BattleTech: A Rock and a Hard Place: BattleTech, #107

By William H. Keith

ALIVE OR DEAD…

Just a few months after their universe-shaking campaign on Helm, and the distribution of the Helm Memory Core, all Grayson Carlyle and his Gray Death Legion want is to settle into their new home on Glengarry. But they barely touch down on-planet when a Lyran Commonwealth general contacts the GDL, intent on hiring them to track down and capture Draconis Combine agents behind a daring raid on Lyons.

Tracking the Kurita raiders to the Draconis border system of Valdis—better known as Wheel—Grayson and his people have their work cut out for them. The system's main feature is literally a wheel-shaped deep-space station and recharge facility at the Valdis star's zenith jump point. Its structure means a direct assault with BattleMechs will be extremely risky, both because of the tight quarters and the very real danger of an errant shot or missile depressurizing and destroying the entire station. Also, Grayson will be splitting his force, with Lori Kalmar providing a decoy operation on the nearby mining planet Valdis I, otherwise known as Rock, to draw the Combine's attention away from Wheel.

It's a high-risk operation on both ends, but Grayson and the GDL have their orders, and they intend to capture the Draconis operatives one way or the other…even if they have to risk destroying the entire space station to do so…
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs
• Release date: Sep 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201763718

Book preview

PROLOGUE

LYONS FORTRESS, OUTSIDE CLOVIS POINT

LYONS

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

15 SEPTEMBER 3027

Bier, the waning moon of the world of Lyons, broke momentarily from behind the clouds, illuminating the fortress wall and the surrounding barrens. A bitter wind cut across the landscape, ruffling the moorgrass, bringing with it an icy promise of snow. In the far distance, across the moor, a lone BattleMech, a Twelfth Star Guard Panther edged in moonlight, stood sentry-go.

A black-on-black shadow, all but invisible in a shinobi’s traditional shozoku, crouched in an open courtyard beside the fortress wall, every sense attuned and focused on the night. Gravel crunched. The intruder froze, watching as a lone soldier, a sentry, approached to within a meter of his hiding place, leaned his TK assault rifle against the wall close enough the shinobi could have reached out a hand and touched it, and flapped his arms about in a futile attempt to get warm.

"God damn it," the cold sentry muttered, just loud enough for the shinobi to hear. "Stuck in a malfing godforsaken garrison on a malfing godforsaken planet, on the malfing godforsaken Kurita border! I could be drinking old scotch with the guys off in Clovis tonight, right? But no-o-o-o-o. Here I am freezing my ass off in a malfing, godforsaken wasteland!"

The shinobi in the shadows had several kill options literally at his fingertips. A knife-hand driven into the target’s windpipe…thumbs stabbed through the thin bone at the target’s temples…even the edge of the plastic key card tucked into the recesses of his black uwagi…any of those would have ended the sentry’s chilled griping right then and there. But the shinobi was nekekami. His long and arduous training had instilled within him his order’s key precept: If a nekekami draws steel, his mission has failed.

Not that this nekekami had any steel on him at the moment. His mission demanded he penetrate the fortress defenses with nothing but the shinobi shozoku on his back. He waited…and waited…and at last the sentry snatched up his rifle, turned away, and wandered off into the darkness, still muttering about the cold.

The shinobi waited until he was out of sight and hearing, then checked on the distant Panther. He knew the different varieties of BattleMech very well; the PNT-9R Panther was actually a Draconis design, not Lyran Commonwealth. This one must have been salvaged off some battlefield by the Lyrans and put back in operation. Its Cat’s Eyes 5 tracking system, he knew, could easily pick out his body’s infrared signature at this range…if the pilot was paying attention.

But as with all sentries on every world, this one was thinking of something else…booze…girls…his next paycheck and what he would do with it…

With the distant grumble of its Hermes 140 engine, the ’Mech lumbered slowly off as it continued to patrol its perimeter.

The nekekami shinobi leaned against the wall, pressing the grip-palms of his tekoh gloves against rough stone and finding finger-holds, wedging his tabi split-toe socks into crevices in the stone, and began climbing, invisibly, silently. Lyons Fortress was a single, massive structure, but there were several ways in if you knew where to look. This outer court, he knew, led to an inner courtyard beyond those massive steel gates, but he knew better than to try to penetrate there. The wall sloped inward slightly, assisting his climb. He reached the top in moments, slipped over the ramparts without exposing his silhouette to the sky, and dropped down into the interior court.

