Battletech operation ice.., p.1
BattleTech: Operation: Ice Storm (Part One), page 1
PROLOGUE
Grady Plateau
Somerset
Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
13 June 3071
I thought it would have been Wolves.
Star Captain Greta Hazen was warrior enough to admire the clean lines of the enemy formation. She’d seen enough parade formations; trained enough fledgling warriors. She knew the purpose of drill and discipline, knew the value of that discipline on the battlefield.
The ten white Clan OmniMechs standing in a line abreast across the soft lowlands of the Grady Plateau were light and fast. None was heavier than forty tons; it would take two of them to equal the mass of her own sixty-five ton Hellbringer. But she had still always thought she would meet her death against Clan Wolf. I fought on Tukayyid. I fought in REVIVAL.
I did not survive these twenty years to die against an Ice Hellion.
The 452nd Garrison Binary was Greta’s last command. She had known that when she accepted the post. It was a step up from solahma duty, but not even the horrific losses the Clan had taken in the last twenty years could overcome the sheer remorseless advance of time and age. She was too old for a frontline Cluster. The Jade Falcons were not the Inner Sphere, and there would be no glorious death in the throes of decrepitude for Greta, as there had been for the Black Widow. She would earn her death here.
The chronometer advanced down to the agreed-upon time and passed it. She held her Hellbringer steady, certain that the other four ’Mechs of her Star would be doing the same. The Hellions’ rushing attacks were always swift and sudden—the slaps of children throwing tantrums—but they’d soon sort themselves out. The Hellions had a disgusting view of zellbrigen, allowing their warriors simultaneous attacks in the first round. The warrior who struck the first blow against an enemy was allowed the honor of engaging them, but until that first blow was struck Greta could expect fire from as many as five Ice Hellion ’Mechs.
Not that she was worried. The Hellbringer’s armor would take the first shot, and then she’d have her target. It irked her sense of propriety to allow the Hellions that first shot, but to do otherwise chanced removing the dueling rules of zellbrigen and opening the Trial to a general melee. In that arena, the lighter, faster Hellion Stars would win. Individually, her solahma warriors had a chance against their opponents; with the Hellions working as a pack, they’d have little hope. Not that it matters. If we win this Trial, another Star will just challenge us. There is no way my ten ’Mechs are holding Somerset. Not with an entire Cluster in orbit.
In a way she felt impotent, and the incongruity of the emotion made her smile. A BattleMech like her Hellbringer knew no equal save another ’Mech. Fusion-powered, with missiles, lasers, and high-speed autocannons, it could level an entire world, given enough time and ammunition. It could annihilate a city block in moments. ’Mechs were the pinnacle of mankind’s ground-based warmaking, and she controlled sixty-five tons of one.
The Hellions have so many more tons. And they are younger. In the age-obsessed Clans, younger warriors were more fierce. Few Clansmen lived long enough to accrue the experience that made older warriors wily and dangerous.
Few lived as long as Greta had.
Three of the Hellion ’Mechs appeared to be targeting her. She let her heads-up display settle over the leading ’Mech, a twenty-five-ton Mist Lynx. She set the Hellbringer’s feet, wondering if it would be missiles or beams. Either way, the Mist Lynx was out in front, and if the stupid Hellion wanted to bet twenty-five tons against sixty-five, Greta was not going to dissuade her. A corner of her eye, long-accustomed to the observation necessary in a successful Star Captain, gauged the rest of the Hellions’ intentions. It appeared as if she and MechWarrior Harald, in the decrepit, twice-rebuilt Conjurer, were the initial targets. That was all right; Harald was a skilled gunner, and his ’Mech’s pulse lasers would give him an edge in targeting the speeding Hellions.
Her radio crackled to life. “Star Captain Greta Hazen.” She looked down. The signal was coming from the Mist Lynx in the lead. “I am Star Commander Julius of the Taneys. I challenge you to a duel of warriors.”
