BattleTech: Vengeance by Jason Schmetzer

Author:Jason Schmetzer
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs
Published: 2012-12-10T05:00:00+00:00

Landing Zone Nurikabe

Lesser Dasentica Continent

Ryde

Skye March, Federated Commonwealth

4 October 3046

Chu-sa Arik Arlinsson stood in the ’Mech bay, watching brown-suited technicians drilling and grinding at the fused actuator of Connor Lathan’s Jenner, and fretted. He knew he was doing it; he was a fretter. His ex-wife had made that clear during the divorce—he fretted—and there was no need to argue the point any longer.

“A company—at least a company—of Lyran regulars. Here.” He chewed on the inside of his lip, thinking.

Beside him, Connor Latham watched the repairs with a sleepy grin. He was still in his MechWarrior’s one-piece, though he’d discarded his cooling vest. “They did well, Arik,” he said, for the tenth or hundredth time. “Dragon take me if they didn’t.”

“You left three of them out there,” Tai-i Fritofsson reminded him. “By now, if they survived, they will have been captured and interrogated. They will know who we are, and how many.”

Latham snorted. “What will they know that they cannot already infer? The Dragon’s claws are on Ryde. We proved that with our ’Mechs. The ’Mechs are largely piloted by cadets and trainees. Our tactics will have shown them that, unless they are hopelessly inept. And as for how many—feh. Who believes the first estimate’s of an enemy’s strength?”

Fritofsson glared at him, but Arlansson ignored them. He was watching the technicians work while his mind did the same in its own way. ISF had assured him—assured him!—that there were no regular Lyran military forces on Lesser Dasentica. His cadets were supposed to only prove themselves against the Ryde Militia. An easy victory, to be sure, but a victory.

’Mechs were a different matter.

He ignored the quiet sniping between Latham and Fritofsson. The two men always conversed that way. His mind heard the words and filed them away, but he wasn’t truly listening. He watched the technicians remove a broken armor plate, watched the sure movement of their hands as they laid the broken metal aside and picked up a new one. Arlansson’s mind worked in much the same way.

His original plan was broken. Latham’s failure to strike at Nisibis had seen to that. Not that he faulted the tai-i; he hadn’t been intended to run into a Lyran ’Mech lance, much less a company. If he’d known there was a Crocodile company out there, he’d have taken the whole battalion.

No. The plan would have to be changed.

Fritofsson’s voice interrupted his reverie, or rather his words did. “—will see, Latham. When my boys crush the Lyran listening post tomorrow—”

Arlansson cut him off. “Iie.” The two officers looked at him. “That plan is cancelled.”

“Chu-sa?”

Arlansson blinked and looked away from the techs. “The presence of the Twelfth Donegal Guards changes things. We must move swiftly.” He glanced at each man. Latham was grinning hungrily, his pale face and light eyes alight. Fritoffson, tall and dour, frowned. “We will strike at the ’Mechs.”

“The ’Mechs?”

“Hai.” Arlansson reached out and touched Latham’s shoulder. “You did well yesterday, Connor. Tomorrow, I and Fritofsson will lead our companies out and crush them.

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