Several Commonwealth soldiers crossed the far side of the courtyard, laughing. The shinobi remained lost in shadow. The black cloth covering his head, the zukin, and the black cloth worn like a mask across his face, the fukumen, left only a few square centimeters of flesh exposed around his eyes…and that flesh had been smeared with lampblack.

He was effectively invisible…and the soldiers passed him by.

The keycard gave him access to a particular locked door.

The fact he was carrying no metal on his person let him slip through a hallway lined with detectors.

At the end of the passageway, a second keycard imprinted with a computer virus gave him access to an electronically sealed vault. Within was his goal, one of several of the headquarter’s secure rooms.

When he emerged an hour later, he left his calling card beside the vault door.

CHAPTER

ONE

PORT HAVEN AEROSPACEPORT

GLENGARRY

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

1510 HOURS, 2 MARCH 3028

Colonel Grayson Death Carlyle stepped off the ramp of the Union-class DropShip Phobos and squinted up against the glare of the local star. Beside him, Lori Kalmar, a newly minted major, whistled between clenched teeth. "My God, Gray…it’s hot!"

Subgiant star, babe, he told her. A K1 IV, and that four tacked onto the end means it’s well on its way to swelling up into a red giant. It does make things just a mite warm.

I thought the place was supposed to be temperate, Sergeant Delmar Clay growled, coming off the ramp behind them. The company’s laconic Wolverine pilot wiped his forehead with a red cloth. You know…sandy beaches, pleasant strolls in the forest, mountain vacations…

It’s got all that, Del, Carlyle replied. But a planet is a big place, with a lot of different climates. Glengarry also has big ice caps and cold winters that are not exactly conducive to sunbathing.

Not to mention equatorial jungles full of dinosaurs, Corporal Thomas Reid said, joining them with his kit bag slung over his shoulder. I’ve heard scuttlebutt…

About ninety percent of which is drek, Corporal, Carlyle said. Glengarry is our home now, and we’re here to make the best of it.

If you do see any dinosaurs, Captain Ramage said, stepping off the ramp, be sure to let the rest of us know. I’d kind of like to see a contest between a heavy BattleMech and a ban sith. The Legion’s infantry commander looked at Carlyle. Sir, we should get out of the way. The boys are trying to unload.

Right you are, Captain, Carlyle told him. Let’s not get in the way of progress.

Turning, he looked beyond the sphere of the grounded Phobos, and up…and up at the towering loom of the Overlord-class DropShip that had accompanied them here. Closer at hand, WorkMechs were already beginning to offload cargo from the Phobos under the sharp eyes of Lieutenant Alard King, the Legion’s senior tech officer, and Hardy Spahn, the DropShip’s cargo master. King was screaming at one of the WorkMech drivers. "Careful there…careful!...Idiot!"

The group continued across the tarmac, clearing the space in front of Phobos’ ramp as WorkMechs began coming down bearing pallet-loads of supplies.

When you say the sun is going to swell up, Gray…

Nothing to worry about, love. Not for the next few tens of thousands of years, anyway.

I’d still like to find some air conditioning, Kalmar said, then sighed. "This is way too hot."

Carlyle grinned. You just miss Sigurd, he told her, referring to the Periphery planet that was her homeworld. Dry and cold…

"And comfortable, she retorted. A place where a girl could freeze her ass off in comfort!"

And a lovely ass it is, too. Ah. This looks like our contact.

A young officer in the livery of the Glengarry Guard approached and gave Carlyle a smart salute. Welcome to Haven, Colonel, he said, giving the name a short a.

Have-an? Ramage asked.

Local name, sir. Less of a mouthful than ‘HD 136643-III.’ Or even ‘Glengarry III.’

Good to be here, Leutnant, Carlyle said, returning the salute. Where do you want us?

If you’ll come with me, sir, I’ll take you to General Mackey. He’s eager to see you.

Lead on, MacDuff, Carlyle said with a breezy wave of the hand. So long as General Mackey’s hospitality includes air conditioning for my Exec, here.

