With a start, Heany realized she was the senior officer.
Kurita could not be allowed to profit from this atrocity. She would have to take command. The offensive was too important and the Snakes needed to be taught a lesson.
Such a humbling of the office corps could only be a sign from God. He had made his will known in leaving her the senior survivor. She was given this opportunity to show not just the High Command, but the entire Inner Sphere, that the failures during Operation Gotterdammerung were flukes. She would show them that the old way was the best.
"Get yourselves together, people. Everybody who's ambulatory, downstairs to whatever the Snakes have left of the operations center. We've got a war to fight."
63
West Cerant County, An Ting
Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine
9 August 3039
Marshal Ardan Sortek bit off another chunk of the dark brown ration bar, which tasted to him like old sweat, having picked up the overall ambiance of his Victor'scockpit; the 'Mech had been run too long without a system flush. Stifling a yawn, he decided that he had been too long without something as welclass="underline" a good night's sleep. Ah, the joys of life in the field.
If war's only price were the discomforts, he would gladly pay it to be free of the endless political intrigues of the Davion court. Years of having to play the court games had improved his ability, but could not make him like it any better. He was relieved to be back in command of a line unit and pleased that the unit was the First Davion Guards. Even with its death and tactical deception, war was cleaner than court intrigue. It left a man feeling less soiled.
There had been too much of the bad side of war, too much death and pain and suffering, here on An Ting. Contrary to intelligence estimates, the Kuritans had been waiting for the assault. Their conventional regiments had been in prepared positions, ready for the Davion attack. The Drac 'Mechs had so far only put in a brief appearance, striking to blunt Davion breakthroughs and then disappearing. In spite of that, the fighting had been ferocious, each day putting them further behind Prince Hanse's schedule.
Word had come in from scouts in the western foothills that the Kuritans were stirring. Wanting to see for himself, Sortek had set out in his Victor,feeling secure enough thirty kilometers behind the lines to travel without escort. That sense of security faltered when he spotted a Vedette tank crawling over the crest of the hill in front of him. The armored vehicle was not emitting any IFF signal that the Victor'sequipment could read.
He had not had his missile racks brought to full load and the Victorwas running hot, its heat exchanger system still malfunctioning from the hits he had taken in last week's battle. The last thing he wanted right now was a fight. As a precaution, he armed his lasers and opened the ammo feed to the Pontiac 100 autocannon that made up the Victor's right forearm. Optimistically, he kept the 'Mech on its heading. If the tank was friendly, its crew could not miss the wreathed sword-and-sun insignia on the Victor's chest. If not, at least he wouldn't be a sitting target.
"Merde,"he cursed aloud when he spotted the puff of white smoke from the Vedette's main gun muzzle.
He cut right, snapping ruby pulses from the paired Sorenstein 4.8cm lasers on the Victor's left arm as he charged. The tank's shot furrowed the ground between his 'Mech's feet. Sortek leaned into the accelerator, jolting with the rough ride over the broken ground. He continued his harassment fire as he closed with the tank. Only two bursts from the Kuritan's autocannon scored, and they did no more than flake off some of the Victor's armor plating in the 'Mech's lower left leg and upper chest.
At seventy meters, Sortek triggered the Pontiac, but the Victor'sviolent motion threw off his aim. The hillside cratered around the tank. Belatedly, it began to move again.
Sortek tapped a correction into his targeting system and fired again. The high-velocity shells ripped into the tank as it churned at the already-torn ground, seeking purchase for a turn. The armor-piercers cut through the Vedette's ProTecTech plating as though it were merely lacquered wood. Chunks scattered on impact, and a second later, the whole vehicle burst in an eye-searing explosion.
The Marshal had no time to congratulate himself. Two more Vedettes crested the hill. No more point in keeping it quiet,he told himself.
"Sortek to Pangolin Base. Hostiles in sector Tango-Romeo seven-three-six. Need support."
Sortek opened fire on the tanks. Without waiting to see the results, he backed away. A gap in the hill afforded him a glimpse of an entire armored column moving up the reverse slope toward his position. He repeated his call, and this time got a response.
"Pull back, Marshal," the cool voice of the base comm officer advised.
"Too hot, Pangolin. They'll swarm me. I've got a whole company here."
There was a brief delay. "Understood, Marshal. We had a lance on its way up to the front. They're vectoring in on your position. Your luck is holding, Marshal. They should be there in ten."
"You'd better be right, Pangolin. If these Snakes get through me, they'll be in your laps in thirty."
"Understood, Marshal. Good luck."
Sortek's battle against the Kurita company was a seesaw affair—him trying to stay out of the line of fire; them trying to get as many vehicles as possible into position to fire on him. The Snakes lost no time adopting tactics that kept them out of range of his Pontiac cannon as much as possible. Meanwhile, the heat in the Victor'scockpit rose steadily.
Just as he was giving up hope of a timely rescue, the shrill passage of long-range missiles announced the arrival of the Davion lance. The Vedette that Sortek had just crippled shuddered under the impact of the rockets. Black smoke boiled up through the gaps the warheads tore into its armor. As soon as he saw the survivors of the crew bail out, Sortek turned his attention to the next opponent.
The Davion lance, two Enforcers,a Dervish,and a Stinger,stormed across the rolling hills. Their sudden, reckless attack stunned the Kuritans. A Vedette burst into a fireball under their concentrated fire.
The Pontiac's last cassette round clicked empty as Sortek bracketed the nearest Vedette with a burst of fire. The turret burst into flames as the main gun rocked free of its shattered mount to rattle down the Vedette's sloped armor. Its drive wheels mangled and treads shredded, the tank ground to a halt.
The odds had swiftly changed.
Outclassed by the newly arrived 'Mechs, the Kuritans withdrew. Sortek forbade pursuit. Feeling nervous about the Dracs' unheralded arrival, he wanted the lance nearby. "Take five," he called to his rescuers. "We're heading back to Pangolin Base as soon as I get this old warhorse's heat down."
"Tough fight, Marshal?" asked one of the Jocks. Soltek's comm board identified the signaller as Sergeant Sally Cantrell, the Dervishpilot.
"I wouldn't want to make this sort of thing a habit," Sortek allowed. "I'm bushed."
"Welcome to the club, Marshal." Leftenant Link's intonation was jovial, but Sortek sensed a bitter undertone. "If they're working us this hard with their groundpounders, what'll they do when they cut loose their 'Mechs?"