Warrior: Coupé (The Warrior Trilogy, Book Three): BattleTech Legends, #59 Page 11

  The Luxor autocannon growled like a wild beast as it vomited fire and metal. Phosphorescent tracer rounds drew frozen lines of light from the gun’s muzzle to the target, then shot off at sharp angles as their fragments ricocheted through a cloud of armor debris. Silver light flared vividly from one Raven’s right side as autocannon shells ripped its right wing off and sent it sailing through the night sky.

  St. Armand’s Jenner lanced four medium laser beams through the woods, igniting the trees they touched. Three of the ruby energy lances burned into the as-yet-undamaged Raven. Two beams carved armor from its leg in long liquid ribbons, exposing the myomer muscles and ferro-titanium bones beneath them. The other beam gashed a molten scar across the ’Mech’s vestigial left wing.

  The second Raven, the one Andrew’s computer had tagged as Beta, fired its two medium lasers at Bisot’s Valkyrie. The beams raked like claws down the breast of his ’Mech. Liquefied armor ran down the furrows they ripped in the ’Mech’s ceramic flesh, but failed to penetrate the Valkyrie’s thick hide.

  In tandem, Bisot and de Ridefort—who had regained control of his reeling ’Mech—trained their lasers on the Beta Raven. Their lasers shot out in stuttering pulsed beams. De Ridefort’s shot missed, but Bisot’s aim was true. His laser stitched fire along the Raven’s left flank, slicing off armor plates like a whittler carving wood.

  The Alpha Raven launched another SRM flight at de Ridefort’s Valkyrie, but the missiles passed harmlessly wide of their target. Despite apprehension about the harm that heat buildup could do to his ’Mech, Andrew linked the target for his LRMs to that of his autocannon. This has got to stop now. Dropping the crosshairs onto the Alpha Raven, Andrew let go with missiles and cannon fire.

  The Centurion’s LRMs corkscrewed through the pitch-black night, then shattered the darkness with the lurid strobes of half a dozen explosions. Armor shot away from the Raven’s left leg and arm like leaves tossed about in a strong wind. The autocannon’s storm of shells peeled the armor from the Raven’s left torso as though it were so much naranji rind. The Raven swayed, staggered by the savagery of the assault, then sank back on its haunches.

  Beta Raven loosed a volley of SRMs at Bisot’s Valkyrie. The missiles lanced up at the humanoid ’Mech in a straight line. One blasted into laser-weakened chest armor, while two exploded against the Valkyrie’s left arm. The fourth and final missile detonated against the Valkyrie’s head, but Bisot weathered the blast that sent armor shards flying.

  St. Armand’s Jenner again concentrated its fire on the Beta Raven. Only two beams hit target as the Raven’s pilot moved to disengage. One light-spear stabbed through the tattered armor on the ’Mech’s left wing and burst out the other side. Sparks erupted from the wound, and the wing twisted awkwardly toward the ground as its controlling myomer fibers melted.

  The wing’s damage and uncontrolled rotation threw the Raven off-balance. It pivoted on its left leg just in time for the Jenner’s second beam to rip a line through the armor on its right flank. De Ridefort and Bisot added their lasers to the assault, neatly slashing into the troubled Raven. Bisot’s shot drilled into the ’Mech’s right leg, jamming some half-melted armor into the reversed knee joint.

  The Raven stumbled back toward the right as its damaged leg missed a step. When the motion exposed the Raven’s naked left flank to de Ridefort, he speared laser fire through the ’Mech’s vitals. The coruscating scarlet beam touched off a series of explosions in the Raven’s SRM magazine. Like a string of firecrackers, the detonations flashed one after another until the roiling fireball ballooned into a brilliant sun. Its dazzling white light reduced the Raven’s skeleton to a silhouette, then consumed it hungrily.

  Andrew sent his Centurion racing up the hill as the Alpha Raven reared back up to its feet and headed back down the hill. We’ve lost too much time already to go after it. We have to reach the factory. Andrew keyed up the Defiant’s frequency. “Porter, we have one heading back toward you. Kill it.” Andrew switched back to his command frequency before Porter answered him. “Remember, men, they have a Leopard out here, so don’t do anything foolish.”

