Warrior: Riposte (The Warrior Trilogy, Book Two): BattleTech Legends, #58 Page 14
“First of all, we won’t split up your group. With twenty-seven people, you have more than double the personnel normally found in a ’Mech company. That does not disturb us because your people have all trained together. Leaving an odd-sized unit together has worked well with the other training battalions.”
Andrew nodded. So much easier to quarantine us…
The colonel eased back, ignoring the white file. “The Prince wants to build your company into a close-assault unit. We’ve cobbled together a group of ’Mechs that we believe to be uniquely suited to our purposes. Mostly Valkyries and Jenners, but we’ve added some Javelins and Firestarters to round things out.”
Andrew nodded slowly. “They’re all jump-capable and are fairly fast.”
The colonel smiled. “Exactly. Your job will be to get in and get out quickly after inflicting as much damage as possible to your objective. The Valkyries, with their long-range missile launchers, will give you some distance weaponry, but I see that as a way to discourage pursuit.”
“Or,” Andrew offered, “a way to soften up a target as we go in.” He frowned. “None of those ’Mechs have machine guns to deal with infantry…”
The colonel waved away Andrew’s reservation. “The Firestarters are enough to throw a scare into infantry.”
Andrew conceded the point with a nod. “I understand, sir, I’m sure my people will gladly accept this challenging honor.” His gaze flicked toward the folder. “Is there anything else, sir?”
With the reluctance of a doctor giving a patient bad news, Colonel Stone handed Andrew the white file. “I want you to understand, Captain, that this makes me uneasy. I know how much you valued your time serving with Major Allard. I was with the Fifth Davion Guards on Spica when Justin and Bill Dobson broke the siege on Valencia. Justin saved our butts and there wasn’t a MechWarrior in the unit that wouldn’t have given his life for Justin.”
A scowl darkened Andrew’s face, but Stone gave him no opportunity to speak. “People change, Captain. Something snapped inside Justin. I don’t know if it was losing his arm or whether it was the trial or what—but he’s not the same man we both knew…”
Andrew shook his head angrily. “Why tell me this, sir? Are you afraid I’ll embarrass the unit when some high official comes to visit?”
Stone stiffened at Andrew’s accusation, then seemed to shrug it off. “I just want you to read this report in context, Captain.” He pointed to the file. “Read it.”
Andrew’s mouth dried out like a riverbed in a drought. The scarlet legend stretching across the white folder looked like blood on snow and sent a shiver down Andrew’s spine. Code-word Only!—Things don’t come much more secure. Andrew opened the file with the enthusiasm of a man prying open the lid of a coffin.
He swallowed hard as he recognized the cover sheet’s letterhead. MI7—Military Intelligence’s liaison with the Ministry of Information, Intelligence, and Operations. Why do they have me reading this? Andrew glanced up at Colonel Stone, but his superior officer seemed to stare through him as though he were made of glass.
Andrew turned the page and his heart nearly stopped. He brushed his fingertips across each of the terrible words, wanting to rub them out, to destroy them and the reality they represented.
“RE: Maskirovka Operation on Kittery, 20 Nov 3027,” he read. “Analysis.
“In reviewing the information recovered from the Maskirovka stronghold on Kittery, we have made the following discoveries and drawn the following conclusions:
“1) The operation used personnel last known to have been on Sian. All indig Maskirovka agents captured as a result of this operation have defined the assassination attempt as an operation set up and directed by the highest Maskirovka circles on Sian. All documentary evidence supports this claim.
“2) The operatives used were on-planet for two weeks before the assassination attempt. During this time, ample opportunity presented itself for attacks on ranking officers of the Davion Assault Guards, the Capellan Dragoons, and the Kittery Borderers. There were no apparent efforts made to attack the command structure for these units, despite what our investigation shows was poor security during this time period.
“3) During this same time period, the First Kittery Training Battalion was involved in its final testing and graduation program. To prevent the possibility or appearance of cheating, security surrounding this unit ran high at this time.