Greta considered. She had no qualms about fighting the Mist Lynx, of course, but she was wary. Why would Julius abrogate his peoples’ own rituals? Zellbrigen certainly allowed him to challenge her, but the Hellions were famous for their charges. Many other Clansmen—sometimes even Greta, if she thought about it—assumed the Ice Hellions, who favored lighter, faster ’Mechs than most Clans, used the charge as an excuse to break zellbrigen. Dueling rarely favored the lighter machine, unless the terrain was somehow in the lighter ’Mech’s favor. Forcing the melee let the Hellions work as a team.
And that let them win.
It does not matter. Greta keyed her com. There is no way I am going to keep this world anyway. “I accept,” she said, and cut the channel. The Mist Lynx kept coming, running flat-out, but its companions slowed. The range fell to just over a kilometer. Greta squeezed her controls again, waiting. She started the Hellbringer walking forward, not so much anxious to begin combat, but just to get the sixty-five tons moving.
A part of her mind ignored the coming Trial. She knew how to fight a ’Mech. The duel would take her entire concentration in a moment, but until just then she could think, and her eyes were seeing not only the HUD and the landscape and the blue-painted Ice Hellion OmniMech, but also a map of the Falcon occupation zone. If the Hellions had struck here, at Somerset, then they were most likely trying to carve out an occupation zone of their own from the worlds the Falcons had taken and held from the Federated Commonwealth, the Lyran Alliance, and the Steel Viper Clan. A kernel of anger burned to life in Greta’s gut.
She had fought to earn those worlds. In blood and tears and sibmates, Greta Hazen had paid for Somerset and the other worlds. That the Hellions—perhaps not the weakest of Kerensky’s Clans, but among that number—wanted to take those worlds was an affront to her honor. Not the Clan’s honor—Turkina feared no Hellion—but to Greta’s.
The PPC-tipped arms of the Hellbringer came up as the Mist Lynx hurtled into range. She brought her awareness into the cockpit, focusing on the speeding ’Mech and the coming combat. To live or die the next few minutes were all that mattered.
But still, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind, the Khan will make them pay. They will not hold Somerset for long. She remembered a Watch report she’d seen, as senior Falcon officer on Somerset, some weeks ago, claiming the Ice Hellions were coming. She’d dismissed it, and that dismissal marked Greta’s shame. But the Falcon would recover, and the next generation of trueborn warriors would reap the Falcon’s revenge.
Because ready or not, the Falcons had known the Hellions were coming.
The distance between the two ’Mechs dipped beneath the PPC’s maximum range. Greta squeezed her primary triggers. Both PPCs flared into coruscating blue-white hell-beams.
Greta Hazen knew she was defeated.
She smiled.
CHAPTER ONE
Overlord C-class DropShip Rapacious
Close Orbit, Bone Norman
Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
14 June 3071
Connor Rood did not believe in his mission.
But that did not mean he wouldn’t carry it out to the best of his ability.
“My Khan?”
Connor turned from the strategic display he’d been studying. It showed the Periphery-edge holdings of Clan Jade Falcon in the Inner Sphere.
Star Captain Ephraim Cage, Rapacious’ captain, stood in the hatchway, one hand on the frame. The other was held behind his back. “The Falcons have accepted our communications.” He brought his hand out from behind his back and gestured. “You can send your batchall.” The small man stepped back out of the hatch, clearing the way.
Rood followed him. He stood almost fifteen centimeters taller than the Star Captain, though Connor was not a big man. Ephraim Cage was not one of the aerospace fighter pilot’s phenotype, with that group’s withered limbs and overlarge heads. He had been born in a MechWarrior sibko on Hector but tested into the aerospace corps early. He had the pilot’s build from ancient Terran times, small and wiry and bound with surprising strength. His promotion to command of Rapacious, the DropShip of the Lithe Kill Keshik, command Cluster of Clan Ice Hellion’s Beta Galaxy, marked his favor with the Clan’s leadership.
Connor smiled as Ephraim turned to lead him toward the bridge. It marks his favor with me. Unlike most Clan warriors, but very much like his saKhan, Ephraim Cage was one of the uncanny few Clansmen who could remove their honor from the equation when pressed. Who saw combat for the task that it was, and practiced it with a craftsman’s care. Connor Rood had made his reputation and gained his rank approaching combat like a craftsman, unClanlike as that attitude might have been.
