Phelan raked the fingers of one hand through his hair, then covered his face with both hands. Focht is right. I have to decide if I owe more loyalty to my family and my nation or to the man who claims to own me. Stated like that, it's an easy choice, so why am I having trouble making my decision? Why does part of me "think the Inner Sphere deserves all this? Does DJ's death and my getting punted from the Nagelring still anger me so, or is it that this warrior society is so seductive because of the way it forces its people to be their best? Can I allow myself to be infatuated with a society that has, as its main focus, destruction?
The idea of betraying Ulric conjured up more unease and more questions. Could it be that the Khan has thrown us together so we can discover secrets about the Clans that could aid our own people? He's given me almost as much information as Justin Allard carried away from the Capellan Confederation in the Fourth War, and he certainly has to acknowledge ComStar as a possible conduit for information going to the enemy. The Wolves are trying to have as little effect as possible on the worlds they conquer. Could Ulric be secretly working against a war he does not believe is right? And if so, are the two of us his tools for getting that information to the Successor States?
Phelan's hands fell away from his face as he reluctandy made a decision. "All right. I'll help you."
The Precentor held out his hand, but Phelan shook his head. "No, not right now and not this device. Give me some time to figure out what sort of stuff we'll need so we don't get caught. Hell, security will be very tight during this Grand Council, and if we wait, we might get more information than before."
Focht nodded, then helped Phelan strap himself into his seat as a series of five warning tones sounded. The mercenary glanced over at the large round porthole in the hull of the ship and watched the stars burning there. At the moment of jump, the stars flattened out as though smashed with a hammer. Their light stretched into disks that overlapped and whitewashed the blackness of the void. At the same time, Phelan felt as though he and the ship were reduced from three dimensions to two and then one and then none. For a time too short to be noticed but too long to be ignored, he knew everything because he had become one with reality.
Then the universe unfolded again and gave him back his life and identity. Barely a second had passed since the jump began, but the Dire Wolf had traveled over eight parsecs. It materialized at the nadir jump point, and the star about which Radstadt orbited shone down on them.
Through the porthole, Phelan saw another JumpShip materialize and then another. The other Khans arrive promptly, he found himself thinking, as more and more JumpShips appeared. Wait! Those aren't Clan ships. God in heaven, what's happening?
Warning klaxons blared loudly. Blast shields irised down to cut off the mercenary's view of the space surrounding the Dire Wolf so Phelan slapped the release on his safety belt's buckle and turned to watch the bridge. Below, crew members scrambled and sprinted toward battle stations. Vlad took up a position at a scanner station on the bridge's starboard side. The holotank surrounded Ulric with countless images of ships large and small, and the wall-mounted viewscreens used during battle-bidding flashed to life with a tally of the forces available to the Dire Wolf. Below that, in a small box in the corner of the screen, a list of the forces being brought to bear against the Dire Wolf scrolled off the bottom, yet continued to flash as the sensors located more threats.
Phelan looked at the old man beside him. "We've been ambushed!"
"By the other Clans, or someone else?"
The mercenary shrugged. "I don't know that," Phelan growled, "but there's one thing I do know. This is where we find out if the Wolves are really as good as they seem."
40
Nadir Jump Point, Radstadt
Radstadt Province, Free Rasalhague Republic
31 October 3050
The horn mounted in the wall just above her berth on the Raven blasted out a call to battle stations just after the last wave of nausea from the jump passed over Tyra Miraborg. What in hell could it be? We've been leapfrogging our way between uninhabited stars for two months now. There's no way they could have tracked us or anticipated our arrival at Radstadt! If some idiot decided we're due a drill, I'll have his head!
She jerked to her feet, then leaned heavily against the cabin bulkhead as her head swam. She swallowed hard and fought to clear her head. The second the vertigo began to fade, she pulled open the door to her clothes locker and stepped into her scarlet flightsuit. While zipping up the front of the garment and fastening the velcro tighteners on her wrist, she slipped into flight boots that snapped shut around her calves. She grabbed her gloves with one hand, and stepping into the corridor, pulled the door to her cabin shut behind her.
