Initiation to War Read online

  ACCIDENTAL DEATH

  Tybalt Kelly choked back a sob as Commander Veck strode toward him from the downed 'Mech. There was blood on his hands. More blood spattered his arms and legs and there was a big smear across his cooling vest. It wasn't his blood. It was Stiibel's. Gunter Stiibel's. It belonged to the man Kelly had just killed. Veck's voice was cold as ice.

  "Did you, at any time, disable or tamper with the umpire in your 'Mech?"

  Tybalt said, "I never touched the umpire, sir."

  Veck's eyes narrowed. "There will be an inquiry."

  Of course there would. "I understand, sir."

  "Understand this, Kelly. The incident happened on my watch. I don't like it. I don't like it at all, and I will see justice done. The person responsible for the death of Subcommander Stiibel will be found out and will be brought to justice. And if the Count's courts can't do it . . ."

  Veck leaned forward, and whispered.

  ". . . I will."

  INITIATION TO WAR

  LE5851

  Robert N. Charrette

  ROC

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand,

  London WC2R ORL, England

  Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood,

  Victoria, Australia

  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2 Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England

  First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.

  First Printing, December 2001 10 987654321

  Copyright © FASA Corporation, 2001 All rights reserved

  Series Editor: Donna Ippolito Cover art: Doug Chaffee

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  MECHWARRIOR, FASA, and the distinctive MECHWARRIOR and FASA logos are trademarks of the FASA Corporation, 1100 W. Cermack, Suite B305, Chicago, IL 60608.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of bom the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER'S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT QUANTITY DISCOUNTS WHEN USED TO PROMOTE PRODUCTS OR SERVICES. FOR INFORMATION PLEASE WRITE TO PREMIUM MARKETING DIVISION, PENGUIN PUTNAM INC., 375 HUDSON STREET, NEW YORK. NEW YORK 10014.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

  For FB, in gratitude for a push at the right time.

  PART 1

  New Dog, Old Tricks

  1

  Redvers Badlands

  County Shu, Epsilon Eridani

  Chaos March

  26 November 3061

  The particle beam caught Tybalt Kelly as his Lineholder emerged from cover among a stand of wind-weathered sandstone columns. Crackling energy clawed at his armor. He fought to retain his balance as red blossomed on the status board. Alarms rang. Leg armor gone! Actuator damage! Structural damage to lower torso!

  He snapped off a shot at his tormentor, more to distract the pilot than damage the 'Mech. Kelly didn't take the time to aim, being more concerned about getting his Lineholder turned to present his less savaged armor to the enemy as he ducked back into cover. The neurohelmet pressed down into his shoulders, heavier than ever. He wanted to toss it off, but he didn't dare, since its electronics were running a feedback loop, using Kelly's own sense of equilibrium to react to the data from the 'Mech's gyroscope. That feedback system was the necessary edge he needed to keep the machine upright. The helmet's scalp contacts seemed to drill into his skull as he fought to bring his 'Mech around.

  Slow. Too slow!

  Lasers flashed past him. A particle beam blasted chunks of hard sandstone from the canyon wall. Rocks spanged against the Lineholder, but that was all, nothing more lethal chewed into his ravaged armor. He'd gotten the Lineholder turned and managed to put some of the canyon's spires between him and the enemy. The tapering rock columns were the only things in the arid landscape big enough to hide a 'Mech. Kelly had taken no hits on that pass for which grace he whispered a prayer of thanks.

  He'd done well against the first enemy, a Vindicator. No great achievement since his Lineholder outmassed the other 'Mech by a good ten tons. But then its two buddies had shown up and turned him from hunter to hunted. If he'd been part of a lance, even if he'd had a partner, things would have gone differently, but that wasn't the case. When he'd fought one-on-three battles in simulations, it hadn't seemed such a big deal, but here, now, it was different. He could smell his own stink in the close confines of the cockpit. Was that what fear smelled like?

  Sweat runneled his side in defiance of his cooling vest. He had good reason for fear. According to the status board, there wasn't an area on the Lineholder that was intact. When the two Commandos had suddenly showed up, he had hesitated, unsure which to target. But they hadn't hesitated. They'd dumped everything they had on him. They weren't great shots, and that was all that had saved him. Even so, they had hurt him badly. His internals remained intact, but at this point his armor was wrecked. He was vulnerable to anything bigger than a medium class laser almost everywhere.

  And it was three to one. He squinted through the forest of variegated stone spires that filled the broad canyon. They were out there. His two Commando opponents were yet undamaged. The third, his original antagonist, had to be in nearly as bad shape as he was. If only he could be sure. He was sure that the battered Vindicator still had an operational particle projector cannon because the Commandos didn't carry heavy armament like that. At least he didn't think they did. They were too small. They were only twenty-five-tonners, weren't they?

  Cha! He was losing it.

  Missiles slammed into the Lineholder's back. Multiple hits. Kelly throttled up, shifting away from what he guessed was his enemy's line of fire. He spared a glance at the scanner. Twin blips showed that the Commandos had circled around and gotten behind him.

