuver to intact sections of runway—a task complicated by lack of help from the field command tower. But aerodyne DropShips, especially heavy ones, took a lot of landing room. Fighters not so much. There was probably a section that was intact and long enough for even the heaviest fighters to take off if they ditched their external ordnance. Certainly the lighter-weight fighters would have little trouble.
It was Montgomery's—and that of Three—to ensure that did not happen.
Fortunately it was the kind of thing they were trained on. Aerospace fighters were nearly helpless on the ground. The flipside of that was that if one got a good look at you, there would not be enough left to make recycling your armor worthwhile.
He jumped, feathered his jets to spin him in mid-air, and landed on the broad wing that was the first Stuka's flying mate. Montgomery quickly walked up the spine of the fighter to the cockpit where he sank his battle claw into alloy and thumped his laser on top of the canopy.
The pilot looked up at him and he motioned with his laser in a horizontal motion across the torso of his armor in an approximation of the ancient 'kill it' signal.
The pilot's head shook—in denial or simple disbelief Montgomery didn't know. Montgomery replied by using his laser to burn a hole into the armorplast. Then he released the battle claw, narrowed the claw tips into a pike, and jammed them into the weak point he had created with the laser. Armorplast cracked and a section shattered. Montgomery ignored the frantic actions of the pilot and pressed the muzzle of the automatic grenade launcher he had had mounted in place of the usual machine gun to the hole he had just created and pumped a round into the cockpit.
With its pilot's death, automatic safeties kicked on and the engine plant stopped pumping hydrogen into the fusion chamber.
Antares
South of Alba
The VTOLs Atalanta had deployed along the right leading edge reported contact. Off to my right the five mechs of Regulator abruptly stopped, their torsos indexing as their cannons rose. Thunder rippled, and then they were trotting again as I tracked their firing pattern through ARES.
A holo of Atalanta appeared in the left half of my cockpit. "We have contact," she said without preamble. "So far Jung is reporting perhaps three trinaries of mechs. He has not yet been able to identify all models, but many appear to be of second-line or even garrison nature—standard mechs refitted with modern weapon systems rather than frontline OmniMechs or purpose-built BattleMechs."
"Have them pull back as—"
"Already on it… Thunder, fast-movers in grid 3847."
"On them," Oakley cut in. "Regulator, load flak."
"Loading flak," Latharn's voice was glassy-calm, "setting engagement to auto…you have control, Thunder."
I manipulated reality inside my cockpit, and grid 3847 swam into focus. Eight fighters, predominantly Sparrow Hawks but with at least two Seydlitz, hung in the air before me. Sidebars detailed emission spectra, engine performance, armor profiles, and weapon fits.
Liz's head popped into my cockpit. "Round-up?" she asked.
"Hold off. Oakley—" Durandal shifted instantly as now Oakley was looking up from something as my head appeared in her cockpit just as hers had mine. "—I need you to hold off just a little."
"But—"
"Cover the VTOLs, but we need them to have a good look at our line before we execute Round-up."
In the Skies overhead
"Charlie-Wing-One-Three, return to formation."
Pilot Dale shivered at the icy tone in Star Captain Rita's voice. He knew following his flight lead was a bad idea, he simply had not been as certain that not following his flight lead would be worse. If there was one lesson his sibko instructors had firmly pounded into him, it was that if you were flying bravo, your place was on alpha's wing even if he was an utter idiot.
"Killion, return to formation at once or I swear that when I get my hands on you, you will not only wish the freebirths killed you, but you will find yourself grounded as well!"
Well…at least that clarified who Rita was holding responsible.
Dale looked out his starboard canopy and found one-five pacing them, closing on a pa—
Both fighters were abruptly occluded by a black-ringed circle of red, and the next time he saw them parts and shattered armor were falling to the ground along with a larger clump that was one-five-alpha and—
"Great Kerenskys!" Dale swore. "Delta-Echo-Com, this is Charlie-Wing-One-Three-Bravo."
"Com-Actual. Speak fast One-Trey-Bravo." Star Captain Rita's voice had been icy, but even that was better than the soulless void that was Devin Buhallin.
"Enemy forces in sight bearing…" eyes sought out the compass hash marks at the top of his HUD as three of those death-balls found One-Five-Bravo. Wean's Sparrow Hawk came through in a recognizable piece, but its engine no longer functioned and damage had grievously disrupted airflow as it started to tumble towards the ground. "One-nine-three my present."
Killion was trying to intrude on the channel, but Dale stepped on him.
"Estimate three companies of mechs, and two of armor."
Killion's attempt to issue his own report ended as abruptly as his fighter did, and Dale was no longer capable of noticing more than was needed to keep his own fighter stable. Then he thought better of it and dove for the deck as he skewed his Sparrow Hawk around.
