Dark Age - Patriot's Stand Part 22

"They will be. Not by any road that sends 'em through towns where people can see 'em. Someone's bound to report 'em. No, they're traveling the back roads. I can think of a few I'd use."

"You would show me,quiaff ?" Benjork reached for a map.

"White Hair, I don't know maps. Don't know the names of most of the roads I been driving since I was knee-high, but I'll take you there," he said, climbing into a dilapidated truck that might once have been red. "My Elly died last winter, and my kids are all moved away. If a guy like me can't do this, n.o.body can. So you follow me if you can keep up." And he gunned out of town in a cloud of dust and oil.

It took no orders to get the militia troops moving; they'd heard the man. Their eagerness as they piled into the gun trucks told him they believed every word. Benjork mounted up and led his team at a trot into the red truck's dust.

The old man raced with wild abandon over gravel roads and dirt tracks that were hardly more than wheel ruts. They pa.s.sed ranches and homesteads, some looking more abandoned than lived in. The truck bounced over b.u.mps and rocks Benjork feared might be too much for the hovertrucks.

After a while, the Lone Cat wondered if the truck was leading them on a wild chase after nightmares.

Then the truck braked to a halt, sliding sideways as it did. The old man was out, gazing at a low b.u.t.te not much taller than Benjork's 'Mech.

Benjork raised his 'Mech's arm to signal his battle team to a halt, then paced off the distance to where the b.u.t.te ended in a ridge of eroding yellow dirt. With all the rolling terrain around Falkirk, Ben had had a periscope installed in his MiningMech MOD. Now he raised it.

In the next valley a battle raged.

The farmers had abandoned half a dozen trucks in front of a large outcropping of red rocks three kilometers away. They shot from its cover. Behind the rocks, one green and two yellow AgroMechs stood, stained with dust and rocket fragments. Their scythes spun slowly at the ready.

Black and Red infantry were strung out along a dry wash, half a klick to the left, riflemen and rocket launchers keeping up a desultory fire, giving Ben the feeling that this was the middle of a long and not all that successful battle.

In the broken ground between wash and red rocks, a burned-out Black and Red 'Mech MOD lay, still smoking. Its chest was blown in. Benjork guessed the farmers had explosives and knew how to use them. He thought for a moment on how a satchel charge might be delivered and shook his head.

Desperate men did desperate things.

Two klicks behind the rifle line towered a dozen 'Mech MODs, some Black and Red, others still Agro green or Industrial gray. Most sported a single machine gun. One had a twenty-millimeter autocannon.

Several showed recent damage. Well back from them and out of SRM range, a Black and RedBlack Hawk squatted like a toad. It fired a pair of long-range lasers randomly, rarely hitting the rock pile.

Someone had a nice 'Mech they did not know how to use. Used properly, thatBlack Hawk could take out Benjork's entire troop. "To you, I will send my best," he whispered.

Then he studied the terrain. The wash twisted and turned as it made its way around the harder rock outcroppings of the eroded b.u.t.te. A red-and-yellow streaked pinnacle shot up to his left. That should hide 'Mechs on an approach march. He activated his magscan and breathed a small sigh of relief. All that red in the rocks was iron. The magscan was hosed. Surprise was possible.

Benjork returned to his battle group, dismounted, and faced the old rancher. "I am grateful for your help.

You have led me to my battle. You may go now. May you have blessed dreams for your service."

"I got a rifle in my pickup. Them farmers are just like me. Don't see how I can come this far and drive away," the man said. Returning to his rig, he pulled a scoped weapon from its scabbard with easy grace.

"You are welcome within our ranks," Benjork told him. Among his team, dust covers came off rocket launchers. Machine guns were lovingly checked. Maintenance crews climbed over the gray 'Mech MODs under the watchful eyes of their militia pilots, making last-minute checks on rocket launchers and Gatling guns. He had to remind himself that these were green recruits. Their purposeful strides and hard eyes would do any warrior proud who knew what he faced and ran to meet it.

