I often write up the games in my family's series of campaigns from the point of view of the winner...in this match, my son, a pirate, faced off against family friend Anthony - Davion House mercenary - in a game that used up most of last Saturday.
“I just don’t like the raised roadbed. I feel exposed. That’s all I’m saying.” Sheila’s voice hissed through Anthony’s microwave radio link, scratchy and distorted. The microwave radio, like everything about this mission, seemed to have been chosen based more on economy than efficiency.
Including, he admitted, the choice of himself as a pilot.
It’s not that he wasn’t a good pilot. He was a solid tactician and a practiced veteran of the long, bloody, FedCom civil war. Anthony had made his fortune as a mercenary fighting for House Davion in that war. The money and glory had afterward faded – when battlemech pilots were less in demand – and he realized that he had few ‘real life’ skills to fall back on.
This little comeback tour was the best he could do after squandering, frittering, and gambling away the last of his money from that conflict. House Davion employed mercenaries all the time, sure, but only when they brought their own mechs to the field. His appointment as an escort for Lieutenant General Hascom’s move to the front line of a purely local conflict was more of a pitiful pat on the head than real employment.
He sighed. It wasn’t like he could have turned it down. The pay was paltry but the mech had been provided – a Berghest. The Berghest was an unlovely, squat, low-slung quad mech hunched over four legs like an amputee spider. Her gait, despite the overworked compensators, wobbled the cockpit back and forth with each step and he swallowed again to fight the nausea it caused. He couldn’t complain, though. Without the usual mercenary expense of needing to pay maintenance or repair fees, this meager payday should at least keep him in the bars for another month or two. That wasn’t something he could sneer at.
General Hascom snorted in reply to Sheila’s statement. “We’re only headed out to Sharport. I don’t think we’re going to run into a pack of Atlases sixty fucking kilometers from the capital city. You’re more of an honor guard. Let’s just focus on getting there.”
Anthony heard the disdain in the general’s voice, but his eyes narrowed. Outpost worlds like this one were never fully in control of anyone, especially so close to the periphery. Battlemechs were too expensive, and too sought after (often by well-armed semi-criminal militaries) to be complacent when three of them were isolated from any possible support. The nearest Davion military outpost was four minutes away by air, and counting the time to spin up a dropship and get pilots in place no one would come to their rescue in time if something did happen.
He keyed his microphone. “With all due respect, sir, I appreciate all the vigilance possible even for a movement like this. Things happen.”
There was a long silence. Anthony bit his tongue. While the Lieutenant General was the ranking Davion officer on the entire planet, and Colonel Sheila Durant was directly under him, they had both been placed under Anthony’s command for the brief journey because of his extensive (and recent) experience. He had a sterling reputation with certain much higher-ranking Davion representatives than a mere General. Galling as it must have been, General Hascom, who hadn’t sat in the cockpit of a mech for over six years, had accepted the arrangement without comment.
Probably, Anthony reflected, because it’s a short movement and he doesn’t’ think anything is going to happen.
“Fine. Keep your eyes open.” The general finally grumbled in reply. “But we’re staying on the road. I’m not going bumbling through the underbrush when there’s no eminent threat. Besides, we’re carrying enough firepower to stop anything short of an actual invasion.”
“Roger.” Sheila acknowledged curtly, and Anthony shook his head. She knew who was in charge, but she also knew she would have to work with Hascom long after Anthony Miller had boarded a jumpship and faded back into the cosmos. Really, he couldn’t blame her, and his ego didn’t need any stroking. He let the matter drop.
For a time, the only noise was the steady, jarring symphony of three heavy war machines thumping down the hardened ferrocrete highway. No surface vehicles contended with their trek; the regional war that had precipitated Hascom’s transfer (and their present movement) had made travel risky for locals. The single road car that did appear made a hasty exit at the nearest side road as the three hulking ‘mechs bore down on it.
The sun shimmered off the roadbed in bent distortions, and his anemometer showed a slight cross-breeze from the south, although nothing that would affect a battlemech or its weapons. It was a pleasant day out, and looking off the road into the dense thickets and twisted overgrowth to either side Anthony found himself pleasantly relieved that Hascom wasn’t as paranoid as he was. While traversing the dense woods would have been safer, the stroll down the main road was much more enjoyable than that slog would have been.
Sheila was in a lighter quad mech, a Blue Flame, another absurd four-legged contraption like Anthony’s own Berghest. Only Hascom’s Ninja stood upright like a proper mech should. While Anthony still had all his sensor data and could keep track of things just fine, he resented the lower vantage point of the quad mech’s cockpit.
It just seemed…unnatural.
For all his pessimism and wariness, the trip was passing uneventfully. Anthony savored the feel of the reassuring cockpit straps, the mesh of his mind with 60 tons of machine through the link of his neurohelmet. It’s been too long. Another few months of sitting belly-up to the bar, you’re going to be just another has-been; an old grizzled veteran like all the others, nothing left but a few stories no one will believe anyway. The thought made him reflect back on some of those stories, and while he was the hero of none of them, he had paid his dues on a dozen planets. He was credited with six enemy kills and not once had he had a ‘mech destroyed under him. Among certain mercenaries, and certain members of House Davion, he was a legend. But there were a lot of mercenary ex-pilots filling the bars since the end of the war, and their stories weren’t contaminated with a hint of truth. To the majority of those he met, he just blended in with the rest of the burned-out rabble - another down on his luck ex-pilot with just enough credits to sit at the bar and drink.
