OPREF-4 Chpt 12

=Book 4, Chapter 12 - Full House=
==Opalescent Reflections==
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===Warm Welcoming===
Over Jaguar Prime, Huntress
Kerensky Cluster, Clan Homeworlds
6 May 3058
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Naval battles were a special hell, Sarah Weaver thought as she sat in the cockpit of her Iron Cheetah. The ‘mech was strapped into a cocoon in readiness to be launched from the DropShip Righteous Indignation at the proper moment, and this left both OmniMech and khan effectively prisoners. Even if she had been on the flight deck of the DropShip - or that of the much larger Osis’ Pride - there was little she could have done.
With her ‘mech active and on the battlefield, Sarah was a giant - able to crush whatever foe presented itself. But she had only a theoretical knowledge of voidcraft and how they were employed in battle. She would have been hard-pressed to identify a threat, much less act intelligently to counter it.
The hull of the Overlord C-class ship creaked, the sound enough to penetrate the massive insulation around her. A good sign? A bad one? Sarah had no idea.
The only thing she could be sure of was that delivering her - and Omega Galaxy - to the surface as rapidly as possible was critical. The units left behind had lost their command and half their strength in the first clash with the invaders. What remained had been avoided direct conflict - veterans disgraced over the years by Inner Sphere resistance were turning the tactics used against them on the spheroid forces - ambushes, distractions and sabotage to slow progress.
The reports made when Osis’ Pryde erupted into the star system at the proximity point of Huntress and its one moon - Sentinel - made it clear that despite all of this, the invaders were within days of reaching Lootera. And above the capital, within the fortress of Mount Szabo, lay the prime genetic repository. The material and records that were used in every generation of trueborn warriors.
The thought of that in the hands of Spheroids was horrifying. The least nauseating idea was of the site’s destruction - it would be a dreadful blow but recoverable using the similar facilities on Strana Mechty and lesser sites elsewhere. Sarah had nightmares about the Successor Lords using the material to breed subservient warriors for their own ambitions - the Clans’ children in blood but corrupted and enslaved to the dynasties that had broken the Star League.
She had slept poorly since the idea crossed her mind, something she could share with no one. Only the strength of their Khan was holding Omega Galaxy together. They had expected victories, not a desperate race home to face a threat no one had even imagined.
The DropShip shook again, and Sarah’s resolve to leave this part of the battle to officers trained for it shattered. Her finger stabbed at the comms panel. “Status!” she demanded.
“Two of their destroyers have been destroyed, my Khan. The Osis’ Pryde is heavily engaged.”
Perhaps she had misjudged the Star Commodore. Canto had warned her that the ancient Potemkin-class troop cruiser was not intended for stand-up battles. There was no choice but to commit her against the enemy warships… but expectations must be realistic.
Still… “I mean the landings!”
“We are entering the upper atmosphere, you should be feeling it,” the commander grated. “We are within minutes of the drop.” Sarah heard a ‘so let me deal with it’ but ignored the disrespectful tone. “The enemy knows it and their fighters are attempting interceptions.”
“We have fighters of our own.” That was true. “And once you have dropped us, you will no longer be targeted.” That was just her hope. The plan was for the DropShips to make for Abysmal - the smaller continent had not been touched in the fighting so the facilities there could repair damage to the DropShips. More importantly, the factories there could provide munitions, spare parts - even replacement OmniMechs - and everything else needed to supply Sarah’s campaign to liberate Huntress. Once Lootera was secure, the DropShips could make sub-orbital hops in relative safety, trusting in the surface to orbit batteries to protect them.
The old pilot commanding Righteous Indignation grunted… and then she heard him gasp. “No, what are they doing?”
“What are who doing?”
“I… damn them! Boarding shuttles!”
“Here?” Who in their right mind would attempt to board a DropShip that was making re-entry. There was courage, but that would be utter insanity!
“The Osis’ Pride!” Sarah’s recollection that she had drafted the elementals of the cruiser’s security detachment to reinforce Omega Galaxy was cut short a moment later by another curse from the pilot. “Canto, you surat!”
“Tell me what is going on!” Sarah roared.
