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Raid, The
Another raid by another author.
by Jeffrey Smith |
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Mark Rimer wiped the rain off his sunglasses for the hundredth time. A few meters ahead of him Susan fidgeted, the water streaming off the metallic sheen of her parka. "You know you're insane, don't you?"
Rimer grinned. "Of course! I never would have left Terra if I had two brain cells to rub together!"
She snorted, turning to guide him. "The cave is about fifty more meters this way. I'll never understand why you're risking our lives to see a hole in the ground."
Pushing some inquisitive vegetation away with his walking stick, he followed the native Schitziod. "Spelunking has always been a hobby of mine, and when I joined the Explorer Corps I vowed to visit a cave on every planet I visited. And we have plenty of storm left before the sun comes out."
"In theory"
"In theory," Rimer acknowledged."But we should be able to make it back once the storm starts to break up. If not, we can always shelter in the cave."
"Oh great. I finally meet someone who'se been among the stars, and he wants to hide in a cave for ten hours. Super."
"You didn't have to come..."
"And let you get your ass killed? I think not. Visitors are few and far between, if you die on my watch who knows how long it'll be till someone else comes?"
"I still don't understand why the Council didn't..."
"Mark, this is our home, okay? Our ancestors fought and bled to make this place livable, and we aren't going to leave just because the weather is inconvenient."
*Inconvenient* he snorted. *It rains like a monsoon half the day, and the sun will kill you during the rest. No wonder they call this place Schitzo.*
Perhaps in reaction to his mental grumbling, another lightning bolt slammed into the mountainside over his head. Rimer flinched slightly, fingering the lead encased jacket he wore. He remembered vividly the nonchalant way he had heard this explained. *Sure, there's a greater chance of attracting a little juice, but what light does come through the clouds will start to fry you the second you step out the door, and if the sun comes out when you don't have it on, you won't last an hour.*
Just as the entrance of the cavern became visible another electric charge leapt to the rock near the pair. For a moment the noise from the downpour covered the sound of sliding rocks - just long enough to make attempts to avoid the avalanche futile. Preoccupied with dodging the larger projectiles, Rimer lost track of Susan until a shriek of pain spun his head around. Taking a few more hits, he threw himself over her prone form until the worst was over.
Wincing from his own injuries, Rimer looked at the unconscious form of his guide. *Compound fracture on the leg, dislocated shoulder, a shattered rib or two, and I don't like the look of that head wound.* Pulling out his radio and medpack at the same time, he switched on the former while readying a splint with the latter. "*Far Seer*, this is Rimer. Do you copy?"
A static filled voice replied. "Heya Mark, what's up."
"I need help guys. There was a rockslide - I'm pretty banged up, but Susan is even worse. I don't think I can get her back down the mountain. The cave we were heading for is just a few meters away - I can get her inside until someone gets here."
The Com tech's voice lost it's bantering tone. "Roger Mark, I'm alerting the Captain now. We can have one of the VTOLs ready within an hour or so. Can you stabilize her enough for transport?"
"Affirmative. Setting the beacon now. Thanks James, out."
Rimer carefully dragged his guide towards the welcome opening. By the time he had her positioned inside, she had regained consciousness. Woozily, she looked at her companion. "What happened."
"Rockslide. The *Far Seer* is sending transport now. Once we get you to medbay you'll be good as new"
"Grea...*NO*!" Any trace of confusion vanished as she grabbed his arm. "I *can't* be taken to your med bay."
"We *have* to get you there - not to be rude, but your own doctors aren't what I consider the elite of the profession. I can't let you die, not after getting you into this."
"I..." Susan closed her eyes tightly, only partly from the pain. Thirty seconds later, she sighed. "There's no way out."
Opening her eyes once again, she spoke gently to her companion. "Mark, please bring me my pack." After the scientist eagerly complied, Susan pulled two objects out. She raised the radio to her lips while pointing the pistol at the stunned Explorer Corps member. "Watch, this is Susan. Code November Echo."
A man Mark had never heard before replied. "Confirm Susan: you have declared an Incident?"
"Confirmed."
"Your status?"
"Injured, unable to move, with one target."
"Can the Incident be minimized?"
"Negative, the target has notified his companions of our status."
"Can you handle the target?"
"Yes."
