BOOK THREE
Yori MechWorks Factory Zero, Al Na'ir
Dieron Military District, Draconis Combine
14 February 3029
Marshal George Powell stepped his brand-new Cataphract over the sun-baked ground, playing the childish game of avoiding cracks with a Heavy 'Mech.
The spiderwebbing on the ground was dangerous at sunrise and sunset, when the surface cooled and the thin gases that clung near the ground sank into the cracks. A misstep could see the ground crumble away, even swallow up entire 'Mechs. A route that looked sound and stable could turn into a death trap.
Sounds familiar...
It didn't matter, he had to be seen by his troops. That was the reason why he was at the conn of a prototype Capellan 'Mech instead of back in his command DropShip. The 1st Crucis Lancers, the entire Crucis Lancers, had been lifted off Tikonov as soon as resistance fell apart.
There had been no time to rearm, refit, and rest on the planet. They had to do what they could en route.
Marshal Powell stepped sideways to avoid a stretch of ground that his sensors said was slightly unstable, and then moved on. The night amplification circuits were having a difficult time peering through the 'fog', the clouds of gases that on Al Na'ir passed for an atmosphere.
He avoided thinking about the state of the JumpShips that hauled the Crucis Lancers to the heart of Dieron's worlds before finally being forced back to the border worlds they had left alone.
The Third Wave of Operation Rat, meant to carve out more of the Capellan Confederation, had been redirected into the Draconis Combine at the last moment. They pushed ahead, chasing fleeing DCMS regiments and ran headlong into the Combine counterattack courtesy of Theodore Kurita.
They didn't watch their step. He wouldn't make the same mistake.
Al Na'ir, one of the few sources of the indomitable Atlas BattleMech in the Inner Sphere, had been bypassed. It was more important to chase and defeat their garrisons, who had inexplicably retreated off-world, than it was to secure the planet.
Marshal Powell didn't claim to know the mind of Hanse Davion, his Prince, but he saw the desperation behind the plan.
Capturing a factory paled in comparison to smashing apart DCMS regiments. Factories could only produce so many replacement parts and assemble 'Mechs in a given amount of time. Yori MechWorks' assembly plant was just over the horizon, a massive, sprawling mountain of metal with five separate pads for DropShips.
The scale astounded him.
A MechWarrior all his life, he never knew the difficulty between assembling a 'Mech and manufacturing its parts. It was more than just the materials used, it required skill and delicate, careful work to bind a BattleMech whole. It was easier to build all the limbs of an Atlas than it was to attach it to a 'Mech in a functional way. It had to be done in a precise manner that he barely understood.
Like all 'warriors, he assumed that just because the techs could repair it in the field making a 'Mech was easy enough to do in a factory. One of his aides had remarked on that before being corrected by an advisor. An unskilled worker could greatly reduce the degree of motion a 'Mech would have, while talented artisans could craft a 'Mech that could surpass its technical limitations. He had been surprised when the advisor called up the Kuritan's mass-produced Panther series--generations of AFFS MechWarriors studied its technical readout, knowing that they'd face it on the field at least once in their career, and nearly all were surprised by its increased footspeed, its agility, even its cooling.
The Kuritans had mastered crafting the Panther to an art form. Nothing produced in the Inner Sphere today had that same quality.
Yori MechWorks had managed the same for the much heavier Atlas. A Yori-made Atlas didn't move faster, but moved smoother. Its armour was built to the original SLDF-specifications and improved to the point where penetrating into the vulnerable insides required stripping off nearly all armour.
It was an art that was being remastered elsewhere, for other 'Mechs. But here, under the shadow of Yori MechWorks, it was the minimum standard.
Suddenly, he felt awkward piloting a 'Mech that, by all accounts, was a factory-assembled FrankenMech: built from the most common components available to the diminished CCAF.
Shapes moved at the base of the clockwork mountain, sending streams of particles or tracer shells at his forces. The Dragons and Grand Dragons didn't benefit from the same level of quality construction; Luthien Armor Works preferred quantity and it showed. And for that, he thanked whatever god the Kuritans prayed to as he responded with his cannons.