But the Khan got no answer, only frantic reports and orders from the bridge that she realized she was overhearing only because the commander had forgotten to cut her off. She heard something about the fighters. A recall that was too late to be useful. More curses about Canto - what had that fool done with the Osis’ Pride?
The howl of “Weapons free!” was not a good sign: the DropShip formation was going in tight - firing their guns risked friendly fire - the Smoke Jaguar aerospace fighters were supposed to keep the enemy out of range for the transport DropShips’ guns to be useful, much less needed.
And more than the words, the tones… Sarah knew that she was hearing a loss of control over the battle… and that was something that spoke of defeat.
Damn you, Showers! Did you take every competent DropShip crew with you?!
Something slapped the side of the Righteous Indignation, slamming Sarah against her restraints. Had they taken a hit.
“Engine… out…” she heard someone warn.
And then: “All ‘mechs,” the commander ordered. “Prepare to drop!” Red-lights in her cockpit went amber, then green. She felt the mechanisms of the ‘mech bay come to life, lifting her cocooned ‘mech and preparing it for the next stop. The massive hatch began to grind open, the scream of air entering the DropShip audible and rocking the Righteous Indignation further.
They were going too fast, she thought. This wasn’t even the planned drop - the count-down on her console was still three minutes short of the scheduled time.
There was a grinding noise - then sharp, explosive cracks that Sarah recognised as shaped charges. Something being forced open?
And then the sudden jolt of her cocoon being flung clear of the Righteous Indignation. The comms channel to the command deck cut out - the wires linking her to the DropShip’s internal comms would have been cut when she was dropped. The sudden loss of human voices made her cockpit feel grave-like even as Sarah heard the fluc-fluc-fluc noise of the cocoon ablating.
It won’t last long, she thought. I’m moving too fast - hopefully it lasts enough. She seized the controls and settled her feet against the pedals that would let her control the jet-pack strapped onto her ‘mech, as if the one hundred ton war machine was little more than a soldier in the jump infantry.
Something exploded high in the sky above Sarah. She couldn’t tell what… one of the DropShips perhaps? Maybe an enemy fighter?
A dreadful, shameful, crawling fear rose up inside her and the mechwarrior could feel sweat running down her face that she could not blame on heat.
Finally, after an eternity that had lasted less than two minutes, the cocoon finally broke away and Sarah’s sensors were able to paint her a picture of Huntress’ skies.
She was hundreds of kilometers away from Lootera, that much was evident. The water to the south must be the Liberation Sea, which meant she was on entirely the wrong side of the Jaguar Fang mountain range. Icons of other ‘mechs were visible in the sky, but scattered wildly - there would be no compact landing zone where Omega Galaxy could marshal quickly before launching the counter-attack.
Fiery streaks crossed the sky, the marks of DropShips through the atmosphere. Some ended in abrupt fireballs or veered sharply into vertical descents. A few arced off to the north or south, breaking off from the pack in hope of avoiding pursuit.
And aerospace fighters were slashing through the chaos like the arrows of the gods, cutting through everything they came across.
Some wore the snarling jaguar of her Clan, others the dragon of Rasalhague, a fiery bird or a sword emerging from water. Every fighter on both sides displayed the Cameron Star.
One, two, three fighters died in the sky around Sarah in as many seconds, and that was just in the easy reach of her own sensors. Two had been Smoke Jaguars, which said poor things about the readiness of her pilots. The third had been one of the enemy - but only one of them.
The best estimate was that the invaders had around sixty aerospace fighters. Sarah had only commanded about that many herself - Omega Galaxy’s aerospace binaries had been battered covering the withdrawal from Vinton, replenished from the garrison there and the Osis’ Pryde’s own squadron. The loss ratio suggested that the parity was being lost.
Alarms blared, warning that Sarah herself was being targeted. A dart-like aerospace fighter - one of the Cor-Stars used by ComStar - was lighting her up. The khan twisted her ‘mech, aware that abandoning the stable drop position was a risk but subordinating that to the much more immediate hazard of being shredded by the fighter’s lasers.
Every bit of reaction mass in the jump-pack was precious, but little more than a breath was enough to turn the Iron Cheetah enough for the resulting tumble to bring her PPCs to bear.
Two particle bolts lashed out and smashed one of the wings on the fighter… bare seconds after the Cor-Star’s own lasers slashed a line across armor… and across the auxiliary jump-pack.