  He swung up the Lineholder's right arm, intending to teach one of the Commando MechJocks a very large laser lesson. Only the thickest armor on a Commando's torso could withstand such a shot. It wasn't until he pulled the trigger and nothing happened that he realized the last salvo had taken out the weapon.

  What now?

  The Commandos where dodging among the rock towers, fleeting targets as they moved in to better take advantage of their short-ranged missiles. He couldn't afford to let them.

  He launched a spread of his own missiles. They went wide, but they sent one of the Commandos diving for cover behind the talus slope of a long-ago demolished spire. The other slowed, but kept coming. Maybe its pilot was surprised that Kelly was still fighting back. Whatever the reason, Kelly intended to capitalize on his opponent's sluggishness.

  He spun the Lineholder hard, intending to catch the smaller 'Mech with a full bank of laser fire. The Intek lasers in the Lineholder's torso weren't as pow
erful as the arm-mounted BlazeFire, but there were four of them. More than enough to ruin the Commando's day.

  Only three fired, the fourth had been knocked out unnoticed. But three on-target shots—and they were on-target—were enough to discommode the Commando. The light 'Mech rocked back. Its missile launch went awry and sent smoky contrails arcing over the Lineholder's cockpit.

  Gotcha!

  Kelly sent another flight of missiles at the wounded Commando, intending to press his advantage. He didn't get to see if he scored because the Lineholder shuddered and spun under the impact of a PPC beam. The Vindicator was back and had caught him from behind. Alarms screamed as. the Lineholder toppled, crashing into the sheer wall Kelly had been using to ward his left flank.

  The shock jarred him to the core and slammed his teeth together so hard that he was certain he had chipped a tooth or three. He realized that he had bigger problems as the cockpit flooded with heat. The reactor shutdown warning was flashing. He tried punching the over-ride code. The angle was awkward and he struggled against his restraining harness, trying to reach the control boards in the canted cockpit. His fingers were slow, fumbling. Main power failed as the Lineholder's engine went into shutdown.

  Kelly lay there, straps cutting into his shoulders. He was hot, battered, and drenched in sweat. Defeated! His hands shook with anger at himself. He'd blown it. His eyes morbidly fixed on the status screen where a sullen red glow covered most of the Lineholder's structure. There was no blue, nothing undamaged. The head alone showed in green; only the cockpit was still carrying any significant armor. He was safe, still alive, but his 'Mech was nearly dead.

  "It's over."

  The deep voice boomed in Kelly's headset, echoing his own thoughts and dragging him from the dark timeless pit in which he'd sunk. Hydraulics hissing, the cockpit's access hatch unsealed and yawned open. A dark shadow interposed itself between Kelly and the bright sunlight outside, like the dark shape of death's angel coming for him.

  But it wasn't death's angel; it was Subcommander Veck.

  Shadows masked the force leader's face as his blunt fingered hands started disconnecting Kelly's neurohelmet. Kelly wanted to see what expression that face wore. He imagined disapproval at the least, scorn at the worst.

  He tried to help, but had his shaking fingers contemptuously brushed away. Embarrassed, Kelly let the force leader finish his task. With the helmet swung up into its cradle, Veck leaned over and cupped Kelly's chin, turning his head from side to side.

  "You okay?"

  He gave Veck a sheepish grin. No real damage. Just lost the fight.

  The subcommander leaned back just enough that the sun caught his weather-lined face. He wore no expression at all. "I've seen worse."

  A wild hope surged up. "Then I'm in?"

  "I didn't say you were any good. I just said that I've seen worse."

  Veck popped the panel on the umpire, the gray box that had been acting as an interface between Kelly's controls and the Lineholder's systems, and he made some sort of adjustment. The boards came live again. Damage vanished as the computer system forgot all the hits the Lineholder had taken during the trial. Veck snapped down the jumpseat and crammed himself into it. "All right, get this hulk on its feet and take her back to the barn. And try not to walk into anything on the way."

  2

  Redvers District

  County Shu, Epsilon Eridani

  Chaos March

  26 November 3061

  Kelly re-rigged the neurohelmet, glad of the masking effect the enshrouding headgear offered. He was embarrassed by his performance. Maybe his father was right. Maybe he wasn't meant to be a MechWarrior. He had waited for this his whole life and now he had failed.

  He had never done so badly in MechWarrior simulations! He should have been able to take the Vindicator out before the two Commandos showed up. He shouldn't have let the Commandos catch him from behind. He should have been able to take out at least one of the Commandos. He shouldn't have forgotten about the still-active Vindicator. He should—

  Shouldn't—

  What did it matter? It was over. Veck's silence told the tale. Kelly had made a mess of his test.

