“No energy weapons,” said Manfred, “means their Condor tanks with SRMs are going to give us the most trouble. The Condors are fast. The Behemoths would be better used against defensive positions, and we are staying mobile.”

“The Behemoths might stand off and saturate an area with missiles,” suggested Lieutenant Newell, commanding Beta Company.

“Get in close enough and they’re scrap metal,” Manfred said.

“He’ll oppose us with his Condors. They have speed on us, but I doubt he can mount a unified attack. And Tortorelli favors putting his Hauberk battle armor company out with his regular infantry. Aim for the support vehicles as we move. Alpha will go straight up the center and draw fire. Beta supports. Delta and Gamma go in from left and right flanks respectively. Updated field maps will be sent to you through the TacCom as we learn Tortorelli’s deployment.”

“Advance as fast as possible,” Austin relayed to Borodin. “Count off. By alternate numbers move forward. No retreat.”

“Got it, sir. We’re the cannon fodder.”

“Where better to be than in the middle of the battle, Master Sergeant? I expect Alpha Company to take out the enemy command and end the fight before Tortorelli’s computer screen can refresh!”

Austin heard a cheer go up from Alpha Company. They were psyched; they were ready. He had one last question to ask of Manfred. He keyed his open channel.

“Who’s in command of the opposition, sir?” asked Austin. “I tried to pick up some scuttlebutt, but nobody knew.”

“I couldn’t find out, either, so he might put each unit commander in charge of a specific attack zone. That means he’s not going to coordinate well. We’ll find out quick enough.”

“Crazy command structure,” Austin said.

“TacCom, do you read?” asked Manfred. “Close that rear hatch!”

“Loud and clear, Captain,” came Dale’s voice. “Getting everything squared away. Wait, there it is. We got the word to begin. I’m picking up four Behemoths. Don’t know if they’ll start a barrage, but if we advance fast, we’ll reach them before they can get their Condors into position. Located their HQ immediately behind the Behemoths!”

Austin’s HUD blazed with a tiny white star showing their target. Smaller green dots moved about as Dale relayed current tactical information.

“I’m off in the Shandra. Give me an IFF code. Good, TacCom. To victory!” cried Manfred Leclerc.

“All right, you apes,” Austin barked on the Alpha channel. “Light those Jumppacks and let’s move. We bypass enemy heavies and engage only targets light enough to take out without much fight. We create confusion and diversion, but we go for their HQ! Got it?”

Austin got the response he wanted from his company. They were veterans and had more time in service than he did, but every last soldier knew he was good in the simulator, BattleMech or battle armor, and had practiced enough personally with the entire company in full battle gear to weld them into a single fighting unit. Even better, he had Borodin as company sergeant.

The Jumppack kicked him forward. Austin took to the air, skimming along only a meter above the greasy, spiny grass, his feet kicking hard every time he alighted. Behind came four squads, arrayed in a line, advancing alternately so those behind could cover those in front.

“Double-check weapons as we advance,” he ordered. He worried that there might be equipment failure since the Purifier armor had been refitted with the missiles. SRMs were good for much of the First Cossack Lancers’ mission. They warded off civilian vehicles, should anyone be foolish enough to try to take out the Governor with a truck or car bomb. But Austin preferred the lasers usually mounted on Purifier battle armor.

The FCL had their plastic warheads loaded with neon-pink dye. A splash on a tank meant little; on a battle-armored soldier a full salvo from an entire squad signified death.

All he had to do was avoid the bright orange dye fired by the Legate’s soldiers. Which proved easy as Alpha advanced at a steady ten kilometers per hour.

Already, his unit’s furious advance had bypassed the lead units of Hauberk-battle-armor-clad enemy. The Legate’s soldiers milled around, confused about what to do as their enemy flashed past them, firing jets at max and not engaging, only shooting on the fly.

“Left, Lieutenant,” came Borodin’s warning. Austin twisted slightly, keeping his thrust vector on the target, and saw a Hoverbike.

“How many of them are there?”

“Six. I see six of ’em all clumped together.”

Austin confirmed it on his map display glowing in front of him.

“Fire!” Even as Austin barked the order, he centered his sights and loosed a barrage of two missiles from his own launcher. The rockets snaked away, leaving behind faint dark exhaust trails. Dozens more joined his as his company followed the order.

Bright pink paint splatted all over the six Hoverbikes, signifying kills. Why Tortorelli’s commander had sent them out in a tight formation was beyond Austin’s imagining. The Hoverbikes were best used to report on enemy movement. These were worthless now to even radio back a warning about the quickstep advance of a battle-armored company.

“Good shooting,” Austin congratulated. He cycled in another rack of SRMs as he hunted for new targets. All the while he pushed forward, one eye on the terrain and the other on his display. A constant flood of intel from scouts reached him, but Austin knew his company was supplying a good deal of it. They met less resistance than anticipated and pushed farther, faster, than the other companies. Even Beta Company following in his wake had a hard time keeping up, and all Lieutenant Newell had to do was to mop up as he came.

“Sir, we’re gettin’ mighty close to the big tanks,” said Borodin.

Austin did a quick range check and relayed it to TacCom.

“All weapons ready,” Austin ordered. He couldn’t believe they were going to cripple the entire opposing force so easily. A simple, single knife thrust through the center and Tortorelli’s battle group would fold.

“Heavy fighting on the perimeter,” came Dale’s calm voice. “Captain Leclerc’s been taken out by a lance of battle armor.”

“Hardly any resistance in the belly,” Austin reported.

“Rip ’er open,” Dale said, eagerness tingeing his words now.

They might have lost their commander, but the battle would be theirs.

“Scouts, check our six,” Austin ordered. “I don’t want to jet into a trap.” This was too easy. Far too easy. “Report!”

“Picking up phantom returns on radar,” came the hindmost trooper’s report. “Might be a Condor going for the TacCom.”

“Anything else?”

Austin watched as his screen filled with indications of the Hauberk escorts on slower moving infantry clustered near APCs.

“We’re in range in three, in two, in one—fire, fire, fire!”

Austin hit the ground, braced himself, and revectored so he would sail higher into the air. He saw two Behemoth tanks ahead. His SRMs lashed out, spewing their harmless pink dye over heavy armor, cannon barrels, LRM launchers, and even incautious crews poking heads from turrets.

“Got mine!” came the first report. “Mine, too,” came a second.

Austin cut his Jumppack, landed at a run, got his balance, then launched again. The second Behemoth was less than a hundred meters off. Two rockets pounded it. Two more followed and his launcher ran dry of reloads.

As he came down on the far side of the jump parabola, he twisted about and saw a Condor tank jacked into high gear coming back fast. Austin got off a single barrage and missed as he dropped down.

“Condor on the way. Missed it. Someone else in position take it out? Lieutenant Newell?”

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” said Borodin. “I think Newell’s entire company got caught. One of the Behemoths we didn’t target fired into Beta.”

“Dale,” he called. “Feed me battle assessment update. We’re close.” He got a faint reply with a considerable amount of dropout.