Sarah Weaver had the satisfaction of seeing the CorStar tumbling wildly as it lost control under her shots… but then she saw the fuel gauge of the jump pack drop precipitously. The lasers had penetrated the tanks of liquid hydrogen and more than a ton of the precious reactor mass was spraying out into the sky.
The altimeter told the saKhan of Clan Smoke Jaguar that she was still several kilometers above the ground, a distance shrinking faster and faster as gravity dragged her ‘mech down. Without the jump pack, there was no way to slow her fall… and the twist to bring her guns to bear and her tumbling wildly, unable to safely eject.
It took just under a minute for Sarah Weaver to complete her return to Huntress… and she was screaming in rage the whole way down.
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===Down and Out again===
Jaguar’s Fangs Mountain Range, Huntress
Kerensky Cluster, Clan Homeworlds
6 May 3058
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Tyra was getting better about being shot down.
First time she’d woken in an enemy medical bay. The next she’d ridden the fighter into the ground and had to be picked up by a particularly useless group of ComGuards.
This time, at least, she’d managed to eject and make it to the ground without injury. The mechwarrior in that Iron Cheetah had devilishly good aim - hopefully she had done enough damage to the ‘mech that the Task Force wouldn’t have to face them on the ground.
Even if ‘getting good’ at losing fighters wasn’t something to boast of, at least Tyra was at large to make her way back to the rest of the task force. Their current base was at Baghera, in the mountains, and she was fairly sure she knew the rough direction.
In theory she could have just followed the roadsigns - Baghera sat on the main highway through the mountains. But Task Force Topaz had marched through this region to get that far so the roadsigns weren’t likely to be reliable. Civilians had removed or altered the signs to confuse them - and of course, the things were obvious targets for bored mech-jocks to punch at as they went past them.
Still, find the highway and follow it east. How hard could it be?
Three hours later, she was remembering route marches from the academy and regretting her earlier hubris. It would be much easier to do this if she had transport. At this rate, by the time she got to Baghera, the task force would have been gone for weeks - debate among the command staff had already been leaning towards giving up on Lootera and leaving for the Inner Sphere, rather than risk further losses. The arrival of Smoke Jaguar reinforcements, however haphazardly, would probably have settled the matter.
Fortunately those three hours had taken her as far as a road and, even better, something resembling civilization. The small farming village didn’t seem heavily populated but there were enough barns, workshops and other outbuildings that she should be able to get into the center without being noticed much.
Looking down at herself, Tyra concluded that - covered in dust as it was - her flightsuit looked fairly similar to the jumpsuits worn by most Smoke Jaguar warriors for day-to-day use. The Kungsarme patch and the Flying Drakons badges would have to go, but that only took a few moments with the blade from her survival kit to handle.
Ideally, she thought, nobody stops me. I just need a car or truck that’s unsupervised and has a tank of gas. The Clans were a high trust society - they rarely secured doors and vehicles.
If someone did try to talk to her, she’d be best masquerading as a Smoke Jaguar warrior. Chances were that none of the civilians would dare stand up to her unless they suspected her. As baffling as it might seem, very few of the civilian castes seemed to have rebellious thoughts against their Clan. Or, if they did, they kept them quiet… for good reason.
Still, Tyra might run into an exception, someone wanting payback and willing to take it out on a lone warrior who might be missed; so she checked her sidearm was loose in its holster before she tried to enter the village.
Her luck held though - while she saw no suitable vehicles unsupervised as she walked through the dirt roads between the buildings, no one tried to approach her - in fact, the outskirts seemed mostly empty. If she hadn’t seen workers out in the fields, Tyra would have suspected the place was deserted.
And as she reached the center of the village, she saw exactly what she needed - a light utility truck, suited for off-road use and of the same type she’d used often. And best of all, the engine under the hood was a small fusion reactor - barely large enough to register on the scale needed for combat vehicles but for something this size, it gave the truck a range that might as well have been infinite.
The truck was parked in front of the village store, which probably explained where the owner was. Trying not to look furtive, she walked down the street towards it and caught hold of the door handle as she went past. If it hadn’t opened, she would have gone past and considered her options. However, the door unlatched and so she swung herself inside.
