Erik’s Hatchetman emerged from the tunnel just in time to see the top of Tower Two explode.
He began running toward Tower Eight. “Concentrate on defending the remaining towers! We’ve got to hold them for at least three more minutes!”
The fighting was furious, and it seemed to be going on everywhere at once. Though Erik didn’t notice anyone targeting him, he was repeatedly splashed by stray fire, ripping at the armor of his already battered ’Mech.
His autocannon were empty, and warning lights indicated his lasers were having problems. He didn’t have to look at the indicators to know that heat was building up. He could feel it in the cockpit, in the sweat that soaked his body and dripped down his face.
Three minutes! Less now! They might make it!
To his right, SwordSworn troops in battle armor swarmed over a stricken Catapult. To his left, an attacking Mad Cat III blasted away at a Legionnaire, its gun either jammed or out of ammo. Erik spotted a squad of Liao battle armor ahead, and veered to run through them, trampling at least one in the process.
Then the East Tunnel belched a column of fire that angled up a hundred meters before it darkened and turned into boiling smoke.
“We’ve lost the East Tunnel,” shouted Sortek. “We’ve got heavy tanks incoming!”
Black smoke was still streaming from the portal as the first tank burst through, guns and lasers blazing. It was followed immediately by another, and another—a solid stream of metal that seemed endless.
Erik turned, charging into the firing guns, bringing his hatchet down again and again, while dodging fire. But he kept taking hits. More and more indicators turned red. The cockpit was like an oven. Warning buzzers screamed in his ears as he struggled to keep the ’Mech from shutting down.
Something different popped from the tunnel mouth. A boxy, wheeled vehicle that bristled with missiles the way a sea urchin is covered with spines, a JESII Strategic Missile Carrier. Immediately, every available SwordSworn weapon targeted the lightly armored vehicle, but not before it launched a devastating volley of a hundred missiles over their heads.
Towers Eight and Nine were knocked out.
Erik screamed into his radio. “How long? Did we lock out their window?”
Sortek’s voice sounded hollow. “Sorry, Commander. They didn’t wait for the towers to be knocked out. They started their de-orbit burn while all four towers were still up.”
That was it, then. They’d lost. Even if the DropShips didn’t arrive, they’d eventually lose, but when the ’Mechs began to fall from the sky, they were certainly doomed. We gave it a good fight, though. He looked at the destroyed and burning Liao ’Mechs and armor scattered around him. We made them pay for it.
“Commander. I don’t understand. We still show four incoming DropShips, but we’re tracking debris along their old orbital track. We’re also tracking two more DropShips vectoring away at high acceleration.”
Erik’s eyes widened. He scarcely dared to hope. “Are we getting a friendly identification on the incoming ships?”
“Negative, Commander. No signal.”
“Do you mean they’re sending House Liao codes?”
“No sir, no signal.” There was a pause. “Commander, we’ve got ’Mechs separating from the incoming ships. They look like Union–class DropShips. We’ve got four braces of ’Mechs incoming ahead of them. Still no signal.”
Erik could do little but try to keep his wounded ’Mech out of harm’s way, ducking behind buildings and steering away from obvious threats. He tried to shed heat, so he could at least move in to use the hatchet, do some damage.
He glanced up, and could see the jump jets of incoming ’Mechs, like a staggered line of dim stars. Further back, toward the horizon, he could see the DropShips themselves, four bright stars in a tight line.
“Commander, I’ve got incoming IFF signals. SwordSworn! SwordSworn!”
The first wave of ’Mechs was landing: Black Hawks, Pack Hunters, Catapults, Hatchetmen, all wearing the sword/planet/sun of the SwordSworn. They formed a circle and began spreading out, clearing the landing zone.
Erik realized that Aaron must have called in virtually every ’Mech in their inventory, stripping their forces elsewhere to the bone. It was a desperate, dangerous move, but it would provide a good show for the Cappies, perhaps giving them an inflated impression of SwordSworn forces. If they decided to test the defenses of other SwordSworn-held worlds, it could backfire, but if they were too intimidated, or at least too uncertain—
The command circuit crackled, then a voice boomed through on such high gain that Erik’s ears stung. “This is Duke Aaron Sandoval! I have arrived, joined by reinforcements from many worlds. We have already taken Liao blood, and we will take more. Ravensglade is SwordSworn territory! We will fight until not one soldier of Liao stands on our soil! For Davion!”
As though an electric charge had gone through them, the exhausted defenders showed new energy. They joined in with the new arrivals—armor, ’Mechs, infantry, shoulder-to-shoulder, fighting back the invaders.
Another wave of ’Mechs landed, among them a Black Hawk freshly painted sparkling white and trimmed in gold.
The Duke had returned.
“SwordSworn! I am here! For Davion!”
Erik managed to coax his slowly cooling ’Mech into motion. He limped in with the others in the circle, his hatchet rising and falling, doing what he could. The circle widened, even as the four spherical DropShips landed in the middle of the site, each bristling with its own weapons, each carrying more forces, infantry, light armor, and massed IndustrialMechs from the coalition worlds. What they lacked in brute force, they made up for in numbers. Just as importantly, they were fresh to the fight.
Overwhelmed and demoralized, the Liao troops were no longer fighting. They were simply trying to get away.
Erik croaked into his radio. “Block the East Tunnel! Bottle them in! Tear them apart!”
The ’Mechs and armored infantry with jump jets went over the cliff, fleeing back to the sea. The other vehicles and the regular infantry that had made it through the tunnel were trapped.
Some surrendered.
Most died.
In time, the frenzy calmed. The smoke began to clear.
Erik slumped in his cockpit, exhausted, spent. In his headset, he heard the chanting begin.
For Davion! For Davion! For Davion!
And then it changed.
For the Duke! For the Duke! For the Duke!
“Commander.” It took Erik several seconds to realize that the voice in his earphones was talking to him, and a few more seconds before he realized who it was.
“Sortek?”
“Yes, sir. Hell of a way to spend Christmas, isn’t it?”
20
POLL SHOWS MANY DOUBT THE REPUBLIC’S FUTURE—With the results of the scheduled Exarchal election still unknown in the outlying areas of The Republic, an INN poll conducted on three randomly selected worlds in Prefecture V shows that just over fifty-one percent doubt The Republic will survive another five years. Only twenty-seven percent of respondents expressed “complete confidence” in the future of The Republic. Another seventeen percent believed that the elections “would not or should not proceed.” Dr. Ozmund Banzai of Pleione said it this way: “It’s the wrong time for a change of leadership. If The Republic is going to survive, what we need right now is stability. If we can’t have that, then we might as well look around and see what the various factions have to offer.”
St. Michael Station, St. Michael