Impetus of War Read online

  He knew that they also had enough supplies stored in the warehouses of Wildcat Station to let them operate indefinitely. The OmniMechs assigned to the Galaxy were all new, some of them test models never seen by the other Clans. And as if to reinforce this fierce array, the Galaxy escort was the WarShip Dark Claw. Built during the peak of the Star League, the Essex Class starship carried enough firepower to destroy a city from orbit.

  From what Khan Lincoln Osis had said, the members of Tau Galaxy still did not know the unit's reason for being or current mission. They had been genetically engineered from the legacies of the finest warriors who had participated in the invasion of the Inner Sphere, but very few even knew of the Galaxy's existence. His task was to ready them for what lay ahead—the destruction of the Nova Cats. Once prepared, they were his to lead into battle. These are the best my Clan has. Combined with my combat experience we will be an unstoppable combination. A few months of honing their skills and familiarizing them with their intended targets, and then we will hit the Nova Cats and destroy them once and for all.

  At the bottom of the ramp he stopped and looked at the female warrior standing before him. She was bald, but on closer inspection he saw that she actually lacked all facial hair—eyebrows, lashes, everything. A dark gray crown-of-thorns pattern was etched thinly around her head and brow like a tattoo, circling her right eye like a gun sight. This of course was no tattoo, but an enhanced-imaging neural implant that freed a warrior of the necessity of wearing a neuro-helmet. The surgically implanted circuitry gave a warrior a wireless link with her 'Mech's computer, providing a virtual view of the battlefield that aided in target acquisition, aiming, and piloting. To see such a young warrior with one of these bio-electric "tattoos" revealed the extent of her aggressiveness.

  On her collar were the markings of a Star Colonel of the Bloodied Claws, and under one arm she carried the Galaxy Codex baton, which held memory chips recounting the history of the Galaxy. The baton was to the whole unit what the codex bracelet worn around one arm was to each individual warrior. There was also a communications device connected to the insignia the officers wore on their collars. With the baton, a Galaxy Commander could communicate with those under his or her command instantly and directly.

  Devon knew this warrior from the briefing given him by Khan Lincoln Osis. She was Star Colonel Roberta, temporary commander of the Galaxy during their trip from the homeworlds here to the planet Wildcat. Now they were his Galaxy, his command. In the past, he had been forced to deal with the failures of others; now he would be the one in charge.

  Star Colonel Roberta was a true warrior in the finest Jaguar tradition, and he had studied her codex with great interest. During her Trial of Position for the right to command a Cluster, her 'Mech's fusion reactor had suffered a breach. Rather than eject, she'd overridden the OmniMech's safety systems and continued to fight even as radiation flooded her cockpit. Though she eventually defeated her opponent, only long weeks of treatments by members of the scientist caste saved her life afterward. Roberta had survived, but she still carried some of the effects of her exposure. Devon was impressed with the story, for it showed that the heart of the Jaguar beat in her breast. Others, weaker, would have ejected.

  "Galaxy Commander," she said, bowing her head slightly in deference. "You are Star Colonel Roberta, quiaff?"

  "Aff."

  Devon held himself even straighter and spoke the words he'd practiced silently a hundred times on the trip to this isolated planet. "By order of Khan Lincoln Osis, Khan of the Smoke Jaguars, the one true Clan and heirs of the Great Kerenskys, I hereby assume command of Tau Galaxy."

  Roberta hefted the Galaxy Codex baton and held it in front of her, gripping each end with a hand. "By the rede of our people, command cannot be assumed. Command must be taken and held. Won with honor, sealed in blood." Her words were loud enough for the other warriors standing at attention to hear, and Devon could smell the anticipation in the air.

  The ceremony—the change of command ceremony. He smiled. "Command is mine to take."

  Roberta took a staged step toward him, still holding the baton before her. "I hold this command you seek."

  Devon also spoke so that the gathered warriors could hear him. "Warriors of the Smoke Jaguar, form a circle around us so that the eyes of equals can gaze upon this rede." He paused and mentally gathered himself for what was to come as the officers of Tau Galaxy moved into place. "Nicholas Kerensky, founder of our people, taught us that leadership goes only to the strongest and best of our warrior caste. Behold as I, Devon Osis, Bloodnamed and fully tested, take what is rightfully mine."