“What the hell is that?” Sheila snapped, and he surfaced from his reverie. “Sir?”
Anthony looked at his readout. He hadn’t noticed the blip on his sensors, but it was clear as day now. How long had he been sitting there daydreaming while they closed with it? It sat, apparently idle, less than a kilometer up the road, and looked like a fusion signature, as if an unshielded mech was sitting still and powered down. He slowed his machine.
“It’s nothing,” Hascom replied. “Probably one of ours.” He sounded calm, but his mech slowed as well.
Before Anthony could advise caution, another two blips came to life. “Battlemech power-up detected.” The AI in his machine whispered the phrase in his ear. The AI in his ‘mech was old, possibly out of date, but Anthony knew it was right about the sudden flashes of energy. He had seen it too many times before to leave any question at all. The other, original, signature began to move parallel to the road, towards them.
He quickly flipped through his visual screens until he found the feed from his orbital spike, a floating machine that was barely more sophisticated than a pocket camera. Unbeknownst to the others, he had sent the device to pace them. He liked to keep his own eye on things; certain events early in his combat career had taught him relying on an employer for active intel was taking your life in your hands. The image was grainy and low-res, but the hulk in the road ahead was clearly a heavy assault ‘mech, and it was flanked by a smaller companion. Off the road, the source of the original blip was some sort of heavy vehicle. He had no idea what weapons it mounted, but he could see the turret clearly, and a thin barrel extended menacingly over the end of the vehicle. “Off the road! Now!” He barked.
If they were waiting for us, they probably already have us lined up in their sights. His body itched with the knowledge, as if he were waiting for the impact to slam home. He didn’t hesitate, spurred by the knowledge that the first shots were going to be fired any second. His front legs cleared the roadway even as he issued the order. Sitting on the raised road, they would have been nothing but targets – and if their enemy had chosen to engage them here, they must have brought enough firepower to do the job. His Berghest whined and clanked in protest as he straddled a downed tree and scrambled down the bank of the raised road, pushing aside the trees that he couldn’t squeeze between.
The General stepped off the roadway almost as quickly. Thank god, Anthony thought, if he had gotten killed up there it would be…uncomfortable explaining why I left him behind.
His onboard visuals had caught up with the situation now, egged on by his manipulations, and he could see the ‘mech in the roadway was a Durendal – a rare sight this far out on the edges of the galaxy. It towered twenty meters above the shimmering road, and each arm terminated in the smooth barrel of a gauss rifle. The Durendal massed 95 tons and clearly outclassed the little convoy badly. Oh, they could have taken it, probably, if the three of them had worked together, but the Cobra at its side wasn’t just going to sit and let that happen, and neither was that vehicle…
He realized Sheila was still on the road.
“Colonel Durant!” He called, just as the whine and clang of the firing gauss rifles told him he was too late. A chunk of the Blue Flame’s armor shot past him and embedded in one of the massive trees, and a moment later, the tremendous clanging of the impact of two super-sonic slugs of nickel-plated iron hitting the smaller ‘mech rang out so loudly he could hear them unaided through the cockpit’s heavy armor.
He heard the air sizzle as the Blue Flame replied with heavy lasers of its own, and while he couldn’t see the beams themselves, the reflected light of the coherent energy beams lit up the forest in dazzling brilliance.
“Go!” Colonel Durant panted over the com, breath heavy and loud. “Get the general out of here!”
He recognized immediately what she intended to do, and almost stopped and went back to her. She was right, though. Hascom was obviously the target, and denying them that prize was his job. “Roger.” He said.
“We are not leaving the colonel.” General Hascom, to his credit, still sounded calm. He also sounded as if he was used to having things his way. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time Anthony had straightened out some upstart general who thought he knew it all.
“The hell we’re not, sir. Did you see those mechs? The Durendal has patchwork armor and it’s missing some, to boot. House military doesn’t do that. Those are pirates, and they are after ransom. That means you. Sheila is going to lead them on a goose chase and you are going to let her. We can’t outfight that Durendal –“He paused to knock a tree out of the way and squeezed the Berghest into the dense forest “- and you damn well know it. Stay behind me.”
He switched the com off, just in case the general planned on arguing, and waited about five seconds before switching it back on. Stony silence greeted him, but the icon representing the General’s Ninja stayed close behind him.
He tunneled into the forest as the trees became thinker and harder to fight through. It was harder going, certainly, but the only way they could be engaged in the middle of this ragged mess was from point blank range…and that would even the odds a bit.
Sheila swore as telltale lights flashed in her cockpit. Her central armor had been pierced by the first shots out of the Durendal’s twin gauss rifles, and now her machine was trailing smoke as she plunged into the forest where it met the road – in the opposite direction from the general. She had stood her ground long enough to fire back a salvo of lasers and short-range missiles, but she was sure she hadn’t hurt the hulking monster bad enough to convince it to give up. It had almost taken her out with a single blast, after all.
The heat in her cockpit had risen suddenly as she fired all her weapons simultaneously, but the onboard heatsinks did their work and cool air began to swirl around her again. She didn’t even realize how hot it had gotten until afterwards – which, she reflected, was how focused she was, hopefully, instead of how panicked she was.