All the other pilots in the Drakøns raced toward the aft launch bays on the Vengeance Class DropShip. Tyra, seeing a bottleneck near the lift to the upper two launch decks, headed up a service ladder. One level up, she swung off it and tumbled to the deck as the Raven detached itself from the JumpShip that had brought it to this battlefield. The DropShip's engines sent a tremor through the hull and filled the ship with a low growl.
Tyra scrambled to her feet and dashed over to where her Shilone waited in the launch bay. She hauled herself up into the cockpit, pulled on her neurohelmet, and snapped the cable coming from it into a socket by her left shoulder. As she struggled to pull on her safety straps and fasten them across her chest, the sounds of a mission debriefing already underway came over her helmet .speakers.
"We have four, repeat, four invader JumpShips already insystem. One is the size of their planetbusters. The other three are smaller ships. The big one must be their flagship. That is priority target for the fleet ..."
Great, just great. We don't get to fight them on Rasalhague when we're all in top shape. We wait to engage the enemy until two months of hiding in space has frazzled everyone. Even as Tyra's anger began to flare, she struggled to curb and channel it. No, this is not the time to get so mad you can't see. You've got your wingmate and your flight to worry about, and you've got some damage to do to that flagship. Act now and complain later.
She punched a button on her console and flash-started the engine. The cockpit canopy slid down into place. At her right hand, a number pad's keys lit up. Because a flash-start did not allow for the computer to cycle through the full series of recognition signs and countersigns to ensure that the pilot was assigned to this particular craft, Tyra had to type in an eight-digit number code she herself had chosen to safeguard her machine. Zero-four, two-eight, three-zero threesix; the day my father lost the use of his legs. It's a date I'll never forget, yet no one else would ever expect me to use it as my code.
In response to the numbers, the engines throttled up to full power and the weapons computer came on line. It filled the cockpit with a holographic display of the battlefield outside and painted the targeting sight over her right eye on the faceplate of her helmet. The trigger handles rotated up and locked in position, and her auxiliary monitor reported all weapons loaded, armed, and ready,
Tyra opened a frequency to launch control. "Valkyrie One ready for launch. Request go!"
"Go granted."
She punched both feet down on the thruster pedals. The Shilone lunged forward, then sped down the launch alley. The metallic walls became a solid silver blur as the square black hole at the end of the runway grew like a mouth intending to swallow her ship. As her velocity indicator climbed past 700 kph, her ship shot free of the Raven.
The sight of so many JumpShips, DropShips, and AeroSpace Fighters in one place threatened to overwhelm Tyra's senses. This is the Gbtterdammerung! So many people, so many war machines, so much death. I've waited a long time for this, for a chance to avenge Phelan and prove myself to my father. Beware, invaders, you are mine now.
Tyra suddenly realized that the enemy had not launched their fighters. Only the largest ship seemed to have launch bays, though their presence could not be utterly discounted on the other ships. Fighters are going to
be most vulnerable as they leave the launch bays. If I can get in close, I can do some serious damage.
Before she could put her thoughts into action, Anika Janssen's Shilone appeared on Tyra's starboard wing. "The biggest target is bound to be the easiest to hit, eh, boss?"
"Right, Nik. Stay close. If either of us is hit, we break off, right?"
"Roger."
Tyra spiraled her Shilone down away from the Raven and kicked it into a long dive toward the invaders' flagship. Without gravity to aid it, the fighter picked up no speed as it streaked toward the massive JumpShip, and because of the battlefield's proximity to the orange-yellow star at the center of the solar system, Tyra had to increase power to maintain her speed. Anika's ship lagged behind by a few hundred meters, but slowly caught up to reach Tyra's side when they engaged the first flight of fighters from the flagship.
"Nik, fire once, then punch it. We'll burst by them, drop an SRM volley, and leave them to the others." Tyra flipped her radio to a broader tactical channel. "Valkyrie One, here. We need some assist in sector Alpha Xray Two Four. Enemy fighters, two by two."
"Roger, Valkyrie One. Fenir Three and Four on our way."
"And Aesir One and Two as well, Valkyrie One. Save us something."