The Ceres Arms Smasher PPC hurled smaller streams of particles instead of the Grand Dragons' coherent beam, but it tore through the lead 60-ton 'Mech's front torso all the same. Moments later, a burst from his SarLon MaxiCannon gnawed through the molten spot, blasting apart shards and digging into the skeleton beneath.
Seconds later, his warbook informed him that the Kuritan's Eagle Eye SY10-10 targeting system was no longer firing off the guiding lasers for the missile system. The heat bloomed around the 60-tonner, and it didn't raise its main weapon again, angling away to allow the 'Mechs behind it a clear firing lane.
His tanks were no use in these nightly raids. But his artillery was, and they started falling on the defenders. He had orchestrated these attacks for a week now, forcing them to choose between meeting them in the open and have artillery fall on them or fall back to the safety of the guns.
There weren't enough 'Mechs to defend Yori MechWorks. The irony was not lost on anyone present. So instead of rushing into the teeth of the garrison and the factory's turrets, he isolated a section and pushed against it. Multiple prongs of attack would spread the defenders thin, and one of them would get through and mangle the static defenses.
Three days ago, he personally lead the charge that disabled the plant's remaining artillery pieces and carved out the defenses of the same section he was assaulting now.
"Sir!"
He turned up the commpanel's volume. "This is Powell, go."
"Sir, we have reports of fires inside the facility! The northeast quadrant's melting from the inside!"
He grit his teeth as missiles chewed on the ground around him, making any movement more treacherous. He responded with a wide burst from the MaxiCannon, catching a Panther across its knees, as he threw his 'Mech's advance backwards. The Light 'Mech wobbled but continued on, its steps sure even at a run.
The 35-ton 'Mech responded with a burst from its Lord's Light PPC, leaving his comms in static for several seconds.
"Say again, HQ. Repeat!"
"Hangars open! Hangars open!"
Marshal Powell stopped the 'Mech and set his view on the widening maw of what was an impenetrable wall moments before. It was lit from within in orange. Smoke couldn't disguise their forms.
Atlases.
The two lances emerging from the plant was more than enough to smash his detachment into ruin, and his MechWarriors knew it. They began to withdraw, in good order, even as the Atlas pilots charged at full speed, heedless of the danger. There was no point in diverting fire at them, and his hasty call for artillery support wouldn't blunt that advance.
"More Atlases sortieing all across the perimeter. Estimate---" a crunch of static rendered the rest of the message unintelligble. "I repeat, a battalion of Atlases have sortied from the main Yori MechWorks plant."
Marshal Powell grunted as he turned his Cataphract around and pounded away at full speed. He flicked on the combat command channel.
"Retreat."
Behind him, the Assault 'Mechs pounded forward as smaller vehicles swarmed beneath them. The hovercraft threw up dust as they darted between the 'Mechs, but they soon outdistanced them.
It wasn't enough.
The hulking mass of pipes, mounds of equipment, vats, power generators, and cooling stacks erupted outwards like a volcano cracking its top.
In one sudden clap, the fleeing defenders and workers were swallowed by flame and smoke.
The 1st Crucis Lancers were close enough to be rattled by the explosion, but their 'Mechs reported only the lightest damage.
Marshal George Powell stood staring at the rising mushroom cloud from the facility. An urgent note sounded in his cockpit and seconds later he finally paid attention to it. Drills from his youth as a squire to the Jackson MechWarrior family of New Avalon suddenly animated his bones.
On the external speakers, he shouted "Move! Move! Move!" as his fingers danced on the command consoles.
His 'Mech was already doing most of the work, but it was important to be sure that the air filters and heatsinks wouldn't recycle improperly. He sent the commands via line-of-sight-laser to the 'Mechs around him, urging them to do the same. He knew they were, but it was his duty to make sure.
There was no point in taking chances with nuclear fallout.
