“Get him, get him,” she said. Her vengeance would be even sweeter now. “That has to be Austin Ortega in the Centurion. Who else could it be?”
The tanks drove in to deliver the coup de grâce. She silently cheered them on. Austin Ortega brought his autocannon to bear—the cannon jammed. This time she did cheer.
The cheer turned to strangled rage when she saw the new combatants.
37
Grounds of the Palace of Facets, Cingulum
Mirach
9 May 3133
Austin Ortega struggled to save himself and saw nothing but death staring him in the face. His laser refused to fire. The autocannon had jammed, leaving deadly rounds in the breach where they might explode at any instant. From his position on the ground, he couldn’t get back to his feet and use what power remained in the ancient Centurion to fight back.
The alarms in his cockpit went crazy as the Condor lowered its main autocannon and pointed it directly at him. Austin could not scramble away. Sergeant Death was going to become a metal coffin in seconds.
Austin refused to give up. Working frantically, he got the Centurion flopped over and rising on hands and knees. A myomer bundle snapped, dropping him to one side. In this position he stared directly down the tank barrel.
Then he flinched and tried to shield his eyes from the sudden fountain of sparks that exploded into the air. In disbelief he watched as a diamond-edged cutting wheel rose again and came back down on the tank. The first pass had severed the barrel of the heavy gun. The diamond cutting wheel spun so fast it was only a blur until it hit the top of the tank and cut away half the turret.
“Who’s there?” Austin asked, trying to find a frequency where he could contact his savior. He got no answer and gave up. His comm was faulty. Austin heard the heavy rattle of an autocannon firing, and then an explosion lifted him and rolled him a few meters.
His reactions were superb. Austin used the impetus from the blast to get the Centurion to its knees and then erect. His eyes flashed about the controls. Most were dead but what he saw showed him he had enough power to continue. In spite of the damage to his right leg, he could still move. The Palace would not fall, not while Austin Ortega had trusty old Sergeant Death for a ride.
From his loftier view ten meters above the ground he saw a modified IndustrialMech making short work of another medium tank. The cutting wheel on its left arm that had carved up the tank hung at a crazy angle. Teeth had broken off and the drive unit gushed heavy black, oily smoke. Another cutting wheel mounted on the upper left shoulder still spun in a deadly arc, but the real damage was wrought by the hammering autocannon in its right arm.
Austin started stamping to keep the light infantry away. The heavier battle-armor-clad soldiers worked toward him, only to find themselves at the mercy of the IndustrialMech’s autocannon. The pilot of that ’Mech was a maestro with his weapons. Austin doubted it was true, but it looked as if every single 50-mm round found a target and dispatched one of the attacking soldiers.
A grating sound was quickly followed by a small explosion on Austin’s right shoulder. To his surprise, he found that his autocannon had cleared and he could fire again. He hobbled over and stood with his back to the refitted ’Mech, firing at any target he saw. Austin lifted his autocannon to fire at movement showing on the edge of his radar screen, only to have the weapon jam again.
For a change, he let out a heavy sigh of relief at the weapon’s failure. Austin would have fired reflexively on another of the MBA ’Mechs, this one a modified MiningMech firing salvos of SRMs at infantry and light-armored vehicles as it came. The autocannon mounted on its other side was silent, having jammed like Austin’s.
Austin checked his console again, but he was weaponless. His rear-facing laser had been removed before the Centurion had gone on display and the one on the right side of his torso struggled to recharge. Given its wildly fluctuating voltage, the laser might never work again. And the autocannon? Jammed beyond repair.
A heavy blow knocked him forward a few steps. He swung the Centurion around as quickly as he could and faced his rescuer. Through the forward view screen Austin saw the other pilot gesturing to the radio.
Austin shook his head to indicate he had lost all communication capability. The other pilot signaled that Austin should eject, but Austin wasn’t going to abandon Sergeant Death. That would be like leaving a fallen comrade for the enemy. It had shown itself to be as deadly a resource now as when his father had driven it.
He coughed, then blinked as smoke burned his eyes. Austin saw the trouble now. Red lights had replaced all the green on his control console. The recycling pump for his coolant had died. Stealthy fires worked their way along most of the wiring, spelling death for the magnificent BattleMech. Austin hit the emergency shutdown, then scrambled to unstrap and pull off hoses going to the coolant vest. Twisting until he thought he would tear himself into pieces, he got free of the pilot’s couch and scrambled up and out of the hatch.
Standing on the Centurion’s shoulder, he waved to the IndustrialMech. The deadly spinning blade on the ’Mech’s shoulder slowed and finally grated to a stop. Only then did the ’Mech move closer. With a powerful jump Austin shot through the air and grabbed frantically for a handhold. He slid a few centimeters, then found both footing and a secure grip.
From the hatchway of the Centurion erupted flame so intense his pants legs began to smolder, though he was five meters away. The ’Mech driver was already turning away to protect him with the bulk of the fighting machine. With practiced ease, he bent to let Austin jump to the ground.
The hatch on the ’Mech popped, and Austin got another surprise.
“Manfred!” he called, staring at his rescuer. “You’re alive!”
“Be grateful you can’t get rid of me so easily!” Manfred laughed and then dropped to the ground to clutch Austin in a powerful bear hug.
“How? I saw you blown up!”
Manfred laughed and shook his head. “Your father called me as I was leaving the limo and warned me about some missing explosives. Borodin had found out and told the Baron in time for him to tell me. The Kuton station is such a threat to Elora that it didn’t take long to figure out that a DropShip filled with supplies headed to the moon might not be the safest place for me to be.” Manfred turned somber. “I never entered the ’Ship.”
“I saw you. Marta saw you!” Austin protested.
“The bulk of the ’Ship blocked your view. I made a serious mistake then. I didn’t go into the ’Ship, but I tried to contact the pilot. All I had was one of the Span-net phones. No one in the DropShip could pick up that frequency, so I couldn’t warn them.”
“You should have told Marta. She could have contacted them through the control bunker,” said Austin.
“The engine ignition sequence started, and I ran like a fool to keep from getting fried. I found a ditch to protect me from the backwash. Then it was too late. The ’Ship blew up as it lifted off. There was nothing I could do, so I thought it would be better to let Tortorelli and Elora think they had actually killed me.”
“But where did you get the ’Mech? You must have told Marta you were alive.”
“Sure, but by the time I got in touch, you’d disappeared. Your father and Marta knew I was alive. Maybe even Borodin, though I doubt it. I bet if you asked him, he’d say he knew.”