Cameron Continent
Sinclair
Periphery
5 August 3049
It had been almost a week since what had so very nearly been a successful decapitation of Alpha Galaxy's command structure and the
exercise had entered a phase of jockeying for position with only minor skirmishes between the two sides. Within hours of his close call, Duke Togo had sent the
17th - who had had barely enough time to carry out simulated repairs of their machines - out to follow the withdrawing Delta Galaxy clusters.
It was frustrating work, Costigan found. It had proven impossible to avoid letting the 16th Hussars know that they were being followed and
the Cluster had made several attempts at ambushes. None had worked, yet, but they hadn't escaped unscathed either. The Nova was down to only seven Asps and
eight Fangs as warriors had been 'killed' and required to leave the battle area, but the Hussars had taken at least as many losses, as well as several
cripples that were slowing their pace considerably. It was only the day before that contact had finally been broken, which left the Nova spread out trying to
find their missing opponents in this grand game.
In theory, aerospace fighters would be better for keeping tabs on the Mechs, but for that very reason after some reported clashes between
Zeta and Gamma Galaxy out on the plains, the main forces had shifted eastwards into the wooded valleys where fighters couldn't be sure of seeing their prey
unless they descended into weapons range. Besides which, both sides had lost a lot of fighters in those clashes and since a fighter that stopped flying
generally didn't survive contact with the ground, the kills weren't as likely to be salvaged and put back into the fray as a Battlemech was.
"Point One," Costigan told his voice activated transmitter and a second later a discreet blue dot appeared on the edge of his
neurohelmet's head's up display to indicate that the channel was open. "Oscar, Costigan here. Their tracks lead into the valley between ridges
seven-thirteen and seven-fourteen. Heat traces say less than an hour."
There was a pause before Oscar replied. "Point Five is at the other end of that valley, Costigan and there are no tracks. Is there a
suitable vantage point for the Fangs?"
Costigan looked up at the slope. "Ridge seven-thirteen looks favorable. Plenty of metal-bearing rocks." Those would mask the Fangs
against mag-scanners and even some heat-sensors.
"Stay on post," Oscar ordered. "Report any movement. Point Four will join you shortly." The blue dot vanished
immediately, showing that the channel had been cut.
It was only a few minutes before the compacted visual display behind Costigan showed another Assassin, this one carrying three of the
surviving Fangs. "Costigan, this is Catherine," the Mechwarrior signalled. "Have you sighted any of the enemy?"
"Neg," Costigan told her. "If I had, I would have warned you off."
"Do not snap at me," growled Catherine. "I do not want to lose my shot at a place in the invasion force because of your
carelessness."
"Pay attention to your own duties," replied Costigan, "And I shall handle mine."
"Both of you stop arguing like sibkids," growled the point commander, jumping his Fang off of Catherine's battlemech.
"Which of these ridges did you recommend, Costigan?"
Costigan used the right hand of his Assassin to point at the appropriate ridge and the Fangs bounded off up the slope. Once they reached the
top the three suits started scrambling along just below the crest, obviously not wanting their jump jets to alert their prey.
"It is all very well finding them," Costigan noted. "But there are not an lot of us. What are we supposed to do about two
Clusters when it comes down to it."
Catherine snorted, "It will not just be the eighteen of us, little serpent," she lectured him. Costigan recalled a creche minder
who had called the sibkids that from when he was about five. Catherine wasn't old enough to be that minder, but she was probably too old to have been
minded by the woman. Perhaps all creche minders called their charges that. "Duke Togo is out there with the 10th Hussars and the 31st Armored Cavalry from
Iota Galaxy. Once we find some good ground for him, he will lead us to crush them and Delta Galaxy will have lost a third of its strength."
"Two of their clusters against two of our clusters sounds depressingly like even odds. That usually means heavy losses whoever
wins."
There was a long pause and then Catherine chuckled reluctantly. "Maybe you are a Star Adder after all. That is why we want good ground
to fight on. And maybe another Cluster if we can sneak one into the area without them noticing."
Costigan nodded. "This is the sort of thinking that the other Clans do not approve of, quiaff?"
"Aff," the older mechwarrior agreed. "Well, some of them. The Wolves would be alright if they were not Coyote lovers, for
example. The Jade Falcons whine about our disrespect for their traditions everytime we defeat them though."
"Shameful," Costigan said in a wry voice. "The way that they disrespect our traditions."
Catherine sounded puzzled. "What tradition is that, little serpent?"
"Winning."
The older warrior's Assassin almost toppled over, she was so busy laughing.
-/-
"It is good ground," the infantryman reported. "Unfortunately it is good ground for them. They have a strong defensive
position facing across ridge seven-fourteen and a route of retreat over ridge seven-thirteen if they are attacked from either end of the
valley."
