Archer glanced over at the Daishi. It wasn’t moving. No. It had to move. She had to be okay. She had been with him from the start. He was rocked suddenly from a hit to his leg, a gauss slug. It hit with a cracking sound, like a wet towel being snapped by his ear. The Gunslinger was sixty yards away and slowing, readying for the kill. He looked at his damage display and saw the red and yellow warning lights, indications of the damage that he had taken. Far too much in the red.
Jabbing at the foot pedals, his Penetrator moved slowly, awkwardly. It was as if it was fighting him as much as the Loyalist ’Mech. The heat was playing havoc on it. He took a wobbly step forward and made sure he was still locked on target.
He waited what seemed like a lifetime for his ER lasers to recycle and recharge. Without even looking, he toggled one of them to the primary TIC and fired. The cockpit became an inferno. It didn’t matter. If he cooked, he cooked. What was important was taking down this ’Mech.
The shot hit, barely, cutting from the right ankle of the Gunslinger upward to the thigh. It left a black steaming scar, sick, deep, hot. The Gunslinger was slowed as well. It aimed its Gauss rifles for another cycle.
They fired.
One shot passed his cockpit by less than two meters, the air-blast buffeting him hard as it whizzed past. A millisecond later the second one plowed into his left torso as if he had been punched in the stomach. Archer lurched forward to meet the force of the shot, but he couldn’t resist. The Penetrator that had carried him through so many battles was groaning under his efforts. A red warning light went off, flashing, a gyro hit. He contorted in his seat as if shifting his own weight was somehow going to help. There was a popping sound somewhere down under him, deep in the bowels of the BattleMech. An audible moan filled the cockpit and his neurohelmet.
The ground seemed to rush up at him. There was a sickening thud, a metallic ripping sound. His head slammed into the cockpit seat as he felt himself being tossed around. A warning went off, but the sound seemed lost in the roar that filled his ears. Archer looked out his cockpit, ignoring the thin crack up the middle. The air was so hot that it was almost impossible to breathe.
Across the way, only 20 meters distant, was the fallen form of the Daishi. He strained, stabbing at the foot controls. No response. Before the darkness overtook him, his last thoughts were not for his own safety, but that of Katya Chaffee.
• • •
Jackson walked into Katrina’s office, the report in his hand. He had gotten the feed only a few minutes earlier. Perhaps it was the turn of luck for which they had been waiting. God knows they needed it.
“What is it?” Katrina demanded. “Word from Portsmouth?”
“Yes, Highness,” he replied. “I just got confirmation from a unit in the city. The enemy still holds the city and the port facilities but we are making headway. More importantly, your brother’s ’Mech has been taken down.”
“Victor, dead?” For the first time in a long time, Jackson Davion saw the look of pure joy, almost twisted, in the eyes of the Archon-Princess.
“We’re not sure. I had assembled a special lance to take out the Prince and General Christifori per your request. Headhunters. Both BattleMechs were taken down in battle but we were not able to confirm the status of the MechWarriors. Victor’s people overran the position a few moments after Christifori went down. Unfortunately, all four of our MechWarriors were apparently killed in the action.”
“Acceptable losses if Victor is dead,” she replied.
Jackson said nothing. Not for the families of the men and women that had been sent to their deaths.
“Can we send in other forces?” she asked, waving aside the deaths. “We need to make sure that he is dead.”
A knock came to the door followed by a military sentry. “Apologies for the intrusion, Highness.”
“This had better be important,” Katrina snapped.
“It is,” the adjutant officer replied. “We just got reports of an invasion.”
“We’re aware of that,” Katrina replied. “The situation in Portsmouth has been going on for hours.”
“Highness,” the officer said, obviously nervous. “These landings are on the north end of the island. Initial reports show multiple regiments dropping in. Prince Victor has been sighted on the field of battle. Kai Allard has been seen at the head of the Outland Legion, driving off to form flanking positions.” The officer handed the report to Jackson Davion. His eyes raced through the materials.
“Impossible,” Katrina said, rising to her feet. “Victor is dead. Christifori is dead. Allard is in Portsmouth.”
Jackson threw the report onto her desk with what force he could. “It’s not impossible Princess. As was my initial fear, we have been duped. Portsmouth was a diversion. I’m going to pull the Seventeen Avalon and Twenty Second Avalon Hussars out immediately to challenge these new landings. The Tenth Deneb will need to be extracted from Portsmouth immediately and rushed to the north too.”
“But Victor.”
“Victor has fooled us,” Jackson said. “It may have cost him Christifori, but the cost was well worth it for him if he secures a beachhead.”
“Damn him,” she spat.
Jackson said nothing. He simply saluted and turned. There was much to do. The war had taken a whole
