With rifle fire and the occasional explosion to remind them of what lay ahead, Benjork called his ’Mechs and Lieutenant Hicks’ drivers into a circle. In the red dust Benjork drew a map. “Over that hill are Black and Red infantry and ’Mech MODs. They are led by a Black Hawk that could destroy us all.” He gave them a smile. “So we will ignore it and concentrate our fire on the ’Mech MODs. Hicks, that includes your gun trucks and infantry dismounts. Once I am sure you have the ’Mech MODs under control, Sean and Maud and I will redirect our fire to the Black Hawk. No battle is ever won by being strong everywhere. Today we will win by being strong against their ’Mech MODs first.
“But remember, the Black Hawk’s SRMs are Streaks. If he gets a lock on you, every missile will hit. Never stand still. Never take more than four or five steps without changing direction. You must zigzag if you are to live through today.”
That got solemn nods from everyone.
“Remember that the four rockets you carry have no reloads. Use two of them on my command. The other two are yours to use sparingly. Take care with your thirty-millimeter Gatling gun. Mick and Johnny did their best with the guns and ammo, but do not forget that your caseless ammo will dirty up your guns. If you fire bursts that are too long, the gun will overheat and jam. Wait too long between bursts, and your gun may gum up and jam. Once you start shooting, keep shooting.”
There were resigned smiles at that reminder.
Benjork turned to Sean. Maud stood at his elbow, she of the flashing brown hair and dancing freckles. Maud claimed she’d been driving ’Mechs since she was a child, whenever her pappy would let her. After watching her run the obstacle course Benjork had designed, he would not gainsay her. The MechWarrior remembered now how often Sean and Maud were elbow to elbow and tasted both joy and sorrow as he gave his orders.
“Sean, you and Maud stay close to me. As soon as the ’Mech MODs are suppressed, we hit the Black Hawk. If the Black Hawk attacks aggressively, I may order us to attack it immediately. Are there any questions?” There were none.
“Maintain radio silence until I break it. Hicks, give me ten minutes to get in place. Know that this is how the battle will start. How it ends, only the true dreamer can tell,” he said.
The militia pilots and gun crews went to their posts. Benjork, Sean and Maud grouped at the head of the ’Mech MODs line. Lieutenant Hicks stood in the lead gun truck, eyeing his watch, waiting patiently for the moment to lead the gun trucks forward. The old rancher stood behind him, fondling his rifle, lips moving in prayer.
Gravel crunched under Benjork’s ’Mech as it crossed the dry wash, headed south. He kept an eye on the ridge that separated them from the sound of battle. Sometimes it rose higher, other times it dipped. It never dropped low enough to reveal the ’Mechs he led. He found a rough gully just past where he needed one and led the three lances of ’Mech MODs through its rock-strewn bed.
Most rocks crumbled under the footpads, but one ’Mech came to grief when a rock rolled out from under it; even double gyros could not keep it upright. The following ’Mechs stood in place as that pilot struggled back up, leaning on a bent mining drill. As the ’Mech continued on down the path, it limped visibly.
Benjork nodded with understanding. As a cub he had been warned it was not always the enemy who made battle plans unravel. He signaled Sean ahead but paused, cockpit open, until the damaged ’Mech limped up. The youngster opened his cockpit and raised his visor, face set for a dressing-down. Benjork gave him the small smile he allowed for special occasions. “You will fight last in line,” he said, and the MechWarrior winced. “Not because you stumbled. Any of us—even I—could have been given that fate. No, your mining drill is broken. You should not fight in a melee. Stand back and use your rockets and Gatling. You are one of the best with them. Use them well.”
“I will, sir,” came quickly as Benjork closed his cockpit and made his way to the front of his command.
They were now beyond the ridge, but a shallow fold in this land of scrub brush and yellow dust hid them from the Special Police. Benjork used his periscope to check out the battle. His team was where he wanted it—behind the ’Mech line, almost even with the Black Hawk and to its right.
The Lone Cat halted his troop and checked the time. He had three minutes to wait, to let his hot engines cool. He whispered a prayer that Sven and Mick and Johnny had done good work and might enjoy dreams that would tell them much.
The weapons’ fire increased. Periscope up, Benjork saw change. The riflemen had spread out, up and down the dry creek and were now moving forward on their bellies from bush to bush, rock to rock, closing with the sharpshooters. The Black and Red ’Mech MODs now stepped off the distance to the dry wash.
Not the Black Hawk, though. It stayed well back. Shooting its lasers more frequently, it slashed streaks in the rocks or started fires in the brush. That must encourage the poor creeping infantry. Now they crawled through hot, blackened ash where concealment once had been. Time to end this.
Benjork broke radio silence with a firm, “Hicks, attack. Repeat, attack. Militia ’Mechs, charge! Charge and zigzag!”
Beside him, the militia pilots slammed their throttles forward, and green and gray ’Mechs charged into battle. Benjork charged with them, covering the hard-packed ground to the top of the rise with long distance-eating strides. As he topped the rise, the battle came into full view.
On his far right, Lieutenant Hicks led the charge of the gun trucks down the wash, dust blowing, Gatlings roaring. The second gun truck loosed a rocket volley at the surprised ’Mech MODs. One rocket struck a glancing blow on the chest armor of an AgroMech. The shaped charge left a long slash. Paint smoking, the ’Mech backpedaled and the other Black and Red ’Mechs suddenly took notice of the new fighters on their battlefield.
A Special Police rifleman stood up to run. A farmer in the rocks drilled him before he took a step. Other riflemen returned the fire. Here and there a Police crawler began to crawl backward.
One enemy ’Mech MOD stumbled as all of them turned to face the gun trucks. The Black Hawk fired off two fast laser blasts. One sent Hicks’ gun truck sliding sideways into the wall of the dry wash. It bounced over a large rock, went halfway up on its side, then slid down to right itself. The old rancher steadied his rifle and put a bullet into the cockpit of the Black Hawk. The round ricocheted off, but it was still a hit at that range.
The Black and Red ’Mech MODs struggled to change the front from the rock pile to the increasing number of gun trucks firing machine guns, rockets and antiarmor grenades at them.
“Hold your fire,” Benjork told his ’Mech team as they trotted forward, apparently unnoticed. When the Black Hawk to his right continued stabbing out with his lasers at gun trucks, the MechWarrior chose to take a major risk.
“Militia ’Mechs: Halt in place, target two missiles on a Black and Red ’Mech MOD, and fire immediately. Then charge them for all you’re worth.” It had been Grace’s suggestion that the first round be fired at the halt. The idea had sounded good then.
Now Benjork throttled to a halt with the rest. “Sean, Maud—with me. Target the Black Hawk.”
In a ragged line, eight charging ’Mech MODs came to a halt. Without further orders, rockets rippled out from them, taking the Black and Reds on their flank. Some rockets corkscrewed across the sun-drenched sky. Others slammed into enemy ’Mechs, shredding armor. One smashed into the magazine of an AgroMech’s autocannon. The armor held out against the explosion, but bolts must have sheared. The magazine was knocked up against the ’Mech’s cockpit, and its stream of fifty-millimeter bullets quit chasing a gun truck.