FSML-2 Chpt 8

=Chapter 8=
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==Frederick Steiner and the Man Who Knew Too Little==
Book 2
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===Strategic Meeting with the Archon===
Mount Asgard, Tharkad
Protectorate of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
24th July, 3019
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The interior of Mount Asgard was cool and the various command centers were dimly lit, to make the display screens more visible. Every theater along the border had their own dedicated command center and staff, to allow the Margraves commanding them to deliver orders while on Tharkad or so the Archon and the High Command could coordinate with them when they were on their command worlds.
Katrina’s own preferred position was on a level half a kilometer below these chambers, further removed from generals who held their ranks by courtesy alone and where she could focus her attention on whatever corner of the Lyran Commonwealth needed them the most.
Right now the first of the chamber’s three large screens displayed the Terran corridor, centered upon New Earth but including Dieron and sections of all five Successor States. The next showed the full globe of Dieron, rolling slowly to show the full surface over the course of sixty seconds. And finally, the third showed the entire border with the Draconis Combine, with orange markers for activity. There was more than Katrina was comfortable with, not that that was anything new.
“We just got an update from the fighting on Port Moseby.” Edward Regis indicated one world near the mid-point on the last display. “The good news is that Gamma Regiment of the Wolf’s Dragoons should be there in three more days, but the bad news is that the Eighth Commonwealth Jaegers’ raiding campaign didn’t have quite the end we were hoping.”
“Don’t soft-soap me, Ed. How bad is it?”
“They hit their objectives, which has bought the time we need there, but the Legion of Vega caught them on the last one and barely a company made it out. Kommandant Bryan was not among the survivors.”
“Damn. Was he at fault or are we looking at a posthumous award?”
The General of Armies rubbed his chin. “The trouble with these operations is that even if you do get everything right, you can still get unlucky. If he slipped a little at the end, he still did what needed to be done.”
Katrina slumped into her chair. “Get the paperwork in motion and figure out who’ll collect it.”
“His daughter’s at the Nagelring.”
“Fine.” She took a deep breath. “Are the Jaegers going to be salvageable?”
“Probably not, at least as far as the Eighth is concerned.” Regis looked regretful. “Two leutnents got back, but there’s not enough of a cadre to rebuild it right now. I suggest folding the battalion back into the Third.”
The initial five Jaeger battalions had been successful enough that Katrina had built them up to four companies each, then split them to and added more recruits to field ten battalions. She was uneasily aware now that this might have not given the units enough time to season, but Takashi was turning Frederick’s strategy back on her: multiple raids and reconnaissance-in-force operations, fixing her reserves to avoid losing worlds elsewhere and thereby depriving Dieron.
“I meant the Eighth,” she agreed. “but the concept as a whole?”
“I consider it proven.” Regis folded his arms behind his back. “More seasoning time for them to absorb their new MechWarriors would have been preferable, but we don’t have the luxury of holding combat units back right now and the other nine have done well.”
“Frederick will be smug.”, commented Katrina
“That is your particular burden, Archon. I think that as prices go it’s not a steep one.”
“I’ll make you deal with him next time he’s on Tharkad.”
Regis tilted his head in acknowledgement of the hit and then looked at the central screen. “I think I can bear that, Your Majesty. It would mean he’s made it back, after all.”
Katrina’s gaze followed the general’s to Dieron’s globe, where days old data mapped the movements of almost a dozen regiments of ‘mechs and three times that in other troops. Clashes marked where the lines of advances clashed and so far every victory seemed to have a matching defeat for Frederick’s forces. Nothing had yet been decisive either way, but the numbers did not favor him.
“So far Marcus Kurita has refrained from committing the Sword of Light against Frederick’s units.” Edward continued. “He’s using it mostly to sweep up soft victories against cities that are far from our center of mass on the planet, but we know it’s where they have the bulk of lostech. Entire SLDF ‘Mechs, while the Dieron Regulars are using existing wargear with SLDF weapons installed in place of their own.”
“His counterpart to the Fourth Royals.” she commented
“He may be waiting for the Fourth to leave the Sükhbaatar valley. The Dieron Regulars might not be as well equipped, but their lostech is giving them an edge against the Lyran Guards and Lyran Regulars.”
“Victory usually goes to the side that commits its reserves last.” Katrina didn’t address the key point: her orders that Frederick was only to commit the Fourth in defense of Sükhbaatar. If the revived Royal Guards regiment got cut off then it might be annihilated and the political backlash would be insane. She’d rather lose Dieron than see that happen - and with the Royal Guards holding the defensive advantage in the mountains around Frederick’s stronghold, they were filling a vital role.
Regis shrugged. “It also usually goes to the side that takes the initiative.”