"Quiaff," Oscar agreed, presumably looking at the same display that was painted across a secondary monitor in Costigan's
cockpit: a view of the Delta deployments from a little behind their right flank. "But good defensive ground against who? They look like they are expecting
someone to come over seven-fourteen. Why would anyone skyline themselves like that? They would have to know that they were making themselves perfect
targets."
"Only if they know what they were facing," pointed out Catherine. "If someone just barrelled through without scouting then
they would receive a bloody nose at best."
Costigan frowned. "They must expect it to be fairly soon then," he said. "Is there anyone else near here that they might be
waiting for?"
"I had best find out," Oscar said and switched himself to a different channel.
"I think that he is learning bad habits," Saul muttered quietly on the Nova's channel. "He cannot possibly think that we
will not find out what he learns in short order."
There was a chuckle from Catherine. "I think he is more concerned that we might hear Duke Togo castigating him over not reporting this
an hour ago."
"We did not know where they were an hour ago. They very probably were not there an hour ago, quineg."
"Neg," Saul confirmed. "But Togo is a perfectionist."
-/-
Duke Togo's face was expressionless, as was almost (but not quite) always the case, as he listened to his report. "Hold for further
orders," he said flatly as he watched the last stragglers of the 471st Adder Guards Cluster - well, the last mobile stragglers - vanishing over ridge
seven-twelve, with the lead elements of the 10th Adder Hussars in hot pursuit.
The 10th Hussars, and the 87th Dragoons, who had managed to link up with him three days before, had been chasing the Epsilon Galaxy cluster
ever since a nasty closing engagement that had left almost a quarter of the Hussars designated dead or limping back to the nearest field base for repairs under
the protection of an independent Trinary of Asps that Duke had held in reserve for just such an occasion. The outnumbered 471st had been even more roughly
handled but withdrew in good order. That order bore all the signs of being on the brink of turning into a rout over the next hour, but now it seemed that it
had all been a facade.
"Ivar Hutchinson," he ordered the 10th's Star Colonel. "Break off pursuit. Do not climb the next ridge."
Hutchinson's voice was obnoxiously ebullient and crystal clear as he replied: "Please repeat that, Galaxy Commander. There appears
to be some interference in your communication."
Duke's eyes narrowed and he ran his Guillotine forward to the bottom of seven-twelve. "Deploy the Dragoons along this ridge,"
he ordered without specifying who he was addressing, and then jammed both feet down on his footpedals. Both hit designated stops beneath them, alerting the
sophisticated computer systems of the heavy battlemech that this instruction was not about the legs but instead another mode of travel. With a roar, the potent
jumpjets built into the back of the Guillotine fired, hurling Duke and his Battlemech more than twenty metres up the slope.
The main data display of any Battlemech covers a one hundred sixty degree arc in front of the pilot, by convention that dates back the very
first revolutionary days when the BattleMech emerged as the kings of the Inner Sphere's battlefields. Rather than only displaying that relatively narrow
slice of the Mech's surroundings however, they compress a three hundred and sixty degree view by more than half of its width. Therefore as Duke fired his
jumpjets again, reaching the summit of the ridge, he could see the 87th Dragoons fanning out obediently behind him, and the four Mechs that made up his command
star doing their best to keep up with him.
Ahead of him, Ivar Hutchinson's Grendel was in the lead of an unruly pack of Hussars that had already reached the bottom of the next
valley and were chasing the remaining Guards. A handful of the more damaged 471st Mechs had fallen, but there were still more than twenty Mechs scaling the
slope ahead of them and Duke Togo could well imagine the reception they would have: nearly two Clusters of their allies waiting for Hutchinson to crest the
hill and make himself a perfect target.
If Duke Togo had ever been less than decisive, it was a secret best known only to himself. His Guillotine's feet had barely crunched into
the top of the ridge before the large laser in the left arm of the Mech was sweeping up and the crosshairs that marked his aiming point glowed gold as they
were rested smoothly upon his target.
For a moment the 10th Hussars came to an abrupt halt as Ivar Hutchinson's Grendel tumbled forwards, all systems shutting down as the
battle computers painted a simulated hole through the back of the cockpit. There were very few warriors in the touman who didn't know what that meant.
Someone had shot their Colonel in the back and if the laser had been at full power, then the Hutchinson bloodname house would have been announcing a Trial of
Bloodright in the immediate future.
"The 10th Hussars will form a line one hundred metres in front of the 87th Dragoons," Duke ordered the senior remaining officer of
the Hussars, his Guillotine standing where every member of his force could have no doubt of who had fired the shot. "Star Captain Hannibal Banacek, you
command the Hussars now."
D for Drakensis
You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.
