The class that Grayson was observing happened to be composed entirely of young people, with none older than nineteen standard years, and some as young as thirteen. That morning had seen them wading, crawling, swinging, and mostly running through the obstacle course Ramage had set up outside the cave, followed by several hours of the digging that Ramage had promised. After a hastily gobbled midday meal, now was the time for lessons of a more academic nature.
Ramage stopped in mid-pace and fixed a teenage girl with his fire-bright eyes. When he suddenly pointed at her, she gasped. "You!" he said intently. "You, by yourself, could bring down the biggest big game of all, ninety tons of fighting steel! If you keep your heads, youcan be the masters of a battlefield, not..." He paused to jerk his thumb over his shoulder at the Stingerbehind him. "Not these big lummoxes!"
He feigned surprise. "You don't believe me? O.K., watch this."
Ramage walked across the cave floor to a pile of supplies and crates close to where Grayson was standing. He picked up a canvas bag the size of a large travel case, winked gravely at Grayson, then returned to his lecture position in front of the Stinger.The bag itself was festooned with slender hooks of black wire, and had a length of cable capped by a plastic cylinder with a pull ring dangling from it.
"This," he said, "is a satchel charge. It contains four two-kilo blocks of C-90 plastique, four detonators, and a fuse igniter with a six-second delay. Now, pay attention, because I'm only going to do mis once." He touched his throat mike. "Jaleg? Move out!"
The audience heard no reply because Ramage was wearing an ear speaker, but the Stingerlooming behind him abruptly stirred, shifted, then spun to the right. The massive right foot came up off the ground, swinging forward.
Ramage shouted to be heard against the creak-rumble of joint flanges and internal driver rods. "Imagine that I’ve been hiding in the bushes here!"
The Stinger's right foot came down in minor chords of thunder. Its left foot shifted, swung forward.
Ramage was already moving, running toward the ‘Mech's right foot with the satchel charge trailing by its strap. He planted one foot on the crevice between two joints in the ‘Mech's ankle armor, swung his next foot onto the top of the ‘Mech's foot The ‘Mech's right foot was moving again now, and Ramage used the assist from the mechanical foot's motion to propel him up the front of the ‘Mech's leg. His feet and left hand found purchase on armor joints and the narrow throat of a heat sink orifice. His other hand was bringing the satchel charge up and around in a side arm swing. Catapulted by the strap, the charge hurtled at the Stinger'sknee joint just as a gap opened between the armor plates of knee and upper leg, where the machine's thigh and lower leg protective flanges rode over the main knee bearing.
The gap was small, too small to admit so large an object as the satchel. Several of the satchel's wire hooks caught on the joint's moving parts, meshing with them as the joint closed with the ‘Mech's forward motion. The rest of the bag snagged on the Stinger'sknee and hung there. Ramage grabbed the ring dangling from the cable and jumped. The ring came free in his hand, leaving a wisp of smoke trailing from the bag as the Stingercontinued its stride. Ramage landed in the sand with an acrobatic roll and was up on his feet and running back toward the demonstration area without a pause. Behind him, there was a sharp crack, and white smoke gushed from the satchel on the BattleMech's leg.
The Stingercame to a halt A moment later, the upper hatch on the ‘Mech's head swung open, and Jaleg Yorulis squeezed his torso up out of the tiny cockpit. "I think I'm dead!" he called, and the trainees laughed and applauded.
"That," Ramage said, dusting sand from his khakis,"is called kneecapping. Unfortunately, my commanding officer won't let me use realC-90 on our own ‘Mechs because he says it's too hard to clean up the mess." He rolled his eyes at Grayson and was rewarded by more laughter.
"If that had been real plastique on a real ‘Mech," he continued, "I guarantee you that that ‘Mech would have been hurting bad when the explosives went off. At the least, it would have been limping. With luck, I could have torn its leg off at the knee and sent the whole critter toppling to the ground, crippled and useless. If I'd wanted to substitute a thermite detonator and a couple of plastic bags filled with CSC or just plain gasoline and oil, I could have engulfed the whole lower torso of the ‘Mech in a fireball. Not as effective as an inferno round, of course, but I promise you that ‘Mech's going to be having heat problems, right about then.
"Now don't think what I did is easy! Every ‘Mech has its own individual weak points. What I just did wouldn't have any effect at all on a Marauder.Their legs are too well-armored. But for some
‘Mechs with weak knees— Stingersand Wasps,for instance—this tactic can be deadly. Commandos,especially, are good targets for kneecapping. They've got a gap between thigh and knee where you could stuff the whole satchel, without using the hooks! Almost always, you can cripple 'em. Yes...question?"
The girl he'd pointed at earlier stood among the other trainees, her slim arms behind her back. "But how are you supposed to get that close, sir? You said you were hiding in a bush, but wouldn't the ‘Mech see you?"
"You have no idea just how hard it is to see anything when you're buttoned up inside. Hell, it's hard enough seeing other ‘Mechs, much less people! Yes, they have IR sensors and all-round vision scanners. Some also have motion sensors and computer scanner interlock, but usually a BattleMech is looking for other ‘Mechs or something big enough to kill him, like fighters. He's probably too busy to watch for lone infantrymen. Even if he sees somebody crouching in the bushes, nine times out of ten, he's going to discount the guy as harmless. If he doesn't, the secret is to work in teams. If the ‘Mech goes after you, you run and decoy the ‘Mech while your buddy gets him from the rear. You just hope your buddy can run as fast as you do right about then!"
There was more laughter at that. "O.K., take ten," Ramage told them. He skirted the group as it started to break up and walked over to Grayson.
"Sounds like you're having a good time," Grayson told him. Ramage looked grim. "Look, Captain, can I level with you?”
“Of course."
"This is all one malfin' big screw-up. You realize that, don't you?"
Grayson closed his eyes. He'd seen this coming for the past several days. "What do you mean, Sarge?"
"Dammit, Captain, we're grooming these...these kids for a slaughter! How can we possibly train them to hold their own in a fight against Kurita's ‘Mechs in a few short weeks?"
"Now Sergeant..."
"Did you hear me back there? The whole point was to tell them how to do it.. to let them know they coulddo it. But good God, if I told them the whole truth, they'd knowbetter than to go chasing after enemy ‘Mechs on the battlefield!"
"Some of them have been doing just that They're in the middle of this war, too. And they volunteered."
"Of course, they volunteered...when their friends and older brothers and sisters did! God help me, they're swallowing everything I feed them. Take on a ‘Mech with a satchel charge? Sure, it's been done. But they don't know how often some hotshot ‘Mech pilot doessee someone hiding in a bush and goes ahead and steps on the guy because he just might be carrying an inferno launcher, satchel charge, or a portable SRM—or just for the hell of it!"