“What can we scrape up to reinforce him? Takashi can’t have much left with his current pace of operations. He’s even sent one of the Pesht Regular regiments to Rasalhague.” Pesht District’s only external border faced the periphery and the district’s regiments were usually understrength and undersupplied. Even so, piracy was a constant threat so moving them to face the Suns or the Commonwealth was a rare move for the DCMS.
“The Wolf’s Dragoons are already committed with four regiments responding to hot-spots and we can’t really move Alpha Regiment away from their base on Mizar.”
“It’s a fine thing for Takashi that Jaime Wolf is incommunicado right now.” She shook her head. “Simon tells me that Kurita’s made him an offer for when our current contract ends.”
“That’s sadly predictable.” Regis steepled his fingers. “You’ve met Colonel Wolf, do you think he’ll break with their usual custom and take another contract with the Commonwealth?”
“As much as I’d like to say otherwise, the best we can probably hope for is their usual requirement of not being committed against their previous employer.”
“Which means Hanse Davion gets the pleasure of facing the Dragoons.”
“Yes. He’s made his own offer too - honestly, I’d be just as happy if Wolf took that offer, but I think he’s for some reason looking to surpass the record of McCarron.” McCarron’s Armored Cavalry had fought for every one of the Great Houses, and against four of them.
Regis looked up at the border display. “Short of turning Team Banzai around and sending them back from Duran…”
“Unacceptable. Duran A&M got a target painted on it by Davion’s admission. I want the garrison on Duran back up to strength.” She wasn’t going to repeat the mistake that her uncle had in 3005.
“And Selwin Kelswa will raise hell if we pull anything from Tamar’s theaters, justifiably.” The general made a face. “That leaves the Marik border and we’re already seeing some opportunistic probing from that direction. I think we might be able to get away with reassigning the Second and Seventh Jaeger battalions from there. With the right routing, we can get their dropships to Dieron along with a supply run for Frederick. Infantry and armor are feasible, but that will be even more demanding of shipping.”
Katrina looked at the deployments and reluctantly concluded that Regis was right. She wasn’t surprised - she’d not selected him at random to head the LCAF - but there was always some hope. “Why does it always feel as if we’re running as hard as we can to stay where we are, Ed?”
“That’s not an unreasonable summation of the Succession Wars, Kat,” he told her, matching her informality. “Shall I cut the orders?”
“Do it. And send Frederick whatever conventional regiments you can pry out of Skye’s garrisons. I’ll drop cash for militia regiments to stand up to full readiness to take their place. Besides that, have our hiring agents on Galatea up their offers - I want every merc unit we can pick up out on the border. That might take up enough slack that we can free up another ‘mech regiment.”
“I’ll try, but I don’t expect any large units will be soliciting contracts before the Dragoons move on next year.”
“I know, but enough small units spread out could have a similar effect.” Katrina tugged on the braid that she’d put her hair into this morning. “I’ll see if I can wring another favor out of Hanse Davion. Ardan Sortek hasn’t been called home yet, so I don’t think we’ve worn out our credit with the First Prince yet.”
“Is that a debt we want to call in in full?” asks the General
She paused in consideration. “I doubt he’d end the alliance, but it would be possible to go too far. But at the same time, we can’t be taken advantage of. It’s a balancing act. If he’s willing to grant what I have in mind then I think I’ll call it even and let him know that the debt is paid. Michael Hasek-Davion might not be the problem for us that he is for Hanse, but I still know which I trust more on the throne of the Federated Suns.”
Katrina checked the clock and then picked up her comm. “Jared, call Colonel Sortek and invite him to dine with myself and Melissa this evening. I’m aware it’s short notice.”
Regis arched an eyebrow as the Archon put the comm down. “You usually keep courtiers away from your daughter.”
“Ardan Sortek isn’t a courtier, he’s too sincere - besides, she likes him.”, she comments
“Ah, that’s dangerous at that age. She’s old enough for a first crush.”
She gave the general a suspicious look. “She’s nine and he’s twenty-six.”
“I’m not saying that it’s a realistic crush, or that he’d do anything remotely inappropriate. But for that very reason she may cry herself to sleep over the chivalrous mechwarrior she’ll never have.”
“...I pity any woman you marry.” Katrina told him sincerely and headed for the monorail that would take her back to the Triad. Regis had to be joking with her. Melissa was just a little girl. He had to be joking… right?
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===Arguing over Orders===
Atacama Desert, Dieron
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
31st July, 3019
Deber City was blazing on Frederick’s tactical display, and some of those fires were literal.
Others were tactical markers, crimson markers showing the fiery sword that meant Marcus Kurita had finally committed his prize regiment.
