“Whoa!” Posner exclaimed, the helicopter sideslipping suddenly. Austin was glad he had fastened the harness. He was thrown outward and might have tumbled from the Lamprey otherwise. “We’re taking fire from below. What do you want to do, Lieutenant?”
“You’ve got missiles. Respond,” Austin ordered. The VTOL shuddered as Posner launched a salvo of four SRMs. The smoke trails snaked off toward the ground, but Austin couldn’t tell if the pilot hit her target. The Lamprey banked sharply to avoid return fire. Austin saw LRMs shrieking past, almost close enough for him to reach out and touch them. The helicopter was too lightly armored to withstand a full salvo, but Posner showed great skill avoiding potential disaster.
“Their battle armor is moving in on the Atlas,” Austin radioed to Posner. “Get us down where I can do some work keeping the mites off the giant’s leg.”
“I’m trying to contact the Atlas, sir. Radio signal’s jammed.”
“Elora,” Austin grumbled. Louder, he said, “Keep trying to signal the BattleMech to clear out. There’s no reason for it to stand and take a beating.”
“It’s built to take punishment,” Posner said. As if to prove her claim, the BattleMech took a full barrage of missiles. It lost a small amount of armor on the left torso, possibly damaging its own SRM launcher, but otherwise shrugged off the assault.
Austin knew the Atlas could withstand repeated attacks, but that wasn’t why it had been built. It had been constructed to dish out destruction.
The chopper swung around and then dropped like a rock between tall buildings. Posner flew at ten meters above the street, flashing over a battle-armored squad moving quickly toward the BattleMech. She pulled back sharply, spun about 180 degrees, and put Austin in position to fire.
He gripped the machine gun and drew back the loading lever. He hesitated for a moment, then opened up. The machine gun chattered noisily as it spat out leaden death. The stream of bullets stitched across concrete and asphalt and caught the leading battle-armored soldier squarely. The heavy bullets sang off the armor and knocked the trooper back.
Then the VTOL suddenly rose. Austin lost his balance and swung out, looking straight down. The squad he had fired on had scattered, taking cover. They wore Hauberk armor and all trained their lasers on the Lamprey. Austin saw the laser fire miss, splashing against nearby buildings, blowing off hunks of steel, vaporizing glass and filling the air with concrete dust.
Posner swung back and Austin got into position. The machine gun sights swept across the battle-armored squad again, and Austin squeezed off a long burst. He saw the squad leader jerk about, then smash into the ground facedown. A muffled explosion lifted the ton of battle armor up and dropped it down. Austin had struck the missile launcher and the soldier’s own armament had destroyed the armor.
And the soldier.
Then the helicopter flashed past and Posner climbed fast.
“Tank,” she said needlessly as a football-sized hunk of nickel fired from a Gauss rifle seared past.
“Behemoth,” he agreed. “Moving in on the BattleMech. Any luck getting in touch with the Atlas?”
“None, but I’ve picked up comm on a different frequency. One used by the AWC.”
The VTOL shuddered as autocannon fire struck and rebounded from its armored belly. As it struggled to gain altitude, Austin got a quick glimpse of new troop movement below. Tortorelli’s forces were making an all-out assault on the BattleMech. A company of battle armor moved up slowly under the covering fire from a Condor tank. In the distance Behemoth tanks systematically leveled the buildings with Gauss rifle and heavy laser fire to further expose the BattleMech.
“The MechWarrior is pretty clever,” Posner radioed. “He’s using the rubble well to keep away the attackers, but he’s running out of time. They have it circled and are tightening the noose.”
“Patch me through on the AWC frequency,” Austin said. He scanned the battle-torn terrain and saw how the Atlas was being inexorably pushed forward by the lighter tanks to a point where a trio of Behemoths could concentrate their fire.
“You got it, Lieutenant.”
“AWC force, come in,” Austin said. He shifted his focus for a moment to send a long burst from the machine gun raining down against a Condor tank. The tank’s armor was more than up to the task of deflecting his rounds, but he got the tank driver’s attention and halted its advance. For a few seconds.
“Who is this?” came the suspicious reply.
“Lieutenant Ortega, FCL,” he identified himself without thinking. “Are you bringing up modified IndustrialMechs?”
“We need more ID, Lieutenant.”
“There’s no time. Manfred Leclerc is on his way in his ’Mech from Governor’s Park. The Palace is secure and Governor Ortega is safe. I’m in a VTOL above the city and the Atlas is being boxed in.”
“Can’t contact the BattleMech,” came the reply. “Frequency is jammed.”
“How far away are you? Can you clear a retreat path for the Atlas?”
“We’re under heavy fire from a tank, a Behemoth,” came the reply.
Static drowned out contact, but a distant voice came through that set Austin’s heart racing. He shouted, as if this could make Manfred hear him better.
“Manfred! How long before you can engage?”
“The other MBA ’Mechs are under attack,” Manfred reported. “I’m using a frequency to them that Elora’s not jamming.”
“I need to break that jamming. Can you send a ’Mech to the Ministry of Information and destroy the broadcast towers on top of the building?”
“Done,” Manfred reported a few seconds later. “The ’Mech will reach the Ministry in a few minutes.”
Austin came to a quick conclusion. There wasn’t time to wait. The Atlas was advancing into the shooting gallery formed by three Behemoth tanks. If they all opened up on the BattleMech, it would be seriously damaged and the battle-armored troops on the ground could disable it.
“Engage immediately. We have to let the BattleMech get free.”
“I’m not going to worry about collateral damage,” Manfred said.
“Tortorelli’s troops are still citizens of Mirach,” warned Austin. He now saw firsthand how terrible a civil war could be. Anyone dying wasn’t “one of them.” It was a neighbor or friend, a brother or sister.
“Understood. Now attack!” cried Manfred.
The Lamprey swung around above the Atlas so Austin could take in the situation. Directly ahead, not a klick down the main thoroughfare, waited a Behemoth tank. Along streets branching at right angles were two more, ready to fire as the Condor and battle-armored soldiers behind the Atlas herded it into the Behemoths’ sights.
“There’s no chance for us to take out a Behemoth,” Austin radioed the pilot. “We go after the forces behind the BattleMech.”
He saw an IndustrialMech making its way down a broad street, heading for one of the Behemoths. Austin started to warn the ’Mech away. It was a converted MiningMech, armed with an autocannon and LRMs. As it neared the tank, the ’Mech opened fire, letting fly salvo after salvo of missiles. The Behemoth returned fire with its lasers, and then Austin lost sight of that deadly contest in a hurricane of smoke, dust, and flying debris.
“Here we go, Lieutenant,” Posner said. Austin felt his stomach try to leave his body through his throat as they plunged downward. Grimly gripping the machine gun, he started firing. The slugs bounced off battle armor and, he thought, brought down one soldier. More important, he had forced the squad to take cover.
Then the battle changed drastically. Manfred lumbered into view, his modified ’Mech firing its autocannon into a Condor tank. Bright ricochets off the armor filled the air like crazy fireflies. A few of the deflected rounds hammered into the underside of the Lamprey as they flashed past. Austin cut loose with the machine gun and added a few extra kilos of slugs to the fray.