Sinclair
Periphery
5 August 3049
It had been almost a week since what had so very nearly been a successful decapitation of Alpha Galaxy's command structure and the
exercise had entered a phase of jockeying for position with only minor skirmishes between the two sides. Within hours of his close call, Duke Togo had sent the
17th - who had had barely enough time to carry out simulated repairs of their machines - out to follow the withdrawing Delta Galaxy clusters.
It was frustrating work, Costigan found. It had proven impossible to avoid letting the 16th Hussars know that they were being followed and
the Cluster had made several attempts at ambushes. None had worked, yet, but they hadn't escaped unscathed either. The Nova was down to only seven Asps and
eight Fangs as warriors had been 'killed' and required to leave the battle area, but the Hussars had taken at least as many losses, as well as several
cripples that were slowing their pace considerably. It was only the day before that contact had finally been broken, which left the Nova spread out trying to
find their missing opponents in this grand game.
In theory, aerospace fighters would be better for keeping tabs on the Mechs, but for that very reason after some reported clashes between
Zeta and Gamma Galaxy out on the plains, the main forces had shifted eastwards into the wooded valleys where fighters couldn't be sure of seeing their prey
unless they descended into weapons range. Besides which, both sides had lost a lot of fighters in those clashes and since a fighter that stopped flying
generally didn't survive contact with the ground, the kills weren't as likely to be salvaged and put back into the fray as a Battlemech was.
"Point One," Costigan told his voice activated transmitter and a second later a discreet blue dot appeared on the edge of his
neurohelmet's head's up display to indicate that the channel was open. "Oscar, Costigan here. Their tracks lead into the valley between ridges
seven-thirteen and seven-fourteen. Heat traces say less than an hour."
There was a pause before Oscar replied. "Point Five is at the other end of that valley, Costigan and there are no tracks. Is there a
suitable vantage point for the Fangs?"
Costigan looked up at the slope. "Ridge seven-thirteen looks favorable. Plenty of metal-bearing rocks." Those would mask the Fangs
against mag-scanners and even some heat-sensors.
"Stay on post," Oscar ordered. "Report any movement. Point Four will join you shortly." The blue dot vanished
immediately, showing that the channel had been cut.
It was only a few minutes before the compacted visual display behind Costigan showed another Assassin, this one carrying three of the
surviving Fangs. "Costigan, this is Catherine," the Mechwarrior signalled. "Have you sighted any of the enemy?"
"Neg," Costigan told her. "If I had, I would have warned you off."
"Do not snap at me," growled Catherine. "I do not want to lose my shot at a place in the invasion force because of your
carelessness."
"Pay attention to your own duties," replied Costigan, "And I shall handle mine."
"Both of you stop arguing like sibkids," growled the point commander, jumping his Fang off of Catherine's battlemech.
"Which of these ridges did you recommend, Costigan?"
Costigan used the right hand of his Assassin to point at the appropriate ridge and the Fangs bounded off up the slope. Once they reached the
top the three suits started scrambling along just below the crest, obviously not wanting their jump jets to alert their prey.
"It is all very well finding them," Costigan noted. "But there are not an lot of us. What are we supposed to do about two
Clusters when it comes down to it."
Catherine snorted, "It will not just be the eighteen of us, little serpent," she lectured him. Costigan recalled a creche minder
who had called the sibkids that from when he was about five. Catherine wasn't old enough to be that minder, but she was probably too old to have been
minded by the woman. Perhaps all creche minders called their charges that. "Duke Togo is out there with the 10th Hussars and the 31st Armored Cavalry from
Iota Galaxy. Once we find some good ground for him, he will lead us to crush them and Delta Galaxy will have lost a third of its strength."
"Two of their clusters against two of our clusters sounds depressingly like even odds. That usually means heavy losses whoever
wins."
There was a long pause and then Catherine chuckled reluctantly. "Maybe you are a Star Adder after all. That is why we want good ground
to fight on. And maybe another Cluster if we can sneak one into the area without them noticing."
Costigan nodded. "This is the sort of thinking that the other Clans do not approve of, quiaff?"
"Aff," the older mechwarrior agreed. "Well, some of them. The Wolves would be alright if they were not Coyote lovers, for
example. The Jade Falcons whine about our disrespect for their traditions everytime we defeat them though."
"Shameful," Costigan said in a wry voice. "The way that they disrespect our traditions."
Catherine sounded puzzled. "What tradition is that, little serpent?"
"Winning."
The older warrior's Assassin almost toppled over, she was so busy laughing.
-/-
"It is good ground," the infantryman reported. "Unfortunately it is good ground for them. They have a strong defensive
position facing across ridge seven-fourteen and a route of retreat over ridge seven-thirteen if they are attacked from either end of the
valley."