“Iznakki space port is in their hands,” Max reported. His Orion had been folded into the command lance - the rest of Fredericks company were out of action or had been assigned to fill slots in the other combatant regiments. “They managed to take it without any reports reaching us and then smashed right through the link between the Tenth and Eleventh Guards to reach the city and its bridges.”
Frederick thumped a secondary monitor with his fist, careful that it was one that had ceased to function anyway. The impact on plastic and metal stung his knuckles. The other man didn’t need to elaborate what that meant. Deber City lay on the Khoomei River - one of the major waterways crossing the Atacama Desert, a sizable section of Mateo’s coast. Without the bridges, the two Lyran Guards regiments couldn’t reinforce each other and Marcus could focus the Dieron Regulars on one side or the other of the river to beat back whichever half of the Lyran force that he chose.
“Can we coordinate an attack from both flanks?” he asked and then shook his head, knowing the answer. “No, let me guess - we’re jammed.”
“They got the hardlines as well,” Max added. “By the time we get a reliable commline set up…”
“No time.” Frederick turned his Zeus west. “Signal the Eleventh to withdraw east to Quintero. We’ve lost this battle, we need to preserve our forces. We’ll go east to Ulaagom.” It meant dividing their forces, but the important thing was to break contact.
The word went out, and the orders were succinct enough that a daring aerospace fighter pilot was able to act as a laser-com relay to get news across the river to the Eleventh Lyran Guards. It cost the man, though and a pair of Saber interceptors were chasing his Seydlitz north when the pilot dropped out of contact - hopefully due to the jamming and not being shot down.
Turning his backs on Deber City, Frederick turned west and marched with the Tenth Lyran Guards as fast as he could. It was ironic, he thought. Katrina offered me the Tenth once. I turned them down, but now here I am fighting with them.
The forced march was tied to the slowest units - the two dozen or so assault ‘mechs among the Guards. While Frederick’s Zeus and the rest of his lance could have reached sixty four kilometers an hour - even Max’s Orion was able to almost reach that - there were Stalkers and Atlases in the ranks that were more sluggish. But their value was too great to leave them behind.
Thus, lances of Griffins, Commandos, and other ‘mechs had to fight a rear-guard, forcing the pursuit to slow and fight, then racing to catch up once the heavier ‘mechs were far enough ahead. It was fortunate that the rolling desert hills weren’t doing too much to slow the supporting two armor regiments or the mechanized infantry.
It was all frustratingly distant, so Frederick was glad to hear the chime from his comm panel as soon as they reached the next hardpoint in the planetary comms network that hadn’t been compromised. Whatever the topic of conversation was, it had to be better than his own thoughts.
“Sledgehammer Actual, this is Ragamuffin Actual.” Pete greeted him.
“I read you, Ragamuffin Actual.”
“I don’t know if you’ve got the latest Intel,” the other general told him, “But it looks like the Snakes split up to chase you. You’ve got the Fifth Sword of Light behind you, while the Third Dieron Regulars are going after the Eleventh.”
“More or less what I’d figured.”
Brion’s Legion had been basically smashed between the two Lyran Guards regiments outside Deber City - some survivors had escaped, but the regiment was functionally out of play - possibly for good. Unfortunately, in retaking the city, the DCMS had probably captured the salvageable ‘mechs so they could either give them back to the mercs or - more likely - use them to rebuild the Twelfth Sun Zhang Cadre. That had taken enough losses from combat and transfers to keep the Dieron Regulars up to strength that it had been pulled back to guard the DCMS bases on Voltenna.
Which was likely why Marcus Kurita now felt free to deploy his reserves. Well, that and the chance to smash the Lyran Guards while they were isolated from the Seventh Lyran Regulars, who were keeping the Twenty-Seventh Dieron Regulars busy in the south, or the Second and Seventh Commonwealth Jaegers, who’d drawn the Twenty-Fourth Dieron Regulars far enough north that Frederick could pounce on Brion’s Legion.
“I can have the Fourth on DropShips in an hour and dropping to support you in ninety minutes total,” Pete continued. “We’re the only force you have that can match them for lostech. You know it makes sense.”
“You know I can’t do that. We don’t have any other ‘mechs free to cover the Sükhbaatar valley. Tanks and infantry can hold the passes, but if they hit the coast then we’ll be besieged in the forts.”
“They only have the Sun Zhang Cadre spare. They’ve got fighting spirit but not much else - besides, they’re down to barely two battalions. The reserves can hold them a day or two - long enough to win.”
“Pete, don’t push me.”
