Chapter 4:

Forced March

"Dominic, no!"

Connor Sinclair mashed down his triggers, probing out at range with his autocannon and large laser. He heard the remembered voice of his academy instructor, "BattleMechs®, they take a whole great deal of killin’," and figured the odds were better than fair that Dominic Paine had survived the fall and collapse of the building. A bit banged up and needing help to dig his way out, but alive. He wouldn’t stand a chance, though, if the Orion blasted through the rubble after him. Star Captain Hasaan Furey had to be distracted -- stopped.

Despite the desperation, the lieutenant pessimistically predicted that his autocannon would fail or shoot wide -- no need to ruin a perfectly bad history now. The Mydron-manufactured weapon did not disappoint, the stream of depleted uranium slugs passing off the left arm of the massive Orion. They chewed the corner away from the main factory building and undercut one of the three main smokestacks enough that it started a slow topple. The ruby lance of his laser, however, struck dead-on, sloughing away half-melted armor plates from over the Orion’s blocky chest.

As if a bystander suddenly tapped on the shoulder, the titan’s head first swung around in search of the annoyance and then up came the left arm. The monstrous machine might have been simply pointing directions out to someone, except for the flight of 20 LRMs that suddenly speared out from the cylindrical launcher replacing the left hand. Except for a quartet of missiles that arced too wide, the swarm flew unerringly into the oncoming Bushwacker and robbed it of forward momentum as explosions blossomed in a staggered line leading from right leg up over the body and then down along the left arm. A single missile slammed in near the cockpit, rattling Sinclair but not enough to throw off his own aim. Two small missile flights from his own launchers answered the Orion’s challenge, peppering left leg and arm. The extended-range laser speared directly into the heavy ‘Mech’s undamaged right side, splashing molten armor against its hip and over the short grass that grew over the island. The autocannon misfired but did not jam -- a small favor only considering its lack of performance.

A wave of heat slammed into Sinclair as the fusion reactor spiked, its heat scale reading heavy into the yellow band but dropping fast. Given a few seconds, the young lieutenant could hope to keep up his optimum curve and not suffer the sluggish reaction by overheated myomer muscles or interference in his targeting system. Time was a luxury he did not own, however. He rushed in close on the Orion’s left side, preferring to face off against the heavy LRM system and arm-mounted medium laser than weather the brunt of Hasaan Furey’s full attack, which could include another laser and an autocannon -- his presumably working. Of course, Sinclair had to assume Furey to be an elite warrior, which meant he might be able to coax the Orion around fast enough to bring all weapons to bear regardless.

It turned the fight into a gamble, but against a 20-ton deficit the lieutenant risked his life regardless.

The Orion did try to pivot hard around. Connor Sinclair read it in the exaggerated swing of the angular shoulders and cross-step of right foot in front of left. Then the heavy-class ‘Mech stumbled and nearly fell. From Furey’s narrow recovery and the Orion’s awkward stance, the BattleMech’s hip joint had apparently frozen in a half-extended position -- some combination of Sinclair’s last missile attack and the molten armor splattered by his large laser. It cut into the machine’s movement considerably, able to keep up with the Bushwacker but just barely so. It evened the field, pitting Connor Sinclair against a larger but critically damaged BattleMech piloted by a certainly more experienced MechWarrior®.

At point-blank ranges, an LRM system could rarely achieve a targeting lock, and even then the missiles would have trouble arming in the short flight. As demonstrated before, Furey did not seem to suffer for those drawbacks. The cylindrical arm swung around, flashing out with the sapphire light of a medium laser and a new flight of 20 missiles hammered mercilessly into the Bushwacker’s upper body. Red warning lights strobed on the control panel as one group of missiles breached Sinclair’s left side, tearing into the Bushwacker’s supporting titanium skeleton and blasting away feeding mechanisms for the shoulder-mounted missile rack.