Carlyle had met Leutnant-General Frazier Mackey once before, when Carlyle had negotiated a place for the Gray Death Legion on Glengarry, a base of operations, landhold for the Legion’s sizeable logistical tail. They were newly arrived from Helm, deep in Marik space, and it was going to take the Gray Death some time to recover from that debacle. The betrayal, the fierce fight for the Legion’s very survival…the situation had left its mark on the mercenary unit, and healing would take time. Mackey had suggested Glengarry in exchange for past services to the Commonwealth, and Carlyle was only too happy for anyplace the unit could call home.

Mackey did, indeed, have an air-conditioned office on the upper floor of Government House, with a large window overlooking the sweep of the Straumaegir Sea, and he stood up as Carlyle, Kalmar, and Ramage entered. Hello, Colonel, he said. Good to see you again.

Good to be here, sir. Carlyle said. They shook hands. General…my executive officer, Major Kalmar…and my infantry commander, Captain Ramage.

"Welcome to Glengarry. We’re very glad to have you here. Have seats, all of you. We don’t stand on formality here."

Glengarry…or ‘Haven,’ I understand, Carlyle said. You’ve certainly provided the Gray Death with a safe haven, General, and we’re grateful for what you’ve done for us here. After Helm…

Our pleasure. We do expect this association to be entirely reciprocal, though. I wanted to see you because we have a contract for the Gray Death, if you’ll take it.

A contract… Carlyle frowned. The Legion needed employment…but it was still so soon after the betrayal at Helm. "Sir…my people are pretty ragged right now. We’re going to need some downtime. And a chance to put our HQ together…"

Understood. And you can refuse this if you need to. But we did offer you a freehold on Haven for a reason.

Sure. Carlyle pointed to a wall. The Combine border’s right over there.

Within the Inner Sphere, the huge volume of space embracing the myriad stars occupied by humanity, the Lyran Commonwealth butted up against the Draconis Combine, an uneasy bordering with the holdings of House Kurita. Cross-border raids were common, and major assaults by both sides kept things in almost constant turmoil. Carlyle had understood that much when Mackey had offered him the landhold. The Glengarry system was parked just a couple of dozen light years from Kurita space.

Talk about unpleasant neighbors…

The Combine has launched a number of raids across the line, Mackey said, nodding, and the more forces we can post on our border systems, the better. But sometimes…well, things do slip through. We’ve had eight major incursions by the Dracs in this sector in the past three years.

He pressed a control on his desk, and a large monitor on the wall behind him displaying the upraised armored fist insignia of House Steiner winked off, then came up again. This, Mackey said, is Lyons, last year, out on the Kurita border.

The scene was one of utter, flaming chaos. It was a command-and-control center of some sort, with numerous instrument consoles and a huge, curving, acrylic window several meters away showing a brightly lit city in the distance. There were fires burning outside, and against the light Carlyle caught the familiar silhouette of a twelve-meter BattleMech with a blunt snout and a massive right arm. He felt a sharp chill of recognition. It was a DRG-1N Dragon, the classic, the iconic ’Mech of the Draconis Combine, and it was making its ponderous way directly toward the command center camera.

A young man faced the screen, eyes wild, soot smeared across his face. Clovis! Clovis! he screamed. Do you copy? This is Cantaba Command! We are under attack! Repeat, we’re under attack! Estimate ten Combine ’Mechs! They came out of drekkin’ nowhere! We need assistance, ASAP! Please respond! Please respond!

At his back, the Dragon reached the command center and almost casually extended its left arm, the closed fist coming through the acrylic in a shower of glittering, spinning shards. The screaming man pitched forward into the camera, tilting the view at a crazy angle toward the ceiling. A harsh burst of static followed, and then blackness.

"They knew exactly where to hit us, Mackey said. Four Union DropShips and two squadrons of fighters made a stealthy run from the nadir jump point to Lyons, timing their arrival for when our orbital aerospace fighter planetary defense station was on the far side of the planet. They touched down on a dry lakebed just ten kilometers from Cantaba, on the southern continent, and deployed against a vital machine tool plant on the outskirts of the city. All of the House Steiner ’Mechs on-planet were either at Clovis’s Point, on the northern continent, or at a major supply depot one hundred kilometers from Cantaba. The Kurita strike force secured the tool plant and loaded some 700 million kroner worth of machinery, tool dies, and electronics onto their DropShips. Steiner aerospace fighters tried to stop them but they got clear. The command center and a large part of the plant were wrecked. Twenty-two techs and civilian security personnel were killed or wounded, and we lost two Stingray fighters in the chase out in space. They lost one Shilone."