There was a pause and for a moment he thought that he’d convinced the other man to give up on it. Then: “If you don’t bring us out now, when will you? Right now we’re not even a threat, and once Marcus Kurita knows you won’t deploy us outside the valley we’re not even useful as a deterrent.”
“I know that, but you have your orders.”
“Your orders, or the Archon’s?” Peter questioned him.
Dammit. How secure was this commline? Codes could be broken, and landlines could be tapped into. “Pete…”
“Rumor has it that Katrina doesn’t want to risk my regiment,” Pete continued. “but if we can’t be risked then what’s even the point of us?”
“You’re holding the critical bases for us.” Frederick told him. “I know you want to fight, but without you holding them I couldn’t have risked bringing the Lyran Guards all this way -” Deber City was practically on the opposite side of the planet from San Martin. “- to take out Brion’s Legion.”
Unfortunately, with the gains there cut off, and two fresh regiments taking the field, the numbers were still about even and the Combine had two regiments of lostech ‘mechs compared to one on the Lyran side.
“You can’t keep the same fifth of your force in reserve when the Dracs are rotating theirs.” the other general warned. “If not now, let us loose soon. You can’t claim you’re holding us back to counter the Sword of Light if they’re being used and we aren’t.”
Except you’re right that Katrina’s given me orders not to do that. And the hell is, I can’t say she’s really wrong. Losing the Fourth when they were only reformed last year would be a huge embarrassment.
“I’ll put you in the field when I have the right opening and the right plan.” he promised. “Let it be, Pete.”
He cut the channel and received another call a moment later. “Sledgehammer Actual.”
“Seven,” Max’s voice replied. “I’m guessing Ragamuffin gave you the overview before begging to be deployed.”
“He did.” Frederick paused. “He’s that predictable?”
“He’s a Steiner. I’ve met Lyran commanders who weren’t aggressive, but not one yet from House Steiner.”
Despite himself, despite the situation, Frederick grinned. “Well, I hate to say it, we aren’t going aggressive. The Sword of Light have faster ‘mechs than we have here, they could keep us at range and pick us apart.”
Intelligence sources on Voltenna had made it clear that the Third Dieron Regulars had been rebuilt with the slower lostech machines, while the Fifth Sword of Light was the hammer to that anvil, including not a single ‘mech slower than a Dragon. It was going to make breaking contact with them a nightmare.
“Marcus picked a good moment to put his reserve in the field,” the older man agreed. “But unless he knows that the Fourth aren’t available, he’s gambling that you won’t bring them in and bracket his best troops between three crack regiments.”
“He could have guessed. He’s not a fool…”
Then Max said what Frederick was already thinking: “Or he knows something we don’t yet.”
“Max, I need to talk to Nelitha. If there are reinforcements inbound, for either side, that could change everything!”
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===When leaders Clash===
Atacama Desert, Dieron
Federation of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
1st August, 3019
The Sword of Light had scouts out, so they couldn’t really be surprised to find the Tenth Lyran Guards lined up facing them, ten kilometers from the township that had been the rallying point for their attack on Deber City. Less than three days had passed, but Max would have had to look the place’s name up - if he cared to. It was another desert town on the road, any originality stamped out of it long since by the precarious economics of its location and the demands of conformity made by House Kurita.
But here they stood, a hundred Lyran Guards’ mechs (and Frederick’s command lance), flanked on both sides by armored battalions. The infantry had continued into the town - this wasn’t a fight they were suited for.
>>“Marcus Kurita!”<< Frederick’s voice boomed from the speakers on his Zeus as the red-painted ‘mechs marched towards the blue and white Lyran ‘mechs that must have been silhouettes against the setting sun. >>“I’ve been waiting for you.”<<
Kintaros. Crabs. Mongooses, Falcons, and Hussars. Sentinels and Bombardiers. Lancelots and Flashmen. It was a cavalcade of anachronisms. Max could see some familiar designs among them, but almost eighty percent of the ‘mechs were designs that had been lost in the Succession Wars. Oh, occasionally there would be a trickle of production from one factory or another, but even there the ‘mechs would be patched together improvisations for technology no longer available.
Not these fresh, intact and functional ‘mechs.
One hundred and forty-nine ‘mechs, Max counted. The Fifth Sword of Light was at full strength - four battalions and a command quintet for Warlord Marcus Kurita, who stalked forwards in a crimson Excalibur. Hopefully the base model, not the Royal model that fixed some of its more glaring issues. It was hard to tell - certainly the battle computer of Max’s faithful old Orion wasn’t up to detecting the differences.