Not that Connor would have tried to fire his own LRMs regardless, but with a failing autocannon the damage continued to rob him of any reliable firepower. "Last time pays for all," he whispered, voice strangely loud in the tight confines of his neurohelmet. His targeting reticle already burning golden, he drifted it down the side of the Orion to settle over the left leg. Opening up with machine guns, the MechWarrior® hammered away armor from the left side and left leg as he watched his heat scale fall down into the shallow end of the yellow band before toggling for his centerline large laser.

The ruby lance sliced deeply, past the remnants of armor protecting the Orion’s left leg. The beam did melt away enough of the slag freezing the other BattleMech’s hip joint that it freed up, but only for a split second as it continued to core deeper. Myomer musculature parted like flesh beneath a scalpel, and the laser ate into the ferrotitanium bones of the Orion’s skeleton. The framework sagged, melted away and then finally telescoped in on itself. The 75 ton machine toppled left, and this time there would be no recovery. The left arm caught against the ground first, adding enough a twisting force to turn the ‘Mech and plant its head cockpit-forward into the earth. The protruding cockpit canopy smashed back, shattering the ferroglass and driving the framework back into the pilot’s command area.

"Freebirrrr-" Furey’s final, static-laced scream of denial and pain, cut short. Sinclair winced, imagining the final seconds of the star captain.

"Star Captain Furey, what is your status?"

A new voice, full of his own authority and not a little anger. Sinclair did not recall hearing it in common chatter earlier. He spent little time trying to actually place it; Dominic still needed help.

No, he didn’t.

The Shadow Cat was rising from the center of the building, shrugging off one wooden wall that had fallen over its shoulder. From Sinclair’s vantage point, the factory building looked hollow-though of course that made no sense. But then he couldn’t argue with the way Dominic Paine simply stood and kicked his way free of some light debris. Wood framework and plywood painted to look like brick or stone or metal. Even the widows were painted on-no glass or actual openings.

"Better be careful around these buildings," Dominic transmitted. "You’ll want a closer look at them. And at those towers flanking the bridge."

Before Connor could ask after the MechWarrior’s® comment, the same voice as beforeinterrupted. "Hasaan Furey, this is Star Colonel Ratache Osis! You will respond now!"

"He does not sound happy," Sorenson said, the MFBs just now crossing the third bridge onto the island. He sounded very satisfied with that idea.

Sinclair looked over the fallen Orion and then to his lancemate’s erect Shadow Cat, a tight smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. So, in fact, was he.

* * *

"Figures, doesn’t it?" Dominic kicked at a support beam, one of several that held up the façade factory wall. "All that work for a decoy site. A Potemkin village."

For once, Connor Sinclair felt the drain of Dominic’s pessimism. Out of their ‘Mechs while the MFB personnel worked to fix them up-them and the wounded but repairable Orion-the two MechWarriors® and Corporal Sorenson had walked into the open back of the ‘factory’ building resembling a steel plant. Three coal-burning stoves had been rigged up to provide lots of smoke, funneled up into the wooden tower above to give the impression of activity-the manufacture of armor, apparently. Strobe lights set behind the few real windows in the ‘main plant’ simulated the sparking of welders. Only the towers flanking the bridge were real, and even more disturbing.

"Laser towers," Connor said, shaking his head. "Naval-grade lasers, ready to knock any DropShip from the sky that tried to make a run against this decoy factory." He exhaled long and hard, glanced to Sorenson. "Now we know what happened to the Black Hammer."

Dominic looked worried. More so than usual, that was. "This Galaxy Commander Corbett doesn’t play by the usual Clanner rules. No batchall? Striking at a DropShip from ambush rather than the glory of BattleMech combat? Doesn’t this seem like a deviation from standard Smoke Jaguar tactics and philosophy?" He looked around to see if anyone shared his opinion. Connor met his gaze evenly, giving no hints to his thoughts though they mirrored Dominic’s. Sorenson avoided eye contact. "Well, with those towers shut down, maybe we can get off this hell-hole planet now?"