I hope he has the sense to listen to Liaison Miller, she thought. Goddam the stubborn bastard, he better not come back with some fool notion of rescuing me, and waste the sacrifice of my mech. I held them up long enough to get him a head start – he better use it!
Ahead, the icon of the Durendal came straight up the road, but the smaller ‘mech next to it, a Cobra, plunged over the side of the road bank as well. It slowed and her visuals showed it thrashing into the forest in front of her, clearly intending to head off any more interference from her Blue Flame.
Normally the Cobra would have been short work for a Blue Flame, given the difference in their masses and despite the dizzying supply of energy weapons in the smaller Cobra. Now, though, with her fusion engine uncovered it could be anybody’s fight.
She set her mouth in a grim line. If she had to go through him, fine. The longer she kept him tied up, the more time General Hascom had to escape to the South. Maybe after dealing with the Cobra she could see about that monstrous Durendal.
General Hascom had radioed a situation report and requested support, and seemed satisfied, but Anthony knew if they were going to live they had to get away from that Durendal, support or no support. That particular assault ‘mech was prowling up and down the main road, obviously trying to get a shot at them through the trees. Well, we’ll just have to stay deep in the woods, won’t we? He pushed through the trees carefully and resolutely, keeping an eye on General Hascom’s Ninja all the while.
A clearing loomed ahead of them, and the blip of the enemy vehicle was moving slowly towards it as well. There was no other way but to cross. He calculated quickly in his head…the Ninja could get across before the vehicle arrived, but not his own Berghest.
He cursed emphatically into the mike. “All right, sir, take the lead and move straight ahead. That vehicle can cut me off, but your Ninja is fast enough to get by without engaging. Get moving and don’t stop, even if I get bogged down behind you.” Or get killed, he carefully did not add out loud.
Hascom raged over the com. “The hell you say! I didn’t bring this thing to run away from a fight. Let’s take out the vehicle, then go back to help Colonel Durant. Sheila wouldn’t leave me behind, and we can’t leave her.” Despite his rank, there was a pleading desperation in his voice. Anthony found himself wondering what the nature of the relationship between the Colonel and the General really was.
They’ve worked together for years - don’t be an ass, he prodded himself. How many commanding officers have you hated to their bones for exactly the opposite reason – their willingness to let subordinates die?
Nonetheless, he had a job to do, and Colonel Sheila Durant wasn’t even mentioned in his contract. He had to get the general out of here, and that was precisely what he intended to do. His voice was ice cold. “Sir, my contract is to deliver you to your command. It doesn’t say anything about the fancy hardware you’re piloting. I was given tactical command for a reason.” His voice was ice. “If you don’t get through that clearing, I’ll slag your mech myself and carry your goddamn corpse to the rendezvous points. Don’t think they won’t pay me.”
The general hesitated. For just a moment, Anthony was terrified Hascom was going to call his bluff. Then, finally, the general spoke slowly over the com. “We are going to have some words when this is over, Miller.”
“Fine with me.” Anthony replied curtly. “Now get moving.”
Without further argument, the Ninja stepped out into the clearing. The ground was strewn with rubble, but Anthony noted with approval that it didn’t even seem to slow the other pilot down. He was careful, but quick, and he picked his way across the sixty meters of open ground back into the forest on the other side.
Anthony tensely watched his visuals even as he strained to follow the General as quickly as he could. The vehicle was straining through the woods opposite, trying to cut off its prize, and was desperately aware that it wasn’t going to win the race. It was still blocked by the heavy vegetation, and even though General Hascom passed within a hundred meters, it couldn’t bring any weapons to bear as the heavy forest kept its turret from traversing among the trees.
It burst into the clearing even as Anthony’s Berghest cleared the line of trees into the rubble filled meadow. The two metal hulks faced off squarely for just a second, and then, before a single shot was fired, General Hascom reappeared out of the forest, almost close enough to reach out and touch the vehicle ahead. Anthony watched in horror as the thin, threatening twin barrels of its turret traversed a 180-degree arc that terminated pointing directly at the General’s mech.
“Goddammit!” He shouted, and threats of taking out the general himself suddenly seemed a lot less absurd.
Sheila was sweating heavily now. The Blue Flame, somehow, was still answering her commands, but the already damaged ‘mech had been savaged by a concentrated burst of laser fire from the smaller Cobra. They had met at point blank range among the trees, almost crashing together, and beams had flashed between them, unleashing fantastic amounts of energy into both machines. Armor had puddled and run, while trees all around them had burst into flame simply from the sheer concentration of radiating heat.
The Cobra’s armor had held, though.
Her Blue Flame had already been breached badly, but the lasers dancing from the Cobra had nearly finished the job. Her ‘mech was no longer dissipating heat, and she knew the signs of a fusion engine breach. She was finished. If she fired any weapons, the heat would simply be too much and her mech would shut down. She couldn’t fight. A laser beam stabbing through her leg armor had disabled some of the upper actuators, making it impossible to activate the myomer ‘muscle’ that powered that part of the machine…so she couldn’t run, either. The best she could do was a slow limp.
She would have undoubtedly been dead already if the enemy pilot hadn’t made a serious error and continued firing long after his heat buildup should have made him stop. The mech had gone into an emergency shutdown at the massive heat buildup.
