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Ashes
Continuing the story from "Once More into the Breach"
by Ethan Jennings |
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Tharkad City, Tharkad
Donegal Province
Lyran Alliance
August 14, 3219
Archon Donavan Steiner sat alone in the command briefing room buried deep in the bowels of the Nonagon, the nine-sided command center for the Lyran Alliance Armed Forces. The Nonagon had been built after the Blakist Jihad, standing below the shadow of the rebuilt Triad. It was the site where Victor Steiner-Davion, leading the Tenth Lyran Guards, had made his final stand, where he had killed the leader of the Blakist attack on Tharkad by self-destructing the fusion reactor of his Daishi, Prometheus. A massive statue of Victor now stood in the center of the Nonagon, raising three stories into the sky, the Savior of Tharkad’s hand outstretched toward the stars.
Now, a foreign invader was once again advancing on the Triad, and Donavan Steiner and his soldiers had had little success in stopping them. So many of the elite units usually stationed on Tharkad were away, fighting in the Star League’s invasion of the Free Worlds Republic—an invasion that was supposed to keep the Free Worlders occupied with their own affairs. What Donavan did have was the Fifth Donegal Guard and Kommandant General Ferguson, along with the First Regiment of the mercenary Black Knight Legion, under Colonel Nasinec.
"Archon," said Marcus Steiner, the General of the Armies, "Ferguson is reporting in. The Free Worlders have brought another battalion of ’Mechs into play, and at least another regiment of armor. They can’t hold New Dublin forever, sir."
"I know," Donavan spat viciously. "Dammit, I know. But he doesn’t have to hold indefinitely. Colonel Eikman will be here in two days with the rest of the Black Knight Legion, and the 607th Com Guard Division is only another week behind them." He shook his head. "Dammit, Marc, I was just so confident. Of course the Free Worlders wouldn’t attack here, they were supposed to be busy with us attacking them. And surely our naval reserve would have been enough to fend off anything they had . . ."
"You had no way of knowing that they’d bring half the Free Worlds Navy along with them," Marcus said. "Ordering our ships to retreat was the best option available. Lord knows how long it would take us to replace ten WarShips."
Donavan shifted uncomfortably. "Tell Ferguson that I can appreciate his circumstances, but that he must not retreat. The Free Worlders want New Dublin badly, and that means we cannot afford to give it to them. If they take New Dublin, their next target will most certainly be Tharkad City." He grimaced, looking at the map of his capital that was pinned against the far wall. "And a battle for Tharkad City will make New Dublin’s civilian casualties look like a Solaris pregame event."
New Dublin, Tharkad
Donegal Province
Lyran Alliance
"Pike Two, watch your six, that Grand Titan is going for you—"
"Able Seven, I need some cover—"
"—Bravo One requesting artillery—"
"Jesus, I’m hit—"
"—Free Worlders—all over the place—"
Sergeant Wizinowski ran his RFL-8D Rifleman through the streets of New Dublin, the ’Mech’s legs pumping in the air as he pushed it to its maximum capacity. Ahead, lasers crisscrossed and explosions marked where ’Mechs had fallen as black smoke curled into the dark red sky.
Two large lasers burned past Wizinowski, going to either side of the Rifleman. The sergeant ground to a halt, dropping his crosshairs over the attacking Ostsol. His medium lasers were dead on target, and the stream of shells from his rotary autocannons knocked the wounded Free Worlder onto its back. The Ostsol did not get back up.
"Wiz, where are you?" Leutnant Davison demanded. A moment later, Wizinowski’s report was cut short as a Free Worlder Wolverine stepped into his field of sight.
"Hang on a bit, sir," he said, firing at the 55-ton ’Mech, blowing apart the building behind it but inflicting little damage to his actual target. The Wolverine’s particle projection cannon whipped artificial lightning across the Rifleman’s chest, knocking Wizinowski off-target. For a dangerous moment, his ’Mech tottered back on one foot, but he threw himself forward in his seat, and his neurohelmet transmitted the action to his ’Mech, which complied, righting itself and bringing its crosshairs down on the Wolverine.