"Quiaff," Oscar agreed, presumably looking at the same display that was painted across a secondary monitor in Costigan's
cockpit: a view of the Delta deployments from a little behind their right flank. "But good defensive ground against who? They look like they are expecting
someone to come over seven-fourteen. Why would anyone skyline themselves like that? They would have to know that they were making themselves perfect
targets."
"Only if they know what they were facing," pointed out Catherine. "If someone just barrelled through without scouting then
they would receive a bloody nose at best."
Costigan frowned. "They must expect it to be fairly soon then," he said. "Is there anyone else near here that they might be
waiting for?"
"I had best find out," Oscar said and switched himself to a different channel.
"I think that he is learning bad habits," Saul muttered quietly on the Nova's channel. "He cannot possibly think that we
will not find out what he learns in short order."
There was a chuckle from Catherine. "I think he is more concerned that we might hear Duke Togo castigating him over not reporting this
an hour ago."
"We did not know where they were an hour ago. They very probably were not there an hour ago, quineg."
"Neg," Saul confirmed. "But Togo is a perfectionist."
-/-
Duke Togo's face was expressionless, as was almost (but not quite) always the case, as he listened to his report. "Hold for further
orders," he said flatly as he watched the last stragglers of the 471st Adder Guards Cluster - well, the last mobile stragglers - vanishing over ridge
seven-twelve, with the lead elements of the 10th Adder Hussars in hot pursuit.
The 10th Hussars, and the 87th Dragoons, who had managed to link up with him three days before, had been chasing the Epsilon Galaxy cluster
ever since a nasty closing engagement that had left almost a quarter of the Hussars designated dead or limping back to the nearest field base for repairs under
the protection of an independent Trinary of Asps that Duke had held in reserve for just such an occasion. The outnumbered 471st had been even more roughly
handled but withdrew in good order. That order bore all the signs of being on the brink of turning into a rout over the next hour, but now it seemed that it
had all been a facade.
"Ivar Hutchinson," he ordered the 10th's Star Colonel. "Break off pursuit. Do not climb the next ridge."
Hutchinson's voice was obnoxiously ebullient and crystal clear as he replied: "Please repeat that, Galaxy Commander. There appears
to be some interference in your communication."
Duke's eyes narrowed and he ran his Guillotine forward to the bottom of seven-twelve. "Deploy the Dragoons along this ridge,"
he ordered without specifying who he was addressing, and then jammed both feet down on his footpedals. Both hit designated stops beneath them, alerting the
sophisticated computer systems of the heavy battlemech that this instruction was not about the legs but instead another mode of travel. With a roar, the potent
jumpjets built into the back of the Guillotine fired, hurling Duke and his Battlemech more than twenty metres up the slope.
The main data display of any Battlemech covers a one hundred sixty degree arc in front of the pilot, by convention that dates back the very
first revolutionary days when the BattleMech emerged as the kings of the Inner Sphere's battlefields. Rather than only displaying that relatively narrow
slice of the Mech's surroundings however, they compress a three hundred and sixty degree view by more than half of its width. Therefore as Duke fired his
jumpjets again, reaching the summit of the ridge, he could see the 87th Dragoons fanning out obediently behind him, and the four Mechs that made up his command
star doing their best to keep up with him.
Ahead of him, Ivar Hutchinson's Grendel was in the lead of an unruly pack of Hussars that had already reached the bottom of the next
valley and were chasing the remaining Guards. A handful of the more damaged 471st Mechs had fallen, but there were still more than twenty Mechs scaling the
slope ahead of them and Duke Togo could well imagine the reception they would have: nearly two Clusters of their allies waiting for Hutchinson to crest the
hill and make himself a perfect target.
If Duke Togo had ever been less than decisive, it was a secret best known only to himself. His Guillotine's feet had barely crunched into
the top of the ridge before the large laser in the left arm of the Mech was sweeping up and the crosshairs that marked his aiming point glowed gold as they
were rested smoothly upon his target.
For a moment the 10th Hussars came to an abrupt halt as Ivar Hutchinson's Grendel tumbled forwards, all systems shutting down as the
battle computers painted a simulated hole through the back of the cockpit. There were very few warriors in the touman who didn't know what that meant.
Someone had shot their Colonel in the back and if the laser had been at full power, then the Hutchinson bloodname house would have been announcing a Trial of
Bloodright in the immediate future.
"The 10th Hussars will form a line one hundred metres in front of the 87th Dragoons," Duke ordered the senior remaining officer of
the Hussars, his Guillotine standing where every member of his force could have no doubt of who had fired the shot. "Star Captain Hannibal Banacek, you
command the Hussars now."
D for Drakensis
You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.