She eyed the ejection handle longingly. If she fired, her mech would shut down – and it wouldn’t start again, not with the fusion engine shielding gone.
She looked at the icons on her screen and saw the confrontation between Miller, Hascom, and the vehicle. She had heard them arguing over the com, but it had been during the most intense part of the exchange with the Cobra and she hadn’t really been listening. Goddammit…have I done enough? Will they get away?
The Cobra would undoubtedly cool and start back up any second. With the power down, only the rapidly spinning gyros kept it upright. She reached for the ejection handle…
…Then let it go, instead pushing her foot pedals to accelerate her ‘mech toward the shutdown enemy ahead of her. While weapon fire made a ‘mech dangerous, the bulk of a running 45 tons of metal could be fairly damaging all by itself.
The distance closed rapidly; they had only been about twenty meters apart to begin with. “You’re out of your friggin mind!” She half said, half shouted the words to herself just before she collided head on to the Cobra. Her four-legged mech proved its superior stability, barely rocking at all, but the enemy ‘mech clanged to the ground, smashing trees out of its way as it went.
“Take that, you bitch!” She spat the words and began to back away, slowly, trying not to generate any more heat than she had to. Sweat was pouring down her head now, and even the controlled environment of the neurohelmet interface was becoming almost unbearably stifling.
“Battlemech power-up detected.” The sing-song, almost sweet voice of the AI whispered in her ear. The mech in front of her stirred, and Sheila eyed the ejection handle once more.
The vehicle traversed the heavy weapon in the twin barreled turret, and spat fire at General Hascom.
Anthony engaged all his weapon system simultaneously. His heavy gauss barked once, and a span of five bright blue laser beams briefly touched the vehicle’s armor. Although he felt a few small impacts as his armor defeated some small incoming fire, what bucked his ‘mech the most was the massive heavy gauss rifle, almost twice as powerful as a standard gauss. The kinetic energy of even firing the thing pitched him so violently his face bounced off the inside of the neurohelmet. The hammer impact of the round mere meters away vibrated through the ground, and the legs of his Berghest, and back into the cockpit, shaking him still more. Slowly it settled.
His visor interface darkened automatically to shield him from the sudden dazzling display, but for just a moment, everything was quiet, almost serene.
As the visor cleared, he saw the remains of the vehicle spread among the trees and rubble already strewn about the meadow. However many crew there had been, they were certainly all dead now. The unrecognizable heap of scrap metal that had been a seventy-ton vehicle just moments before harbored nothing but a few wisps of smoke, and the crater from the heavy gauss round extended through the remains of the vehicle into the ground beneath it. Someone’s arm was splayed across the bole of a tree some ninety meters away.
Amidst the wreckage of sudden and total carnage, it was eerily quiet.
He cleared his throat. “All right, sir, let’s get moving.” He tried to sound calm, but his voice was shaking a bit.
Then he saw, across the clearing in the last trees on the edge of the forest, General Hascom’s Ninja. Smoke rose from where the cockpit should have been.
Anthony banged his fists against the panels in front of him. Goddam it, I told him to keep moving. He wanted to fight. It’s not his dying that’s so irritating…but I’m not going to be able to get a job piloting a mech anywhere after this gets out. Selfish son-of-a-bitch! Damn it!
Then, slowly, the Ninja staggered to its feet. Anthony, watched, disbelieving, as the mech stood upright, and without a word over the com, went running back the way they had come, into the forest behind him.
He keyed his mike. “She’s already dead, General.”
The Ninja stopped. A hoarse whisper came back over the com. “No…her icon…still fighting…”
“That glow on your sensors is a fusion breach. You know it, and I know it. Nothing else burns like that in the infrared. Even if you get past the Durendal, she’s going to be dead long before you get there.”
The heat gauge in Sheila’s Blue Flame was spiking, and there was nothing she could do to lower it any more. Even slow, careful movements made the readout climb – slowly – but it wasn’t going to come down again, ever, so slowly was bad enough. Ahead of her, the Cobra stalked through the trees towards her crippled ‘mech. He moved deliberately, unhurriedly, closing in on prey that could no longer resist.
If she triggered one last salvo, her ‘mech would shut down for good. But the auto-eject ought to send her to safety – if it was still operable. At the moment, she wasn’t sure that anything on her crippled machine was going to work.
Two kilometers to the East, General Hascom and Anthony Miller had picked their way past the Durendal and were heading south, to safety. No matter what happened, the Durendal and damaged Cobra couldn’t possibly catch up to them.
That moment of triumph was her last, she knew, so she savored it for the few moments that she could. The Cobra was close now, and would be able to fire through the trees in seconds, if that.
The enemy mech cleared the last of the trees.
Sheila twisted the joystick knob and triggered all her weapons. The Cobra stopped, as if in disbelief, but even as the energy beams played across it’s already scarred surface, the heat built up in Sheila’s ‘mech finally triggered the sympathetic detonation of the remaining ammunition for her short-range missile weapons.
Her Blue Flame disintegrated, and she disintegrated with it.
“Don’t dishonor her sacrifice by wasting it, general.”
As if in slow motion, the Ninja turned back to face him. “Damn you, Miller. You’re right…and I hate you for it.”