“4) Complete dossiers on each of the training battalion NCOs and officer candidates were recovered from the Maskirovka warehouse. The details contained in the dossier included information that has been described as ‘intimate’ and ‘insightful.’
“Conclusion: This assassination attempt against the staff of the First Kittery Training Battalion was not a random act of terrorism. The information compiled and the operatives chosen for the mission were directed at one target, and one target only. Orders flowed from Sian with the blessings of the Maskirovka.
“It is our belief that the effort was directed specifically by Justin Xiang against his old command. Xiang is placed highly enough in the Maskirovka to be the source of all orders associated with this operation, and details revealed in the files are appropriate to the level of information he had as the unit’s commanding officer. The attempt even took place at what was known to be Xiang’s favorite restaurant in Shaoshan. Though this last point may well be a coincidence, it is inconceivable that Justin Xiang had no previous knowledge of this operation.”
Andrew’s hands trembled as he closed the file. Pale and shaking, he handed it back to Colonel Stone. “I… I don’t know what to say.” His head had begun to pound with each heartbeat. “I can’t believe it.”
Stone nodded sympathetically. “I know, Captain. I can hardly believe it myself.” He glanced down at the folder and shrugged impotently. “The spooks generally know what they’re talking about.”
Andrew clenched his jaw to stop it from trembling. “Dammit, Colonel! It makes no sense! Why hit a training battalion’s staff?”
Stone shook his head. “I don’t know, Redburn. But you’re absolutely right. It makes no sense.” The colonel tapped the file with a finger. “I think that’s why they’ve put it down to a personal vendetta. I’ve seen vids of the trial, and I saw a holovid of Justin’s last fight on Solaris. There’s no love lost between him and the Prince.”
Andrew shrugged. All that may be true, Colonel, but there’s something wrong. He ground his teeth and balled his fists. No matter what anyone says, I know Justin didn’t change—at least not in that way. Murder just isn’t his style.
He glanced up at the Colonel. “I know I can’t say anything about that report to my men. What should I do?”
Stone took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “Just be careful, Redburn. Tell your men to stay alert. You’re a lot safer here on New Aragon than you were on Kittery, but we don’t want to give Justin Xiang a chance to succeed a second time where he has already failed once.”
Chapter 18
NEW AVALON
CRUCIS MARCH
FEDERATED SUNS
14 FEBRUARY 3028
As sweat dripped from the tip of his nose, Hanse Davion adjusted his shooting glasses. Then he glanced to where Quintus Allard crouched by a pile of broken bricks, trying to catch his breath. The Prince pointed at the outline of a three-story building hidden in the gloom halfway down the street. He tightened his grip on the laser pistol, then held up three fingers of his left hand. Quintus nodded, and as the fingers curled into a fist, the spymaster spun from cover and dashed across the street.
A string of burning scarlet laserbolts stitched a pattern of destruction behind Quintus as the sniper on the roof sought vainly to track the dodging target. Pools of molten ferrocrete blazed in Quintus Allard’s wake. Debris whistled through the air on waves of laser-born heat, but nothing stopped Quintus from reaching the safety of a small building.
Hanse rose to one knee and spotted the sniper in the backglow of the laser rifle’s fire. I’ve got
you now! he exulted, sighting down the pistol’s barrel and squeezing the trigger twice. His laser bolts stabbed skyward and lanced explosively through the sniper’s humanoid form.
Quintus Allard whirled and snapped off three fast shots, which sizzled through the air above Hanse’s head. The Prince spun, smashing back flat against the half-wall that had covered him before, and saw two bolts burn into the casement below a window in the building behind him. The third bolt exploded brilliantly, revealing a haunting glimpse of a broken human form reeling back into the room.
An obnoxious buzzer roared over the ruins complex. Lights hidden in the roof came up like three dozen small suns to dispel the artificial night. Smiling broadly, Quintus crossed back to Hanse and offered the Prince his hand.
“Excellent shooting, my Prince.” Quintus squinted back along Hanse’s line of fire toward the robotic rooftop sniper. “Two hundred meters if a centimeter.”