>>“Frederick Steiner, I presume.”<< The Kurita’s english was precise and accentless, no doubt learned as a boy and rigorously maintained for the handling of foreigners and dissidents who did not accept the ‘perfection’ of Japanese. >>“I had doubted your presence until now. Your reputation is not one of abject cowardice, and seeing this force in retreat I had thought that you were elsewhere.”<< 
>>“Retreating?”<< The duke’s voice dripped scorn. >>“I was merely advancing to the most suitable battlefield. As the governor of Dieron, I must be hospitable to foreign guests.”<<
Keep him talking, Max thought. Let the desert cool - the cold it is, the better for us. We don’t have the freezers in our ‘mechs that the Sword of Light have. Not even Frederick’s Zeus had them - he’d refused to be out of action long enough for the ‘mech to be refitted with them.
>>“You are mistaken, General Steiner.”<< Marcus Kurita spoke smoothly and courteously as the DCMS ‘mechs fanned out to cover the same frontage as the Lyran Guards. >>“Dieron is the capital of my district and thus it is I who am the host. You are my guest.”<< 
>>“Impossible: the guest comes to the host and you’ve come to me.”<< 
>>“I have merely come to meet you.”<< Was that a hint of irritation? >>“Or would you rather say that I have come out to locate and deal with an intruder? Ah, I do not mean to treat a distinguished Lyran soldier like a bandit who has stolen over the wall in the middle of the night.”<< 
>>“I do not dispute your expertise in the subject of banditry,”<< Frederick replied. >>“There is nothing dishonorable in battling pirates, and had I been assigned to the periphery I would have pursued that mission with vigor. It is merely that all of my assigned duties have been to wage war against other Great Houses.”<< 
It was hard to say if Kurita was slighted or not. >>“As warlord of Rasalhague, I have taken worlds from the Lyran Commonwealth. I look forward to doing so as warlord of Dieron.”<< 
>>“I assumed so, since you have come here to try to take Dieron from the Commonwealth. I must tell you though, I have yet to lose a planet to House Kurita.”<< 
>>“Then this will be the first.”<< The Excalibur spread its arms, much as the man inside might have.
Frederick chuckled. >>“So you acknowledge that this is a Lyran world now, and that you are the guest.”<< 
>>“...enough of these pleasantries. You say you choose this as your battlefield? Very well, I will grant you the dignity of letting you choose your place to die.”<< And yet, there was a note of uncertainty to Marcus Kurita’s words.
The desert was hilly here, but the hills were low - it was rare for them to be taller than a ‘mech’s height. Nor were there iron deposits to confuse magnetic sensors and as the evening chilled, infrared would pick out a combustion engine or a fusion reactor. In short, it would be incredibly difficult to hide forces here. Without satellites to pick up and relay laser-coms, only short-range radio communication was possible due to the jamming carried out by both forces, whereas closer to the town the Lyrans might be able to use the landlines there to coordinate with more distant forces.
Yet here was Frederick offering battle when he was outnumbered almost three-to-two. The warlord must be wondering if it was a trick.
No, it was definitely a trick. But what was its nature?
Frederick moved his Zeus forwards. >>“You spoke earlier of cowardice, General Kurita.”<< Another slight, that wasn’t a fair translation of Marcus’ rank. >>“Yet you have been waiting to join battle for weeks now, while I have been on the frontlines. I offer you the opportunity to allay the doubts of your warriors as to your courage.”<< 
>>“There are no such doubts.”<< Kurita denied.
>>“Then you don’t fear to face me?”<< 
>>“I have no fear of any of the Lyran Guards, even the famed Tenth regiment.”<< 
>>“No.”<< Frederick tapped the club-like missile launcher of his Zeus against its chest. >>“I mean, in person.”<< 
>>“...are you challenging me?”<<, the Warlord questioned Fredrick.
>>“I am Frederick Steiner, son of Sophia Steiner, grandson of Giovanni Steiner. I am the Duke of Duran and through my veins flows the blood of Archons, of Lords of the Star League. I have won a dozen battles against House Kurita and House Marik and I have claimed seventeen battlemech kills.”<< Frederick’s boasting cut through the air. >>“I offer you, Marcus Kurita, the chance to be the eighteenth.”<< 
The Excalibur stood stock still. >>“I regret that there is such advantage held by my forces that I cannot accept your offer of a proxy battle, Lord Steiner. You do me honor, but I have also my duty to my lord.”<< 
>>“You mistake me, Kurita. I do not offer you any proxy. Each of my mechwarriors will face one of yours. Lyran Guardsman against Sword of Light samurai. No random melee, not blundering around looking for each other. These hills stretch for miles - to the sea of sands north of us, the ocean to the south. Plenty of room for us all to duel. A single, glorious and decisive battle. Do you dare?”<< 
The challenge hung in the air.