Seven hundred million, Ramage said. That’s a hell of a big bite out of the accounting department.

It’s not the money, Mackey said, "as you well know. It’s the tech. It’ll take years to replace it."

So where do we come into this, General? Carlyle asked. Sounds like the horse is already out of the barn.

Mackey touched another desktop control, and the black screen lit up again, this time with an Asian man’s face. The shot looked like a surveillance photo, taken through a telephoto imager with a blurry cityscape behind him.

Keiichi Ishida, Mackey said, "of Luthien’s ISF. The LIC has been on his tail for months. We’ve learned he was the one behind the Cantaba raid. We want him. We want him bad."

Okay, Carlyle said slowly. But isn’t this a job for the LIC?

Or Loki, Kalmar put in.

The Lyran Intelligence Corps was House Steiner’s covert ops and spy service, and it was good. Ruthless…but good. One arm of the service was called Loki, after the Norse trickster god, and it was second to none when it came to sabotage, assassination, and dirty tricks. Loki agents were infamous for their skill—and their brutality—throughout the Inner Sphere.

They’ll be able to help, Mackey told them. But we need a good BattleMech company to kick the door in first…preferably a mercenary unit so Tharkad can deny responsibility. We’ve traced Mr. Ishida to a planet right across the border, Imbros III.

Another scene came up on-screen. The world’s skyline was a sullen red beneath a dark purple sky. Towering red cliffs to either side framed purple water…and the sprawl of a fair-sized domed city.

That sky, Carlyle said, eyes narrowing. It looks just like Trell…

Trell... Mackey said. Ah…yes. Thunder Rift.

Trell I—or Trellwan, as the locals called it—was the tide-locked world where the Gray Death Legion had come into being. Their first big firefight had been there.

Carlyle had met Lori Kalmar there…captured her, in fact.

It was also where Carlyle’s father had been killed.

But Trell I was almost 400 light years out toward the Periphery, not right across the border.

Close, Mackey went on. The Imbrosian sun is a type M5V. Like most red dwarfs, the planetary system is tucked in tight, close to the star, at least for the most part, and planet III is smack in the habitable zone, so close its year is only a few days long. It’s tide-locked, of course—most such worlds are—with a blazing hot desert on the day side and glaciers on the night, and the only livable area is the twilight zone clear around the planet, north pole to south and back to north again. Stellar libration keeps the local sun bobbing above and below the horizon and makes for a more or less comfortable ambient temperature. I hear the storms can be pretty hellacious, though.

They would be, Kalmar observed.

That city down there is the planetary capital, Trunner, Mackey said. The atmosphere is breathable, but only marginally so. CO 2 levels are high enough that breathing masks are a good idea. The cities are fishbowls—covered over by transpex and entered only by way of airlocks.

So that’s the door you want kicked down? Ramage asked.

Mackey shook his head. Not quite. Another scene came up on the monitor, this one of a broad, open landing pad with several DropShips visible. In the distance were a number of low, rounded buildings—hangars, warehouses, a spired control tower, and structures with a distinctly military feel to them. This is Idris Spaceport, just outside of Trunner. Mackey pointed, indicating a massively armored dome with the stylized Kurita dragon emblazoned upon it. This is the Combine military HQ on Imbros, and our information suggests Ishida is here.

I’d rather not ruin an entire city by cracking the wall, Carlyle said. The collateral damage would be…unacceptable. His voice carried a bitter edge, and Kalmar reached out and put a reassuring hand on top of his.

Indeed. You can expect local militia to be guarding the spaceport. Infantry and light armor. Draconis line elements cycle through occasionally, but I doubt you’ll be in for a major ’Mech-to-’Mech brawl.

How are we supposed to find Ishida? Carlyle asked.

You’ll have help. Our intelligence source on Imbros runs a network of agents inside Trunner and the spaceport. They’ll guide you in and point out Ishida for the takedown.

You want him captured? Carlyle asked. Or killed?

We would prefer capture, of course, Mackey said. It’s tough to get decent intel out of a corpse. But if it has to be wet, you’ll be authorized to take him out.

Wet work. An ancient euphemism for assassination.

