Blood Legacy

39

Mar Negro, Alyina

Trellshire, Lyran Commonwealth, Federated

Commonwealth 5 January 3052

I'm going to die if we don't get some support.

That realization came to Victor as his 'Mech's autoca

Victor pulled his Daishiback to cover behind a granite outcropping. Because of its titanic size and dependence on lasers for primary weaponry, he'd named it Prometheusin honor of the mythic light-bringer. Glancing down at the auxiliary monitor's report on his armor status, he realized that the vulturelike Clan 'Mechs would like nothing better than to pick apart and eat his 'Mech. Next time I name my 'Mech after something that had a peaceful life—like Bambi!

Victor keyed his radio. "Zephyr One, bring the rest of your lance back toward me."

"Bill Davis is gone, Kommandant. Dave Jewell and I are it."

Victor knew the voice on the radio had to be De

"Wilco, Tornado One."

Galen Cox's voice cut in on the frequency. "Victor, that'll leave your left flank open."

"No it won't. You and I are going to hit the Cla

Caution echoed through Galen's reply. "Victor, you know as well as I do that the Clans are herding us in that direction. We can't fall for whatever they're pla

"Dammit, Galen, don't do this to me." Victor ground his teeth in anger. "It'll buy us some time. I'm going to see if Regimental has any support they can give us."

"Roger, Tornado One. I just want to be sure you understand the risks. As long as you do, I know you'll find a way out of it."

"Got it, Squall One. And thanks." Victor punched up the Regimental Support frequency, but all he got was dead air. Switching over to the secondary frequency, he got an earful of Babel. It sounded like hundreds of voices all pleading for the very things he wanted to request. Suddenly eerie static blasted through the speakers and one less voice demanded help.

"This is Tornado One in Sector 2660.1 need fire support."

"Request logged, Tornado One." The operator sounded fatigued and hopeless.

"Regimental, what can you give me?"

"Be advised, Tornado One, that we have no resources for you at this time."

Victor worked his Omni back, then melted armor from a Clan MadCatwith two well-placed laser bolts from his 'Mech's arm-mounted large lasers. 'The situation here is a bit desperate, Regimental. I need support in 2660, now!"

"Things are desperate all over, Tornado One! The enemy has 2750 and 2650. If they push through to 2550, you're cut off—the whole peninsula is gone. We're holding the line, but we need everything we have."

"Good. We're coming in through 2560." Victor knew mat the loss of sector 2550 would cut him off from the Drop-Ships meant to evacuate his people should the tide of battle continue in its current disastrous direction. "Give me some cover and we can help out."

"Request logged, Tornado One."

Victor saw De

"Who in hell do you mink you are?" The comtech's voice came back hot. "Clear the frequency, you idiot!"

Victor pounded his fist into the padded arm of the command couch. "I am Prince Victor Ian Davion, dammit! I own this goddamned army and my men are dying out here. Unless you want to explain to my father why I went the same way, you'll lay down a diamond pattern of artillery-deployed mines. Alternate with cluster rounds. Do it now! These coordinates. We'll be gone by the time they get here."

Fear rocketed through the comtech's voice. "Wilco immediately, Tornado One. Downloading coordinates now to Longbomb. Longbomb, mix ADMs with clusters. We've got to save the Prince's ass."

Victor reopened the link to his men. "Storm Company, hurry back on a heading of oh-four-five degrees, repeat oh-four-five degrees. Squall One, you can play rear guard. We're making for sector 2550."

He never heard the various acknowledgements of his order, and refused to look as the secondary monitor toted up the identities of the warriors calling in. At the start of the battle, his battalion had filled three full columns on the screen. Now he could see out the corner of his eye that the list had dropped to less than one column. He didn't know if those left behind were alive or dead, and he'd just called down an artillery strike to obliterate anything left in his sector.

The Clansmen seemed happy to let him and his men flee. Victor fought to present his enemies as poor a target as possible as he retreated, but none took the opportunity to make any potshots. He knew the Clans preferred one on one battling, which Victor admired, but he had no desire to play their game.

Pressed against his flesh, he felt Omi's gift where he'd sewn it inside his cooling vest. He thought of all the samurai tales he'd ever heard, most telling of the hero dying gallantly in defense of a pass or bridge while his lord escaped. God help me, Omi, I don't want to play the Kurita game, either.

He shook his head. That was exactly the way Prince Ian Davion, the uncle for whom he was named, had died more than a third of a century before. Victor hoped that sharing the man's name did not mean he would share his fate. Great heroic traditions I've got all around.

He fingered the jade amulet Kai had given him. This marks a legend I'd much rather relive.

Without warning, the first of the artillery barrages hit home. What had been a mottled green and gray landscape with spindly trees and majestic palms vanished in a sheet of flame. The cluster munitions sowed the area with countless little bomblets that battered and blasted the Clan warriors. As he shut his eyes against the intensity of the explosion, Victor saw one 'Mech reduced to a silhouetted skeleton that immediately collapsed in on itself.

The fire evaporated like an illusion, leaving the killing ground a blackened field pitted with smoking holes. Tattered 'Mechs began to move in the thick mist like zombies rising from their graves. One stumbled forward, and in a bright flash, lost a leg to a mine. The 'Mech toppled onto its side, but its companions kept coming.

Victor worked Prometheuseast toward the coastline. Once there, he knew they would have a chance to link up with the rest of the Tenth Lyran Guards. The thought that the Jade Falcons were herding them toward that area niggled at the back of his mind. It meant the possibility of a trap or that the regiment had stopped the rest of the Falcons before they could trap the first battalion in a pocket.

As his ragged company reached the wooded plateau, Victor began to feel a bit safer. Directly east, only thirty meters from where he stood, the plateau broke off as though a big knife had sliced it away. Twenty meters below, the Mar Negro's dark waters pounded against the shore that marked the edge of the continental shelf.