There was a pause. "We won't be able to send someone out for awhile."
"Acknowledged. The target has left a beacon outside the cave we are sheltering in. The followup team can recover us after the rest have been dealt with."
"Understood."
Sighing, the woman switched the radio off while steadying her aim. "You're correct Mark, without medical help I will probably die. Unfortunately, I won't be the only one."
She pulled the trigger.
***
"GO GO GO!"
Dan Blakemore's stomach rose into his throat as his *Commando* stepped out of the hovering Dropship and surrendered to gravity. Feathering the thrust from the jump pack, Blakemore landed the BattleMech next to his lance leaders. "No targets"
"Nothing here either."
"It's clear."
"That's what the Commies probably thought - keep your eyes open and spread out."
The *Union* slowly settled to the plain while a ring of six BattleMechs faced outward, protecting the ship while it was unable to effectively defend itself. Even before the engines were completely damped another hatch opened. An old *Patton* tank and a pair of SRM carriers formed up with the six 'Mechs.
A voice came over the airwaves. "Tell me again why we're doing this?"
"Is that a trick question, or just an idiotic one?"
"Trick question, actually - I wanted to see if anyone was getting cold feet now that we're here."
"You aren't...*questioning* my leadership, are you Damian?"
As these words were transmitted the turret on the tank locked itself on the back of Robinson's *Jenner.*
"Nossir!"
"Gooood. Now, let's get going - I want to get those 'Mechs and get out of here."
"What do we do if we find any Commie prisoners?" another voice inquired.
"Shoot them, of course. Just like they'd do to us."
"That's what I figured."
Nine war machines advanced upon the waiting village.
*****
Chief Councillor Stephan Carroll stroked his chin as he watched the invader pull himself from the commander's cupola of the idling *Rommel*. The vehicle was not painted with the insignia of Comstar or any of the major star nations. Instead had a stylized map of the Inner Sphere spiraling down a toilet bowl, House symbols distorting at they were sucked through the pipes. *They've never been here before.*
On the other hand, the newcomer knew enough to wear protection against the sun. That, coupled with the nature of their descent, raised several ominous possibilities.
"Greetings, strangers. Welcome to Lost Cause, capital of our world. What brings you to Schitzo?"
Carroll found himself looking down the barrels of a pair of needlers. "A *Beowulf* and two *Sentinels*. We want them."
Carroll blinked. "Excuse me?"
"The ComStar Battlemechs. You know, the ones you took from the Commie survey team."
Carroll blinked again, then sighed. "I can see this is going to take awhile. Let's continue this conversation inside - unless the though of skin cancer appeals to you?"
"Lead on. Anton, keep the channel open. If he tries anything, raze the town."
"Yes sir."
***
Brendon Mason scratched his nose as the native leader poured them refreshments. "Nothing personal Councillor Carroll, but I'm afraid I must decline."
Carroll stiffened. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, I don't believe we've met."
"We haven't, but I believe in doing my research." Mason pulled a datapad out of his pocket and began reading from it.
"Log entry four five eight niner. While examining system MGC 56345, we've discovered a colony of unknown origin. They apparently have lost much of their history during a decivilizing period, which is unsurprising considering the planet they inhabit. The second out from the Type F star of this system, the world some unknown cynic named Schitzo suffers the most bizarre weather I have ever seen on an inhabited planet. Constant heavy rainstorms are interspaced with clear patches during which nearly lethal levels of UV radiation pour from the sky. My tech people are tearing their hair out trying to figure out how the ozone is following the cloud formations and protecting the surface during the rainy times."
"The population of the system is barely 100,000, with 90% of them concentrated in the capital city. There is only light industry, despite abundant resources and a tech base similar to the Inner Sphere in the early 3000's. This appears to be a conscious decision, with the population mostly engaged in agriculture. The vast majority of the world's food is grown in specially constructed greenhouses that protect the crops during the sunny periods but are hardy enough to stand up to constant rain. Offers to relocate them to a more habitable world were politely declined."
Mason broke off his reading as he began to page through the device. Even though he had his eyes locked on the screen, he spoke to the local leader. "I've got a complete record of everything the Commies have on your little garden spot here including... ah, here it is!"