  Cresting the hill, Andrew shifted his scanners from starlight to infrared. The holographic display changed from black with dark green highlights to a surreal rainbow landscape, with men and machines radiating white and yellow heat tracings. Off to his right, he saw the outline of a Vindicator and half a dozen bobbing balls of glowing light he recognized as running men. Over at the factory, he saw a Centurion standing next to the building and watched as a man-form leaped from the lab’s roof into the ’Mech’s open cockpit.

  “Bisot, de Ridefort, the Vindicator is yours. St. Armand…” Andrew’s voice died as his spirit rebelled against ordering a ’Mech to attack infantry.

  “I’m off varminting, Cap,” came St. Armand’s voice.

  The Vindicator, which looked like a human giant except for the particle projection cannon that formed its right forearm, moved to block the Jenner’s pursuit of the runners. It raised the PPC and let fly with an azure bolt of man-made lightning, but the jagged energy burst shot wide of the birdlike Jenner. The beam drilled into a pine tree, instantly igniting it into a torch, then exploding it into a million flaming splinters.

  Both Valkyries launched LRM volleys at the Vindicator. Missiles blasted up and down the PPC’s barrel, stripping it of armor and exposing the glowing blue charging coils. Five missiles smashed into the Vindicator’s left breast, blasting the armored hatches protecting LRM launch tubes off the ’Mech’s chest, but failed to do more serious damage. Two other explosions gouged deep wounds into the armor on the ’Mech’s right leg, but the armor remained unbreached.

  Andrew turned his attention to the Centurion. He punched up the old tactical frequency he’d shared with Justin Allard when Justin had commanded the First Kittery Training Battalion, the group that had become Redburn’s Delta Company. “It’s you, isn’t it, Justin?”

  The answering voice sounded flatter and more inhuman than a computer construct’s voice. “Run, Andrew. I owe you nothing. You have no hold over me that will save your life.” The Liao Centurion, its faceplate locked down securely, turned to face Andrew. “I slew men with twice your skill on Solaris, Captain. Do you really want to die here and now?”

  You bastard! Andrew dropped his LRM sight on Justin’s Centurion and answered with an LRM flight. Half the missiles blasted craters through the armor over Yen-Lo-Wang’s right breast. Semi-molten ceramic shards shooting away from the ’Mech painted glowing gold trails across Andrew’s IR display while the wounds on the ’Mech burned like red-orange embers.

  The other five missiles wreathed the Centurion’s head with a firestorm halo. Armor spun away through the night as the explosions staggered Yen-Lo-Wang. The ’Mech stumbled back into the lab, crushing a wall and shattering windows along the third floor. Andrew clearly recognized Justin’s masterful hand on the controls as the Centurion rebounded off the building, dropped to one knee and steadied itself with left hand pressed into the ground.

  Justin’s haunting laughter robbed Andrew of any exultation. “So the puppy has developed teeth. Very well, Redburn. Come on.” Justin’s voice dropped to an arctic whisper. “I’ve never felt stupidity is a reason to grant a foe mercy.”

  Andrew ground his teeth together. How could I have ever thought of this man as a friend? Andrew set his ’Mech in motion, charging forward well inside of his LRM range. I want this fight to be down and dirty, not impersonal like a missile duel. Andrew impaled Yen-Lo-Wang’s image on the autocannon’s crosshairs, then tightened up on the trigger.

  The autocannon’s stream of metal fury blasted into Yen-Lo-Wang just below the medium laser muzzle in the center of its chest. Armor flew like wood chips beneath the bite of an ax, and a white plume of heat jetted across Andrew’s display. The captain smiled broadly. Punched through and hit some engine shielding.

  Justin’s laughter shifted to allow some grudging respect. “Damn, and me with a damaged cooling vest. G
ood, Andy, but not good enough. Goodbye.”

  As Yen-Lo-Wang raised the muzzle of its autocannon toward him, Andrew’s stomach boiled. Something about that ’Mech, some way he modified it on Solaris. No, no! It’s got a Pontiac! The screaming whine of Yen-Lo-Wang’s autocannon filled the night. Depleted uranium slugs hammered into the Centurion’s right thigh. Crushed armor plates crumbled to dust with a grinding and crunching that sounded to Andrew like an animal gnawing on the limb. Andrew felt his ’Mech shudder as more shells shredded the thickly corded myomer muscles in the Centurion’s thigh, then his heart sank.