Sounds like a job for my people, Colonel, Ramage said, grinning. You and your ’Mechs kick in the front door, then stand by and admire the scenery while the infantry does the hard part.

Uh-huh, Carlyle said. You know…something about all of this doesn’t add up.

What do you mean? Mackey asked.

The raid on Lyons. You said they knew exactly where to hit?

They did.

Okay. How?

You’re wondering where the raiders got their intel? Kalmar asked.

Exactly. Carlyle began ticking points off on his fingers. "The raiders knew the orbit of the planetary defense station well enough they could strike while it was on the other side of the planet. They knew where these valuable electronics were…and they knew they weren’t heavily defended. In fact…no defenses at all! What did you say? The nearest garrison ’Mechs were one hundred kilometers away? That suggests an inside job, one of your people on Lyons working for the Combine. Maybe your LIC needs to look there, first."

It happens, Mackey said with a shrug, but that wasn’t the case this time.

So what happened?

Mackey hesitated. "Colonel, have you heard of the nekekami?"

Carlyle pursed his lips. The Spirit Cats? I thought they were mythical.

Oh, they’re quite real. Mackey reached into his desk and extracted an intricately folded piece of black paper, which he laid in front of the others. This was the intruder’s calling card.

It looked, Carlyle thought, like a cat or, just possibly, a panther. The animal was in a stalking pose, the head a series of intersecting triangles turned to face the viewer, the tightly folded tail arched over its back.

"Nekekami is old Japanese, Mackey continued. Could mean something like ‘spirit cat,’ yes, or maybe ‘ghost cat.’ Its members are shinobi, highly trained covert operatives similar to…maybe even directly descended from…a clandestine group on ancient Earth called ninjas. They’re mercenaries…but they’re almost always in the service of House Kurita. They work as spies, assassins, scouts, terrorists, agents provocateurs…anything at all in the dirty tricks department.

"We think sometime last year, one or more of these modern-day ninjas penetrated our military headquarters at Lyons Fortress, right outside the planetary capital. We had no idea security had been breached until one of our people found that just outside a highly secure vault."

Origami, Carlyle said, studying the cat.

"Exactly. An ancient Japanese artform using folded paper. A nekekami operator will drop one of these off to show he was there."

Which is why I thought these spooks were mythical, Carlyle said. If you’re going to covertly penetrate a target looking for intel, typically you don’t advertise your presence! Ideally, the target doesn’t even know they were hit.

Normally, yes, Mackey said, retrieving the origami cat and slipping it back into his desk. But sometimes it’s to their advantage to leave one of these behind to sow fear…uncertainty…even full-blown chaos. Their reputation alone can do that.

You said that thing was found outside a vault door? How do you know the operator wasn’t stopped right there? Was the vault opened?

"We didn’t know until the Combine raiders hit us a month later, Mackey admitted. We hoped the vault lock had stopped this guy, but we didn’t know for sure. With the nekekami anything is possible.

"But inside the vault were files—paper files and computer records both—that detailed everything the raiders needed to pull it off. ’Mech deployment rotation, personnel, troop manifests, patrol schedules, expected aerospace traffic, everything."

Convenient, Kalmar said.

It gets worse. Outside the vault was a passageway lined with metal detectors. Our spook would have needed to go down that corridor without any metal on him at all…no cameras, no recorders, no computer memory chips. Nothing but the fabric he was wearing.

No motion detectors? Carlyle asked. No infrared scanners?

Those appear to have been circumvented somehow, Mackey told them. There was an access panel outside the passageway. He might have disabled the detectors’ wiring, turned them off, then turned them on again later. It wasn’t a matter of just throwing a switch, though. He had to crack the panel and disable the mechanism…then restore it later.

No cameras? How did he get the intel out?

"We think he must have sat down inside the vault and memorized it…the contents of several hundred files."

Good God!

All that, and he leaves behind that paper cat, Ramage said, shaking his head. Weird.

Mackey sighed. "Captain, you have no idea how much consternation finding that black cat caused. The possibility that it was an inside job, with a mole breaching security and leaving that cat as a diversion…well, we considered that possibility very closely. But when our intelligence services uncovered Ishida’s role in the raid, we had to accept that it was the nekekami who penetrated Lyons Fortress. Ishida is ISF, as I said—the Internal Security Force of the Draconis Combine. Ishida appears to be a high-ranking member of the ISF, and, if so, he would have close connections to organizations like the nekekami."