With rifle fire and the occasional explosion to remind them of what lay ahead, Benjork called his 'Mechs and Lieutenant Hicks' drivers into a circle. In the red dust Benjork drew a map. "Over that hill are Black and Red infantry and 'Mech MODs. They are led by aBlack Hawk that could destroy us all." He gave them a smile. "So we will ignore it and concentrate our fire on the 'Mech MODs. Hicks, that includes your gun trucks and infantry dismounts. Once I am sure you have the 'Mech MODs under control, Sean and Maud and I will redirect our fire to theBlack Hawk . No battle is ever won by being strong everywhere. Today we will win by being strong against their 'Mech MODs first.

"But remember, theBlack Hawk 's SRMs are Streaks. If he gets a lock on you, every missile will hit.

Never stand still. Never take more than four or five steps without changing direction. You must zigzag if you are to live through today."

That got solemn nods from everyone.

"Remember that the four rockets you carry have no reloads. Use two of them on my command. The other two are yours to use sparingly. Take care with your thirty-millimeter Gatling gun. Mick and Johnny did their best with the guns and ammo, but do not forget that your caseless ammo will dirty up your guns.

If you fire bursts that are too long, the gun will overheat and jam. Wait too long between bursts, and your gun may gum up and jam. Once you start shooting, keep shooting."

There were resigned smiles at that reminder.

Benjork turned to Sean. Maud stood at his elbow, she of the flashing brown hair and dancing freckles.

Maud claimed she'd been driving 'Mechs since she was a child, whenever her pappy would let her. After watching her run the obstacle course Benjork had designed, he would not gainsay her. The MechWarrior remembered now how often Sean and Maud were elbow to elbow and tasted both joy and sorrow as he gave his orders.

"Sean, you and Maud stay close to me. As soon as the 'Mech MODs are suppressed, we hit theBlack Hawk . If theBlack Hawk attacks aggressively, I may order us to attack it immediately. Are there any questions?" There were none.

"Maintain radio silence until I break it. Hicks, give me ten minutes to get in place. Know that this is how the battle will start. How it ends, only the true dreamer can tell," he said.

The militia pilots and gun crews went to their posts. Benjork, Sean and Maud grouped at the head of the 'Mech MODs line. Lieutenant Hicks stood in the lead gun truck, eyeing his watch, waiting patiently for the moment to lead the gun trucks forward. The old rancher stood behind him, fondling his rifle, lips moving in prayer.

Gravel crunched under Benjork's 'Mech as it crossed the dry wash, headed south. He kept an eye on the ridge that separated them from the sound of battle. Sometimes it rose higher, other times it dipped. It never dropped low enough to reveal the 'Mechs he led. He found a rough gully just past where he needed one and led the three lances of 'Mech MODs through its rock-strewn bed.

Most rocks crumbled under the footpads, but one 'Mech came to grief when a rock rolled out from under it; even double gyros could not keep it upright. The following 'Mechs stood in place as that pilot struggled back up, leaning on a bent mining drill. As the 'Mech continued on down the path, it limped visibly.

Benjork nodded with understanding. As a cub he had been warned it was not always the enemy who made battle plans unravel. He signaled Sean ahead but paused, c.o.c.kpit open, until the damaged 'Mech limped up. The youngster opened his c.o.c.kpit and raised his visor, face set for a dressing-down. Benjork gave him the small smile he allowed for special occasions. "You will fight last in line," he said, and the MechWarrior winced. "Not because you stumbled. Any of us-even I-could have been given that fate.

No, your mining drill is broken. You should not fight in a melee. Stand back and use your rockets and Gatling. You are one of the best with them. Use them well."

"I will, sir," came quickly as Benjork closed his c.o.c.kpit and made his way to the front of his command.

They were now beyond the ridge, but a shallow fold in this land of scrub brush and yellow dust hid them from the Special Police. Benjork used his periscope to check out the battle. His team was where he wanted it-behind the 'Mech line, almost even with theBlack Hawk and to its right.

The Lone Cat halted his troop and checked the time. He had three minutes to wait, to let his hot engines cool. He whispered a prayer that Sven and Mick and Johnny had done good work and might enjoy dreams that would tell them much.

