BattleCorps: Red Khopesh by Steven Mohan Jr

Author:Steven Mohan, Jr.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs
Published: 2012-03-22T00:00:00+00:00

THE BITTER TASTE OF HOPE

PART TWO

Maelstrom, Swing Circle Spaceport

Swing Circle, New Port Royal

Tortuga Dominions, Periphery

28 February 3066

Tracy Malfont had always found hope to be a cruel suitor, constantly promising better things in its beguiling voice, only to disappear at the worst possible moment, leaving her frustrated and bereft. When that happened, her stomach dropped and she realized she’d done it again.

This time she wasn’t quite there.

Yet.

Malfont stared at Castor’s tactical schematic projected on the far bulkhead, her gaze drifting over the jumble of icons and arrows and objectives, not quite able to believe any of it was real. Castor had depicted a three-pronged ’Mech assault backed by supporting fire from a couple of Manticores. Each of the three lances was marked with a red triangle and a name. Castor’s lance was in the center; Thomas, the former Smoke Jaguar, on his left; and Sakutaro Ishihara on his right. All very nice.

Except they only had the one lance groundside.

Colorado Henderson shifted in his seat and shared a skeptical look with Comfort Sawyer. She was a beautiful woman with skin the rich color of freshly-cut cedar and long, silky black hair. Comfort was a good MechWarrior, but she was no schemer. She usually ended up following the strongest personality in the room and right now that was Henderson.

Unless Malfont decided differently.

Malfont leaned forward. “Just where are the other two lances coming from?”

“They’ll be along when they’re needed,” said Castor mildly.

“From where?” snapped Henderson. “From a pirate point? The Tortugans have a Union sitting at the nearest pirate point. We’re not going to take them by surprise.”

Castor opened his mouth, but Henderson cut him off. “And even if we somehow got the other two lances down, so what? Standard doctrine says the attacker needs three to one numerical superiority. At best, we’re even.” He stood and stalked towards the schematic. “But we’re not really even, are we?” He pointed at the seven DropShips distributed throughout various parts of the spaceport, each one marked with the colors of a different pirate band.

“If we even get close to winning, the Tortugans will simply enlist the help of the ’Mechs hiding on these ships,” said Henderson.

“They don’t have any loyalty to the Dominions,” snapped Castor.

“But it’s their goods that are being traded in the Bazaar. And the Fusilier commander will promise them a cut of our equipment once we’re defeated. There’s no way this can work.”

“Except we will attack on the second day,” said Castor.

Malfont blinked. “Excuse me?”

“What!?” snapped Henderson. “By the end of the first day a third of the trade goods will be gone.”

Castor gestured at the wall. “And perhaps some of these DropShips with them. So we will have less opposition.”

“It’s crazy,” snarled Henderson.

“Which is precisely why it will work,” said Castor. “No one’s expecting it.”

Henderson snorted and stalked out of the room, slamming the hatch behind him. Sawyer scrambled to follow.

Castor stood there, eyes wide, jaw hanging slackly open and suddenly Malfont realized he was totally at sea. Caught in a trap of his own making and her along with him.

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