  The warriors of Tau Galaxy did as he bid, forming a Circle of Equals around them. Roberta licked her lips in anticipation and lowered her stance, ready for the first blow.

  The ritual was simple. Devon must take the Galaxy Codex baton from Roberta through a Trial of Possession. Once he had it in his hands, the Jaguars would acknowledge him as their new leader. The fighting would be a mix of true combat and rite. It was customary, but not required, that Devon draw blood from her in the fight. In some cases, the baton was simply handed over after a series of ritual blows, but there were also other instances in which one of the two combatants had died. Watching Roberta warily, Devon wondered which kind this would be.

  He bowed his head slowly as if to acknowledge her standing as a true warrior. She returned the gesture. Then he immediately sprang into action. With one hand he reached for the outstretched baton, with the other he swung inward, hitting her left wrist. Realizing quickly what he was trying to do, Roberta snapped backward, pulling the baton from his one-handed grip.

  Devon leaped toward her with hands outstretched as if to choke her. Roberta spun slightly to her left as he came down on one side of her, driving one knee into her hip with all his weight and force behind it. From the look on her face, he knew he had hurt her.

  She went into a roll, tossing him aside. He let momentum drop him into a crouch on one hand, ready to pounce. Roberta was prepared, though, sweeping her leg out to either knock his hand away and send him sprawling or strike at his head. At the last moment, he rose, using both hands to grab her foot.

  The grapple was good. Before she realized what had happened, Devon had twisted her foot hard around as if it were the crank on a machine. This time Roberta moaned out loud, dropping the baton and using her hands to turn her body in the direction of his twisting. As soon as she was on her stomach, Devon leaped upward, then let himself come down on her back with both knees. The wind knocked out of her, Roberta was unable to respond as Devon snatched the Galaxy baton from the tarmac. With it in his hands, he left her on the ground and stood up. His own breath was ragged, but he managed to speak the words to the circle of warriors around him.

  "Command is mine to take and hold," he said, drawing in a gasp of air. "In the tradition of our Bloodnamed, I hold command of Tau Galaxy in the name of Khan Lincoln Osis of the Smoke Jaguars!" In unison, without prompting, the warriors chanted the solemn oath of "Seyla." It was a word of unity and honor, its meaning, but not its sacredness, lost in the mists of time. To Devon Osis, it told him that his warriors would follow him.

  At his feet, Roberta pushed herself up, first to her hands, then to sitting, then slowly and awkwardly to her feet. She stood next to Devon, defiantly refusing to wipe the dirt from her face. The white skin of her bald head was bruised, yet somehow otherwise unmarked. On her shoulder, the patch of her unit, the black outstretched paw of the 101st Attack Cluster, had become half-pulled off in the tussle. Devon turned to look at her and met her eyes. No words were spoken, but she seemed to understand.

  In a fluid side-step, Devon Osis pivoted and spun hard, swinging the baton into her face. The end of the small device dug deeply into her cheek, and from the crunching sound that reverberated through the rod, Devon knew he had either broken bones or shattered teeth. Roberta was twisted hard and to the side by the blow, but true to her Clan warrior training, she remained standing despite the geyser o
f pain that must have erupted in her jaw. A stream of crimson blood ran down from the corner of her mouth to her chin. She drew in a breath, and obvious agony shook her like a wave battering a shore. Blood has been draw in the way of the Jaguar.

  Just as she had refused to wipe away the dirt, she made no effort to wipe the blood clear. It was a mark of honor in the tradition of the finest Smoke Jaguar warriors. Devon understood all too well. It was important to her to have blood drawn in the ways of the rede. Giving up command without such an injury would have shamed her. Devon Osis could read her expression as she looked at him. There was neither anger nor resentment, only admiration and respect. She and the others now know that in my heart also beats the heart of the Jaguar. They know I will do what is necessary to fulfill our honor.