The corporal shifted uneasily, and Connor speared him with an intense gaze. Overall, Sinclair liked Thomas Sorenson. A burly six foot with close-cropped blond hair chiseled features, the man looked more your stereotypical drill sergeant than an intelligence analyst. Conner’s mental image typically saw them as thin, ferret-featured men who only told you what they thought you needed to know. Fortunately, the corporal didn’t hesitate to speak his mind, and quite often had something worthwhile to say. But underlying the corporal’s demonstrated competence, Sinclair sensed a vulnerability. Sorenson was not an intell officer. He was used to taking some direction from a superior, and that superior had been aboard the Black Hammer.

"You’ve already talked to Taylor," Sinclair guessed. "Haven’t you?"

Sorenson nodded. "And it’s very unlikely we’ll see him anytime soon. I informed him of the laser towers right before joining you two out here." He held up one hand to forestall Dominic’s outburst. "I am required to report all intelligence to my superior, and in her absence to the operation’s ranking officer." Dominic nodded reluctantly. "Captain Taylor won’t risk the Eclipse unless we can prove conclusively there are no other towers."

"What about the rescue company?" Conner asked, bracing himself for the bad news. He trusted Sorenson enough to know that if there was any balancing facts, he would have volunteered them.

"They’re being hit hard. They aren’t advancing fast enough, and now they can’t withdraw either without taking serious losses. We’ll have to take the pressure off them by hitting the second Operations Area ourselves. The real factories are down there."

That perked up the lieutenant’s interest, though Dominic appeared very unimpressed about taking on a new mission. "Team Two found something?" His mind began to plan the rendezvous. "If we can link up with them, maybe find-"

Sorenson interrupted, his face pale. "Team Two is dead, Sir."

"Dead?" Dominic barged back into the conversation. "You mean out of commission? Captured?"

Unhappily, the corporal shook his head. "They took out the hydroelectric facility and discovered entrances for two large underground complexes. But Clan troops caught them on the second leg of their operation. Neither of them made it. The report we intercepted is fairly clear on that. No prisoners. As ordered."

"So now Taylor has only half the reasons to come in here and rescue us." Dominic shook his head. "Perfect."

"There are eight missing MechWarriors® out there we might still find," Sinclair reminded his lancemate. "If Team Two made it out, we know that Keith and Tessa are out there for certain." The real fear was hidden in Sorenson’s final comment, which Dominic had missed. "Who gave the ‘no prisoners’ order?" Sinclair asked.

"Near as I can tell, it came through this Star Colonel Ratache Osis you heard on comms. The one who sounded most upset by Furey’s defeat. However, from other communication interceptions, I believe those orders originated with Brendon Corbett. It’s inferred. So is the fact that it’s Corbett who is leading the fight against the Eclipse’s rescue company."

Sinclair nodded his appreciation for the blunt truth. "You’re doing a good job, Thomas. Keep it up." No reason to blame the messenger for the news, and he wanted it clear that Sorenson should not worry about keeping him informed. "Have you plotted a route down to the peninsula’s southern coast?"

"I’ve located a dry river bed we can use for our initial approach, about five klicks southwest around the headland. It avoids a few military targets, which I think is wise at this point. I’ve already monitored Ratache Osis’ order to increase the strength of local garrison posts." He paused. "Of course, that means the factories themselves will be very well guarded."

Dominic smiled thinly at Sinclair. "And it just keeps getting better," he said. "Every. Single. Minute."

* * *

Three kilometers along the river bed, they found Tessa McCaughnell. Or what was left of her.

Near as Sinclair could tell, something had burned part of her deployment parachute away. A glancing blow from the naval-grade lasers erected on the island? A mischance run-in with an aerospace fighter patrol? Didn’t matter. Without the ‘chute’s braking effects, Tessa’s Crusader had struck Tranquil not at the mild five kph which her jump jets could have softened into an easy landing, but at better than ten times that. Both legs were partially buried into the earth. The upper leg framework had been telescoped upward into the Crusader’s chest, spearing the fusion reactor and causing catastrophic failure. There wasn’t much left of the BattleMech. One arm, and the mangled head blown a good hundred meters away.

Why hadn’t she ejected? It was a question they would never be able to answer. All the two MechWarriors® could do was bury her remains. No words were spoken over the gravesite.

What was there to say?