Close quarters Page 34

  "I want trajectory data on those missiles fed to my onboard computer now," Lainie was ordering even as the missile stuck home. Gloved fingers jabbed buttons as messages danced in her heads-up display, indicating the figures were coming in. "Dai-kyu One and Two, I'm forwarding the data to you now. Get that launcher triangulated. I want counterbattery fire on the way before the chikusho moves." Dai-kyu—the asymmetrical Japanese longbow—was the callsign assigned to the Stalkers firing long-range missiles in support.

  A weird cry rose in Lainie's neurohelmet, a savage trill climaxing a coyote yips: "Trrrreeeee-ya-ha-ha!"

  Other gaijin voices answered. "Presente la Super Cadena, Radio KATN!"

  "Kick Ass—"

  "—and Take Names!"

  Lainie felt anger surge. The foreigners were gloating over the death of her friend, the warrior in the cockpit of the BattleMaster. She knew better than to let rage get the better of her. But the edge it imparted was good. Made it easier to do what needed to be done.

  She sent B and C Companies winging off right and left. She and A kept going straight up the middle.

  The BattleMaster had frozen in place, rocking gently back and forth, bleeding smoke from its cratered upper torso. Lainie had served with Chu-i van Doom for six years, through the hell of the Clan invasion. A Middle-Class girl, not an outlaw born, Misty van Doom had nonetheless chosen to accept the irezumi that marked her irreversibly as a yakuza and a Ghost. Lainie had held the other woman's hand during the painful tattooing process—and again, later, when van Doom gave birth to her son Theodore, now the first in the Ninth Ghost's new generation of orphans. But Colonel Shimazu refused to acknowledge the new hole that had been excavated in her soul.

  We're all dead, she thought savagely. What does it matter whether we lie down now, or later?

  35

  Masamori, Hachiman

  Galedon District, Draconis Combine

  2 November 3056

  "It has begun, Assistant Director."

  Standing by the window, gazing southeast toward the stronghold of the renegade Kurita, Ninyu Kerai Indrahar bit back a caustic response. Any fool would know the fighting had begun. Had he no ears to hear? But he said nothing, because technicians were not warriors, much less ninja. They saw no shame in chattering to cover their nerves.

  The penthouse of the grandly and presumptuously named Coordinator's Rest Hotel occupied the entire top level, sitting like a cap atop the hundred-story atrium. At the moment it was all one huge chamber; the partitions had yet to be installed. The hotel, which was nearing completion, was being built to the design of a Free Worlds League architectural team, under the supervision of FWL construction experts. Rumors—which the tall, redheaded man happened to know were true—held that most of the money came from a consortium of mainly Lyran investors in the Federated Commonwealth.

  To allow one's enemies to build up the Combine's economic base with their investments—that was one aspect of Theodore Kurita's far-reaching reforms for which Ninyu could understand his adoptive father's enthusiasm.

  He was having a bit more trouble dealing with the directive implicit in his father's last hyperpulse message, which was keeping him cooped up in this aerie instead of where his warrior's blood told him he belonged—down on the ground floor waiting with the fifty-man assassination team for the Ninth Ghost Regiment to break into their target's stronghold.

  The message had come in the form of a haiku:

  The wise leader knows

  That even great courage must

  Kneel before giri.

  The meaning was clear enough: Ninyu's place was overseeing the battle from a suitable perspective, not leading the troops with sword in hand. He might have pointed out that both he and the Smiling One had personally accompanied the DEST team they'd chosen to assassinate the late Coordinator, Takashi, an attempt that had culminated in the Coordinator's own seppuku. But that was different. Takashi wasn't just a Kurita, he had been the Kurita, ruler of the Combine, not to mention a lifelong friend of Subhash Indrahar. He had also been, despite his age, a formidable foe, formidable enough that he had managed to kill several of the elite ISF commandos come to assassinate him. Uncle Chandy was a fat fool, a Kurita in no more than name. The situations were not to be compared.

  But understanding it didn't mean Ninyu had to like it. He would follow the battle as closely as a sophisticated communications suite emplaced in the unfinished penthouse would permit, choosing the most propitious moment to commit his team, and then to monitor their progress. He had promised himself that, should things go wrong, he would personally intervene. Only to make sure that the job was properly done, of course.