The Wolverine was not content to wait. It vaulted into the air, riding twin jets of ion fire, soaring above him. Wizinowski considered going after it, but he remembered Davison’s frantic call.
"Leutnant, this is Wizinowski. What’s the situation?"
"I’m three blocks west of you . . . with Jackson. We need your guns, Sarge. Get here quick."
Wizinowski was already moving toward them, bowling through a building that was in his way. The twenty-story office building was no match for his 60-ton Rifleman, and Wiz soon found himself walking down Vera Avenue. In no time, he had reached Davison’s position, just in time to see Jackson’s Wasp go down under the fire of a Free Worlder Shadow Hawk. Wizinowski returned the favor, blasting the Shadow Hawk against a warehouse. The Free Worlder tried to escape, backpedaling through the warehouse, but it tripped in the rubble and went down hard.
"Jackson, you read?" Wizinowski heard Davison asked.
"Damn, ouch, yeah, I’m here, L-T. Christ, my ’Mech is dead, though, sir. Count me out."
"Put out a rescue beacon," Davison said. "Someone will be along to get you. Wiz, what’s your status?"
"I’ve got some light damage. Mostly just missing armor. And my AC ammo is down 46 percent."
"Okay, you’re fine." Davison’s Uziel looked beat up, but it was obviously still functional. The Leutnant motioned with one PPC, pointing down the street with the other. "You game?"
"Always, sir."
"You fine by yourself, Jackson?"
"Should be. I can always surrender if I have to."
"Good point." Davison started down 17th, leading Wizinowski down the artificial canyon. "All right, there’s a Grand Titan up there giving some of our light comrades a spot of trouble. Want to go ruin his day?"
"I’d like nothing better."
They found the Grand Titan standing by the burned out hulk of an Osiris, firing at a Locust that had taken shelter in a narrow alley. The Free Worlder obviously didn’t see the Lyrans coming, for Davison’s twin particle beams and a long burst from Wizinowski’s autocannons took the ’Mech completely off-guard. The Free Worlder fell to the street with a crash, landing flat on its back. However, it was far from finished, levering its arm up and hitting Wizinowski in the leg with a large laser. The bright beam of ruby energy fused the Rifleman’s ankle, and this time, Wizinowski did lose control. The next thing he knew, he was looking at pavement through his shattered windshield.
"Wiz, stay down, he’s ignoring you," Davison said. "If you’re still with it," he added to himself, just loud enough for the radio to pick up.
Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss, Wiz thought to himself, listening to the thudding of the Grand Titan’s footsteps as it moved to fight the Uziel. He heard the telltale crackle of the Leutnant’s PPCs going off, and then the Grand Titan’s autocannon firing a steady staccato. Explosions sounded, and something metal bounced off the top of the Rifleman, the impact resonating through its metal hull. Wizinowski swore to himself as he listened to something too heavy to be Davison’s Uziel tromp off—
The familiar trill of a laser stopped it, and Wizinowski wanted to scream. The Locust! Now’s my chance.
Wizinowski brought the Rifleman upright as fast as the massive ’Mech would permit, leveling his autocannons at the Grand Titan. Its pilot seemed shocked to see a ’Mech he knew was dead firing at him, for his response was delayed, allowing the Locust to smear molten armor across its chest with its chin-mounted medium laser, and Wizinowski depressed the firing tabs on either joystick.
The rotary autocannons made a funny whining sound as they spun, and he could feel the heat from the fire flashing at their muzzles through his open canopy. Depleted uranium slugs tracked up the Grand Titan’s leg, across its chest, back up as Wizinowski corrected—
The Free Worlder ejected just before the stream of metal blew the Grand Titan’s head across the street.