Hanse shook Quintus’s hand, then glanced back over his own shoulder. “Well, Quintus, your marksmanship puts mine to shame. A shot through a window at a hundred meters while on the run? Why didn’t we ever train you as a MechWarrior? With skill like that, I could leave the Capellan March to you and never have to worry.”
Quintus shook his head, though the smile generated by the Prince’s praise remained. “I’m afraid that I’ve slowed down, though, Highness. In the old days, I’d have hit with all three shots.”
Hanse laughed aloud. “But you did hit with all three, Quintus. Two hit the building and one hit the target.”
The minister joined in with Hanse’s laughter. “I suppose we should head back to the control center and find out our scores.”
Hanse glanced at his chronometer. “They only gave us twenty minutes on the course, so we must have scored well.” He shook his head. “It would be terrible if you and I didn’t qualify with small arms.”
Quintus shrugged. “I’m not so worried about that, Highness.” The count jerked a thumb in the direction of the other small arms qualification maze. “I just hope your nephew Morgan and Ardan haven’t beaten us out.”
God! Not another six months of Ardan and Morgan making jokes. “Amen to that, my friend.” Hanse narrowed his light blue eyes. “Speaking of which, what news from Morgan’s new companion?”
Quintus pulled the power pack from his pistol, then slid the gun into its shoulder holster. “Nothing suspicious to report. As you know, they’ve seen a lot of each other. Kym has visited Morgan unannounced a couple of times, and she almost always finds him reading and studying military history.”
“Has she reported anything about his communications to and from his parents?” Does Michael enlist Morgan in his mad plans?
Quintus shook his head. “Nothing unusual. At one point, a courier brought a holodisk from Duke Michael to his son, and Morgan played it immediately even though Kym was present. She said she saw nothing unusual in the disked message or in Morgan’s reaction to it.”
Quintus smiled at the Prince. “At other times, Morgan has gotten disks and set them aside in favor of going out with Kym.”
The hint of a grin began to play over the Prince’s face. Perhaps we shall find that, indeed, Morgan Hasek-Davion has nothing to do with his father’s plots. Very likely, he knows nothing about them. Unfortunately, the pressure will be on, and I have to know which way he will jump. “Good, Quintus. I like hearing independent confirmation of my feelings about Morgan. I still want to continue surveillance, however.”
The spymaster nodded. “I understand.” Quintus fell silent for a moment, then glanced at the Prince. “I know you did not ask for my opinion, but I’m going to give it to you anyway.”
When the Prince did not reply, Quintus took it as permission to continue.
“I hope you realize, Highness, that you’ve placed Morgan in a position of great responsibility. Other MechWarriors his age—including those who graduated with grades almost as high as his—are just reaching their captaincies. They’ve only just been given companies to command, whereas Morgan is a major in the Davion Heavy Guards, with a full battalion at his command. You’ll not find many individuals in the AFFS able to shoulder all the work that requires.”
The Prince frowned. “What are you telling me? Do you think Morgan is going to crack under the strain?”
Quintus smiled and shook his head, “No, my Prince, I do not. What I wish to tell you is that Morgan works hard to make himself worthy of the honors you have bestowed upon him.”
Quintus stepped around a small pile of debris blocking a section of roadway. “Remember Kym’s report that she often finds him studying military history. He’s been gobbling up the texts we use at the War College, and he’s managed to bootleg a copy of the battle analysis software they use for testing officers.”
Hanse slowed his pace. “How has he done?” The Prince fixed Quintus with an appraising glance. “I assume your people have been able to evaluate his performance on those tests.”
Quintus tried to look innocent. “We have managed to get a copy of his work, and we have even managed to get him an updated copy of the software—upgraded in light of the troop performances during Galahad ’26 and ’27.”
Quintus drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “How has he done? I showed a copy of his test results to Field Marshal Yvonne Davion…”
A wry smile tugged at the corners of Hanse’s mouth. With Yvonne’s track record for innovative tactics, she’d be just the one to evaluate Morgan’s planning skills. “What did she say, Quintus?”