>>“You have courage, Steiner.”<< Marcus managed to sound amused. >>“Very well. I, Marcus Kurita, Tai-Shu of Dieron military district and commander of the Fifth Sword of Light, accept your challenge. I, the son of Undell and grandson of Hugai, heir to the glorious legacy of House Kurita, shall meet you in single combat. Let each mechwarrior among your ranks seek one of my warriors who may be willing to face you. Though do not take this as license to demand that my samurai take blatantly unfair challenges.”<< 
>>“I am sure you have brought enough samurai that my warriors can find suitable adversaries.”<< 
That was more confidence than Max felt right now. With two elite regiments present he was almost assured to be the least able mechwarrior present. This was going to suck, but with numbers this heavily weighted against them, he didn’t feel that he could back off.
Marcus and Frederick stood facing each other, while other ‘mechs moved forwards to issue challenges. After the first few, it wasn’t just the Lyran Guards who sought out adversaries. There weren’t any assault ‘mechs visible in the ranks of the Sword of Light, but some of the samurai clearly felt emboldened by their advanced technology and willingly sought out assault ‘mechs to challenge.
With both of the other members of the command lance thus picked out, Max scanned the as yet uninvolved Combine ‘mechs and finally picked out a Champion as his opponent.
The heavy ‘mech was at the bottom of the heavy bracket, where an Orion was usually around fifteen tons heavier. His own cut-down Orion had only half that tonnage advantage. They had comparable autocannon and secondary armament though - he could hope that the Kuritan ‘mech’s speed would be offset by his armor.
Actually, more than off-set would be great. Hopefully this was an utter cretin who’d joined the Sword of Light due to family connections and a flawless disciplinary record rather than actual skill.
Not that that was at all likely, but he could hope.
Marching forwards, Max placed his Orion in front of the Champion and gestured towards it with one arm, in silent challenge.
>>“Ah, you do me honor.”<< The samurai’s english was closer to the slightly germanic accent found on Tharkad and other major worlds than Marcus Kurita’s star league standard. >>“I am Sho-sa Bernard Stolze of the Sword of Light. My family have the honor of ten generations of service to House Kurita, and I have earned distinction as a marksman.”<< 
Shit. That last wasn’t a claim to especial accuracy - it meant at least five kills against enemy ‘mechs. The equivalent of ace for an aerospace pilot.
Max reluctantly flicked his own microphone. >>“Thank you, Sho-sa.”<< He swallowed, realizing he was hesitating and continued: >>“I am Baron Max Mustermann… General Steiner’s secretary.”<< 
>>“I am honored to face a Lyran nobleman in battle. I regret that despite knowing your name and title, I do not recall your deeds or records.”<< 
He knows if I had any, I would have told him! >>“I am the first of my house, Sho-sa Stolze and I claim no kills. I suppose that that will make you my first.”<< Max tipped the torso of his Orion forwards in an ironic bow. >>“Do take care of me.”<< 
>>“...I will be pleased to educate you, Baron.”<< 
It seemed to take almost no time at all for the mechwarriors to pair off and spread out. The Sword of Light ‘mechs not challenged backed up to the edge of weapons range, more than a battalion in number.
Max knew, vaguely, that there were other ‘mechs around him but all he could do was shift to stay roughly opposite Stolze’s Champion.
Just don’t die, he thought. Play it out, wear him down. If I have to eject, there should be enough fighting going on to escape and find my way to one of the tanks. At least the wind is coming from the east. That’ll blow me in the right direction.
There was no specific signal given to begin the duels. Or rather, it was started when Marcus Kurita’s gauss rifle discharged and Max had time to see the shot strike Frederick’s Zeus in the shoulder before all his attention was on trying to stay alive.
Stolze moved his Champion in like lightning, autocannon blazing. More by luck than skill, Max side-stepped and the shells streaked past his Orion - but his own shells also missed. Fortunately he’d managed to get a lock for his LRMs and some of them hit but they were only chipping away at the armor plating.
The faster ‘mech closed in, which was predictable. The Champion’s autocannon was the only long-range weapon it mounted, and it was just as effective up close. If it could get into optimal range for its lasers and short-range missiles then it would be too close for Max to use his LRMs.
Trying to keep his lock, Max backed up, keeping his thumb pressed down on the trigger for the twin LRM launchers - they cycled quickly, alternately lobbing small flights of LRMs at the Champion.
A second autocannon salvo marked the first damage he took - shells smashing into the Orion’s left leg and shaking him around. Max had waited for the shots to land, and fired back only once he was sure of his footing. With the target closer he was more fortunate - his shells ripped into one of the wing-like arms.
The good news was that the armor of the limb was heavily damaged by the shells, much more so than the hit he’d taken. But there was nothing critical in a Champion’s arms, Stolze could soak up damage with them and it wouldn’t impair his combat capability.
