There always seemed to be more, though, as reinforcements on both sides of the line streamed in for Ijori’s last stand.
“Ijori-one, be advised: Dynasty Guard has broken The Republic cordon!”
Not even the unflappable Shiao Mai could hide his excitement. With the Guard finally loose in the Suriwong Floods, Capellan forces tying up Ruskoff’s command had a chance. Mai and House Ijori had a chance. It all came down to time.
Hours, perhaps minutes.
A Republic VTOL, swooping in from far afield, strafed over Evan’s small spit of rocky land. Touching off his jump jets, he rose on streams of plasma and swatted the fragile craft out of the air with his battle-ax.
He landed in a ready crouch, knuckles white as he gripped his control sticks with renewed strength. From The Republic backfield, Ruskoff’s Zeus limped forward once again.
“Hold the line,” Evan reminded them all. His voice tightened. “Hold.”
His Ti Ts’ang’s lasers speared one Republic minigun cycle as it tried to jump between two rocky upcroppings, crisping machine and rider and dropping them into the sluggish waters.
A pair of new Jessies slid around a willow copse, chasing a Cavalry Condor out over deeper water. The Condor took heavy missile strikes against its skirting, foundered and sank.
Then dozens of hard-hitting fists pummeled Evan’s Ti Ts’ang across the head and shoulders, driving it to one knee. A Tundra Wolf crashed out of the nearby willow copse, spreading missiles through the air as if newly restocked. The ATM warheads blossomed new fire around Evan’s position, shaking him violently against his harness, but he held into his seat with a determination born from knowing his attacker.
Daniel Peterson had returned.
36
Burning Cold
The streets of Chang-an have never felt so quiet. Reports concerning the fighting in the Suriwong Floods are mixed. Tensions run high. It feels as if the entire city, the entire planet, is holding its breath. Waiting for the news.
Suriwong Floods
Sarrin Province, Liao
15 August 3134
Missiles hammered into the side of the Ti Ts’ang’s head, ringing in Evan’s ears like the sounding of a deep gong. Shaking him. The straps of his harness bruising his shoulders, across his chest, digging the buckle into his gut.
The saunalike atmosphere of the cockpit dulled his senses and the world swam in front of him. Sweat stung at the corners of his eyes and burned on his lips.
Gravity pulled, dragging him downward with such steadfast force that it felt as if the sixty tons of BattleMech strained in Evan’s muscles. So easy to let go. Sprawl the Ti Ts’ang full out, then labor back up afterwards.
Instead, Evan Kurst straightened in his seat, willing the ten-meter-tall machine to follow him as it came up off one knee. He took a step forward. Another. He walked the machine out of a haze of gray smoke and fire, wading into ankle-deep water and pulling his crosshairs over the Tundra Wolf’s outline. Ruby fire stabbed out into the other ’Mech, splashing armor into a mist of gray droplets.
“Ijori-one,” Mai broke in over the communications band. “Enemy converging on your position.”
“Let them come,” he croaked. He drove his heat up another degree, firing a full spread of lasers.
Daniel Peterson answered with his own energy weapons, carving deeply. Then Evan’s ’Mech rocked to the side as Ruskoff’s Zeus slammed a PPC into the Ti Ts’ang’s shoulder. And another. Armor flashed into a molten, fiery mist and ran in quick flashfloods of melted composite. It dripped to the ground or resolidified in waxy gray sheets along the Ti Ts’ang’s skirted waist.
Computer estimates painted his damage schematic nearly black from head to foot. He had a few tons of armor clinging to his ’Mech, but not much more than that. He’d lost three heat sinks, and the scorching heat baking his lower legs could only mean a breach in his engine shielding. In short, Evan’s machine was a walking skeleton.
Swallowing dryly, wishing for even the smallest taste of the Floods that surrounded him, Evan coaxed life into his throat. “Not much longer now, Shiao Mai.”
If the House Master agreed, it did not show in his voice. “Cavalry-five, forward and flank,” Mai Wa ordered, wheeling the last of the heavy armor around in a pincer maneuver. “Scout lance, fall back. Infantry, ground and hold.”
The Armored Cavalry drove back Peterson’s Tundra Wolf, hammering into his side with heavy-hitting Gauss slugs. Artillery tore into one Regulator, smashing it beneath the muddied waters, but Mai kept the remaining tanks on Peterson until his retreat formed a new break in The Republic line. But not for long. Into that split limped the Zeus, with a pack of hoverbikes clinging protectively to its shadow.
The Zeus came on steadily, with the kind of determination only an assault ’Mech carried with it.
“Evan,” Mai commanded, “you are under orders. Not to die until I tell you.”
Another PPC slammed into Evan’s left side, drilling deep. Some of the hoverbikes throttled forward, ready to engage. Evan’s lasers crippled one, and sent another running.
He checked his HUD. One Condor. A handful of Fa Shih. A stripped-down Ti Ts’ang. They weren’t going to stop Ruskoff’s Zeus. But he was under orders.
Two hundred meters. Another PPC blast stabbed him low in the torso, carving into his gyroscope housing. The Ti Ts’ang folded over as if gut punched. It wavered on unsteady legs. Evan strained against his controls, contorting his body to give the gyro-struck ’Mech some additional force of balance. While he was doubled over, another PPC stream missed high, and a new brace of warheads from Peterson’s Tundra Wolf slammed into his back, one of the few places he still had good armor.
Slowly… slowly Evan straightened back up again.
He scoured armor from the Zeus with every laser left him. One fifty. Throttling into a hobbling, backward walk, he fast-cycled his lasers and chewed into the assault machine again. The Zeus didn’t look too much better than Evan’s Capellan design, but it was still an assault ’Mech. You didn’t stop that kind of momentum with a few lasers.
A Scimitar raced by on Evan’s left, heading past to worry the Cavalry’s backfield. Two hoverbikes slewed over the water like pond skippers, firing at some scattered Fa Shih infantry.
The Fa Shih!
Evan saw Mai’s plan even as the Master of House Ijori put the final pieces into play. “Infantry, forward and swarm. Evan, hold off that Tundra!”
As Fa Shih broke from the ground, rising on fiery jets, Evan saw the Tundra Wolf throw itself forward into the embrace of McCarron’s heavy armor. Ruskoff recognized the danger as well, but too late. The Ijori Condor powered forward to smash into Ruskoff’s hoverbike squad, spitting missiles out in a furious assault. The center of the battlefield erupted into new chaos as infantry, armor and ’Mechs all came together in a tangle of weapons.
Evan had one last act left to him. Slamming down on his foot pedals, he launched his Ti Ts’ang on an uneven, wobbling flight that arced above Peterson’s next missile barrage, over a deeper channel of the Suriwong, and then right back down into the muddy clay. Planting himself between Peterson and Ruskoff.