"And they have a real hotshot with an ADA cannon."
On the Ground
"Three kills out of a possible four," Atalanta said. "Might I ask a question?"
I glanced at the mission clock and the estimated positions of Big Horn and the enemy… "Sure, Star Captain. It looks like we have some time."
"Why let the one live?"
I hadn't told Oakley to do that, but I had ordered her to discontinue the engagement when one fighter had broken off for home. "Because now he can tell his superiors what he has seen. Apache, execute Round-up."
In my cockpit and somewhere behind me the fifteen mechs of Apache Troop and its attached engineering mech abruptly pivoted to the right and accelerated to their best speed, but Sergeant Mary Ellen Buckler's Rifleman IIa turned north and moved to join on Annabelle.
"There are few true military surprises," I said. "Very often 'surprise' comes down to the sudden realization that what you've seen all along is not what you thought you've seen."
She frowned at me.
"Do you have a supernova trinary? Or do you have a company of mechs, two of armor, a fighter squadron, and a six-vehicle command section? That is the reason for your organizational structure, quiaff? Because it so resembles a light combined-arms battalion."
She nodded slowly.
"Your vessel is recognizably a Fortress-class, even if the proportions are wrong. The Buccaneers, as far as I know, have never been seriously modified for military use outside of present company, but they were designed as a company-level mech carrier. As such, the enemy would have had a good idea of our disposition even if we had not communicated it.
"Now, if a pilot under a great deal of stress does not see one mech company when the rest of the enemy is consolidated, well, it is probably there, quiaff? He simply did not see it. After all, there is not much that a single company of mechs could hope to achieve against a formation such as the one facing us."
Atalanta nodded slowly.
"But two missing companies? Now you are starting to talk about some serious firepower. The kind that could be used to do nasty, nasty things. So I wave my left fist in front of their face, and wait until they look away before revealing my right."
Tamar
The former ducal mansion
Melissa held up a hand, fingers splayed, and the lightshow that was Hanse Davion pressed his hand forward until it seemed only the monitor and not hundreds of lightyears separated them.
"Love."
"We need to stop meeting like this," she said with a smile.
"Business, then. Tamar?"
"Worse than reported. By the time the circuit was established and I was able to arrive, they'd already left. The head of the ComGaurds detachment is now acting Precentor-Tamar."
"ComStar is demanding the immediate release of Virginia Hoppe."
"If I had her I might just release her…out an airlock," Melissa's reply was bitter. "Felix left a written report to me, sealed in a safe coded to my voice and DNA with an incendiary charge and an anti-tamper device. He was cagey about what, exactly their fleet has. I think it's that they've shown trust in him, and he thinks by returning it he can demonstrate that we are also worthy of trust."
"Subtle. Quite possibly correct, but—"
"He confirmed Birkenhead was a Potemkin-class cruiser."
Hanse stared at her for a moment, before shaking his head. "Can you repeat that? I thought I heard you say—"
"ComStar blew up a WarShip. A real, compact-KF-drive, WarShip."
"Dear God," Hanse whispered. "If they have one—"
"The inner sphere is going to go insane. Perhaps Romano will have a stroke?"
"I could only wish."
"It's worse."
"How could it possibly be worse?" Hanse asked. "For that matter, how could ComStar destroy a WarShip?"
"Felix asked the same question. And they told him."
"They did?" Hanse asked in surprise.
Melissa nodded. "An HPG puts out enough EM radiation that it disrupts electronics."
"We've always known that."
"In this case, the magnetic bottles in the fusion reactors. He thinks aiming it would be difficult—they're designed to track distant stars after all—but how hard would it be to aim if your target is in a nice, stable orbit?"
Hanse started to reply, then closed his mouth and mutely shook his head. "So simple."
"And none of us ever thought of it before."
"To be far, it isn't exactly as though we've had an HPG to experiment with, or a had a super-abundance of WarShips to turn one on," Hanse offered.
"In any event, since there wasn't an actual breach no air was pulled into the fusing chambers to retard the reaction. Apparently the EMF burst only destabilized the magnetic bottles, it didn't kill them outright. But they also crippled the hydrogen feed regulators and blew out every piece of electronics on the ship including the monitoring programs. There was a flyaway fusion event before anyone could manually cut the feed lines."
"A high-pressure event," Hanse said.
"There was also something about blow-out panels not working, something meant to protect the ship in case of a hydrogen or oxygen bunker breaching."
"Exploding fusion reactors, plus hydrogen and oxygen," Hanse shook his head. "Boom."