"No one from the colony detected anything amiss until our recovery team landed and inquired into the fate of the *Far Seer*. An exhaustive survey located the crash site approximately 250 kilometers from the capital, which explains why the Schitzoids never noticed anything. With the constant electrical interference rendering radar ineffective for most of the day, they chose not to build any, and whatever maydays were sent were unheard by the locals."
"We are assuming the Dropship appears to have lost at least one engine enroute to the city. It appears that the remaining power was not enough to keep the craft aloft in the storms Schitzo constantly suffers. The state of the wreckage is consistent with a high speed impact - pieces are spread out on a long trail over a kilometer long. It appears the native scavengers made short work of the remains of out comrades, but we are returning with what we were able to recover. Attempts to locate the data core were successful but unnecessary - the crash did a far better job of rendering it useless than we could have done. We were unable to locate the team's 'Mechs, but it is unlikely anyone will be able to salvage anything useful from them with the state the rest of the wreck is in."
Mason clicked the pad off. "I don't buy it."
"I don't understand." Carroll answered, barely able to contain his tension.
"I figure you people knew damn well and good about the crash, but chose to play dumb to get your hands on their 'Mechs. You either took advantage of the situation or sabotaged their ship in the first place. The 'Mechs may have been wrecked, but I'm sure they were salvageable." The pirate stretched, cracking his knuckles. "Hand them over, and we won't be forced to hurt anyone."
"You're wrong. We knew nothing of the tragedy until ComStar came to look for their fallen."
"Maybe - but then again, maybe not. Anton?"
The radio came alive. "Still here."
"Send for the others."
"Aye." The voice became clearer as the tanker pumped power to his radio. "Michael, we need the rest of the unit."
"Understood, taking off now."
The sound of starcraft-level fusion engines came through the thick walls. Carroll flinched and looked at the ceiling.
"My ship is going to get the rest of our unit. Then we're going to do a little looking around. You have my word we will not take anything but the 'Mechs we're here for... but BattleMechs have a tendency to damage the terrain when they're used to search. Last chance to tell us where they are without having to fix up the roads when we leave."
Tense, Carroll replied. "There's nothing to find - go away and leave us alone."
"Can't do that Councillor. I have big plans that those 'Mechs will bring that much closer to fruition. If we can't do this the easy way I'm afraid we'll have to do it the hard way."
***
"Wow, this thing only crashed two months ago? The plants have already almost covered it!"
"The vegetation grows fast here." Robert Trask replied calmly.
"What are you looking for?"
"None of your damn business, native." Matt Wagner snapped. He began to use the lasers mounted in his *Clint*'s chest to burn away the creepers. "You just stay there like a good little guide and tell me what I ask."
***
"Yo, dirtboy, what's this big bunker doing out here?"
Ian Campbell gritted his teeth and looked at the map. "That's the old fusion plant. We had to seal it about 100 years ago."
"What for?"
"If I recall correctly, it took a lightning hit that screwed up the containment field. The magnetic bottle held until it could be shut down, but not the rad shielding."
"Oh." Chris Smith said. "That would have been... bad. Okay, what's this thing there?"
"You mean the greenhouse?" Campbell asked, fighting to keep the sarcasm out of his voice
***
"Anton, status check."
"We're sitting on our asses, sir." Anton Broenen said.
There was a pause. "Care to tell me why?"
"It ain't raining, and the damn natives are holed up in a tent until it starts up again."
"Can you proceed alone?"
"Sure could, but you told us not to let the Nutzos out of our sight, plus we couldn't do jack when we got there in any case."
Broenen looked nervously at the roof of his SRM carrier. "I'm sure the hell not getting out there and frying."
The radio sighed. "Tell me when you get there."
"Roger."
***
"This is a waste of time." Mason muttered.
"There wasn't anything in the crash site - they *have* to have hidden them somewhere!"
"Well, they did a damn good job of hiding them."
"We could always... persuade a native to tell us..."
Mason glared as his subordinate, who wilted under the steely gaze. "We don't *ever* do things like that, understand? Our backers would go apeshit if we started torturing people."
The underofficer closed his mouth. He wasn't privy to Mason's dealings with the...others, and he didn't know what the long term goal of their operations were, but he knew that Mason didn't want to make them mad. *He probably shouldn't have cruised out here without consulting them then.* he thought resentfully.
Mason scratched the back of his neck and sighed. "Tell the boys to finish their sweeps and lets get the hell off this shithole."