"Son of a bitch," Wizinowski groaned, finally feeling the pain emanating from his shoulder. He rubbed the offending joint where he had been slammed against his restraint harness. "Leutnant? Leutnant Davison, do you copy?" he asked.
There was no response.
"Dammit," Wizinowski muttered, "this just gets better and better."
In the distance, he could see a platoon of Bulldog tanks escorting an LRM carrier down the street. He checked their identification with his somewhat intact HUD—Black Knight Legionnaires.
"Hey, Legionnaires, how’d you like an escort from your big brother?" he asked.
"Hell, we’d love it, Rifleman. You’re welcome to join us."
"Sure thing. By the way, the name’s Wizinowski. Sergeant Wizinowski."
"Hot damn, Sarge, seems I outrank you. This is Lieutenant Crow. Got a lance, Wizinowski?"
He looked one more time at Davison’s smoldering Uziel, and then shook his head. "That’s a negative, sir. My lancemates are down."
"Well, welcome to Eagle Platoon of the Black Knight Legion, Wizinowski. Care to be a merc for a while?"
"That sounds fantastic, sir."
Captain-Colonel Andrew Blake—no relation to the famed founder of ComStar—checked his watch for the third time in five minutes.
"Sir, don’t worry. We’ll make the beach."
"Dammit," he snarled at his chief of staff, "we don’t have anymore Goddamn time to be sticking around here! The Lyrans aren’t stupid, and if they catch us while we’re still in these damn boats, we’ll be marching in from the bottom of the river."
Not that it was an impossibility. Certainly, the infantry and armored elements of his command would be finished, but the battalion of BattleMechs from the First Oriente Hussars would be able to walk ashore. It would take about two hours longer, but it would be possible.
However, without the infantry and armored support, his battalion of BattleMechs would have a hard time achieving their objective.
"Just because BattleMechs are the most advanced weapon man has ever created," he said to his chief of staff, "doesn’t mean that they are the only weapon, nor the best weapon for every job. We cannot capture the Lyran command center with ’Mechs alone, not if we want to guarantee capture or termination of General Ferguson."
His chief of staff merely nodded, which was enough of a concession for Andrew Blake. As second in command of the Oriente Hussars, he had been the natural choice to lead what Colonel-General Meyer thought was a bright and innovative effort to decapitate the Fifth Donegal Guard. While Blake agreed that neutralizing Ferguson would give the Free Worlders a definite advantage, loading a special task force into a fleet of transports fifty kilometers upstream on the New Dublin River, and then driving said force down to New Dublin, landing them in the Lyrans’ rear, was not, in Blake’s opinion, very smart. The fact that the unarmed transports had minimal aerofighter support did not help; if the Lyrans managed to spot them, they would almost certainly call in an air strike in sufficient force to overwhelm their defenders. And though most of his MechWarriors were already sealed into their battle machines, Andrew Blake was not, and he had no desire to drown for some idiot’s noble but nonetheless idiotic endeavor.
"Sir," said the lance corporal whose job it was to drive the flagship transport, a commerce barge commandeered from the Lyran merchant service, "we’re coming up on our target zone now. We’ll be ready to commence landing operations in ten minutes."
"Great," Blake said, "that’s just fantastic. I want every ’Mech warmed up and ready to go now." He donned his helmet. "I’ll be leaving now. You have my radio channel."
"Yes, sir," his chief of staff said.
"Good. Make sure you maintain radio contact with me—"
The gauss slug entered through one side of the bridge, punching out one wall without slowing appreciably and cutting Blake’s chief of staff in half before the captain-colonel could blink. It was followed by an immediate barrage by a flight of long- and short-range missiles fired by the six Fifth Donegal ’Mechs that Blake could now see standing on the shore. The transport was rocked as its sister simply exploded, and then another gauss round impacted, this one below the waterline.
Blake was running for the gaping hole in the wall when a laser beam turned his world to fire. |
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