The Atlas had precipitated the fight for control of Mirach, not discouraged it. Elora had felt the jaws of a steel trap clamping down on her ambitions and had to act or be imprisoned. Sergio saw that now and wished he could replay some of the events that led to her subverting Legate Tortorelli and believing she could seize power.
Sergio closed his eyes for a moment and felt the distant tremors come up through the floor and shake him anew. Sergio was alone in the vast halls now echoing only with memories and autocannon fire. Borodin and the others still loyal to him and the ideals of The Republic were on the battle lines, fighting and undoubtedly dying.
He glanced at the screens and saw the rapid approach of three tanks, one Behemoth and two Condors, then recoiled when his field of vision filled with a monster metallic foot coming down to block the advance.
“The Centurion!” he cried. Sergio’s colorless eyes widened. Only one person could pilot the BattleMech—his old ’Mech—so competently. “Austin, no, don’t fight. Don’t risk your life,” he cried in exasperation.
Sergio worked frantically with the comm equipment. He knew the frequency used by the Centurion as well as he did his own face in a mirror. For almost four years he had lived in the cockpit, fighting for The Republic. Never since the day the BattleMech was placed in the museum did he think he would use these settings again.
He found the proper frequency to contact Austin, but time had run out. Sergio watched in dread as the Centurion toppled over and the tanks closed in for the kill. The Centurion’s autocannon had jammed and the sole remaining laser shot sparks, betraying some fatal internal short circuit.
“Austin, come in. Austin!” Sergio decided communication with the BattleMech was not in the cards and tried to find another frequency. It took what seemed an eternity to lock in the carrier signal. The short IFF beep-click-beep told him he had located his son’s only chance for salvation.
“Home in on my signal,” he said in a choked voice. “Hurry. Please, hurry.” Sergio Ortega sank back in his chair, eyes on the monitors, following the battle on the Palace grounds intently, all else forgotten.
36
Ministry of Information, Cingulum
Mirach
9 May 3133
“It’s all going according to plan,” Lady Elora said, her lips pulled back in such an extreme smile that she looked like a death’s-head with red hair. “Parsons’ BattleMech is trapped in the center of the city where we can nibble it to death.”
“Ah, yes, unable to move because of their silly rules of engagement,” Calvilena Tortorelli said as if dismissing the notion out of hand. “They try to preserve life when the sole purpose of the BattleMech is to destroy it. Foolish. Ever so foolish.”
“My, that is, your tanks have circled it. No matter which way the ’Mech turns, it is being hit hard. If it retreats, the tanks will pursue.” She stared at the video feeds pouring in from a dozen different angles. Huge gouts of molten metal exploded from the surface of the Atlas, blown off by barrages from half a dozen tanks.
“Is it Envoy Parsons who decreed that the BattleMech wasn’t to use its weapons where civilians might be lost, or was it Marta Kinsolving?” Tortorelli stroked his chin as he pondered this point. “I find it difficult to believe she, as leader of the MBA, cares if we slaughtered everyone in the city, but the structural damage, now, that might bother her. If AllWorldComm doesn’t own a considerable amount of property in downtown Cingulum, I am sure other MBA members do.”
Elora hardly listened to him arguing with himself. What difference did it make if Parsons or Kinsolving had given the foolish order for the BattleMech to only defend rather than to attack? The result was the same. The full might of Mirach’s military fell like a sledgehammer on the ’Mech. No matter that it was still functional. They had trapped it, forcing it to play a defensive role while the Legate’s best tank commander drove to remove Sergio Ortega at the Palace of Facets.
Soon it will be his tomb, Elora gloated.
Elora chuckled as she authorized transmission of pictures of the Atlas being hammered by Legate Tortorelli’s forces along with hearty congratulations for the soldiers. Offers of vast rewards to infantry and battle-armored troops if they brought down the BattleMech were made public, giving yet another way of gaining honor.
But no individual would claim the reward. The heavy tanks would eventually blow off enough armor to expose the MechWarrior to the killing blast.
No quarter asked, no quarter given, she thought as she stared at the bank of monitors popped up all over her desktop.
“Yes, yes, definitely. The battle is going well,” Tortorelli said, as if he had won an argument. “I planned carefully. There ought to be another medal in this for me. Yes, there should.”
He began strutting around her office, posturing and practicing his speeches. She wasn’t sure when he had slipped away from reality, and it hardly mattered. She had needed his authority to put the entire military of Mirach into motion against the Lord Governor’s Envoy—and against Governor Ortega.
She partially turned in her chair to face other monitors gleaming atop her desk. She panned around the vast bucolic grounds of Governor’s Park and saw two light tanks moving in ahead of the ground troops, all supported by the heavy Behemoth II. It would be a combined-forces assault on the Palace because Sergio had turned it into a fortress using defenses put into place by the Legate.
Elora’s elation mounted again when she saw how the field commander deployed her force, the main battle tank at point with the lighter Condors in an echelon formation. Sergio might as well have drawn a bull’s-eye on his back. The battle would be over in minutes. No defensive tactic could work against such an onslaught.
“What’s that?” Elora jumped to her feet and leaned forward, supporting herself on the desk with clenched hands. “That’s another BattleMech!”
“Where did it come from? I do say, that Jerome Parsons might be sneakier than I credited him with being. He must have hidden it until this moment,” Tortorelli said.
“No, he didn’t. That’s Sergio Ortega’s old BattleMech.”
“The one with the hideous paint job rusting away in the museum?” Tortorelli frowned as he studied the screen in front of Elora. Angrily, she switched the feed so the entire wall, where Cingulum’s skyline had been a few seconds earlier, came alive with the details of the BattleMech.
“Captain Mugabe,” Elora said, her voice barely controlled, “attack the BattleMech. Don’t let it reach a point where it can defend the Palace!”
“That’s my job, Elora. I should be the one giving orders,” Tortorelli said, almost pouting.
“I gave the orders in your name, Calvy. Sit down; watch what your forces can do against a BattleMech,” she soothed.
She saw the Centurion taking huge strides toward the Palace, intent on safeguarding Sergio Ortega. But the field commander was the head of Tortorelli’s elite force and had practiced in simulators in the event of such a tank-versus-’Mech battle. Captain Mugabe sent her Condors out on either flank and then attacked fiercely with both infantry and Hauberk-battle-armored fighters. When the individual soldiers were driven away, the tanks opened up to good effect.
“That’s the way,” Elora muttered, seeing a particularly devastating Gauss rifle attack rip away part of the Centurion’s chest armor. After sustained attack focusing on the right leg, the BattleMech staggered and fell backward, crashing to the ground so hard it caused her camera to wobble from the shock wave.