  The projectiles ate through the ferro-titanium femur like a disease. With echoes of the gunshot-like snapping still reverberating through the cockpit, Andrew fought to keep his machine upright. Hopelessly unbalanced as the ’Mech’s leg cartwheeled away behind it, his Centurion pitched to the right, slammed to the ground on its side, then rolled onto its face.

  Sparks shot through the cockpit like fireworks. Two monitors went dead and a third displayed, with clinical objectivity, the damage to the Centurion. Its right leg was gone, and landing on the autocannon had damaged it. Internal systems showed damage, and the computer reported that because of the Centurion’s position, the ejection system could not work.

  Andrew felt the heavy vibrations from Yen-Lo-Wang’s approach. He braced himself for the coup de grace. Fire and steel. That autocannon will reduce this cockpit to radar chaff.

  Justin’s voice filled his neurohelmet. “I assume you’re still alive, Andrew, and I will leave you thus. On Solaris, I did that favor for one enemy. Don’t make his mistake and come after me again.” Justin paused, then added a stinging afterthought. “And stay away from Solaris, too. You wouldn’t have lasted this long fighting there.”

  Andrew stabbed his index finger onto the solar system’s tactical display. “Look, Porter, you yourself said we can catch them. They’ve only got a four-hour lead on us. We head out at two-point-five Gs, fly close enough to the third planet—that gas giant—to get a slingshot effect and we’ll reach their JumpShip before they will.”

  Andrew raked fingers back through his thick auburn hair. “Why can’t any of you see this?”

  Robert Craon exchanged glances with Captain Porter. “Captain Redburn, we can see what you’re saying, but it would be a suicide mission. The Defiant would be pitted against another Overlord and a Leopard. All the Liao Overlord has to do is snipe at the Defiant as Captain Porter tries to catch the Leopard. It won’t work.”

  Andrew looked daggers at his side. “Then we’ll make it work!”

  The door to the tactical center slid up into the ceiling. Andrew snapped his head around and instantly recognized the slender outline of TerraDyne’s chairman. “This is a closed meeting, Anderson. No civilians.”

  Anderson said nothing as he stepped into the room and allowed the door to close behind him. He flipped a plasticized identification card onto the display. It bore a picture of his face, a retinal pattern, and the Counter Intelligence Division legend across the top. The name on it, however, read “Richard Dorvalle.”

  Dorvalle looked at Porter and Craon. “You are dismissed. I was never here.”

  The two of them looked at Redburn. Andrew opened his mouth to protest, but the anger and defiance that had been driving him evaporated. Wearily, he nodded assent. As they dutifully passed out the door, Redburn fixed the spook with a piercing glance. “So what’s really going on here?”

  Dorvalle kept his angular face emotionless. “That is not really important, Captain Redburn. What is important is that I have had a communication from the Prince, who asks me to pass on his congratulations to you.”

  Redburn leaned heavily forward on the tactical display. The computer updated the configuration, setting the Leopard and Overlord yet farther from Bethel. “And what did I do to please him? I was unaware that having a traitor disable your ’Mech is regularly rewarded with a medal or thanks.”

  Dorvalle’s face hardened. “Come off it, Redburn. Self-pity does not become you. You impressed the Prince by actually splitting your command and heading off after the Leopard. Your main body tied up the Fourth Tau Ceti Rangers and bagged a couple of heavy ’Mechs. Your people nailed two Ravens—which we’re sending back to the NAIS for study, by the way—and a Vindicator. You also identified the pilot of the Centurion you faced.”

  Andrew shook his head. “What is it with you spies? You’re trying to console me by pointing out a silver lining on a very dark cloud. Didn’t you miss something? They got into the lab and got back out. As far as security is concerned, that lab is a hemophiliac that just tangled with a chotodar!”

  Dorvalle actually allowed himself a smile, albeit a small and controlled one. “That, Captain, is the reason the Prince is most pleased, and the reason you will not pursue the Leopard.”

  Everything suddenly landed on Andrew like a ton of bricks. He stepped backward to the wall, then slumped down at the base of it. “It was all a setup? I let a Vindicator put a Jenner pilot in the hospital with a broken arm and leg, and left two Valkyries held together with baling wire and spit for a setup? Why the hell didn’t you just give the information away, or let me know so I could have held my people back?”