“Knowing how much she hates the Hasek family, I didn’t tell her whose tests they were. She looked them over and was visibly impressed. She especially praised the orders he wrote for his company and lance commanders. She found them clear, concise, and encouraging. She called them ‘orders even an idiot could get right.’”
Hanse crossed his arms. “What did she say when you told her that it was Morgan Hasek-Davion who had created those plans and orders?”
Quintus chuckled. “She looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘Of course he did this well, Quintus. He’s a Davion, isn’t he?’”
“That’s Yvonne.” Hanse smiled. “Thank you, Quintus. I appreciate knowing her opinion.” The Prince raised an eyebrow. “And what do you think of his abilities?”
Quintus sighed. “His scores beat those of any I’ve ever seen.”
The Prince stopped. “Even those Dan turned out when he graduated from NAMA?”
Quintus nodded. “Dwarfed them. Give him a regiment, Highness, and there’s not a unit in the Capellan Confederation that will stand up to him.”
“Good.” The Prince’s face hardened. “What news of Duke Michael?”
Quintus grimaced as if he’d just swallowed a mouthful of sour chrestra. “We’ve bugged the Liao ambassador’s dog’s collar, but the hound has not been present at any more of the meetings. I think the Maskirovka figured out the dog’s problem during the meeting in October.”
“That’s not good, Quintus. We have to have definitive proof of Michael’s complicity if we’re going to bring him down.” Hanse frowned angrily as they turned the corner, coming in sight of the scoring complex. If Michael’s stupid enough to be working with Max Liao, he must have made a mistake somewhere. I know we can catch him in it, but will it be in time? “Anything new on Michael’s supposed visit to Sian?”
As they cut through the burned-out ruins of a building, the Minister of Information, Intelligence, and Operations shook his head. “Nothing that we can act on, my Prince.” Frustration knotted Quintus’s brows. “Our agents in place say Michael was there, but using any of that information to accuse him publicly or privately would be death for those agents. We know he was there and is collaborating with the enemy, but we can’t prove it well enough to bring him down.”
Hanse nodded. “Are Liao troops still shifting around in accordance with the erroneous troop figures we’re giving Duke Michael?”
Quintus nodded enthusiastically. “Like puppets on strings.”
Across the brightly lit chamber, Ardan Sortek and Morgan Hasek-Davion sat slumped against the wall. Ardan, with his forearms resting on drawn up knees, looked up. “You bastards.”
The Prince laughed aloud and glanced over at the scoring board. 265 out of a possible 300! Not bad! He looked down the list of scores and saw that both Ardan and Morgan, though scoring well enough to qualify, had not even come close to his team’s score. The Prince frowned. “What happened?”
Ardan grumbled. “Bad day.”
Morgan laughed and tucked sodden strands of long red hair behind his ears. “We decided that the way to beat you old codgers was to run through the complex and pick up points for time.”
Ardan jerked a thumb toward his exhausted partner. “He decided neatness didn’t count.”
Quintus nodded knowingly. “Your hits per shot ratio dragged your score down.” The spymaster turned toward the Prince. “I suppose us ‘old codgers’ could give them a lesson in marksmanship.”
The Prince wrinkled his nose. “You know this younger generation. They never listen to anyone.”
Ardan looked over at Morgan. “How long do we have to put up with this?”
Morgan’s head sank back. “Six months.”
“Ugh.”
The four of them broke into laughter. Hanse and Quintus turned in their pistols and spent power packs to the range weapons officer, then headed toward the range cafeteria. They joined Morgan and Ardan at a back corner table and gratefully accepted the foaming mugs of beer that the losers poured out for them from a chilled pitcher.
Wiping foam from his upper lip, Morgan turned to Quintus. “I heard a rumor that someone tried to kill Andy Redburn on Kittery. Is it true?”
Quintus flicked a glance at Hanse, then nodded slowly. “It happened last November. Do you know Redburn?”