The weapons' fire increased. Periscope up, Benjork saw change. The riflemen had spread out, up and down the dry creek and were now moving forward on their bellies from bush to bush, rock to rock, closing with the sharpshooters. The Black and Red 'Mech MODs now stepped off the distance to the dry wash.

Not theBlack Hawk, though. It stayed well back. Shooting its lasers more frequently, it slashed streaks in the rocks or started fires in the brush. That must encourage the poor creeping infantry. Now they crawled through hot, blackened ash where concealment once had been. Time to end this.

Benjork broke radio silence with a firm, "Hicks, attack. Repeat, attack. Militia 'Mechs, charge! Charge and zigzag!"

Beside him, the militia pilots slammed their throttles forward, and green and gray 'Mechs charged into battle. Benjork charged with them, covering the hard-packed ground to the top of the rise with long distance-eating strides. As he topped the rise, the battle came into full view.

On his far right, Lieutenant Hicks led the charge of the gun trucks down the wash, dust blowing, Gatlings roaring. The second gun truck loosed a rocket volley at the surprised 'Mech MODs. One rocket struck a glancing blow on the chest armor of an AgroMech. The shaped charge left a long slash. Paint smoking, the 'Mech backpedaled and the other Black and Red 'Mechs suddenly took notice of the new fighters on their battlefield.

A Special Police rifleman stood up to run. A farmer in the rocks drilled him before he took a step. Other riflemen returned the fire. Here and there a Police crawler began to crawl backward.

One enemy 'Mech MOD stumbled as all of them turned to face the gun trucks. TheBlack Hawk fired off two fast laser blasts. One sent Hicks' gun truck sliding sideways into the wall of the dry wash. It bounced over a large rock, went halfway up on its side, then slid down to right itself. The old rancher steadied his rifle and put a bullet into the c.o.c.kpit of theBlack Hawk . The round ricocheted off, but it was still a hit at that range.

The Black and Red 'Mech MODs struggled to change the front from the rock pile to the increasing number of gun trucks firing machine guns, rockets and antiarmor grenades at them.

"Hold your fire," Benjork told his 'Mech team as they trotted forward, apparently unnoticed. When the Black Hawk to his right continued stabbing out with his lasers at gun trucks, the MechWarrior chose to take a major risk.

"Militia 'Mechs: Halt in place, target two missiles on a Black and Red 'Mech MOD, and fire immediately. Then charge them for all you're worth." It had been Grace's suggestion that the first round be fired at the halt. The idea had sounded good then.

Now Benjork throttled to a halt with the rest. "Sean, Maud-with me. Target theBlack Hawk ."

In a ragged line, eight charging 'Mech MODs came to a halt. Without further orders, rockets rippled out from them, taking the Black and Reds on their flank. Some rockets corkscrewed across the sun-drenched sky. Others slammed into enemy 'Mechs, shredding armor. One smashed into the magazine of an AgroMech's autocannon. The armor held out against the explosion, but bolts must have sheared. The magazine was knocked up against the 'Mech's c.o.c.kpit, and its stream of fifty-millimeter bullets quit chasing a gun truck.

Benjork turned to face theBlack Hawk as its driver became aware of the new threat on its flank. "Sean, Maud-fire two rockets," he ordered as he emptied his right rocket pack. Far out on the left, the limping 'Mech with the damaged drill also joined in the shooting, sending four rockets straight and true into the Black Hawk 's backside, and following them up with a series of short bursts from his thirty-millimeter Gatling gun.

TheBlack Hawk stumbled back as missiles. .h.i.t him from the other three, shredding armor, but doing no major damage.

"Everyone get moving!" the Lone Cat shouted, slamming his 'Mech into five quick steps forward at a right angle. Sean and Maud jinked their own way as theBlack Hawk salvoed off one of his four quad-packs at each of them. The missiles. .h.i.t where the three of them had been, but the limping 'Mech hadn't moved fast enough. The militia pilot took a full salvo on his 'Mech's chest, knocking it flat on its back.

Benjork had no time to count his losses. He led his three remaining 'Mech MODs against theBlack Hawk, forcing it back even as its laser flashed over them, heating them up. Missiles slashed rock, sent up plumes of dirt, and burned sagebrush around them. Still, they advanced and theBlack Hawk backpedaled.