The seat was a little too far back for her and she reached down to adjust it.
“Hey!”
Of all the timing! Looking up, Tyra saw a young man - more a boy than a man - standing at the entrance of the store. He had a carbine suspended from his shoulder by a tactical sling and in the time it took Tyra to get her hand onto her gun, the muzzle was up and she could see down the barrel.
“Do not point that at me unless you plan to use it,” she snapped, barely remembering to use the ‘proper’ clipped English of the Clans.
“I will,” he spat, voice high with excitement. “Get out of our truck.”
Tyra looked at him. Looked at the gun. Then she started the engine. “I am commandeering this vehicle.”
“You cannot commandeer from a warrior!”
More of them were coming out of the store now, five… no six. All wearing the same coveralls. All of them armed and none looking past their teens. “You are a warrior?” Tyra asked contemptuously. “You do not look old enough to have passed your trials. How old are you? Seventeen?”
There was a sharp laugh from one of the other warriors. But they were spreading out slowly, all of them gripping carbines.
The boy flushed. “Eighteen. But our Clan needs us and we answer the call.”
Tyra snorted and reached for the door to pull it close.
He licked his lips nervously but the gun never ceased to bear upon Tyra. “I do not want to have to clean the cab but I will shoot you if you do not get out. Now!”
“That will not be necessary, Sam,” a quiet voice corrected him from the doorway. The man who emerged from the store was older than any of them and moved with confidence. As he stepped out into the sun, Tyra could see flesh and metal in familiar features. “Tyra. I did not expect to see you back here.”
She swallowed. “It is a small galaxy, Trent.”
For a moment, they could have been five years back - warrior and technician. Outcast and bondswoman.
And then they were on a dusty street again, youths claiming the title of warrior eyeing each of them uncertainly. “You know her, sir?”
Trent sighed heavily. “Aff. She is a warrior.” Then he glanced around at them. “My command,” he told Tyra. “Warriors all.”
So he’d been made a trainer. Tyra knew that the post was not considered an honor for the Clans, more… getting one last piece of use out of a warrior too old to fight. “If you say it, then it must be so,” she allowed.
“We will fight with Khan Weaver,” Sam exclaimed proudly. “We will retake our world!”
Tyra imagined the little squad trying to take on a tank or ‘mech and the result seemed obvious. Still, they could easily be dangerous against an infantry squad… or a lone pilot trying to get back to her lines. “That assumes that she makes it to the surface alive,” she said instead, indicating the sky. “The Khan is formidable but we all have limits.”
“Something you should remember,” Trent warned her.
“I am taking this truck, Trent.” She could have backed down, found something else, but Tyra had a suspicion that doing so would be showing weakness to this pack of half-trained and aggressive young Jaguars. And that would not end well.
The scarred mechwarrior grunted deep in his chest. “So, cubs. It seems that my old friend is challenging us to a trial of possession for our transportation. Do you need me to remind you how to respond?”
The group moved back to circle him, looking at each other and no longer paying any mind to Tyra. Even Sam backed up, lowering his carbine.
“I will defeat her,” the one girl among them boasted. She drew a survival knife. “Knives!”
“Hah!” The tallest of the boys clapped his hands together sharply. “Who needs weapons? I will best her with my bare hands!”
Trent chuckled, the sound turned into a harsh cough. “Will you?”
“Neg,” Sam warned. “I will beat her.” He unstrapped his carbine.
“What do you bid that is less than no weapon,” demanded the tall boy.
“I will beat her with one hand tied behind my back!”
Trent glanced over at Tyra, who shook her head slightly. He snorted. “Very well, that is the lowest bid. Does anyone think they can fight with less?”
The other four all shook their heads and stepped back.
“Very well.” Trent accepted the carbine he was offered. “Sam, you are elected to defend our rights to the truck. If you win, Tyra must find other transportation. If not… I think she will let us remove our gear from the back.”
“Bargained well and done,” Tyra agreed, watching in amusement as Sam loosened his belt and thrust his hand through the back of it. He needed another boy’s help to tighten the belt again and winced slightly as it was secured.
“Are you both ready?” Trent asked. “Then begin,” he ordered once Tyra and Sam had both agreed.