***
"You're insane."
"And you're a coward." Geoff White sneered.
"Big words from a man that drives an *Oscout*. When's the last time you fired your weapon?" The polite tone in Brad Carletti's voice did little to disguise the dagger within. "Oh, wait, there was that one time with the unarmored infantry...."
"Screw you Carletti."
"Not even remotely interested White, but thanks for the invite. Anyway, you aren't going into the containment dome."
"To hell with the natives - they can seal it back up before too much radioactivity is released.."
The final search arc had taken them within visual range of the crumbling concrete tomb that covered the old fusion plant, and White has the bright idea to dig through it for salvage.
Carletti rolled his eyes and replied. "That's not why nimrod - all the dangerous stuff has already decayed. We could run around in our swimsuits and be perfectly safe as long as we don't decide to set up camp here. We aren't doing it because there's nothing we could possibly salvage from this place that'd be worth pissing off the locals."
"Who gives a rat about them? We're leaving anyway. And there might be useful components left...."
"Bullshit - you just like causing damage for the sheer hell of it - which is why you're in that pathetic excuse for a 'Mech. That, and you run away whenever the odds are bad."
"I do not!" White angrily denied, even though it was true.
*What do I care what happened to the others - so what if they followed me? I'm not going to die just because they weren't good enough to evade the enemy...* "In any case, you're wrong - there might be valuable components in there."
"You going to explain it to Mason?"
"If I have to..." *...i'll blame it on you.* Before Carletti could make any further objections White targeted the fading radiation symbol on the facility's door and opened fire with his laser. Concrete chunks flew off, but the beam was unable to penetrate to the other side. "Wait a second, that's not containment shielding...."
***
In a shadowy command post not far from the two pirates, the air was filled with profanity. "Get the drone moving now," the duty officer ordered a technician.
***
Twenty five kilometers from Lost Cause, servos whined as a hidden door retracted into the ground. What had started life as a ground-to-orbit shuttle tore out of it's hanger at two Gs. Once it's velocity was sufficient it pointed it's nose straight up and accelerated to maximum. Once it cleared atmosphere it began to transmit it's signal toward a nondescript crater on the planet's small moon.
***
"Drone is clear."
"Good - signal the ready team to engage."
***
"...it looks more like armor." White just had enough time to consider this might not be a good thing when the 'sealed' doors neatly opened. Portions of the roof retracted as well, leaving the two pirates to stare at that ramp that led down into the gloom. "Ummm...."
Thudding noises came closer - some slow and deeper, others occurring much more often and rapidly closing. The airwaves - which had hissed with atmospheric static - suddenly cut out into the ominous silence of jamming. *Time to go* White though, turning his 'Mech around and accelerating at it's top speed toward the Dropship.
Carletti backed his *Enforcer* away from the opening, firing an autocannon volley down the tunnel in an attempt to keep whatever was approaching at bay. The *Braaat!* of his weapon was answered by two heavier weapons built into the entryway, effectively obliterating the armor over two thirds of the 'Mech's torso. The medium 'Mech was pushed over by the force of the twin autocannons, landing flat on it's back.
Dazed, the pirate was unable to react when two 'Mechs sped past his downed machine. Blinking, he began to force his 'Mech to it's feet to engage the attackers who were chasing his fleeing comrade. *Gotta give that coward White time enough to raise the alarm.* Carletti was able to raise his 'Mech just in time to see the fearsome visage of an *Atlas* appear from the tunnel mouth, an opening that was now framed with rising turrets. "Uh oh."
***
"The ready lance has the first two targets down." the sensor operator reported to the duty officer.
He grunted, having seen the *Oscout*'s fusion engine consume the invader after almost 50 LRMS and a pair of PPCs had ripped into it's back."Get the rest of the unit in gear ASAP. How many are available?"
"All but three. Bob and Gwen are shepherding two of the targets, and Kurt is out with a broken leg. Everyone else is enroute to the Bunker now."
"It'll have to do," he said, activating his comm station. His voice went by landline to the repeater in the capital. "Attention to all units: Zeta Zeta Zeta!"
***
Damian Robinson and Dan Blakemore were finishing the examination of a pair of greenhouses. They never noticed the turrets silently rising behind them.