  The spy shook his head slowly. “If we didn’t put up the appearance of a fight, Liao would never believe the information he got is valuable. This isn’t a game, but there are times when we have to trick the other side into doing what we want them to do. It worked with Operation Ambush, and it worked here. It could have cost lives—thank God it didn’t—but the payoff could end the war early and save countless lives.”

  Andrew sighed heavily. “Good. I’m glad. I’m glad the final laugh is on Justin Xiang, and that the Prince has avenged himself upon Justin.” Andrew ground his palms against his eyes. Next time, it’ll be my turn. And then, Justin, the last laugh will be mine. May it ring in your ears as you die.

  Chapter 13

  LYONS

  ISLE OF SKYE

  LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

  15 MAY 3029

  Clovis Holstein hugged the little girl to his chest and rocked her gently as the explosion’s thunderous tremors faded. Brushing the dust from her hair, he forced a soft levity into his voice. “Gotta get this dirt out of your hair, Sarah, else you’ll be looking like your grandma.” He felt the child stiffen when he mentioned her grandmother, so he hugged her tighter. “Hush now, Sarah. No tears.”

  Through the shelter’s dust-laden air, in the dim light of a single bulb, Clovis studied the dirty, tired faces of thirty children. If just one starts crying, they’ll all fall apart. He glanced over at the older children and gave them a reassuring smile. If they’d not held up as well as they have, Karla and I would have fallen apart. Two days. How much longer will the Combine keep that company blasting our township to rubble?

  Clovis let Sarah slide from his lap and gently laid the four-year-old child down next to her eight-year-old brother. “Rex, take care of your sister.” As the tow-headed boy nodded bravely, Clovis stood and dusted himself off. He picked his way across the shelter’s floor, carefully avoiding children trying to sleep, and caught Karla Bremen’s attention.

  With a smile on her pretty face, she gave no sign of the concern and worry that had plagued her since she and Clovis had led her schoolchildren down into the bomb shelter. Clovis brushed his long black locks back away from his face as she crossed toward him, then stopped. Preening yourself again, Clovis? You idiot! Your desire to impress her is what got you into this position!

  Because New Freedom was small, all the students had worked in a single classroom set up in what the Kell Hounds had previously used as a mission briefing room. When elements of the Third Dieron Regulars hit the town, Clovis had been teaching the class about computers. He and Karla immediately guided the children to safety in the shelters below the ’Mech hangar. The arrival of the Combine troops had transformed the beginning of Clovis’s dreams into an ongoing nightmare.

  Karla, slender and two heads taller
than Clovis, squatted down to speak with him. Despite the dirt on her cheeks, nose, and forehead, Clovis thought her most beautiful. Looking around to make sure none of the children were watching them too closely, Karla let her smile evaporate. “Clovis, I’m worried. I thought you said they’d be gone by now.”

  Clovis swallowed hard. He rested his stubby-fingered hands on her shoulders, brushing her medium-length brown hair back from her once-white blouse. “What I said before makes no difference. We have enough food down here for a month or more.” Clovis faltered. This shelter was meant to house fifty adults. We can survive here for a long time.

  Karla nodded. “I know. It’s just the pressure and all the unanswered questions the children ask. They all want to know if their parents are alive. What can I tell them?”

  Clovis could not meet her blue-eyed gaze. “Lie to them. Tell them everyone is fine and hiding in other shelters like this. For now, it will calm them enough to sleep.” Clovis shrugged. “The truth will still hurt later, but truth isn’t what they need right now.”

  Clovis reached out to cup Karla’s chin in his right hand and tilt her head up. “Listen. You’re going to have to hold them together.” He glanced upward. “I’ve got to go see what’s happening.”

  Karla shook her head incredulously. “You can’t abandon me here.”

  Clovis turned away and buckled on a gun belt with a Smith and Webley Foxfire in the holster. Most warriors referred to the weapon sarcastically as the “purse pistol,” because it seemed too small and delicate to be deadly. Clovis drew the pistol, which fit his small hand perfectly, and charged it with a snap. He slid it back into the holster with a fluid motion that only came with long hours of practice.

  His back still turned, Clovis tried to sound confident. “I have to go up there, Karla. I have to find out what’s going on so we can help figure out what we’re going to do.”