“Lance, we've got trouble with a capital T,” Armstrong radioed. What was supposed to have been a one-sided ambush was about to become a skirmish—with her force at a definite disadvantage.
“Withdraw,” she shouted over the command channel. “Fire by extraction!”
Armstrong backed her Catapultdown the reverse slope. Just before her 'Mech's bullet-shaped body dropped below the crest, she fired another double flight of rockets.
Scanners showed Frost withdrawing according to orders. His Pantherwas firing as it moved from cover to cover, working its way to Armstrong's position. The hill blocked Armstrong's view of Toragama and Jacobs, but the taccomm suddenly crackled to life.
“Jacobs is down! He hasn't ejected. I think he's hurt!”
“Keep it calm, Toragama.” That was bad. With one 'Mech down, she didn't need to lose another pilot to panic. “What happened?”
“The T-Boltraked him with missiles and he went down. His 'Mech's not moving. I think he's hurt.”
“Confirmed, Chu-i,”Frost broke in. “Got a LOS on them. The Whitworthis down, with Toragama covering against the T-Boltsadvance. The other Feds are headed that way. ETA of first hostile is two minutes.”
Thank the Dragon for Frost's cool head. Armstrong knew they had to get out of here, but if Jacobs was still alive, she couldn't abandon him. With him still in his 'Mech, they would have to drag them both. Her own Cathad no arms, and a single Pantherwas too light for the job. It would take both Panthersto drag the forty-ton Whitworthclear of the field. With the Davion 'Mechs on top of them, that would be impossible. Something had to be done.
“Frost, listen up. You and Toragama are going to have to drag Jacobs' butt out of there. I'll give you cover and try to pull the Feds away. Meet you at the rally point.”
“Hai, Chu-i!”
“Get moving!” Frost's 'Mech was in motion even before the order reached him, his machine racing along out of sight of the enemy.
Armstrong's machine rose on a column of superheated steam. It cleared the ridge, coming down in the open, eighty meters from the leading Davion 'Mech. As the Catlanded, Armstrong jolted violently, having misjudged the slope of her landing site. The shock skewed her aim, and the spread of laser fire she sent at the T-Boltdid little more than catch the pilot's attention. The ponderous 'Mech turned in her direction, and its partners changed vector to angle in on her as well. To distract the Feds while her lance members worked to make good their escape, Armstrong began the deadly dance of dodge and fire.
“Strike Command, this is Pouncer One,” she broadcast desperately when the hostiles gave her a second's breather. “We've got trouble. Come in, Strike Command.”
It took two more tries before she got an answer. By then, she had taken multiple missile and autocannon hits that had pocked and shattered armor plates, but failed to penetrate and rupture the more delicate structures beneath. Far worse was the shot the Cathad taken from one of the Ostsol’s8cm lasers. The heavy beam had breached the 'Mech's leg armor and damaged an actuator. She was finding it hard to dodge with a limp.
“Strike Command to Pouncer One, what's your situation?” The comm officer's voice was calm and detached. He could afford to be, sitting safe in the MHQ.
“Mech down. Two on recovery assistance. Three heavy hostiles in pursuit.”
“Understood, Pouncer.” There was a pause. Armstrong prayed that it was to order a couple of 'Mech lances to their relief. Relief that she prayed, even more fervently, would arrive in time. A new speaker replaced the comm officer.
Armstrong recognized Tai-saTetsuhara's voice. “Negative on available ground forces, Pouncer.”
Armstrong's throat dried. This was it then. If the Iron Man was on the line, it was to tell her that it was stand-and-die time, time for dignity and honor. Damn! She wanted to cry, but that wasn't dignified.
Sacrifice for one's comrades was noble in theory. In the hot cockpit of a BattleMech, facing death in the shape of three enemy BattleMechs, theory wasn't so attractive. Survival—now that was attractive! Far more than some abstract like the unit's honor.
“Pouncer,” the Tai-sacalled.
Frackencrack!she thought. Here comes the death order.
“We have diverted an aerospace lance to your coordinates. ETA is six minutes. Can you hold?”
What? For a few seconds, the unexpected words made no sense to Armstrong. While she was thus distracted, the Shadow Hawkrounded a copse of trees and caught the Catapultwith a pair of missiles. Armstrong reacted on the reflex and drove her 'Mech in a skittering run for the cover of a granite boulder.
“Pouncer, can you hold for six minutes?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Time is unconquerable, Chu-i.Do your best. I expect no less from my samurai.”
“Hai, Tai-sa!”He had called her a samurai. In ten years of service with the Combine, no officer had ever accorded her the honor. The Iron Man was doing his best for her. She could do no less in return.
Those six minutes were the longest days Armstrong ever lived as the battle became a lethal game of hide and seek. As the Cat'sheat burden built up, more failure lights flared red in every encounter with the Davion enemy. Her missile stock shrank, and she had no idea how many more brushes she could survive. The next might be the last.
“Pouncer One, Pouncer One, you still out here?”
Armstrong shed tears of relief with no thought of her dignity when that voice came over the taccomm. “Barely. Thank the Dragon you made it.”
“Say rather, Blue Flight of Wolf's Dragoons, ma'am.” A burst of static blurred the link briefly. “We've got four
'Mechs on our screens. Can you give us a beacon for our run? Wouldn't want to lose you by accident.”
“Roger on the beacon,” she said, setting up a repeating pulse on her taccomm to identify her 'Mech to the friendly fighters.
Two Luciferssporting black wolf's-heads came screaming down out of the sky to rain explosive destruction on the Davion 'Mechs. The Federated ‘MechJocks were not tyros, but could do little against the swift-moving fighters. None of their machines was configured for ground-to-air work, and so the enemy 'Mechs headed for cover.
Armstrong didn't wait around. As soon as she saw the first rockets thud home, she throttled up and ran from the field at full speed. She wanted to put as much distance as possible between her Catapultand the Davion 'Mechs that had mauled it.
The Dragoon fighters made another pass, but it had less effect since the Feds had gone to ground. The Dragoon Lance Commander radioed his concern to Armstrong, “Gotta go, ma'am. We've got other calls to make. Hope you got enough of a lead 'cause I don't think we took any of the Fed 'Mechs down for the count.”
“It will be enough,” Armstrong said determinedly. “Warrior, to whom do I owe my life?”
“The name's Atwyl, ma'am. But you don't owe me anything. It's all part of the service. Good luck!”
The fighters disappeared into the distant haze, heading for the Shaw River Valley.
It took an hour for Armstrong to reach the rally point, but she was sure that she had eluded any Davion pursuers. The rest of her lance was waiting for her. The Whitworthwas lying on the ground with its cockpit hatch open. Frost and Toragama stood beside the supine machine. Even before she cracked her own hatch, she knew what the word would be.