"The ship was a total loss," Melissa agreed. "In addition to its crew, and those onboard DropShips that found themselves damaged or destroyed by debris from the explosion, or the EMP from the reactors detonating, one of their very senior officers was onboard. Felix wasn't certain if he was third or fourth overall."
"Damn and double-damn. Can you come home?"
"Yes, but I am going to stop again on Tharkaad on the inbound trip. But I am growing worried about Nondi."
"Do you have anyone else you can name regent?"
"That I trust more than her? Not that I can put in place quickly," Melissa shook her head. "Something else for us to discuss."
"Indeed. I'll see you soon, Love."
Then Hanse shimmered and disappeared.
Melissa closed her eyes. The cost to the Federated Commonwealth for that brief time would be lost in the bookkeeping when the Treasury finally got around to tallying the cost of this invasion. Yet there were perhaps a double handful of individuals who possessed the resources to have had it in the first place.
She opened her eyes and stepped out of the cramped holotank.
"Let's go home."
Antares
Durendal put up a line of enemy mechs, tagged with class IDs and weapon fits where known. A moment later Ivania appeared to make formal announcement of contact.
"I see them. Slow down, form a skirmish line. Keep them at range. Wait five minutes or for your first unit to go yellow, then start fading back through Dragoon's line."
"Fall back?" Atalanta asked.
"Swap tired or damaged units for rested and healthy ones. Didn't you study the Romans?"
"Ah." She looked away for a moment. "Forgive me. I have studied the Star League most of my life. I thought I had come to terms with your methods of warfare."
"Well, I hope you and your troops can figure it out fast," I said mildly.
"We would not want to disappoint. Especially since I believe there is something far more fascinating that you have not yet told me. I could detach my fighters."
"You told me your fighters are far more proficient at air-to-ground."
"Well…yes."
"Besides, there's still a dozen enemy fighters up still. Just have them hold back. If they can draw the enemy fighters into range of our ground batteries that'd be great."
Latharn's holo popped up and since he didn't speak it was Durandal anticipating again.
"Latharn, those fighters are going to be a problem unless you can trim them down for us."
"I thought as much. It is a matter that Lieutenant Oakley and I have given some thought to. We want to try using Copperheads."
"You want to what?" Copperheads were precision ordnance, usually using a TAG-equipped unit to spot though there were other guidance options. I held up a hand. "I heard you. Okay, tell me why."
"If they work, they could be guaranteed to deliver maximum damage unlike with flak rounds. Also, a potentially higher ratio of hits, and damage would be concentrated thus increasing odds of kills."
"Why do you think it will work?"
"There are historical examples. In 1991 a conventional fighter killed a VTOL with a laser-guided bomb."
Durandal had thrown up a text blurb before Latharn had finished speaking.
"In the Second Soviet Civil War—"
"I'll take your word for it that you're prepared to cite historical chapter and verse. Dropping a bomb from a fighter onto a VTOL that just dropped off troops is rather different than shooting an artillery piece at a modern fast mover."
"I know this. However, in the—"
"Authorized," I cut him off. "Ten rounds. That's one per tube in your section. If you aren't generating an equivalent percentage of hits, go back to flak. Be prepared to document your results, and list of actions that can be taken to make it more successful if possible."
"Aff, Colonel."
And here I thought that every bone-headed tactic that could be dreamed up had been tried during the slogging match that was the Hegemony Campaign. Apparently I was mistaken. But hey, if he could use precision ground-attack munitions against an aerospace fighter…
"Ivan, Atalanta, start to refuse your right. We want to draw them towards the west."
George Kirkland stuck his holographic head into my cockpit. "Boss. I can't help but notice that you are to the west."
"We've got this, George. I'm sitting in the back. See?"
He scowled at me.
"Atalanta, stagger your formation some."
"Their fighters," she said with a sudden nod.
"Looking good so far," I commented, zooming in on the left side of Atalanta's line. She had her ground forces in two lines, with Mechs behind the vehicles, except her section of Padillas and the section of Pollux ADA tracks.
The Clans equated two conventional armor units as equal to one mech. I pulled up a pair of Alacorn assault tanks. Both had had their outboard gauss rifles replaced with Clan-tech, but the center had been replaced with an ERPPC. The freed tonnage had given it deeper magazines, a bigger engine, and a targeting computer. Now the two ganged up on an Atlas and there wasn't a mech in existence that could put out that much firepower. And there wasn't a mech in existence that could take that much firepower for very long.
The Atlas lived. More a testament to its designers than the skill of the MechWarrior. It responded with a flight of LRMs but the rest of its weapons were entirely unsuited for the long-range exchange.
A Zeus tried to come to its star-mate's aid, but a second element of Alacorns opened up and this mech did not survive. And a Rifleman that found itself the victim of two Pumas simply exploded when particle cannons stabbed through what armor was left after being blasted by multiple LRM salvos.