  Devon turned to the circle of warriors and met their looks and nods of acceptance. Assumption of Galaxy Command meant that he had the honor of naming the unit. "Today on planets throughout explored space, hearts and minds tremble. A new Jaguar Galaxy is born. Nicholas Kerensky, when he founded our Clans, taught us the importance of names in giving spirit to our warriors. From this day forward, this is not just the Tau Galaxy. Our foes will know us by our true name, the Huntress Galaxy."

  He paused long enough to draw another deep breath and compose his thoughts. "Huntress is not only the name of one of our home worlds, but it is the spirit of our Galaxy. The female Smoke Jaguar is a fierce huntress who just as fiercely protects and defends her young. Like our namesake, the Huntress Galaxy is dedicated to protect and defend our Clan and to mercilessly hunt down its enemies. Defense of our Clan—by destroying those who would destroy us. Let warriors near and far mark my words. The Smoke Jaguar is now on the prowl."

  8

  DropShip Claymore

  Zenith Jump Point, Star System K-001-WD-505

  Deep Periphery

  29 June 3058

  The Highlanders' transporting JumpShip, the Invader Class Fox's Bane, materialized at the zenith jump point of the star system with a silent blue flash of light and a pulse of electromagnetic energy. It was followed by a silent burst of light as its partner ship, the Magellan Class Kobayashi, carrying the Combine DropShip, appeared beside it.

  Though hyperspace jumps were instantaneous, they used so much power that a JumpShip had to spend up to ten days, depending on the star type, recharging its jump drive by gathering solar energy in a special sail that was unfurled for this purpose. The Fox's Bane was an exception to the rule. Equipped with a lithium-fusion battery, the Bane could store enough energy for two jumps, and it could quickly recharge itself. Colonel Stirling had insisted that the ship hold one jump's worth of power in reserve while traveling toward Wayside. After all, this wasn't the Inner Sphere, with its well-traveled routes and known star systems. They were venturing into the Deep Periphery, the vast reaches beyond explored space.

  Loren got up from his bunk and rubbed his eyes. This jump, like the five others before it, had gone smoothly, but it had awakened him before the end of his sleep period. The ringing of the "all clear" tones from the speaker told him they'd arrived intact in the intended system. Recharging would be quicker here because the system star was a white dwarf.

  It was morning, or so the lighting level told him. Telling the time of day in deep space was always tricky because of the lack of sunlight as a reference. Captain Spillman of the Claymore manipulated the lighting so that when it was night according to Terran Standard, the lights were only running at twenty percent levels. At dusk and dawn, they were at fifty percent. Despite his faith in the Highlander DropShip captain, Loren always double-checked with his chronometer.

  After his morning shave and wash, Loren pulled on a fresh jumpsuit uniform and looked at his perscomp. Briefings. The bane of being the regiment's executive officer was that he essentially pulled double duty. Not only did he command the Kilsyth Guards Battalion, he was also in charge of coordinating the efforts of the other two battalions. And now they had the Combine PSL Parkensen complaining to both him and Colonel Stirling that the plan was too risky. The PSL wanted to scrap it in favor of dropping directly onto the Jaguar base.

  Loren had to attend such a meeting that day, this time with his own First Battalion—his red-capped Guards. They were waiting for him in the Bane's main conference room, which the Fusiliers had turned into a rec room for their trip. As he entered, the dozen or so officers snapped to attention. Loren gestured for them to stand at ease, which they did instantly. He lowered himself into his seat, and the others standing around the conference table, ad hoc poker table, did the same.

  "Gentlemen," he began, looking around at the men and women of his command, noting that their faces were visibly excited. He understood that sensation, the anticipation of being close to a battle. Even though the Jaguars were still days away, this meeting seemed to bring them that much closer to the inevitable confrontation. "You've all had a chance to go over the battle plans for this operation. This meeting is to address open issues in the battalion and make any last-minute changes necessary."