Off to their right, the eight other 'Mech MODs charged at the remaining eleven Black and Reds, trading thirty-millimeter tungsten slugs as they moved. One enemy 'Mech caught a group of dismounts before they could disperse, cutting them down in one b.l.o.o.d.y clump. A second Black and Red sent a burst of machine-gun fire slashing into a gun truck, gutting it and throwing its crew to the ground like rag dolls.

But the Militia 'Mechs were hammering the Special Police, too, sending them stumbling back. With the Black Hawk otherwise occupied, the 'Mech MODs clumped up, leaderless. A pair of rockets took a damaged 'Mech at short range, slashing off its arm with a machine gun and setting fire to its ammo. The 'Mech burned, sending black smoke up in gusts. Another Black and Red fell, its knee smashed by thirty-millimeter sh.e.l.ls.

Now the gun trucks rained grenades and cannon fire on the backpedaling mob. A gray Militia 'Mech closed with a Black and Red, bringing its mining drill to bear on its enemy's chest. The Special Police pilot had no stomach for that, and popped his canopy immediately, hands up.

Allowing himself a tight grin, Benjork concentrated on theBlack Hawk .

It didn't seem to care much for what it saw. Firing off another full volley, it turned in place and shot into the air. Even as Benjork yanked his 'Mech into a left turn to throw off the missiles, he followed theBlack Hawk 's jump, trying to lead it with short bursts.

Behind him came more stuttering fire followed by, "d.a.m.n!" in a high-pitched voice. "My b.l.o.o.d.y gun's jammed up on me."

"Try sh-short jerks on the trigger, Maud," Sean said.

"I'm trying, I'm trying."

"Get all the power you can get out of your engines," Benjork ordered. "We've got to catch thatBlack Hawk . He can still snipe at us-pick us off one by one if we leave him alive."

"I'm f-following you," Sean said.

"Me, too," Maud said. "I just can't shoot anymore."

Ahead of them, theBlack Hawk landed hard on its right leg. Maybe there was a rock. Maybe their fire did something. It fell but caught itself by its big left claw, then took off running again. Something must have happened in the landing, though. Benjork's infrared now showed more heat radiating from the reactor area than armor and cooling should have allowed. "Did you split a seam?" he asked his pursued enemy as he snapped out bursts of thirty-millimeter slugs at theBlack Hawk .

The Black and Red twisted as he ran, sending a spray of SRMs that did not come close to any of his pursuers.

Benjork kept the feet of his 'Mech in long strides that ate up the distance. "You'll have to do better than that," he said, then suppressed a cringe as a stream of thirty-millimeter sh.e.l.ls st.i.tched the ground close ahead of him.

"I've got my cannon working," Maud rejoiced.

"So I noticed," the MechWarrior answered.

"I'm sorry," came in a much smaller voice.

"Watch where you point that thing," Sean said.

"I'm watching, I'm watching," she said as a stream of sh.e.l.ls arced ahead of them, missing to the left of theBlack Hawk .

Ben put his engine in the red and focused his attention on the path ahead. He did not concentrate on any one place, but let his eyes guide his pedals without thought. Here he lengthened his stride to miss a rock, then shifted a bit to the right to avoid a patch of sagebrush. The friction of branches on his legs might slow him. A root might trip him. While one part of his mind targeted theBlack Hawk for short bursts that chipped away at the rear armor, raising the unexplained heat plume a bit more, another part guided his feet.

TheBlack Hawk was faster than any 'Mech powered by an internal-combustion engine. No matter how much Mick might fine-tune fuel injectors and timing, fusion engines had the power of the sun at their beck and call. Still, whoever was driving thatBlack Hawk was little better than a civvy. Benjork trod the pedals that set the pace for his 'Mech as if they were a part of himself. TheBlack Hawk pulled ahead, but nowhere near as much as it should have.

Again, theBlack Hawk took to the air. This time its driver leaned it forward, trying to get as much distance out of the jump as he could. An experienced Mech Warrior never would have made that error.