***
Anton Broenen was whistling to himself as he cruised down the highway from Outstation Five to the AeroSpace port. He thought nothing of the four trucks pacing him a kilometer back until the LRM carriers ripple fired their missile loads at his SRM carrier.
***
Chris Smith was cursing his console as his *Javelin*'s sensors went down once again. "Dammit, if I didn't know better I'd swear I was being jammed." He had gotten separated from his partner when taking a 'shortcut' through the woods, and had been fighting his way toward the city ever since.
He saw another 'Mech a few hundred meters ahead and increased his speed to rendezvous with his comrade. *It's a *Hunchback*, which means it's gotta be Peter.* Although he was unable to transmit through the static the other 'Mech noticed his presence and turned towards him as well.
Smith slowed as inconsistencies began to stand out. This 'Mech has a forest camo pattern, but Peter Smith's *Hunchback* had worn an urban one when they started out this morning. *Wait a minute, who the hell is...*
The first autocannon volley severed his leg. The attacker shrugged off the few SRMs he managed to connect with and aimed carefully at his cockpit. He had just enough time to stare openmouthed at the Star League insignia on the 'Mech's leg before the *Hunchback* fired again.
***
Matt Wagner always took care not to brush the buildings when walking the streets of Last Chance. This gave the command team plenty of time to retract the subterranean metal plates over the 'Mech trap at the intersection of Eighth and Newport and set the depth of the pit. Once his 'Mech had fallen through the thin layer of asphalt, they slammed shut on the *Clint*'s head.
***
"Where are my people?!"
Carroll smiled at the pirate leader. "Why, they must have had...accidents."
Mason stared at the native leader for a full five seconds, then lunged for the console on the wall. "Michael, get us out of here right now."
"But what about the others?" the Dropship's captain objected.
"They're dead - get us out of here NOW!"
"You can't escape you know, but if you surrender we'll spare your lives." The calm manner of the sentence set Mason off.
"Is that why you came here?! To scare me into giving up? We'll, once we get out of this system we'll drop ComStar a line and see if they like the fact that you killed their people!"
Carroll shook his head, his smile slipping slightly. "They'll never find out about that regrettable incident. And most of them are still alive, as you'll find out if you choose to live."
The Dropship shuddered as it engaged it's fusion drives. Mason shook his own head. "I don't think so dirtboy. You may have bushwhacked my people but you haven't got a prayer of stopping a *Union* class DropShip.
"Really?" Carroll smiled once again. "Why don't we go to your bridge and find that out for ourselves?"
***
"Are we outside of the atmosphere yet?"
Michael Williams turned to the pirate leader. "Yes, but the *Looter* isn't responding to my messages.
"That's ridiculous - comm lag is less than ten seconds and we don't have the atmospheric interference to worry about any longer."
"I know that, but they sure as hell aren't respon... wait, I have seven contacts closing on the same bearing as the ship. Two have our transponder.... they're shuttles."
"*Shuttles*?"
"Yessir."
"Hail them."
A pain filled voice answered his call. "Brendon, the ship is gone. They destroyed it."
Brendon Mason's jaw dropped. *No one* blew up jumpships if they could capture them, and the five aerospace fighters escorting the shuttles could have easily forced the surrender of the *Tramp*-class vessel.
"You've nowhere to go but back to the planet Mr. Mason. If you would have left us alone we would've returned the favor, but you left us no choice but to silence you."
Mason turned to stare at the native as the shuttles maneuvered to dock with the DropShip. "You weren't a lost colony."
"On the contrary, our ancestors came out here specifically to set up a new world away from everyone else. However, they were separated from the rest of our people and forced to make this planet their home when the Jumpship they were traveling on malfunctioned." He gestured out the window at the fighter pacing the Dropship. "We don't know what happened to the rest of the convoy, but we're perfectly happy where we are. Farming may be a tad monotonous, but we can't afford to attract a lot of attention."
All the blood drained from Mason's face as he recognized the insignia on the fighter's wing. Not many would have, but his stint in the Explorer Corps before the Schism had served him well. "It can't be... you're all dead."
"No we aren't - but we aren't going to let our enemies find that out. You won't be killed Mason - but you're never leaving this system."
Mason stared at Carroll, swaying back and forth on his feet as he contemplated a lifetime on the hellhole below. |
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