If Max had one leg of his own ‘mech crippled then he’d be a sitting duck.
Fortunately, his LRM stores were less than half-full anyway and as a pip next to his crosshairs lit up, signaling that the Champion was within extreme range of his lasers, the balding mechwarrior reached over to a side-console and lifted a cover, thumbing the button under it.
The last salvo of LRMs streaked forth, cratering the dorsal armor behind the Champion’s cockpit, but no replacement missiles fed into the weapons. Instead a panel on the back of the Orion opened and half a ton of LRMs cascaded out and onto the desert floor.
Max stepped sideways, letting the Orion cool for a moment and holding off on his autocannon. The move let him avoid a shot from the Champion’s own autocannon but his cockpit was lit briefly by the flare of inbound missile thrusters as a salvo of SRMs hit home.
He barely had time to look at his status indicators, but the other mechwarrior’s lasers must have also hit given how little protection was left on the left leg.
Max fired again, locking the autocannon and lasers into a single trigger. He had to bet in single concentrated impacts - hopefully doing enough damage to blast into the internals of the Champion. He succeeded in scoring a hit now but it was the Champion’s undamaged arm that took the impact - reduced to little more than a stump, a sacrifice Stolze was no doubt entirely content with.
He was taking hits in return - the entire damage display flickered, reporting damage all across the Orion. Stolze must have switched to using his LB 10-X autocannon’s cluster rounds. Between that and the SRMs, his Orion was being hammered all across the front. It was less likely to cause deep penetrations, but the chances of exploiting existing damage was much higher.
Twisting, Max tried to protect the damaged left leg. It was a predictable move but he had few options.
The angling made it harder to bring his autocannon to bear, the Champion was on the edges of its arc of fire and Stolze was jinking around, threatening to move not only out of the arc but also to fire on his rear and hit the left leg from that angle.
Max didn’t think his autocannon struck home, he saw glowing armor plates marking where his lasers had struck and the energy-transfer had heated them.
Shots smashed back and forth - his damage display was amber and red for armor - the leg flared up again and he display showed that it was now functionally bare of protection. Max could feel the Orion growing sluggish as the heat build-up began to impact on the myomers.
The Champion was scarred but functional, still spitting fire. Its thermal signature was vivid against the chill of the desert night, but Stolze didn’t hesitate to keep firing furiously - now he was close enough that even if the ‘mech was slowed by overheating, it could match the Orion.
Reversing course, Max lunged in to try to exploit the Champion’s lack of any functional arms.
Stolze realized the danger though and turned, backpedaling just far enough to avoid the punch Max threw.
For a moment Max’s rear armor was taking hits but he managed to turn around. His autocannon hit home and for once he saw the Champion stumble. Was Stolze not entirely comfortable with the ungainly ‘mech? It was possible.
Then he felt a hammer-blow and heard a warning tone. At point blank range, Stolze had gone back to high explosive shells and the muzzle of the Orion’s autocannon had been the target.
Whether it was skill or luck didn’t matter. Max was down half his firepower.
At least now keeping the autocannon on target wasn’t a factor so he could twist and turn as much as he needed. But the Champion was still on him, always peppering him with missile and the autocannon, forcing him to guard where the armor was thinnest. Laser fire wasn’t in evidence, perhaps Stolze letting himself cool off.
I can’t drag this out much longer, Max realized grimly. He had barely any armor left.
Flipping the safety off the manual ejection control, he eyed the Champion and charged at it once more, lasers firing as he swung the arms up high.
Stolze dodged, not wanting to take a blow to his own armor - which might not survive a hit.
Max kicked out with the damaged leg, missing the Champion and overbalancing the Orion deliberately. Then he tucked his limbs in on himself and yanked the bar mounted in between his knees.
The canopy blew open and a moment later, a tremendous force - he knew intellectually it was a rocket - hurled him up and into the sky.
Max was screaming. He’d never done this before. Even practise on Duran had been on a hydraulic ram that only raised you a few meters, if just as fast.
But now he’d been lofted hundreds of meters up, high enough to see what seemed like the entire battlefield.
Most of the ‘mechs were still fighting. Well, he’d not thought he was among the best or even the average combatant.
There was another jerk as the parachute deployed, grasping the air as Max reached the apex of his brief flight. His shoulders complained as he reached up and grabbed the grips of the parasail type arrangement.
Steering the thing was another thing that he couldn’t have done, but the wind was carrying him away and that was all he could hope for. For a moment, Max saw the Champion standing over his poor abused Orion. Then he was turned around by the wind and caught what looked like Kurita’s Excalibur, still dueling Frederick.