  "All I want to know, sir," Lieutenant Greg Hector said, a hint of humor in his voice, "is are we done with the vaccinations? One more hit from a needle and I'm going to have to go into battle sitting on an inflatable cushion." There was a general chuckling among the officers because they all knew it was true. Every one of them had undergone extensive vaccinations, and it had become a sort of running joke aboard the Fusilier ships.

  "Point well taken," Loren said, content with his pun.

  "Major," spoke up a man in the back of the room. Captain Jake Fuller, formerly of MacLeod's Regiment, had transferred to the Kilsyth Guards only a month after Loren had assumed command. "I want to know how we're going to deal with the isthmus. The terrain is tight and confining and it'll pull our forces into a possible bottleneck. And sending our 'Mechs up onto the continent is a pretty risky maneuver, yet the whole operation rides on doing just that."

  "Well, Jake," Loren said, "we've all studied the Jaguars inside and out. If I were the Jaguar commander, that isthmus is exactly the place I'd try and pin us down. Those narrows and the rocky terrain would be the perfect spot to grind us up."

  "So you agree then?"

  Loren shook his head. "Our ground forces and some supporting BattleMechs can stall the Jaguars down there. We'll let them think they've trapped us, while the rest of our force crosses over to the other side of the peninsula and then drops down on their flank. We'll pinch them like a pimple on the face of the planet."

  "That's the part I think Jake's questioning," Lieutenant Klavin Amari of Second Company put in. "It'll be like moving and fighting in a vacuum up there. If they hit us on the continent, we won't be able to hang in for very long. Hits under those conditions can pop actuators, and a cockpit hit will kill." She emphasized the word "will" rather than "could," and the other officers nodded their heads.

  Jake picked up the argument. "How can we be sure the Jaguars won't be there waiting for us?"

  "We'll never be sure, Captain Fuller, but from what we know about Clan tactics, they aren't given to taking positions and defensive postures that work to their disadvantage. The Smoke Jaguars are one of the most aggressive of the Clans. They'll come at us by the quickest route, and that is the isthmus." If Loren had learned anything in the past months of studying the Clans, it was that the Jaguars were ruthless enemies.

  "We've studied how the Jaguars fight," he went on. "And we know that their losses on Wolcott, Luthien, and Tukayyid have embittered them. Among all the Clans, they're the first to want to rush into a fight. And when they do engage, they want to win and win fast. You've all heard of the custom of bondsmen, where the Clans take captives as slaves—eventually to convert them into their own warriors. Well, the Smoke Jaguars have all but stopped that practice when it comes to Inner Sphere forces. The Jaguars believe in not just beating an enemy, but crushing them totally. No quarter given. Even if we outnumber them three to one, I expect to take losses—maybe even significant losses.


  "The only thing we've got in our favor is that they're not expecting anyone to have the audacity to hit them on Wayside V. We've trained, learned everything there is about how the Clans fight, and developed ways to counter them. The Smoke Jaguars will think we're not prepared to deal with them, but I say different. The truth of the matter is that they're not prepared to deal with the Northwind Highlanders. We trace our heritage to the Star League and beyond. Tangle with us, and they'll get a taste of what waits for them if they ever cross the truce line." Loren's words seemed to bring the very air of the room to life with anticipation. He saw several of his officers' faces flush with pride.

  "You don't have to sell us, sir," Jake Fuller said, crossing his arms. "I've fought alongside you before and I look forward to doing it again."

  "Good," Loren replied, wishing everyone in the regiment had the confidence of his own command. "Are there any other open issues then?"

  "Is the Colonel going to challenge them with a batchall?" Fuller asked.

  Loren nodded. "That's the plan. We don't expect them to pay any heed to it, but it may help us even the odds, given that they bid their forces before entering battle."

  "Major, I've been going over the WCS options," said Captain Torri Chandler. "WCS" was the standard lingo for Worse Case Scenario. These were battle plans that commanders drew up but hoped they'd never have to use. If everything fell apart, if the command structure of the regiment was shattered, if a disaster occurred, they would fall back on the WCS options. "With Major Mulvaney bringing in her task force thirty days after our planetfall, is it necessary for us to have a contingency as extreme as you've outlined in Case Alpha?"