Even without the patter of thirty-millimeter tungsten slugs on his BattleMech, leaning into a jump was a bad idea. TheBlack Hawk landed, took two running steps to try to catch its balance, then-with its gyros screaming almost loud enough for Benjork to hear-fell flat on its face to spend the rest of its forward momentum in the dirt before it came up hard against one of the rocks that time and erosion had left dotting the plain.

For a moment theBlack Hawk just lay there, venting heat from more places than it should have been.

Then its driver pried it from the dirt with its huge claws, got its feet underneath it, and began again to run for the distant horizon.

Not averse to kicking asurat while it was down, Benjork squeezed off his last rockets as theBlack Hawk struggled to its feet. The fleeing BattleMech ran right into them-and the two Sean had fired, then two more from Maud.

Reeling, it almost missed a step. Catching its balance resulted in a dance complicated by the rock it had hit going down and the sh.e.l.ls all three gray 'Mechs sent its way.

As if maddened beyond reason, theBlack Hawk fired off a full salvo that hit nothing but sky and dirt.

Straightening itself in a hail of tungsten slugs, the BattleMech fired lasers and volley after volley of its missiles at its tormentors.

Benjork zigzagged, trying to throw off theBlack Hawk 's targeting computer. He succeeded, but Maud took a full volley before the Black and Red turned to flight again.

Ben slammed his throttle forward, and his 'Mech began to eat up the dry ground with long strides. His Gatling gun renewed its staccato, sending chips of armor flying from the Black and Red's back. Sean followed, Gatling blazing. Even Maud stumbled forward, though at half-speed, her fire doing less damage as theBlack Hawk lengthened the distance between them.

Benjork gave chase, footpads moving in long strides, Gatling striking sparks or chips off armor. He watched with grim satisfaction as the strange heat vent on the back of theBlack Hawk grew. The fleeing BattleMech twisted as it ran, turning back its left arm with two SRM quads on it. The Lone Cat angled off to the right, forcing a deflection shot. Missiles set sage to burning, but nothing else.

Benjork concentrated on the hot spot. He aimed his Gatling gun, but modified the targeting computer's aim to match the correction he saw in his heart. Then he fired. A stream of thirty-millimeter tungsten slugs st.i.tched a circle on the back of theBlack Hawk . The infrared readout flared in Ben's c.o.c.kpit.

Now theBlack Hawk 's other arm with its missiles came around. Benjork sideslipped to the left. Eight missiles volleyed into the sand and sage as Ben's thirty-millimeter slugs again flaked armor off.

Twice more theBlack Hawk tried to shoot while running. Twice more it only slowed him down. The process started again, with Benjork again edging outward to complicate the Black and Red's firing solution. This time the runner did not fire.

Suddenly theBlack Hawk came to a hopping stop, twisted in place, and fired off a barrage of SRMs and lasers.

Benjork did not slow down but twisted his course hard right. The shooter tried to compensate, but the missiles only left a stuttering line of explosions behind the MiningMech MOD. All but one, which slashed into Ben's rock cutter, smashing it.

Again theBlack Hawk turned in place to flee. Having centered his fire on the closest gray 'Mech, the fleeing pilot had left Sean free to close-and free to carefully aim his fire.

Now both Sean and Benjork concentrated their fire on the back of theBlack Hawk . Again armor flew, only now in larger chunks, and the heat plume shot out white hot for a second.

But only for a second, because the next moment, theBlack Hawk disappeared in a flash that made the blue sky seem shadowed.

"What happened?" Maud asked on-channel, hurrying forward.

"H-h.e.l.lfire escaped and claimed its own," Sean said. The flaming wreckage spat and smoked-its own little h.e.l.l-as Benjork slowed to a pace that dropped his engine gauges out of the red. Turning, he began a cooling jog back to the other battle. Sean held back to a.s.sist Maud's limping 'Mech. They were good warriors. Benjork wished them whatever joy they could find during this time of sudden death, glory and grief.

As the wash came into view, it looked like Hicks had the situation well in hand. Ten Black and Red 'Mechs were surrounded by nine gray ones. The militia pilot had even managed to get his limping 'Mech in. Things had turned out better than the veteran had had any right to hope for.

"Sir, am I glad to see you," Hicks called on-channel. "We have a problem here that's beyond my pay grade."