A Victor with its autocannon replaced by a gauss rifle hit one of Atalanta's Goblins dead center and then an Archer loosed its LRM racks at the same vehicle. Something important must have gone because the tank trundled to a stop and then every hatch (except for its thankfully empty infantry bay) opened as its crew bailed
"Fighter attack, center," Durandal said.
I looked, didn't see it, but…
"Latharn, their fighters are going to be attacking our center. Discourage them, please."
"Aff! It will be as you say."
"Apache, execute horn-one."
The line of mechs engaging my forward element abruptly shivered and I slewed the picture to a bird's-eye view in time to see a company or so of mechs break off to engage Apache who was coming in on their north-east.
They were fast, the Turkeys. Very fast. Already I could see them forming a wedge that they would drive between the right edge of my line and Apache Troop. That would allow them to isolate and destroy Apache with a minimum of fuss.
But in doing so they had shifted their formation into a V, with one arm engaging my front line while the other turned towards Apache Troop. The open end of their formation was secured by the sea.
"Execute horn-two."
The ocean boiled and Big Horn Troop rose from the depths, lasers firing, as they poured into the backs of the Turkeys' formation from the north-west.
"Nicely done," Liz commented.
I nodded as I checked over sidebars detailing damage taken and ammunition expended.
"Time to kill is thirteen percent higher along Dragoon's line," Durandal commentated.
"Thirteen? And you've compensated for them not having AVIX and ARES?"
"And the various other systems or equipment. Thirteen percent is a minimum, Roland."
"Well…damn."
George's, Ivania's, and Atalanta's heads appeared.
"What's up, Boss?"
"Time for us to swap again. I want us on the line, Ivania back us up. George, I want us moving right, it's time to link up and make this pocket official."
George gave me a hard look. "Any way I can talk you out of this?"
"No."
"Then I'd better get to work," he said with a sigh. His head disappeared followed shortly by Ivania's.
"Atalanta. TTK is higher along your line than it should be."
"We will work to improve our gunnery."
"That isn't the problem," I said as Durandal broke out an analysis in front of me. "Your MechWarriors are engaging single targets, and your tankers allocate no more than two to a single target, even those that demand more."
"I…" she broke off with a glance to one side and a sharp intake of breath. "I suspect this may be a cultural misunderstanding. I had prepared my personnel to use mass-fire tactics against…Inner Sphere units, not those of fellow Clans."
"That's fine. Fix it before the next drop. Now isn't the time."
"Of course."
"Latharn, how are my skies?"
"Cloudy with a chance of lasers."
"Fix it. I want you to push those Padillas that Atalanta has. Pretty soon they're going to recognize that Apache doesn't have cover against air. I want those tracks in a position to dissuade them before that happens."
"Aff. I will do this thing.
Note: Battletech source material is rife with inconsistencies, some of them by happenstance, others deliberate. A large number of mysteries and rumors threaded through the cannon only add to this. However, it did present certain difficulties when it came to plotting this out, even once I'd taken into consideration how the issue of when Alyina was invaded has been retconned to 3052.
More importantly for this chapter, the Gyrfalcon Galaxy was supposed to hit Antares in July 3050, the whole galaxy is at Blackjack (three jumps coreward from Antares) in August. But the First Falcon Velites are at Denizli, the First Falcon Striker hits Devin and Goat Path, and the 305 Assault is at Dompaire…all in August. The Second Falcon Jaegers take Leskovik in September, and then the whole galaxy is together again for Parakoila (two jumps rimward from Blackjack) in September.
That is an awful lot of moving around in not much time. And that's without looking at DropShip transit times or how long it takes to pacify a planet.
In fact, this seems…needlessly complex, and involves a lot of back-tracking, especially when you consider Jade Falcon's ongoing logistical issues. Of course, you can sit around in a DropShip waiting for the KF-drive to charge, or you can camp out on the planet and maybe do some training while you wait for the PGCs to arrive, but you're going to have to do that anyway so you might as well maximize your waiting in the place where you don't have to worry about a bored warrior poking a hole in a wall and letting in all that unpleasant vacuum.
My solution is as follows. The Gyrfalcons took Blackjack, and then Galaxy Commander Samantha Clees detached the First Falcon Striker to its assigned targets. Meanwhile the rest of the Galaxy moved well ahead of the leading edge to take Antares. At this point Samantha Clees detached her Eyrie and Solahma Clusters to hold Antares pending arrival of garrison clusters, sent her other line clusters to take their other targets, and moved her galaxy command unit and the 5th Battle Cluster to a fleet rendezvous where the Gyrfalcons will consolidate before jumping out for Parakoila.