“Nothing new there, sir. Now, we’ve got a clean escape line past the Durendal if we stay in the woods, and nothing else to get in our way. Let’s get out of here, shall we?”
“I just don’t like the raised roadbed. I feel exposed. That’s all I’m saying.” Sheila’s voice hissed through Anthony’s microwave radio link, scratchy and distorted. The microwave radio, like everything about this mission, seemed to have been chosen based more on economy than efficiency.
Including, he admitted, the choice of himself as a pilot.
It’s not that he wasn’t a good pilot. He was a solid tactician and a practiced veteran of the long, bloody, FedCom civil war. Anthony had made his fortune as a mercenary fighting for House Davion in that war. The money and glory had afterward faded – when battlemech pilots were less in demand – and he realized that he had few ‘real life’ skills to fall back on.
This little comeback tour was the best he could do after squandering, frittering, and gambling away the last of his money from that conflict. House Davion employed mercenaries all the time, sure, but only when they brought their own mechs to the field. His appointment as an escort for Lieutenant General Hascom’s move to the front line of a purely local conflict was more of a pitiful pat on the head than real employment.
He sighed. It wasn’t like he could have turned it down. The pay was paltry but the mech had been provided – a Berghest. The Berghest was an unlovely, squat, low-slung quad mech hunched over four legs like an amputee spider. Her gait, despite the overworked compensators, wobbled the cockpit back and forth with each step and he swallowed again to fight the nausea it caused. He couldn’t complain, though. Without the usual mercenary expense of needing to pay maintenance or repair fees, this meager payday should at least keep him in the bars for another month or two. That wasn’t something he could sneer at.
General Hascom snorted in reply to Sheila’s statement. “We’re only headed out to Sharport. I don’t think we’re going to run into a pack of Atlases sixty fucking kilometers from the capital city. You’re more of an honor guard. Let’s just focus on getting there.”
Anthony heard the disdain in the general’s voice, but his eyes narrowed. Outpost worlds like this one were never fully in control of anyone, especially so close to the periphery. Battlemechs were too expensive, and too sought after (often by well-armed semi-criminal militaries) to be complacent when three of them were isolated from any possible support. The nearest Davion military outpost was four minutes away by air, and counting the time to spin up a dropship and get pilots in place no one would come to their rescue in time if something did happen.
He keyed his microphone. “With all due respect, sir, I appreciate all the vigilance possible even for a movement like this. Things happen.”
There was a long silence. Anthony bit his tongue. While the Lieutenant General was the ranking Davion officer on the entire planet, and Colonel Sheila Durant was directly under him, they had both been placed under Anthony’s command for the brief journey because of his extensive (and recent) experience. He had a sterling reputation with certain much higher-ranking Davion representatives than a mere General. Galling as it must have been, General Hascom, who hadn’t sat in the cockpit of a mech for over six years, had accepted the arrangement without comment.
Probably, Anthony reflected, because it’s a short movement and he doesn’t’ think anything is going to happen.
“Fine. Keep your eyes open.” The general finally grumbled in reply. “But we’re staying on the road. I’m not going bumbling through the underbrush when there’s no eminent threat. Besides, we’re carrying enough firepower to stop anything short of an actual invasion.”
“Roger.” Sheila acknowledged curtly, and Anthony shook his head. She knew who was in charge, but she also knew she would have to work with Hascom long after Anthony Miller had boarded a jumpship and faded back into the cosmos. Really, he couldn’t blame her, and his ego didn’t need any stroking. He let the matter drop.
For a time, the only noise was the steady, jarring symphony of three heavy war machines thumping down the hardened ferrocrete highway. No surface vehicles contended with their trek; the regional war that had precipitated Hascom’s transfer (and their present movement) had made travel risky for locals. The single road car that did appear made a hasty exit at the nearest side road as the three hulking ‘mechs bore down on it.
The sun shimmered off the roadbed in bent distortions, and his anemometer showed a slight cross-breeze from the south, although nothing that would affect a battlemech or its weapons. It was a pleasant day out, and looking off the road into the dense thickets and twisted overgrowth to either side Anthony found himself pleasantly relieved that Hascom wasn’t as paranoid as he was. While traversing the dense woods would have been safer, the stroll down the main road was much more enjoyable than that slog would have been.
Sheila was in a lighter quad mech, a Blue Flame, another absurd four-legged contraption like Anthony’s own Berghest. Only Hascom’s Ninja stood upright like a proper mech should. While Anthony still had all his sensor data and could keep track of things just fine, he resented the lower vantage point of the quad mech’s cockpit.
It just seemed…unnatural.
For all his pessimism and wariness, the trip was passing uneventfully. Anthony savored the feel of the reassuring cockpit straps, the mesh of his mind with 60 tons of machine through the link of his neurohelmet. It’s been too long. Another few months of sitting belly-up to the bar, you’re going to be just another has-been; an old grizzled veteran like all the others, nothing left but a few stories no one will believe anyway. The thought made him reflect back on some of those stories, and while he was the hero of none of them, he had paid his dues on a dozen planets. He was credited with six enemy kills and not once had he had a ‘mech destroyed under him. Among certain mercenaries, and certain members of House Davion, he was a legend. But there were a lot of mercenary ex-pilots filling the bars since the end of the war, and their stories weren’t contaminated with a hint of truth. To the majority of those he met, he just blended in with the rest of the burned-out rabble - another down on his luck ex-pilot with just enough credits to sit at the bar and drink.
