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He kicked as if he had stepped in something sticky and sent a few of the soldiers flying, but Austin saw their unrelenting attack was succeeding. Heavy projectiles, explosives, even laser assault—all chewed away at his armor and eventually damaged some of his sensors. He had less to fear from loss of the StarGuard III armor than he did from loss of his controls. The soldiers expertly nipped like terriers at his most vulnerable spots.
Austin fired the autoca
A Gauss rifle round from the Behemoth caught him squarely in the center of his armored chest. He stepped back and the step became a stagger. His head spun as he fought to hold the Centurion upright. As he struggled, he triggered the autoca
His Centurion had taken too much damage to the right leg. He toppled to the ground with a bone-jarring crash as it gave out under him.
Stu
He flopped about onto his back, lifted his right arm with the autoca
Nothing. The autoloader had jammed.
Digging in his heels and kicking up a huge dirt cloud, he tried to swing about on his back and use his torso-mounted laser on the soldiers before they reached him. He would not be Gulliver to their lilliputian might.
And Legate Tortorelli’s troops wouldn’t simply tie him down. They would kill his Centurion; they would kill him.
Austin fired his laser and ionized a wide corridor through the dust cloud. He fired his laser again and again.
Then nothing happened for a third blast that would have taken out a squad of soldiers.
“Damn, no! Don’t do this to me!” he raged. The charging unit on the Photec laser indicated a short. He could get the weapon on-line again but had no idea how long it would take for even a partial charge.
He changed tactics, concentrating on getting to his feet rather than fighting.
He sat up and almost got his feet under him when Sergeant Death was rocked by another missile barrage. He crashed back flat on the ground, seeing nothing but the sky above. Austin refused to give up and die. His father needed him. The Republic needed him. He couldn’t let Elora triumph.
With a sweep of his arm, he knocked away two infantry soldiers and rolled onto his side. From this view he saw death staring him in the face. A Condor lowered its ca
35
Palace of Facets, Cingulum
Mirach
9 May 3133
The distant thunder of detonating missiles brought back unpleasant memories for Sergio Ortega. The entire Palace shuddered down to its foundations as Condor tanks sighted in, trying to penetrate the defenses Master Sergeant Borodin had established, but Sergio knew even the cleverest, toughest defense gave way eventually under severe enough punishment.
He had thought his days of being a warrior were past.
“To murder thousands takes a specious name, / War’s glorious art, and gives immortal fame.” Those ancient words echoed in his head. And it would be Elora whose fame was sung. He had been a fool to think she would hesitate to attack once Envoy Parsons arrived with the BattleMech and placed it in Marta Kinsolving’s command—for “demonstration purposes.” He had not considered a cornered rat and its similarity to his Minister of Information.
The Atlas had precipitated the fight for control of Mirach, not discouraged it. Elora had felt the jaws of a steel trap clamping down on her ambitions and had to act or be imprisoned. Sergio saw that now and wished he could replay some of the events that led to her subverting Legate Tortorelli and believing she could seize power.
Sergio closed his eyes for a moment and felt the distant tremors come up through the floor and shake him anew. Sergio was alone in the vast halls now echoing only with memories and autoca
He glanced at the screens and saw the rapid approach of three tanks, one Behemoth and two Condors, then recoiled when his field of vision filled with a monster metallic foot coming down to block the advance.
“The Centurion!” he cried. Sergio’s colorless eyes widened. Only one person could pilot the BattleMech—his old ’Mech—so competently. “Austin, no, don’t fight. Don’t risk your life,” he cried in exasperation.
Sergio worked frantically with the comm equipment. He knew the frequency used by the Centurion as well as he did his own face in a mirror. For almost four years he had lived in the cockpit, fighting for The Republic. Never since the day the BattleMech was placed in the museum did he think he would use these settings again.
He found the proper frequency to contact Austin, but time had run out. Sergio watched in dread as the Centurion toppled over and the tanks closed in for the kill. The Centurion’s autoca
“Austin, come in. Austin!” Sergio decided communication with the BattleMech was not in the cards and tried to find another frequency. It took what seemed an eternity to lock in the carrier signal. The short IFF beep-click-beep told him he had located his son’s only chance for salvation.
“Home in on my signal,” he said in a choked voice. “Hurry. Please, hurry.” Sergio Ortega sank back in his chair, eyes on the monitors, following the battle on the Palace grounds intently, all else forgotten.
36
Ministry of Information, Cingulum
Mirach
9 May 3133
“It’s all going according to plan,” Lady Elora said, her lips pulled back in such an extreme smile that she looked like a death’s-head with red hair. “Parsons’ BattleMech is trapped in the center of the city where we can nibble it to death.”
“Ah, yes, unable to move because of their silly rules of engagement,” Calvilena Tortorelli said as if dismissing the notion out of hand. “They try to preserve life when the sole purpose of the BattleMech is to destroy it. Foolish. Ever so foolish.”
“My, that is, your tanks have circled it. No matter which way the ’Mech turns, it is being hit hard. If it retreats, the tanks will pursue.” She stared at the video feeds pouring in from a dozen different angles. Huge gouts of molten metal exploded from the surface of the Atlas, blown off by barrages from half a dozen tanks.
“Is it Envoy Parsons who decreed that the BattleMech wasn’t to use its weapons where civilians might be lost, or was it Marta Kinsolving?” Tortorelli stroked his chin as he pondered this point. “I find it difficult to believe she, as leader of the MBA, cares if we slaughtered everyone in the city, but the structural damage, now, that might bother her. If AllWorldComm doesn’t own a considerable amount of property in downtown Cingulum, I am sure other MBA members do.”