  * * *

  Raven's Raven skittered down the sidestreet like a frightened quail. The buildings were squashed together here in the guts of the capital; lordly showcase thoroughfares like Dalton were big enough to permit a light lance to walk in vee-formation without crowding—as the Ghost's point unit had been doing—but a lot of the lesser streets were little bigger than alleys. The housing of her two right-arm Ceres lasers scraped along the bricks of a building as she went, dragging a tail of sparks behind her. She was a true Caballera, born to pilot a 'Mech.

  It was in marksmanship that the Caballeros tended to fall down, though Raven hadn't fared too badly. She'd made sure to tag the big B-Master with at least one of her Narcs; the Bronco light 'Mechs crouched in concealment farther down Dalton had then called a direct hit on the big 'Mech, proving her right.

  The downside was that she'd popped out practically in the faces of the leadoff Ghost light lance. Before she could get clear of the buildings, a Locust came skidding into the three-sixty strip's view behind her. Its jock wasn't as sure at the controls as Raven; the little scout 'Mech banged off a building-corner already cratered by laser and PPC fire. But it righted itself instantly and came jolting after her in an angry-bird run, its lasers stabbing for Raven's tail.

  The Caballera felt the heat spike upward in her heavily air-conditioned cockpit as the Locust's medium Martell sublimated armor off the rear of her machine. Rear armor wasn't the Rave's strong suit. Can't take much of this!

  Seeing a Jenner poke its blunt nose into the alley behind the first Ghost 'Mech, Raven caught a dumpster with her 'Mech's right foot, spun it into the air. In the ensuing snowstorm of whirling paper she bounded out the end of the alley, ducked away from the charging Locust's line of fire, then instantly pirouetted back to face the alley-mouth. Steel screamed on pavement as her feet skidded, but she kept the 'Mech upright.

  Almost at once a tone shrilled in her neurohelmet, and a red warning flashed in her HUD. Two hundred meters west a pair of pointy-headed Whitworths were dropping into the street, having found a four-story building to jump over. They were both lighting her up with their own Artemis-IV fire-control systems. It hardly seemed fair, somehow; that was her job.

  Since she was facing that way, Raven pumped a shot from her two Ceres at the descending 'Mechs, but she had already clutched-in her gyros for a quick spin clockwise. "Adelante," she yelped, "this is Raven. I'm on Mitsui, and I'm in a world of hurt, here."

  Across Mitsui Avenue stood a gym with a mostly glass entrance and a bottom floor that was extra tall to accommodate a basketball court. Not omitting a mental thank you to Cassie and Scout Platoon for doing the thorough survey of the area that Gordo Baird had considered so unnecessary, she bashed straight into the foyer in a shower of glass.

  Not a particularly tall BattleMech, a Raven could run down the central corridor without barely stooping at all. But Raven inside her cockpit couldn't help reflexively doing so. Behind her the entryway erupted in orange holocaust as the double volley of Longbow long-range missiles from the Whitworths spent themselves in futile fury.

  "We got you covered, giierita," came the voice of Macho Alvarado. Raven grinned at the consternation the Drac medium and light 'Mech pilots must be feeling as Macho's BattleMaster swung into view down Mitsui and lumbered up the block toward them.

  From the g
arbage she was getting on her Beagle Active Probe, Raven knew there was no way the culebras could keep track of her now that she was out of their sight. With all the structural steel and just general mass around, Beagles weren't much use in an urban center. She could keep cruising if she wanted. Her Ceres medium lasers were more than sufficient to take out the gym's back wall and let her into the next street right now.

  Instead she turned around and hunkered down in the gloom to wait in case one of the Drac lights wanted to emulate her and duck into the gym to escape the BattleMaster. Raven had no problem with the hop and pop, shoot and scoot type of warfare mandated for First Battalion's forward-defense mission today. It was the 'lleros' preferred style, and the right way to fight a little light-armored Raven anyway. But if somebody wanted to give her a free crack at them...

  * * *

  The 65-ton mass of Diana Vásquez's Catapult rocked slightly forward as the LRM salvo from across the Yamato slammed into the Compound. Had she been on foot, the blast waves would have torn her to pieces. Her 'Mech's tons of armor shed shock and debris like light autumn rain.