Rapacious’ bridge was a hive of activity as the DropShip settled into a low, powered orbit. Connor could never have walked in without the pseudo gravity provided by constant acceleration. The Overlord C was only one of many Ice Hellion DropShips falling into orbit, though Rapacious was the only one that mattered. Bone Norman would fall to the 200th Attack Cluster—to the Lithe Kill—and to saKhan Connor Rood.
Connor stepped into the DropShip’s small holotank and signaled the technician manning the console. The air around him shimmered for a moment. A man in Jade Falcon green appeared before him, younger than Connor had expected to find on such a backwater planet. The hologram fl
“I am Khan Connor Rood of Clan Ice Hellion,” Connor announced.
The Star Colonel met his stare. He was tall, a centimeter or two below two meters, and fit, with a strength-trainer’s shoulders. His brown hair was trimmed short and he wore a moustache-less beard. “Star Colonel Idris,” the Falcon said, “of the Eleventh Provisional Garrison Cluster.” The Falcon crossed his arms. “I see the Watch was correct.”
“The Watch?”
The Falcon nodded. “We heard your fledglings were coming this way,” Idris said. “I see I have the honor of speaking to their saKhan.” He waited, but Connor said nothing. “Do you require assistance, Khan Rood?”
“I require Bone Norman,” was all Rood said.
“Pardon?”
Now Rood grinned. “Clan Ice Hellion claims the world of Bone Norman,” he said. “I and the 200th Attack Cluster challenge you to a Trial of Possession for this world.” The Hellion Watch had little information on the Inner Sphere, despite years of diligent effort, but Rood was confident the Eleventh PGC was the only Cluster on the planet. He’d come here himself, with his entire Cluster, because the Eleventh was the only formed Cluster in one garrison station in the back-beyond of the Falcon OZ. The rest were spread across worlds penny-ante, in Binaries or even single Stars. “With what forces will you defend it, Star Colonel?”
“You have named your bid already,” Idris said.
Rood inclined his head. A normal batchall simply stated the challenge and asked the defenses, before bidding took place. Rood had bid for the assault with the Lithe Kill months ago, during the long transit from Nouveaux Paris to Bone Norman. “With. What. Forces?”
Idris straightened and dropped his arms to his sides. Anger filled his eyes. “The Eleventh PGC holds Bone Norman for Turkina,” he said. “I will not dishonor any of my warriors by denying them a chance to kill upstart Hellions.”
“Very good, Star Colonel,” Rood said. “And the Circle?”
Idris smiled. “No doubt you will want room to run your little toy ’Mechs around, Khan Rood. We will name the continent of Hapsburg our circle, and grant you safcon to the surface.”
Rood fought to keep his expression even. Safcon was safe conduct to the surface; Idris had just bid away an aerial defense and allowed the Hellions a safe landing. He worried little for the cast-off equipment a provisional garrison Cluster could put in the air, but he hadn’t hoped to avoid combat altogether.
“I will claim your defeated warriors as bondsmen,” Rood said. “Your equipment—and any military equipment—will become my isorla.”
Idris laughed. “Will you also be using BattleMechs and shooting at us, Khan Rood? I am familiar with the Trial of Possession, being so much closer to the sibko than one of your advanced age.” He sketched a half bow. “Well-bargained, sir.”
Rood inclined his head. “Well-bargained and done, Star Colonel,” he said. “We will see you on the ground.” He gestured to the technician, who cut the signal. An instant later Rood was alone in the holotank. He stood still for a moment, replaying the conversation in his head. The young Falcon’s bravado was commendable; it showed he wasn’t afraid, despite the radar returns of enough Hellion DropShips in orbit to destroy his garrison Cluster several times over.
I see the Watch was correct.
Rood closed his eyes, remembering the exact inflection in the Star Colonel’s voice. If the Jade Falcon Watch—what passed for intelligence services among the Clans—had known of the pending Hellion assault, why had they not reinforced the planetary garrisons along the Periphery border? But they had known—the Star Colonel had admitted it.
Rood opened his eyes and stepped out of the holotank. He stopped at the entrance and looked to the technician sitting at the console. “Your name?”