“What the hell is that?” Sheila snapped, and he surfaced from his reverie. “Sir?”
Anthony looked at his readout. He hadn’t noticed the blip on his sensors, but it was clear as day now. How long had he been sitting there daydreaming while they closed with it? It sat, apparently idle, less than a kilometer up the road, and looked like a fusion signature, as if an unshielded mech was sitting still and powered down. He slowed his machine.
“It’s nothing,” Hascom replied. “Probably one of ours.” He sounded calm, but his mech slowed as well.
Before Anthony could advise caution, another two blips came to life. “Battlemech power-up detected.” The AI in his machine whispered the phrase in his ear. The AI in his ‘mech was old, possibly out of date, but Anthony knew it was right about the sudden flashes of energy. He had seen it too many times before to leave any question at all. The other, original, signature began to move parallel to the road, towards them.
He quickly flipped through his visual screens until he found the feed from his orbital spike, a floating machine that was barely more sophisticated than a pocket camera. Unbeknownst to the others, he had sent the device to pace them. He liked to keep his own eye on things; certain events early in his combat career had taught him relying on an employer for active intel was taking your life in your hands. The image was grainy and low-res, but the hulk in the road ahead was clearly a heavy assault ‘mech, and it was flanked by a smaller companion. Off the road, the source of the original blip was some sort of heavy vehicle. He had no idea what weapons it mounted, but he could see the turret clearly, and a thin barrel extended menacingly over the end of the vehicle. “Off the road! Now!” He barked.
If they were waiting for us, they probably already have us lined up in their sights. His body itched with the knowledge, as if he were waiting for the impact to slam home. He didn’t hesitate, spurred by the knowledge that the first shots were going to be fired any second. His front legs cleared the roadway even as he issued the order. Sitting on the raised road, they would have been nothing but targets – and if their enemy had chosen to engage them here, they must have brought enough firepower to do the job. His Berghest whined and clanked in protest as he straddled a downed tree and scrambled down the bank of the raised road, pushing aside the trees that he couldn’t squeeze between.
The General stepped off the roadway almost as quickly. Thank god, Anthony thought, if he had gotten killed up there it would be…uncomfortable explaining why I left him behind.
His onboard visuals had caught up with the situation now, egged on by his manipulations, and he could see the ‘mech in the roadway was a Durendal – a rare sight this far out on the edges of the galaxy. It towered twenty meters above the shimmering road, and each arm terminated in the smooth barrel of a gauss rifle. The Durendal massed 95 tons and clearly outclassed the little convoy badly. Oh, they could have taken it, probably, if the three of them had worked together, but the Cobra at its side wasn’t just going to sit and let that happen, and neither was that vehicle…
He realized Sheila was still on the road.
“Colonel Durant!” He called, just as the whine and clang of the firing gauss rifles told him he was too late. A chunk of the Blue Flame’s armor shot past him and embedded in one of the massive trees, and a moment later, the tremendous clanging of the impact of two super-sonic slugs of nickel-plated iron hitting the smaller ‘mech rang out so loudly he could hear them unaided through the cockpit’s heavy armor.
He heard the air sizzle as the Blue Flame replied with heavy lasers of its own, and while he couldn’t see the beams themselves, the reflected light of the coherent energy beams lit up the forest in dazzling brilliance.
“Go!” Colonel Durant panted over the com, breath heavy and loud. “Get the general out of here!”
He recognized immediately what she intended to do, and almost stopped and went back to her. She was right, though. Hascom was obviously the target, and denying them that prize was his job. “Roger.” He said.
“We are not leaving the colonel.” General Hascom, to his credit, still sounded calm. He also sounded as if he was used to having things his way. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time Anthony had straightened out some upstart general who thought he knew it all.
“The hell we’re not, sir. Did you see those mechs? The Durendal has patchwork armor and it’s missing some, to boot. House military doesn’t do that. Those are pirates, and they are after ransom. That means you. Sheila is going to lead them on a goose chase and you are going to let her. We can’t outfight that Durendal –“He paused to knock a tree out of the way and squeezed the Berghest into the dense forest “- and you damn well know it. Stay behind me.”
He switched the com off, just in case the general planned on arguing, and waited about five seconds before switching it back on. Stony silence greeted him, but the icon representing the General’s Ninja stayed close behind him.
He tunneled into the forest as the trees became thinker and harder to fight through. It was harder going, certainly, but the only way they could be engaged in the middle of this ragged mess was from point blank range…and that would even the odds a bit.
Sheila swore as telltale lights flashed in her cockpit. Her central armor had been pierced by the first shots out of the Durendal’s twin gauss rifles, and now her machine was trailing smoke as she plunged into the forest where it met the road – in the opposite direction from the general. She had stood her ground long enough to fire back a salvo of lasers and short-range missiles, but she was sure she hadn’t hurt the hulking monster bad enough to convince it to give up. It had almost taken her out with a single blast, after all.
The heat in her cockpit had risen suddenly as she fired all her weapons simultaneously, but the onboard heatsinks did their work and cool air began to swirl around her again. She didn’t even realize how hot it had gotten until afterwards – which, she reflected, was how focused she was, hopefully, instead of how panicked she was.