Not sure what any of that proves, Carlyle said. We already know the Kuritas are sneaky bastards.

"It means you and your people would have to keep a sharp eye out on the ground. The nekekami have been known to sabotage BattleMechs, with no one seeing them at the time. And they’ve been known to assassinate unit commanders."

Right. Carlyle thought for a moment. "Okay, we can deal with ghost cats. But, you know, General, I still haven’t accepted this mission. The Legion is a mercenary unit. Unlike your House Steiner troops, that gives us some leeway in what we’re going to agree to do."

Of course.

The Legion has been battered, sir. Half of our ’Mechs need overhauls. A few will need to be rebuilt. And morale is low. A lot of my people lost family on Helm.

I understand that. But I do hope we can persuade you to accept this contract.

Why’s that, General?

I could blow smoke up your butt and tell you because you’re the very best there is…and, I don’t know, maybe you are. But there’s a bigger reason. Politics.

Carlyle arched an eyebrow.

Kalmar laughed. General, you just used a dirty word, so far as he’s concerned.

"Okay, this is classified, right? I can’t tell you very much. But there’s a large-scale operation in the works. A big push. If a merc unit is caught raiding a border world like Imbros, hey, it’s just business as usual. If Steiner troops are caught over there, it’s going to look like a hard recce, even a preliminary invasion. The Archon wants to downplay any official action in this sector."

Plausible deniability, Carlyle said, nodding. And of course, you wouldn’t mind if we did bring back some actionable intel along with Ishida’s head.

Mackey leaned back in his chair. "Bring back Ishida—or even just his head—and the assumption over there will be that this is just what it is…a vengeance raid, tit for tat, business as usual. But…yes. Anything you bring back in the way of military intel will be useful."

And what are you offering for our services, sir? Besides the freehold, that is.

Isn’t that enough? But Mackey was grinning.

"As I already said, sir, I’m a mercenary. And my Exec here needs to meet payroll."

Eleven point five million C-bills, plus expenses. Mercenary enough for you?

Quite generous, sir. He thought for a moment. "Tell you what, General. Let me think it over. I need to talk it over with my staff. I’ll need to consult with the skipper of our starship to make sure Invidious is fitted out and ready for this. I’ll want to canvass Legion personnel for volunteers."

Volunteers?

I don’t see this as more than a single lance on the ground, plus infantry support. I’ll only want experienced MechWarriors who are on-deck and up for this.

Okay…

"And I’ll want to make sure the rest of my people are getting settled in at the freehold. We need to get quarters built, supplies unloaded, the repair depot up and running, get all the food, power, and water logistics organized. We also still have a couple of DropShips on the way in from Helm…mostly with the families of our tech staff and support personnel. We need to get them down, and the living quarters habitable."

Mackey sighed. Agreed, Colonel.

Give me twenty-four hours and I’ll give you our decision.

Done.

Ramage spoke up. Let’s take it, Colonel. This is going to be mostly a ground action, right? A couple of ’Mechs for cover at the spaceport, and a company or two of foot soldiers to go in and drag Ishida out. Easy-peasy.

"Captain, you should know by now that no plan survives contact with the enemy, easy or otherwise."

I can’t stress this enough, Colonel, Mackey told him. "The clock is running on this one."

What’s the rush, sir? Ramage wanted to know.

LIC puts Ishida at that HQ at Idris Spaceport…but that was as of a couple of days ago. I don’t want to risk having him disappear into the depths of the Combine.

This is, Carlyle thought, a damned unusual mission. BattleMech companies deployed against other BattleMechs…or fortresses, or cities, or starports…big targets, major targets, strategic targets that could be attacked in no other way. Deploying ’Mechs to take out one lone person felt like using an autocannon on a mosquito—an extreme case of overkill that would probably miss the target anyway. For that reason alone, he was tempted to turn down Mackey’s offer.

On the other hand, the Gray Death Legion could use an easy mission right now, to help get through the trauma of Helm. What had Ramage called it? Easy-peasy. Yeah…ri-i-i-ight…

And after Helm, and the expense of uprooting from one landhold to a new one, the Gray Death Legion was pretty much broke. That Overlord-class DropShip had been damned expensive.

Carlyle stood. I appreciate you giving me some time, General. I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can.