"Roger." Tyra launched a full volley of long-range missiles, then brought the Shilone's nose up to carry the ship above the LRM's line of attack. The missiles shot down at the nearest of the invader aerofighters, spattering the boxy craft over its nose and right wing. Tyra stared at the icon representing that fighter on her holographic display, then tightened her fingers on the trigger buttons. The large laser shot from the Shilone's nose and burned a furrow through the armor on the invader's aft turret while the ruby beams from the wing-mounted medium lasers did more damage to the craft's nose and right wing.
The invader's return fire shot wide and low, leaving Tyra's ship intact. She sensed that her enemy was an inexperienced pilot and an easy kill, but she stayed with her original plan. All the fighter kills I get will mean nothing if we can't take out that big ship. She stomped on the foot pedals and cranked the Shilone's speed up to 1800 kph. Depressing the thumb button on the left joystick dropped a flight of SRMs to discourage pursuit as she dove hard on the flagship.
All around her, DropShips that had detached themselves from their JumpShips likewise shot toward the invaders' fleet. Outside the grip of planetary gravity and free of a buffeting atmosphere, those ungainly, bulbous craft became lethal weapons-platforms. Bristling with missile launchers and laser muzzles, the DropShips rode argent ion flames down toward the invaders' fleet. In more than one case, the ship's captain had opened the 'Mech bay doors, allowing BattleMechs to stand in the opening to add their token firepower to the ship's weapons rather than remain helpless inside their cocoons.
As her Shilone swept in on the largest invader ship, Tyra realized why it had been described as a planetbuster. Dozens of DropShips studded the wasplike ship like metallic warts rising from its glossy black flesh. They had docked with their jets pointing toward the interior of the ship, which meant all of their weaponry could be brought to bear on the attackers. In addition, the JumpShip itself boasted numerous gunnery turrets and missile launchers. From various ports on the DropShips and the JumpShip, Clan BattleMechs crawled out and clung to the hull, hoping for a shot at a fighter that strayed too close.
Tyra angled thrust deflectors to take her in a long loop toward the JumpShip's bow. With Anika on her tail, she stood the Shilone on its right wing and dove down toward the hull. She launched a volley of LRMs that spattered themselves against the bridge's closed blast shields, then hugged the artificial landscape and began a long strafing run down the ship's spine.
Almost instantly, she recognized a flaw in the ship's design. A narrow valley ran down between the two parts of the hull that had been built up for DropShip docking. By taking her aerofighter to the deck, she flew low enough that the DropShips could not target her craft for fear of doing damage to the JumpShip itself. The valley, while not wide on a planetary scale, provided her just enough room for maneuvers that made hitting her ship very difficult. In her first run, Tyra knocked out two PPC turrets, and toward the end, she bobbed up out of the valley to pepper the hull of a DropShip with a flight of LRMs.
Her ship sped past the JumpShip. Dammit, no solar sail to waste. That would keep them here for a long time. She checked her display and saw Anika had likewise survived the trip down the JumpShip's back. "Split-S, Nik, and we make another run."
"Roger, I'll go right. And this time," her friend demanded, "I go first."
"Lead on, Nik. I'm right behind you." Tyra vectored thrust to the right, carrying her fighter high and to the left. She brought the right wing up, executing a quick turn, then dove down to the spine level on the JumpShip, following Anika's Shilone in on the run. They both resisted the temptation to send a flight of missiles up into the JumpShip's exhaust ports because they knew the ion thrust would vaporize the warheads before they could do any damage.
"I'm getting a reading up front, Tyra. No more turrets. We took them out. Must be a mudbug crawled down here to stop us." A trace of anxiety seeped into Anika's voice. "No, dammit, it's two of them! Going in high, you cut them off at the knees!"
Anika's aerofighter pulled up, and Tyra saw laser beams lance down from her comrade's fighter. Cerulean bolts of PPC lightning shot back up from the target, carving armor from Anika's nose and left wing. Her ship drifted upward and out of sight as Tyra's Shilone swooped like a hawk over the BattleMechs anchored to the hull against the JumpShip's thrust.