I hope he has the sense to listen to Liaison Miller, she thought. Goddam the stubborn bastard, he better not come back with some fool notion of rescuing me, and waste the sacrifice of my mech. I held them up long enough to get him a head start – he better use it!
Ahead, the icon of the Durendal came straight up the road, but the smaller ‘mech next to it, a Cobra, plunged over the side of the road bank as well. It slowed and her visuals showed it thrashing into the forest in front of her, clearly intending to head off any more interference from her Blue Flame.
Normally the Cobra would have been short work for a Blue Flame, given the difference in their masses and despite the dizzying supply of energy weapons in the smaller Cobra. Now, though, with her fusion engine uncovered it could be anybody’s fight.
She set her mouth in a grim line. If she had to go through him, fine. The longer she kept him tied up, the more time General Hascom had to escape to the South. Maybe after dealing with the Cobra she could see about that monstrous Durendal.
General Hascom had radioed a situation report and requested support, and seemed satisfied, but Anthony knew if they were going to live they had to get away from that Durendal, support or no support. That particular assault ‘mech was prowling up and down the main road, obviously trying to get a shot at them through the trees. Well, we’ll just have to stay deep in the woods, won’t we? He pushed through the trees carefully and resolutely, keeping an eye on General Hascom’s Ninja all the while.
A clearing loomed ahead of them, and the blip of the enemy vehicle was moving slowly towards it as well. There was no other way but to cross. He calculated quickly in his head…the Ninja could get across before the vehicle arrived, but not his own Berghest.
He cursed emphatically into the mike. “All right, sir, take the lead and move straight ahead. That vehicle can cut me off, but your Ninja is fast enough to get by without engaging. Get moving and don’t stop, even if I get bogged down behind you.” Or get killed, he carefully did not add out loud.
Hascom raged over the com. “The hell you say! I didn’t bring this thing to run away from a fight. Let’s take out the vehicle, then go back to help Colonel Durant. Sheila wouldn’t leave me behind, and we can’t leave her.” Despite his rank, there was a pleading desperation in his voice. Anthony found himself wondering what the nature of the relationship between the Colonel and the General really was.
They’ve worked together for years - don’t be an ass, he prodded himself. How many commanding officers have you hated to their bones for exactly the opposite reason – their willingness to let subordinates die?
Nonetheless, he had a job to do, and Colonel Sheila Durant wasn’t even mentioned in his contract. He had to get the general out of here, and that was precisely what he intended to do. His voice was ice cold. “Sir, my contract is to deliver you to your command. It doesn’t say anything about the fancy hardware you’re piloting. I was given tactical command for a reason.” His voice was ice. “If you don’t get through that clearing, I’ll slag your mech myself and carry your goddamn corpse to the rendezvous points. Don’t think they won’t pay me.”
The general hesitated. For just a moment, Anthony was terrified Hascom was going to call his bluff. Then, finally, the general spoke slowly over the com. “We are going to have some words when this is over, Miller.”
“Fine with me.” Anthony replied curtly. “Now get moving.”
Without further argument, the Ninja stepped out into the clearing. The ground was strewn with rubble, but Anthony noted with approval that it didn’t even seem to slow the other pilot down. He was careful, but quick, and he picked his way across the sixty meters of open ground back into the forest on the other side.
Anthony tensely watched his visuals even as he strained to follow the General as quickly as he could. The vehicle was straining through the woods opposite, trying to cut off its prize, and was desperately aware that it wasn’t going to win the race. It was still blocked by the heavy vegetation, and even though General Hascom passed within a hundred meters, it couldn’t bring any weapons to bear as the heavy forest kept its turret from traversing among the trees.
It burst into the clearing even as Anthony’s Berghest cleared the line of trees into the rubble filled meadow. The two metal hulks faced off squarely for just a second, and then, before a single shot was fired, General Hascom reappeared out of the forest, almost close enough to reach out and touch the vehicle ahead. Anthony watched in horror as the thin, threatening twin barrels of its turret traversed a 180-degree arc that terminated pointing directly at the General’s mech.
“Goddammit!” He shouted, and threats of taking out the general himself suddenly seemed a lot less absurd.
Sheila was sweating heavily now. The Blue Flame, somehow, was still answering her commands, but the already damaged ‘mech had been savaged by a concentrated burst of laser fire from the smaller Cobra. They had met at point blank range among the trees, almost crashing together, and beams had flashed between them, unleashing fantastic amounts of energy into both machines. Armor had puddled and run, while trees all around them had burst into flame simply from the sheer concentration of radiating heat.
The Cobra’s armor had held, though.
Her Blue Flame had already been breached badly, but the lasers dancing from the Cobra had nearly finished the job. Her ‘mech was no longer dissipating heat, and she knew the signs of a fusion engine breach. She was finished. If she fired any weapons, the heat would simply be too much and her mech would shut down. She couldn’t fight. A laser beam stabbing through her leg armor had disabled some of the upper actuators, making it impossible to activate the myomer ‘muscle’ that powered that part of the machine…so she couldn’t run, either. The best she could do was a slow limp.
She would have undoubtedly been dead already if the enemy pilot hadn’t made a serious error and continued firing long after his heat buildup should have made him stop. The mech had gone into an emergency shutdown at the massive heat buildup.
