“Yes, House Master,” the cadet stammered. “Duì-bu-qı˘!”
With no more time to instruct the aide, Mai released him and glided forward again. His dark gaze slid across station after station, screen after screen. Here, a lance of militia Condors swung out to flank his modified ConstructionMech. There, a cadet-crewed Schmitt probed forward, found a Triarii infantry position exposed and hammered twenty-mil rounds into their position. Back at his own station, a computer painted colorful arcs across a monitor, estimating parabolic courses from the recent craters, tracking the Republic artillery position.
Slipping behind with every second spent training his staff under battle conditions, Mai routed the data to a different station, shifted command of the Armored Cavalry lances to a new aide, and plugged himself back into the strategic overview.
Just in time.
For the fourth time running, The Republic line surged forward in a well-coordinated press, threatening to encircle Mai’s truncated defense. Armor rolled ahead of BattleMechs. Aerospace fighters screamed overhead, strafing the pro-Capellan force. Green cadets wavered, slipped back, trading ground for time. Veterans found themselves exposed, taking heavy fire until Mai ordered them back as well.
Ruskoff knew how to create an offensive, forcing the Capellan defenders to show their weaknesses. But Mai Uhn Wa knew how to expend limited resources for effect. He’d been doing that his entire life.
“VTOL support, flank left,” he ordered, passing the command through another aide, directing McCarron’s lance of Balac Strike VTOLs on a strafing run which pinned down one side of Ruskoff’s line. “Double our missile strikes at the center, make Ruskoff pay for the push. And lay down Fa Shih minefields under that cover.”
His people were slow, which cost. Ruskoff’s Zeus hammered at a Marskman fire-control lance, chewing through armor and setting one tank burning into a small copse of acacia. Smoke roiled into the sky.
A pair of Pegasus scout craft tried to slip in and sting the Legate’s ’Mech. They popped half a dozen missiles each, driving Ruskoff away from the retreating Marksmen. They quickly ran into a rain of missile counterfire.
Mai knew the order to swing wide went out too late. Knew there was no steeper learning curve than trial by fire. Both Pegasus craft took scattered hits as missiles blossomed over their sloped sides. One lost integrity on its turret, and a gout of fire and debris blasted out of the ruined top. The hovercraft cut hard, and rolled end over end until it fetched up against a large boulder and burned.
The second hovercraft skated back to safety, but the loss would still be felt.
Mai checked his positions. He saw new lances of enemy red moving up from Ruskoff’s backfield; Governor Pohl’s forces finally arriving to join The Republic side of the fight. He watched the blue icon that represented Evan’s Ti Ts’ang loop back and westward, drawing even with the new forces. He weighed the chances and made the call.
“Evan. Advance and engage. Split that line wide open.”
He left it at that. Evan would resent micromanaged tactics, and would be right to do so. The young warrior had to be given some room, even from his House Master. He had to be allowed the chance to make a difference. Even if Mai had already decided that Evan could not be allowed to succeed.
Pushing his Ti Ts’ang past ninety kilometers per hour, Evan ate up the ground in large strides. To his left, Hahn’s Destroyer throttled back to keep pace. APCs of Purifier infantry trailed behind. They dashed forward, fired and faded back left or right to whatever cover they picked up in the local scrub. Light autocannon chased after them, ripping into brush and bark, having trouble against the faster machines.
Mai Uhn Wa had picked a good target of opportunity, where Ruskoff’s forces were spread thin in anticipation of reinforcements out of Chang-an. After every pass, the gap widened, and forces at each edge chanced more desperate tactics to hold their line until Governor Pohl’s people arrived.
Once again, Evan’s small contingent fell back, turning aside early as aerospace fighters strafed by, their autocannon ripping long furrows into the hardscrabble ground. He stepped into an artillery-made crater, which threw a hitch into his step. Fortunately, his gyroscope and the neuro-feedback circuit adjusted.
“Evan,” Mai reopened direct comms. “Begin falling back. Slowly. Hold that gap open, but do not punch through.”
“Shiao Mai. With support, we might bring down the reinforcements and split the Republic line wide—”
“You will not engage Governor Pohl’s troops. At any cost, Evan. Fall back.”
Frustration welled up inside Evan, but he acknowledged the order and passed it to his team. They ducked out of the thin stand and fell back before any Republic forces pressed forward to engage. It left Evan with something extremely valuable in combat operations. Time. A moment with no pressing demands, where he could monitor comms and try to pull larger details from the pressing assault.
“Command, Cav-one. Eastern forces are down one Joust.” Score one for the Conservatory.
“Sergeant Hoi is down. Down! His Behemoth overturned on that last artillery barrage.”
Not good. Behemoths could make even a MechWarrior nervous, and Field Sergeant Hoi had been helping crew the second of only two such tanks fielded by the Conservatory. That could not be enough to pull his unit back, though.
“Here they come again. Zeus leading forward, flanked by two Jessies and—”
“—can’t see them. Aerospace fighters chewing up our position. We need VTOL support and a MASH pickup.”
“Lost one Ranger.”
“Two Cavaliers down.
“Someone swing in at grid thirty-six… thirty-seven… Vrebrachney! Southwest side!” That sounded like Whit Greggor. “We’re taking heavy—”
“Alert, alert, alert!” A weaker voice broke into the chatter, making up in intensity what she lacked in volume. Icy dread spiked into Evan’s guts. “We have contact at forward-post Wilco. Two BattleMechs with support. We need help and we need it fast.”
The western picket line. Jenna. The thought of Jen being pummeled by heavy firepower nearly caused Evan to turn his Ti Ts’ang for the Conservatory grounds. He paused at the end of his first retrograde maneuver, ready to push forward again or head full flight to Jenna’s rescue, on Mai’s command. “Identify those ’Mechs,” he ordered, preempting Mai Uhn Wa.
“One Firestarter. One Ryoken II. Principes Guards. Supported by Brutus assault tanks.”
So the Guards had sent Ruskoff support, and with better timing than Governor Pohl’s laggard forces. How many more lances of the white-and-gold were sneaking through Yiling?
“Evan?” Jen Lynn Tang recognized his voice even without a callsign. “Ijori-one, can you assist?”
Nothing. No call from Shiao Mai. No order to press forward, cut for the Conservatory, or simply cease and desist all sideband chatter. Evan hesitated.
“We are falling back under heavy fire,” Jen reported. “Double-V, Demon, down already.”
Leaving Jenna in a modified ForestryMech, with a few armor pieces and some infantry support. Maybe the Locust at forward-November could swing down to assist. Maybe that would leave the northern stretch open for a second Principes attack.
“Ijori-one, can you assist?”
“Evan.” Hahn’s voice blared strong and with a squeal of feedback as he cut in on a private frequency to Evan. “Evan, do we go?”