Sam took two steps towards the truck and then froze as he found the muzzle of Tyra’s side-arm pointed right between his eyes. Eyes that went wide sharply at the sight.
“What is your plan now?” Tyra asked him quietly.
“I…” He gulped. “Star Captain?”
Trent coughed again. “Breaking your bid is dishonorable, warrior. And your dishonor reflects upon me, as your trainer and your commander. Why should I incur dishonor because you bid poorly?”
There was a snicker from one of the other youngsters and Sam’s head snapped up. He looked desperate, ready to do something stupid.
“I offer you hegira,” Tyra told him before some poorly calculated risk could be taken. “The Smoke Jaguars need warriors and if Trent tells me that you are worthy then it must be so.”
Sam licked his lips and then lowered his head. “I accept.”
Tyra raised the gun slightly but didn’t put it away until the boy had backed up.
“Get your gear from the back,” Trent ordered the other four. “And Sam’s as well.”
The four bustled forwards, giving Sam sidelong looks that made it clear that he was now the low man on the totem pole.
“Knives?” Tyra asked, giving the girl a pointed look. Then she turned to the taller boy. “Bare hands?” She shook her head, slipping her sidearm away. The two looked abashed.
Trent gave her a nod. “I cannot spare a map for you, but the highway is thirty kilometers south of us. The Spheroids watch it so we use side roads to get around them.”
Understanding his unspoken message, Tyra nodded wordlessly. Then she pulled the door shut. “The Spheroids will leave soon. This was a raid. But other Clans will arrive soon.”
“Aff,” he grunted. “We will be ready.”
She wanted to wish him luck, but knew it would be uncharacteristic of a Smoke Jaguar warrior. “Skill, Trent.”
“And you, Tyra.” He lowered his voice. “Did you get shot down again? It is a bad habit, even if you keep surviving.”
The last of the kids jumped down, having removed six rucksacks from the truckbed. Tyra looked for something more to say and found nothing. He would not join her and she would not join him. From his expression, he felt the same way.
Putting the truck into gear, Tyra stepped on the accelerator and it roared away. Dust was kicked up over the six of them and indignant curses from the child-warriors of Clan Smoke Jaguar chased her out of the village.
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===Fending off the Zeerga===
New Samos, Kirchbach
Clan Wolf Occupation Zone
4 June 3058
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The Zeerga had been on Kirchbach. New Samos, the capital, was still burning in places where the garrison had gone in to secure the administration center.
“Vlad did not need to do that,” Phelan Ward reported, face grim. He had taken a cluster from Beta Galaxy in to support the firefighters. “The garrison had already been beaten, he had control of the planet.”
Ulric Kerensky had stayed with the bulk of the Clan forces, outside the city. “He could have acquired the data and the staff without the damage,” he agreed. “But there is a reason he did it this way.”
Jena Carns scowled. Her Fourth Wolf Guards were currently providing the perimeter. “If they wanted to fight over their exile, why are they not here? They had to know we would respond.”
The Khan combed through his short beard with the fingers of his left hand. “Two questions with one answer: Vlad - and I agree, this is his strategy, not Marialle Radick’s - does not just want to fight us, he wants to beat us. Me, in particular.” He watched the two, wondering if his old friend would understand first or if Phelan would show what he had learned.
“We know he was here for information,” Jena pointed out. “The Zeerga have been out of touch for a year, but they should have a good idea by now of the situation from Sigma’s files.”
Phelan stiffened. “He is shaping the battlefield.”
“What battlefield, he is not here!”
Ulric shook his head. Jena was a very sharp tactician, she had commanded the Fourth Wolf Guards for twice as long as most officers managed to serve as Star Colonel, but there was a reason she had never risen to Galaxy Commander. “The larger battlefield.” He nodded to Phelan. “Go on.”
“The information here is not going to add much to what the Zeerga know already,” the young man thought out loud. “They probably learned more when they hit the ComStar enclave.”
Having been on the frontlines of the first two Succession Wars, Kirchbach had taken serious damage. As one of the few places that was not at risk of WMDs, ComStar’s HPG station had become a destination for refugees. More than a century later, it was one of the major cities with a sizable area around it that wasn’t formally part of the enclave but depended on it economically. There had been a battalion of ComGuards there before the Zeerga arrived - now there was not, and the city looked worse than New Samos did.