  Determined not to make matters worse, he piloted the Lineholder with all the care he could muster. The machine's gait was smooth and steady as they left the badlands and moved into greener country around the river valley. Normally the sight of the towering pines and thick bushes with their bright flowers would have been a welcome sight after the sere browns and reds of the badlands. Just now all they meant were that he was on his way to the training center where County Shu's new BattleMech facilities were sited. On his way to judgment.

  He strode the 'Mech into the hangar, more careful than ever to "not walk into anything," a task much harder in the confines of the hangar than it had been outside. He turned the Lineholder and eased it back into its maintenance cradle. The board confirmed docking, and he started the shut down routine.

  Veck was up and unsealing the cockpit before Kelly finished stowing the neurohelmet. On his way out the hatch he said, "Commo. Showers. Barracks call at 1700."

  Kelly understood the last two, but the reference to "commo" puzzled him, until he looked down and saw that he had left the communications system live. Stupid! All systems were supposed to be shut down when docking in the maintenance cradles. Veck probably thought that he'd wanted to listen in clandestinely on the evaluators' channel to find out how he'd done. Cursing himself, he fixed the omission, then hauled his very tired body out of the 'Mech.

  The air in the hanger was a lot colder than that inside the Lineholder, and the scanty uniform that served well in the tight confines of the cockpit was inadequate. He shivered in the sudden chill. At least, he wanted to believe that was the reason for his shaking. It couldn't be that he had just blown his chance to become a real Mech Warrior. Could it?

  No, he tried to console himself as he descended the stairs of the gantry down into the maintenance bay. You don't know that you screwed up beyond hope. Not for sure. The other candidates might screw up even worse.

  Yeah, right! None of the ones who'd come back before he'd gone out had returned shaking like some kid whose puppy dog had been run over by a groundcar.

  You should be a tech, he heard his father's voice. You have the aptitude. Don't waste yourself chasing a MechWarrior's dream.

  I'm not, he replied, almost aloud. I can be a MechWarrior!

  The habitual fury subsided as fast as it had blown up. A true MechWarrior would have done better in the test.

  He was grateful that at least there weren't crowds to witness his far from triumphal return. From the base of the gantry all he saw was a tech rolling a cart toward the Lineholder and Veck striding along the catwalk above with deliberate speed. The subcommander was going to meet the Vindicator that was settling into its cradle. Kelly's first opponent and chief evaluator was piloting that machine. Veck's veiled accusation of eavesdropping wasn't far from wrong. Kelly did want to know what his evaluators thought, but there was no way to hear what was being said.

  With a sigh, he headed out of the bay. He hated not knowing whether he'd passed or failed. He hated even more feeling that it was almost certainly the latter.

  "Hey, 'Jock!"

  He looked up to see the tech with the cart approaching. Kelly knew she couldn't be addressing him since he wasn't a MechJock. Might never be now. Still, those deep green eyes weren't aimed at anyone but him.

  "I'm not a pilot, just testing."

  "You look like you pass muster to me." She grinned as she surveyed his scantily clad body.

  Kelly was in no mood for bantering. "I don't think I did very well."

  "Yeah? Maybe you did better than you think."

  Could he have? He wanted to believe so, but Veck had been cold. Surely if Kelly had made the grade, Veck would have been warmer to someone who was about to become a fellow MechWarrior.

  "It was you bringing old number two home, wasn't it?"

  "Yeah."<
br />
  "Like I said, maybe you did better than you think." She gave him a wink as she rolled her cart past him and onto the gantry to the Lineholder. "Why don't you look me up if you make it? Name's Meryl LaJoy-Bua. I'm the one that keeps these tin men running."

  She wore a lance sergeant's rank tabs, which marked her as a senior technician, important but hardly the one in charge. Still, she outranked him, although she wouldn't if he became a Mech Warrior. The obvious invitation in her tone prompted him to give her a second look. Her hair, tucked up under her cap and away from her narrow-chinned face, was glossy black. Ah, her green eyes—startling and memorable, those. And she did have a figure under those coveralls. She might even be pretty if she was cleaned up. But while his brain was processing that data, his body had already gotten interested and his perking hormones were trying to stir him out of his dispirited funk.

  He didn't let them have their way. What was the point? This Meryl was interested in a MechWarrior, something he was not. And now might never be.

  With a glum nod, he turned away and started for the showers. Cold water would wash away his physical urges.

  And maybe his dreams as well.

  Between him and the showers lay the ready room where the other applicants waited their turns to test. There had been twenty of them this morning, including him, all testing for the last few MechWarrior slots available in the County Shu Volunteer Battalion. There'd still be at least five hopefuls waiting.

  He squared his shoulders and prepared to face them. Facing them would be easier than facing his father and listening to the old man crow about how right he had been.

  There were six wannabes still waiting. And five of them homed in on him like heat-seeking missiles after an overheated 'Mech. The barrage of questions was unintelligible in the aggregate, but the general topic was the test. They were the same questions they'd asked of the other returnees, but that didn't dampen their enthusiasm. They were testing soon, and they wanted to know what to expect. Did they think he'd come back with some secret knowledge to share with them and make their test go easier?