42

Belgorod

Terra

Prefecture X

April 3134; local spring

Jack Farrell looked out to the northwest. The Ryoken II was approaching fast, splashing over the muddy ground. He marked the oncoming ’Mech both visually and by IR. It was hot, but not yet approaching redline.

“Someone’s spoiling for a fight,” he said. “I can give it to ’em.”

He keyed the command link. “Anyone want to report to me on how our hovers are doing?”

“They’re moving west. Haven’t reached the turn point for the run north yet.”

“Roger that,” he said. “Let me know if they meet any significant resistance, or when they have the Wolves’ DropShips. I’m going to be busy here for a bit.”

“Gotcha, boss.”

The Ryoken II was nearer now. Jack turned toward it and keyed the long-range missiles on his right torso for salvo fire, locked on and tracking.

His own ’Mech was a bit hotter than he’d like. He paused, considering.

Let the Ryoken II come to me, he thought. Every step closer that it takes is a step closer to being in range. Let it come.

Anastasia Kerensky saw the smoke of battle ahead and picked up the magnetic signature of the ’Mechs at the same time.

She listened on her own tactical circuit. Her people were getting hit. The hitter was someone in a Jupiter. None of the Highlanders had anything nearly that big. Not many merc units did either. That meant…

“Jack Farrell. You owe me a debt,” Anastasia said. “You let that bitch from Northwind get by you. Now you have to pay.”

The Steel Wolf units up ahead, a pair of modified ForestryMechs, were definitely getting the worst of their encounter with One-Eyed Jack and his Jupiter. Her fault, probably. She hadn’t expected mercs down here. What other surprises did Terra hold for her before she could walk into Geneva as a conqueror?

She keyed up the all-frequencies link. “Jack Farrell!” she said. “Whose pay are you in this time?”

“I’m afraid that’s confidential,” he replied over the same frequency. “Let’s just say that it’s not yours and leave it at that.”

“Are you planning to sell them out, too?”

“I’m planning to follow my orders and fulfill my contract,” he said. At that moment the missile warning gauge in her cockpit chimed—long-range missiles, inbound.

“No fair, Jack, shooting while we were talking,” she said, and keyed up her own spread of Streak short-range missiles.

If she wasn’t in range now, he would be inside Streak range soon. The missile pack on her left torso held six short-range missiles. She set them to begin continuous fire as soon as the Jupiter came within range, so that the next one would launch the moment the first one cleared the tube, then powered up her medium lasers.

Maybe he wasn’t expecting those; and they could play hob with his missiles. She scanned the skies ahead, using vision both normal and enhanced. There he was, standing tall on the horizon.

“I see you, Jack Farrell,” she said. “I see you.”

In the noise, dirt, and confusion of the battlefield, at least one unit of the Steel Wolves was advancing rapidly, moving north and south behind the Highlander lines. The unit was divided into hunter-killer groups—two JES Tactical Missile Carriers traveling with and guarding one SM1 tank destroyer, and two Scimitar MKII weapons carriers with one Condor Multipurpose Tank. They crossed mud and streams with equal ease. They ran as tactical teams, each group moving at the fastest speed of the slowest unit in the little fire groups.

“Commence turn, all units, turn to rendezvous point,” Command and Control back at the DropShips advised.

The units that had bypassed the Highlanders to the south turned north. The units that had bypassed the Highlanders to the north turned south. They streaked toward one another to form a mass that could not be resisted.

“Any Highland units encountered, take under fire at extreme range,” said Command and Control. “Do not slow down. We can afford to lose tanks better than we can afford to lose time. Flank speed. Forward.”

The Steel Wolves dashed toward their meeting place. Nothing the Highlanders had on the field could stand against them.

In another part of the field, missiles clashed against armor and other missiles exploded harmlessly nearby, as One-Eyed Jack and Anastasia Kerensky targeted, aimed, fired, and dodged.

A Jupiter could take hits, but its pilot didn’t dare risk too much speed or too high a rate of fire, lest it go into overheat shutdown. Anastasia took advantage of that care to fire two shots for every one of Farrell’s. She brought her Ryoken II in close, so that the rest of One-Eyed Jack’s mercenaries could not shoot at her for fear of striking their leader.

The modified Ryoken II wove and dodged, firing first its lasers, then its particle cannon, then its lasers again by turns. Anastasia laughed with the excitement of it, even though the laughter pulled at the unhealed wound in her abdomen and made it hurt. She felt the first of Murchison’s stitches tear away with a bright flower of pain.

Warm blood trickled down her flank, mixing with the sweat already pouring off her body. Fighting a ’Mech was hard work. The physical strain of making seventy-five tons of powered death obey her will was draining energy out of her despite the adrenaline-enhanced exhilaration that kept her in the fight.

She fired her laser, her particle cannon, and then her laser again—flashing, aiming, taking the Jupiter under fire and increasing its heat. He was getting hits on her, too, but nothing hard enough to kill or cripple her. Laser, fire. Anastasia laughed again. This was the life for a MechWarrior—out on the field of battle with an enemy before her.

“Galaxy Commander!” a voice sounded in her ear on the tactical frequency. “I am here to back you up. Kriya Wolf from the Crusader Cluster, arriving on your right flank.”

“Welcome, Kriya,” Anastasia said. Kriya piloted a Tundra Wolf, a valuable addition to any ’Mech fight, and more so to this one. “You have come to the right place. Jump in anywhere—the Jupiter is big enough for us to share.”

Long-range missiles from the Tundra Wolf’s Long Bow pack arched overhead, targeted on the Jupiter.

“Watch your heat,” Anastasia said. The only drawback the Tundra Wolf had was its terrible heat efficiency. “Pick your shots.”

Her magnetic anomaly detector beeped. Another ’Mech was approaching, this one from her left flank. She keyed the open mike again.

“Surrender now, Jack Farrell, for you see that we are three to your one.”