The ground rushed up and Max bent his knees. It hit him before he was ready and he folded up, sprawling on his face. The parasail dragged him along the dirt and sand for a few meters. Then he managed to find the part of the grip that severed half the cords and let air escape from it.
The middle-aged man rolled onto his back, managed to detach himself from the parachute. It was tempting to simply lie on his back, but he knew the battle was still raging. It would be easy to get crushed underfoot.
Somehow he forced himself upright, forced the neurohelmet off, so he could at least see around himself and started staggering in what he hoped was the right direction.
The hills were far larger when you were on foot than they were in a ‘mech. And the night was much much darker. Despite the drastically different colors of each regiment, it was hard to see which was which.
Throwing himself into the shelter of a ditch, Max dug into the small survival kit attached to his desk and pulled out a compass barely the size of a coin. Establishing that he was moving in the right direction, he took a deep breath and crawled out of the ditch.
There was an explosion in the distance as a ‘mech’s ammunition detonated.
He saw a Zeus crumple, lifelessly. Max froze and stared at it until he saw that it had the canopy of a normal Zeus, not the distinctive wolfshead of Frederick’s with its full-head ejection system.
A Mongoose raced past, trying to get past a Commando, then tumbled and crushed a gnarled tree after one out of a salvo of SRMs cracked against its knee. The light ‘mech rose and kept fighting, but it was limping now and the Commando was unrelenting.
After what seemed like an eternity, Max stumbled up against a wall, which he understood only on second-look was the flank of a Goblin tank.
It took the man longer than he’d like to remember where the hatch was. By the time he reached the handholds to climb up on top, the tank commander had opened the cupola and was pointing a side-arm at him. “Affold!”
The challenge! What was the response…? “Abacus.”
“Zymase!”
“...Bezant?” He hoped it was bezant. He wasn’t sure anymore.
Fortunately he must have been right, because the sergeant lowered her pistol. “Who are you?”
“Sledgehammer Seven.” He swallowed. “I ejected.”
“Okay, go round the back, I’ll open the infantry hatch for you.”
Oh. Oh yes, the Goblin carried a squad of infantry normally. So much had happened that he hadn’t managed to keep that in mind.
The narrow hatch entered an equally cramped compartment but no one else was inside it and being within the armor of the tank felt much much safer than outside. Max sprawled on the bench and forced himself to take deep, calming breathes.
“Are you injured?” the sergeant asked. She was a woman, he couldn’t tell much about her looks under the coveralls and helmet.
“No. Just tired and scared.”
She laughed. “Not used to being out of your ‘mech?”
“I don’t even get shot at that much generally,” Max confessed. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure. Looks like most of the duels are winding down.” She sat opposite him. “Why are we even doing this? The Sword of Light have us outnumbered. Why stand here and not keep withdrawing? I know they’re faster than us, but we could have played it out until more forces gathered, fought them more evenly.”
Max laughed wearily. It hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t know, he was probably too used to being near the top of the information chain.
“We needed them inside our jamming,” he told her. “We’re pinning the Sword of Light in place, and out of contact with the rest of their force.”
“I hope it’s worth losing half the Tenth Guards,” she told him grimly. “More than thirty of our ‘mechs are down… and if they just use their fresh ‘mechs then we’re in a lot of…”
“Sarge!” someone shouted from the turret.
The woman swore and squirmed forwards to reach her position in the turret. Max moved up so he could look into the turret as well, squinting at the holodisplays to get a distorted view of what was happening.
“Someone’s dropping right on us,” the sergeant confirmed. “I don’t see transponders…”
“Transponders would be picked up,” Max said in relief. “They’re coming in quiet.”
“But they should be visible! That much metal and heat…”
“Only if someone’s alert and looking. With a battle in front of them and cut off from the command vans and so forth… Well, they’re pretty sharp,” Max admitted. “But I guess we got lucky.”
“They’re going to have to light up to land though. I’d say… around now.”
Max couldn’t see a thing to reflect that, but a few moments later there was audible thumping as hundreds - perhaps thousands - of tons of metal hit the ground.
>>“What… what is this?”<< Marcus Kurita’s voice boomed out across the landscape.
It wasn’t Frederick Steiner’s voice that replied.
>>“Major Salome Ward Kell, Third Battalion Kell Hounds.”<< The major sounded amused. >>“I gather some of your force don’t have dance partners, warlord? Well, we can’t have that…”<< 
>>“Not you, Kurita.”<< Now Frederick’s voice could be heard from outside the tank. >>“You’re mine!”<< 
Any response from Takashi’s cousin was lost as weapons fire crashed out with renewed vigor.
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Book 2 - 08, Chapter