The LRM flight she used to announce her arrival badly battered one of the two 'Mechs. The explosions knocked the war machine from its broad, flat feet and bounced it off the solid valley wall. Arms and legs flailing, the 'Mech rebounded from the crushed wall and careened off into space. Something exploded on one of its shoulders, the blue sparks playing hob all over its flesh as it, too, drifted up and out of Tyra's sight.
The second 'Mech stood its ground. Her computer informed her that the BattleMech had already taken damage from Anika's run, but somehow that did not matter to her. I don't care what you have or what condition you're in, you're mine. For Nik and for Phelan and for all the Drakøns who died on Rasalhague. Without conscious effort, she stared hard directly at the center of the 'Mech's broad humanoid chest. Ignoring the PPC fire just over her head, she let the 'Mech have everything her fighter could offer.
The trio of lasers focused dead-center on the BattleMech's chest. The glowing hole they opened spat out hot shards of armor and internal structures. The 'Mech's heat silhouette flared like a supernova. An internal detonation plumped the lean torso out into that of an old man, then the armor buckled as golden claws of fire sliced their way through its middle. As the upper half of the 'Mech evaporated in the fire from its fusion engine, its legs flew out to careen back and forth within the valley's narrow confines.
Tyra pulled up to avoid the fireball and ran head-on into a flight of SRMs from a nearby DropShip. The missiles exploded against her cockpit, and the flash momentarily blinded her. The jolt shook her as much as the explosions had shaken her ship, but she forced herself to ignore it until she could regain control of her fighter. Kicking in the afterburners, she whirled the craft into a long spiral that took it away toward the JumpShip's bow. "Tyra! Tyra!"
The urgency of Anika's shout shocked Tyra out of a fog. My God, zoning out like that in a battle ... I must be hit bad. She recognized a tightness around her right elbow and across her chest, but it took a moment or two for her to realize that it came from her vacuum suit's attempt to localize a breach. The wail of warning sirens suddenly impinged on her brain, and as she brought the primary monitor into focus, she realized her cockpit had been breached. She brought her left hand up to her right shoulder, where it encountered something very hard and came away bloody.
"Tyra, talk to me!"
"I'm here, Nik. How are you?"
"Circuit overload from the PPCs shut m
y engine down. I'm not having any luck restarting. I'll take it all the way off, then do a full restart. That's not important. How are you ?"
"I'm hit, Nik. It's pretty bad." Tyra choked down the lump in her throat. "I love you, you know. I'm glad you can't follow me."
"No, Tyra. Don't do anything stupid. Get your ship over here. I can help you."
"Too late for that, Nik. If you see my father, tell him I made him proud." Tyra cut off her radio and boosted the Shilone forward. She flipped off two safety switches. One cut the warning klaxons and the other removed all restraints on engine power. These ships have more power than a human pilot can normally take. At full power, a pilot will black out, but that doesn't really matter now, does it?
She laughed aloud and liked the sound. I've not laughed like that or felt this carefree since Phelan left Gunzburg. How fitting. I'll be with him soon enough.
Bringing the Shilone's nose down, she let the ship flip over onto its head, then she rolled it over so she could watch the JumpShip's bridge loom ever larger in her viewscreen. This is it. The Iron Jarl makes another sacrifice for Rasalhague. Pushing both overthruster pedals to the cockpit floor with her feet, she flew faster than any human ever and kept the Shilone dead on target.
41
JumpShip Dire Wolf, Nadir Jump Point, Radstadt
Radstadt Province, Free Rasalhague Republic
31 October 3050
Phelan Kell and the Precentor Martial raced down the corridor toward the Dire Wolfs bridge. Hot on the heels of their escort, they had to use a service ladder to get down from the observation deck, forcing them to head away from the bridge before they could reach it.
As they sprinted down the last thirty meters to the bridge, the whole JumpShip lurched as though struck by some godling's hammer. Phelan stumbled forward, but tucked himself into a roll to absorb the energy. His guide slammed into a corridor wall and smacked his head hard. He slipped to the deck and the Precentor Martial slid nose-up into him.