Phelan looked up and met Ulric’s gaze. “We promised protection to these people and we failed. It makes Clan Wolf look weak.”
“Exactly,” the Khan agreed. “They wanted to draw out a response. This is the second attack since Star’s End and the pattern is the same. The uprisings since the interdiction are a problem but it is manageable. If Clan Wolf’s strength and reliability are in question, that could become much worse. We cannot ignore this, but reinforcing all the garrisons here means the Zeerga can pick units off individually.”
“They know that they are outnumbered.” Jena smacked one hand against her thigh. “Going for isolated garrisons is to weaken us so that we cannot use our numbers against them.”
“And without a fixed base of operations, we cannot pin them down. Those Leviathans may be basically barges but they can go anywhere,” Phelan realized. “Damn…”
“Not anywhere. There is a limit to both their supplies and how long the civilians aboard will put up with their quarters,” Ulric corrected him. “You have read some of our history, do you recall the Prinz Eugen mutiny?”
That got a thoughtful look. “Not in detail. The crew wanted to quit Kerensky’s Exodus fleet and marines had to storm the ship.”
“Close enough. The point is that long journeys put stress on passengers, particularly on ships that cannot be in the best of condition. While the Zeerga have not been traveling as long as the Exodus Fleet had been at that point, pressure will be building. Civilians will be less productive and the warriors…”
“They must be climbing the walls!” Jena went to the window and indicated the smoke rising from New Samos’ skyline. “And their Khans letting them off the leash is part of why there was so much collateral damage.”
Ulric nodded in agreement. “Radick and Ward must have promised them something to still be in control of their Clan Council. And we know how warriors are, particularly when they are young. They will want chances to prove themselves and gain glory. A long period of denial and now a taste…”
“So they are on a deadline,” Phelan concluded. “Assuming that they are looking to confront you,” he pointed at Ulric, “Then sooner or later they have to do that.”
“And balance that against giving them the best chance of success.”
“That assumes they do not go right for Tamar.” Jena had the look on her face that said she was playing devil’s advocate.
Ulric shook his head. “Unlikely. We would have the supplies, the fixed defenses and it would be easier for us to call in reinforcements from Delta and Gamma. No, they are trying to draw me out.” He paused and then looked over at Phelan. “Probably to draw you out as well, Phelan. Vlad has not forgotten your history with him.”
“I figured that.” The young Star Colonel shook his head. “So he does not know yet we are here.”
“Even if he did, he will want to eliminate more of Theta Galaxy before he strikes.” Ulric stroked his beard. “Two, perhaps three attacks to eliminate support and - they hope - to force us to disperse our forces.”
Jena looked over at the city. “I do not like the idea of more cities suffering this, Ulric.”
“Nor do I.” The Khan looked out. Vlad has found an excellent angle to undermine us. He would have been so valuable to the Clan if he had not fallen in with the lunatic fringe. “Unfortunately, they have the initiative for now. We will start by making my presence known. Not here though, Kirchbach is not central enough… Liezen would be better. From there we can act as a reaction force with some chance of intercepting them.”
“You are thinking of our warships,” she said.
“Yes, we have a naval star with us. Even if our ground forces cannot arrive in time, taking out their transport will either pin them in place or force them to leave some of their forces behind.” The Zeerga didn’t even need to have their ships destroyed, just damaged. “But even if that does not work, once I am there the pressure from their Clan Council to confront me will be increased. The sooner the confrontation takes place, the less of this,” he pointed out the window, “We have to deal with.”
“They have at least three galaxies,” Phelan warned. “Maybe more if they have a significant amount of captured material and Wolf warriors willing to fight for them. Alpha, Beta and Epsilon are good, but that may not be enough.”
Ulric saw Jena bristle at that and shrugged. “Even if we win, we could take losses that leave us weakened in face of other threats. That is why I need you to go back to Rasalhague, Phelan.”
“Me?”
“Yes, I have a mission for you. If we are going to defeat the Zeerga without shattering half our available forces, we need to take advantage of their biggest vulnerability.”
“And what would that be?” Jena enquired.
Ulric smiled wolfishly. “Their quite phenomenal ability to make enemies.”
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