She eyed the ejection handle longingly. If she fired, her mech would shut down – and it wouldn’t start again, not with the fusion engine shielding gone.
She looked at the icons on her screen and saw the confrontation between Miller, Hascom, and the vehicle. She had heard them arguing over the com, but it had been during the most intense part of the exchange with the Cobra and she hadn’t really been listening. Goddammit…have I done enough? Will they get away?
The Cobra would undoubtedly cool and start back up any second. With the power down, only the rapidly spinning gyros kept it upright. She reached for the ejection handle…
…Then let it go, instead pushing her foot pedals to accelerate her ‘mech toward the shutdown enemy ahead of her. While weapon fire made a ‘mech dangerous, the bulk of a running 45 tons of metal could be fairly damaging all by itself.
The distance closed rapidly; they had only been about twenty meters apart to begin with. “You’re out of your friggin mind!” She half said, half shouted the words to herself just before she collided head on to the Cobra. Her four-legged mech proved its superior stability, barely rocking at all, but the enemy ‘mech clanged to the ground, smashing trees out of its way as it went.
“Take that, you bitch!” She spat the words and began to back away, slowly, trying not to generate any more heat than she had to. Sweat was pouring down her head now, and even the controlled environment of the neurohelmet interface was becoming almost unbearably stifling.
“Battlemech power-up detected.” The sing-song, almost sweet voice of the AI whispered in her ear. The mech in front of her stirred, and Sheila eyed the ejection handle once more.
The vehicle traversed the heavy weapon in the twin barreled turret, and spat fire at General Hascom.
Anthony engaged all his weapon system simultaneously. His heavy gauss barked once, and a span of five bright blue laser beams briefly touched the vehicle’s armor. Although he felt a few small impacts as his armor defeated some small incoming fire, what bucked his ‘mech the most was the massive heavy gauss rifle, almost twice as powerful as a standard gauss. The kinetic energy of even firing the thing pitched him so violently his face bounced off the inside of the neurohelmet. The hammer impact of the round mere meters away vibrated through the ground, and the legs of his Berghest, and back into the cockpit, shaking him still more. Slowly it settled.
His visor interface darkened automatically to shield him from the sudden dazzling display, but for just a moment, everything was quiet, almost serene.
As the visor cleared, he saw the remains of the vehicle spread among the trees and rubble already strewn about the meadow. However many crew there had been, they were certainly all dead now. The unrecognizable heap of scrap metal that had been a seventy-ton vehicle just moments before harbored nothing but a few wisps of smoke, and the crater from the heavy gauss round extended through the remains of the vehicle into the ground beneath it. Someone’s arm was splayed across the bole of a tree some ninety meters away.
Amidst the wreckage of sudden and total carnage, it was eerily quiet.
He cleared his throat. “All right, sir, let’s get moving.” He tried to sound calm, but his voice was shaking a bit.
Then he saw, across the clearing in the last trees on the edge of the forest, General Hascom’s Ninja. Smoke rose from where the cockpit should have been.
Anthony banged his fists against the panels in front of him. Goddam it, I told him to keep moving. He wanted to fight. It’s not his dying that’s so irritating…but I’m not going to be able to get a job piloting a mech anywhere after this gets out. Selfish son-of-a-bitch! Damn it!
Then, slowly, the Ninja staggered to its feet. Anthony, watched, disbelieving, as the mech stood upright, and without a word over the com, went running back the way they had come, into the forest behind him.
He keyed his mike. “She’s already dead, General.”
The Ninja stopped. A hoarse whisper came back over the com. “No…her icon…still fighting…”
“That glow on your sensors is a fusion breach. You know it, and I know it. Nothing else burns like that in the infrared. Even if you get past the Durendal, she’s going to be dead long before you get there.”
The heat gauge in Sheila’s Blue Flame was spiking, and there was nothing she could do to lower it any more. Even slow, careful movements made the readout climb – slowly – but it wasn’t going to come down again, ever, so slowly was bad enough. Ahead of her, the Cobra stalked through the trees towards her crippled ‘mech. He moved deliberately, unhurriedly, closing in on prey that could no longer resist.
If she triggered one last salvo, her ‘mech would shut down for good. But the auto-eject ought to send her to safety – if it was still operable. At the moment, she wasn’t sure that anything on her crippled machine was going to work.
Two kilometers to the East, General Hascom and Anthony Miller had picked their way past the Durendal and were heading south, to safety. No matter what happened, the Durendal and damaged Cobra couldn’t possibly catch up to them.
That moment of triumph was her last, she knew, so she savored it for the few moments that she could. The Cobra was close now, and would be able to fire through the trees in seconds, if that.
The enemy mech cleared the last of the trees.
Sheila twisted the joystick knob and triggered all her weapons. The Cobra stopped, as if in disbelief, but even as the energy beams played across it’s already scarred surface, the heat built up in Sheila’s ‘mech finally triggered the sympathetic detonation of the remaining ammunition for her short-range missile weapons.
Her Blue Flame disintegrated, and she disintegrated with it.
“Don’t dishonor her sacrifice by wasting it, general.”
As if in slow motion, the Ninja turned back to face him. “Damn you, Miller. You’re right…and I hate you for it.”
“Nothing new there, sir. Now, we’ve got a clean escape line past the Durendal if we stay in the woods, and nothing else to get in our way. Let’s get out of here, shall we?”