  The culebra commander had been on the ball, triangulating her so quickly. But the Seventeenth's arty 'Mechs practiced hit-and-run warfare too. The Huntress was rumbling into motion the instant her two Arrows cleared the racks.

  And now for their trouble, the Ghost support 'Mechs across the estuary in the ukiyo were taking counter-counterbattery fire from two of the Caballero Stalkers. In contrast to the Drac BattleMechs, which were positioned shoulder-to-shoulder in classic artillery-battery style, none of the Seventeenth's 'Mechs was in sight of any other.

  The way they saw it, it didn't matter where the heavy mail went out from. Just where it got delivered.

  The fire-mission-request indicator lit on her HUD. Somebody had tagged another attacking 'Mech with a Narc. It was Lieutenant JG Silas Garcia's turn to take the call in his Catapult. Almost at once the mission-request flashed green, indicating his Arrows were on the way.

  Diana hoped no more calls would come in for a few seconds. It took time to shift the big artillery 'Mechs from one firing-position to the next. When things got hot and heavy they would be pinned in place, forced to fire continuously from the same location to support their distant friends. She said a brief prayer to the Virgin of Guadalupe to guide the Stalkers' aim in their duel with the Ghost artillery.

  Then she said another, to keep her son and all the Regiment's other children safe, huddled in the vast bomb-shelters deep beneath the Compound along with HTE personnel who hadn't managed to get off-site. Keeping them safe wasn't really up to the Virgin; it was up to the BattleMechs of the Seventeenth and their pilots. But Diana prayed anyway, because the Brown Virgin was patroness of the Caballeros, and it didn't hurt to let Her know they were thinking of Her.

  She reached her site before the next call came in, and promised to light a candle of thanksgiving.

  * * *

  Ahead of Lainie and A Company, Dalton Way stretched wide, open, and inviting right up to the gates of HTE Compound. Though she couldn't as yet even spot defenders on the wall, she knew they were there, crouched low on the 'Mech firing step or standing on the ground waiting to pop up and shoot.

  Lainie took for granted that she was walking into an ambush. But that didn't bother her. If you took the offensive in a city fight, you got ambushed. Her concern was to be ready when it came.

  She had called her light lance back to walk point down Dalton well in advance of A. Let B Company deal with the pesky Narc-firing Raven—not to mention the Battlemaster that had come to its aid. As it was, the lance was reduced to three. The BattleMaster's PPC had burned off the lead Locust's right leg before more of B Company joined the two Whitworths and forced the merc assault 'Mech to withdraw in swarms of LRMs.

  The Heruzu Enjeruzu were seriously deficient in artillery support, a problem endemic to all Ghost Regiments. That was because the DCFS High Command wanted them in there slugging it out with the foes of the Dragon, not standing off and bombarding them from safety. She had all of three Stalkers, the two across the river in Sodegarami and one trailing well behind A Company. The gaijin—better to start thinking of them that way—had four Stalkers and two 'Mechs mounting the lethal Arrow-IV missile launchers to her none.

  As she entered an intersection, the three-sixty strip above Lainie's viewscreen showed sudden movement to her left. Something big—

  "Ambush!" she shouted. "Left side!"

  She turned her Mauler's torso. A Quickdraw and a Griffin had appeared in the side street. Even as she turned, the yellow hellglare of the Griff's PPC lit up the buildings to either side. The big Mauler rocked from the recoil effect of New Samarkand's finest ferro-fibrous armor jetting away from the beam in the form of plasma. The massive radiation discharge made her 'Mech's electronics scream in her ears like wounded children.

  Hanging behind her 'Mech's left shoulder was the ever-faithful Moon in his Rifleman, a pad bandage wrapped around his skull under the neurohelmet. He flayed the medium 'Mech with the heavy laser and autocannon duos mounted on either arm.

  The ambushers were already pulling back. Autocannon hits sparking against the Griff's front armor, the 'Mech sidestepped into the alley mouth to its left. The heavier 'Mech tried to dodge right, but it was slower-footed. Moon's Rifleman shifted fire. The short-range impacts of its two Imperator-A autocannon rocked the Quickdraw back against the corner of a department store that backed on the alley.