He was already fairly sure, though, that they would be accepting the mission.

Like all mercenaries everywhere, they really needed the money.

UNION-CLASS DROPSHIP DEIMOS

PORT HAVEN AEROSPACEPORT

GLENGARRY

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

1930 HOURS, 2 MARCH 3028

Carlyle sat at the round briefing table in the common room of the Deimos. With him were Lori, Ramage, and Lieutenants Clay, Hassan Khaled, and Davis McCall, three of his best and most experienced MechWarriors. He hadn’t been at all surprised when all three volunteered immediately.

Aye, McCall had rumbled in his thick Scot’s burr when Carlyle had asked him. Ah’m aw scunnered wi’ aw tha’ flittin’!

Carlyle parsed his way through the dialect, gathering the big Scot was bored with moving house. By now he usually could follow McCall’s meaning; the irritating part was that he’d heard the man speak clearly and without a trace of accent when he was furious or being very serious.

So how is the house-moving going? Carlyle asked the others. He stopped, grinned, and looked at McCall. That’s ‘flitting,’ for those of you who have trouble with Commonwealth English!

The others laughed, including McCall. He was used to being kidded by the others.

We’re actually in pretty good shape, Kalmar told him, as the laughter died down. Our new freehold includes a town, a small village, really, called Riever, and the population there is more than willing to sell us food—wheat, rye, greens, mushrooms…and the meat of some local animal called a ban sith.

"Tha’s pronounced banshee, lass," McCall pointed out.

Whatever you call it. It’s one of the pseudoreptiles here.

Carlyle snorted. Planetary ephemera and publications like House Steiner’s Commonwelt propaganda rag tended to describe planetary ecologies in a blatantly Earth-centric fashion, describing the highest form of life as plant, reptile, mammal, or whatever. Numerous planets across the Inner Sphere had been terraformed by the old Star League, with plants and animals imported from old Earth…but those worlds with their own native ecosystems tended not to fit easily into those rather Terracentric pigeonholes. They were, after all, alien.

Glengarry, according to Commonwelt, had reptile listed as its highest form of life. Creatures like the ban sith of Glengarry’s equatorial forests were warm-blooded and often had hair and took care of their young, like mammals, but the scales and egg-laying were reptilian enough that that was how they were classified.

But Kalmar was still talking. I was also able to arrange for surface transport from here to Castle Hill. That’ll free up the DropShips for the Imbros op.

Carlyle nodded. Port Haven Aerospaceport was located on the outskirts of Dunkeld, the planetary capital. The new freehold was on top of a mountain fifty kilometers to the south. There was a flat plain below the mountain where DropShips could land…but no working reservoirs or pumps for the water those ships used as reaction mass for their fusion drives. That meant incoming DropShips had to land at Dunkeld…and moving all their equipment, ’Mechs, and over a thousand people—the total of all of the company’s active-duty personnel and their families—even just fifty kilometers was no joke.

Actually, I’m going to want to talk to Kendrick about extending his contract with us, Carlyle said. "If we could use the Juno for the run to Imbros III, we could leave Deimos and Phobos here to help you guys get squared away."

Of course, what he meant was he wanted to have the two Union DropShips’ weaponry available here in case the fledgling hold came under attack. The situation with House Marik had been resolved, yes, but Carlyle remained…call it optimistically cautious. The Legion was at its most vulnerable now, while shifting from one base of operations to another. And they had a long way to go before they were safely up and running.

"Why not use the Juno to move the whole base south?" Khaled asked. The saturnine Warhammer pilot waved a hand, taking in the Deimos around them. "These smaller DropShips won’t handle that many people, but an Overlord surely can."

For the long haul from Helm to Glengarry, Carlyle had hired a civilian DropShip, a massive Overlord-class vessel that could carry all the Legion’s ’Mechs and much of its logistical tail in a single, uncomfortably crowded haul. Dillon Kendrick was Juno’s skipper, but he and his crew were civilian independent merchantmen hired for the trip, not members of the Legion.

A lot of the GDL’s financial reserves after

Reviews for BattleTech

[Michael Orabona · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Nice novel to fill in from their Trilogy book to after the clan war to their actions in agaisnt the Skye rebellion. I do hope we could get a novel from their actions in 4th Secssion war and 3050 Clan Invasion.