The technician looked startled. “K-Kelton, sir.” He glanced around the bridge, and then back at the Ice Hellion Khan’s face.
“Kelton. That was fine work.” He ducked his chin in a nod and stepped away, the technician’s name and face filed away. Several of the watchstanders across the bridge glanced at him, no doubt surreptitiously, they hoped.
Rood ignored them. It cost him nothing to learn the technician’s name, but that technician would remember that he took the time. There might be a time when he needed a communications technician to step a centimeter or two beyond the bounds of his duty. That small action would be enough for Rood to secure that centimeter, and it would plant the seed of trust in Kelton’s companions.
“Success, my Khan?” Ephraim Cage asked.
Rood looked up. The Star Captain stood near the bridge commander’s shock frame, the enclosure that would hold him secure during high-g combat maneuvers. Most of the displays were folded down near the deck while not in use. Cage looked like a large child next to the contraption, but Rood knew from experience that once ensconced in his frame, Cage had few peers. He felt his eyebrows draw together at a sudden thought; might Cage be wasted on a DropShip?
“Do you like Rapacious, Ephraim?”
Cage frowned. “I am completely satisfied with the crew,” he said. “And the ship itself—“ he held up his hands, palms upward. “—has never given me cause to complain.”
Rood grinned. “Do you not wish a greater command?”
It was Cage’s turn to smile. “A JumpShip, my Khan?” He looked around the bridge, as if cataloging each station. “I prefer a ship with guns. Rapacious is enough for me, I think. She flies to the sound of guns.”
“So she does,” Rood said. He looked at the forward display, which showed the upper quadrant of Bone Norman’s atmosphere. “So she does,” he whispered. Then he blinked. “To answer your earlier question, Star Captain, aff. Success. The Falcons have granted us safcon to the surface. Plot a descent on Hapsburg, if you please.”
Cage inclined his head. When he looked up, he met Rood’s eyes. “Helm: plot descent Taney-Four.” He spoke without looking away from Rood. “We’ll begin our deorbit in approximately two hours, my Khan.”
Rood nodded back. Cage raised an eyebrow in question, but Rood made a small gesture. He needed to think. There was much to be examined, evaluated. The Falcons had known they were coming. What did that bode for their defense in the coming Trial? He grunted to himself. What does that mean for the invasion?
A lift took Rood to the small stateroom that was his aboard ship. It was larger than most shipboard cabins, but still austere. Space was always at a premium aboard a warship. As the primary transport for the Lithe Kill, Rapacious often hosted the Hellion saKhan. Before Connor Rood, this cabin had belonged to Sellen Cage, and she’d been even less impressed with decoration than Rood was. The walls were bare, painted an off-gray with stain-resistant paint. The desk was steel, the chair uncomfortable. The bunk even more so.
A datacard on the desk bore nothing but the snarling Ice Hellion crest. Rood knew what was on it without loading it into the slot on the desktop. My orders. The thought made his mouth turn down in disgust, but he was far too much a warrior to let the snarl do more than whisper. He didn’t need to see the holo again. He knew the imagery by heart—every incautious, glory-hounding syllable of it.
Khan Raina Montose’s plan to carve out an Ice Hellion Occupation Zone from the one the Jade Falcon’s had claimed from the Inner Sphere was certainly audacious. Rood knew most of his sibmates—most Ice Hellions—were solidly behind the plan. It appealed to the sensibilities that made Ice Hellions what they were: swift strikers, dangerous coursers, and above all, decisive warriors. He knew Montose had conceived of the plan and implemented it without discussion; he hadn’t been privy to her thoughts until it was far too long along to fight. So he agreed, and threw his entire effort behind making the invasion a success.
In public, he supported the Khan’s position. The Ice Hellions would expand or die; that was the way of the Clans. There were few opportunities left among the Clan homeworlds, and what was there paled in comparison to the rich, open planets of the Inner Sphere. The Clans that had secured Inner Sphere occupation zones—the so-called Invader Clans—were strong beyond belief. If the Ice Hellions were to undo the last twenty years of reversals, they would need new possessions to do it.