  Already traversing her 'Mech's torso counterclockwise, Lainie pivoted Revenge on its feet to bring her weapons to bear. The range was too short for the Shigunga LRM racks flanking the BattleMech's head to be effective. But the big Victory lasers that formed the 'Mech's either forearm were good to go.

  The Quickdraw had the same trouble for which the Rifleman was so notorious: it was underarmored for a savage slugging contest at close quarters, and its chest armor was even thinner. Moon was lighting him up there, working the body like the good boxer he was, driving the heat up in his own cockpit by blasting with his torso-mounted medium Magna lasers as well as their larger cousins in his arms. A minivan-sized splotch of the Quickdraw's inadequate front armor glowed cherry-red.

  Lainie let the little smoothbore Imperator autocannon quad in her belly add to the punishment the off-balance BattleMech was taking to the torso. But her big arm lasers thrust red lances straight into its viewscreens. The gaijin heavy was blasting back for all it was worth with its own lasers, and the SRM pack on its chest managed to uncork its single salvo before Moon slagged it. But it was out-gunned, out-armored, and generally out of luck.

  The Quickdraw gathered itself, tried to jump. Too late. Lainie's big lasers burned through its faceplate. It threw up its arms in grotesque mimicry of a human as filters failed and the hellglare of the twin lasers blinded the pilot an instant before they incinerated him and blew the Quickdraw's head apart in a shower of glittering transpex and metal fragments that gouged bright scars on the two Ghost 'Mechs' frontal armor.

  "One for us, Tai-sa" said Moon. Matter-of-fact as always, he might have been discussing the light snow now beginning to dust the streets.

  "Yeah," Lainie said, feeling the hot flush in her cheeks a kill always gave her. Hold onto that feeling, she told herself, and don't let yourself think who you're killing.

  "B Company," she demanded, "what's going on? Why aren't you watching our left flank?"

  "No excuse, Tai-sa," Tai-i Iyehara, B's CO, responded. "But we just got hit hard from the north. It appears to be a company-sized attack."

  Almost immediately other reports crackled in her neurohelmet. On her right, C Company had run up against fierce resistance to its front. Lainie felt a hard, dry smile stretch her lips. Felt herself move out of herself, into the larger role of battle commander.

  At last, she thought, the game becomes interesting.

  * * *

  Chu-i Sammy Ozawa had not seen the Caballeros' wargame by the Yamato, and hadn't really believed the reports of those w
ho had.

  He had been working his 35-ton Panther east down an alley, guarding the north flank of B Company, as that company guarded A's. The gaijin thrust from the north had swept past him without even taking note of him.

  The Panther was slow for a light 'Mech, even at the weight class' upper end. It compensated with an Artemis-IV augmented SRM battery in its chest and a seriously evil Lord's Light PPC in its right arm. When Sammy saw the gigantic BattleMaster cruise obliviously past the end of the alley, a plan had instantly formed in his mind.

  Like most light 'Mech pilots, he dreamed constantly of humbling an assault 'Mech. Assault jocks thought they were the Dragon's gift to the Inner Sphere, kings and queens of the battlefield. His extended-range PPC was actually at a disadvantage close-up—it took a hundred meters or so for the beam to focus—but he was sure it and his rockets would be enough to fry a knee actuator and take the Atlas out of the fight in one quick stroke. And then the decent jump capability of his Lexington Lifters could bounce him out of harm's way before the monster's comrades could retaliate.

  The Atlas was scarcely fifty meters from him when he slipped out of the alley and began blazing up its right knee from behind. Quick as a Locust, the BattleMaster wheeled and lunged for him.

  Impossible! Sammy thought. For a moment he stood and fought, volleying SRMs into the center of the monster's chest and bringing up his PPC, firing as it rose. He scarcely pitted the BattleMaster's frontal armor.

  Belatedly it dawned on him to jump. As he rose up, the behemoth grabbed him by the foot. Against the full power of his jump jets, it reeled the Panther back down. Sweat streaming down his face, overheat warnings shrilling in his ears, Sammy tried to fire his PPC into its hideous, skull-like face. Instead, the emergency override shut him down.

  Too stunned to punch out, the last thing Sammy Ozawa saw was the BattleMaster's fist filling his viewscreen like a knuckled moon.