"Shut. Up!" Raven said as he had his Shadow Hawk grab the Wolfhound by its remaining arm, hoping to pull it closer to where he can punch it on the head and cockpit with his mech's other hand, again and again and again. "You're the bad guys here! You have our children as your prisoners! Stop pretending you're anything but! Fuck you! Fuck. You!"
I will kill this man, the man thought as he lost himself in hate, not registering whether he had succeeded in his attempt at Mech unarmed combat. For Katrina, for Andrew, I will kill this man, this enemy pilot. I don't care if it kills me, I'll kill him and the other foes and kill and kill and kill -
"Hahahahaha!" a laugh escaped his lips, "If you guys want to be psychopaths and sociopaths, I will oblige! I will kill you all! All! For my own family! For the people you all killed! You don't care! I don't care as well!"
The Shadow Hawk continued punching at what Raven thought was the Wolfhound; hopefully his grab attempt had succeeded. "You will die here! You will pay! You. Will. Pay!"
Nothing would dissuade him, not enemy fire, not the growing heat of the cockpit, not the orders of his friends and Ingrid. Maybe the Colonel could stop him, but would communications reach him in time?
The flight of long range missiles that slammed into Archie was a bit of an inconvenience, rattling her about a bit, something that was fortunately easily corrected, and a cursory glance at the damage control display quickly put any fears at ease. Rimmer would probably bitch and moan about having to fix the paint, blissfully unaware that winging about a simple task was a sure way to be given that task the next time over. But more importantly, every missile fired at her was a missile that didn’t hit one of the light ‘Mechs or the critical cargo trucks. It could’ve been a lot worse on her end
“Displace the water in its path, Reveal the cannons; Align the guns, unleash their wrath;”
The enemy light ‘Mech was bobbing and weaving, thus managing to avoid half of the disco death show Marit threw at him. Shame. He also didn’t avoid a lot of other things, and more of Marit’s lasers would join the parade any second. And then an icon appeared on her HUD next to the enemy Raven, and in that moment, an uncontrolled grin grew on Marit’s face.
“Unopposed under crimson skies; Immortalized, over time their legend will rise;”
She raised Archie’s right arm to try and shield the cockpit from the Longbow, waited a few seconds for a good tone and with the press of three buttons, Archie’s missile doors opened and two volleys of ten missiles streaked toward the stricken Crimson Fists Raven, guided by Ziska’s NARC beacon. A glance at the thermometer confirmed she was in the clear, the three additional heat sinks allowing her just enough extra breathing room to keep it heat neutral or very close if she fired only missiles or only lasers. 7 volleys left.
“And their foes can't believe their eyes, believe their size, as they fall; And the dreadnoughts dread nothing at all.”
In the heat of the moment, she hadn’t even noticed that Ziska - their personal Huginn - was in a world of hurt herself, only slightly better off than the other Raven in fact, nor that Family Man had lost his grip on sanity, his rambling on the silenced channel coming out of the speaker as mumbling that was easily lost in the noise of motors as the feed system loaded new missiles into the launchers.
Green Knights, this is Gawain Actual…Hostile mechs inbound, rendezvous at nav-point Echo! Repeat, hostile mechs inbou--
As soon as Sergeant Dalton heard Gaiwan’s voice, he knew it had to be bad news. He shook his head and stood up as the APC rocked underneath him, steadying himself with an overhead handgrip. Speaking with his booming tone both on their channel and to the men of Alpha and Bravo Company right in front of him who had all heard the Colonel’s message same as him. “Got work ladies!”
—
In the second APC with Charlie and Delta Company, Reya had heard the message as well.
“What did he say?!” She gasped, eyes wide. No one answered, but they had all set into a seemingly well-rehearsed plan of action. Two large cases were brought down from the bulkheads of the APC, nearly as tall as she was, but she wasn’t interested. She knew what she had heard.
—
Dalton opened the hatch on top of the APC and stuck his head out just in time to watch the Crimson Fists darting for the column and the first volley of LRMs obliterate one of the haulers not far behind him. He recoiled slightly resting on his elbows like a tank commander and surveyed the rapidly evolving carnage. “Son of a bitch,” He growled and brought his binoculars up. In the far distance was the unmistakable form of what he knew to be a Longbow. It had been a while since he had seen one and he had nearly forgotten what a bizarrely inhuman silhouette they presented. The enemy pilot’s taunting words broke through the open channel and Dalton’s lips twisted in disgust. He turned and barked down the hatch behind him. “Bring me the talkin’ stick!” He tilted his head slightly to speak clearly into the mic against the rush of outside air. “On deck, ‘Tuck.”
—
The ground beneath Charlie and Delta’s APC rumbled like they were driving across a bass drum. Reya was white with fear and gripped Corporal Tucker’s uniform so hard she could feel her manicured nails pinching through the fabric of his sleeve and into her palm. Hearing Dalton’s orders, he put one hand over her wrist firmly. “Be right back,” He said, speaking as if he were addressing a small child. He reached past her as he got up and tightened the buckles in her seat making sure she was secure. “Just gotta take care of somethin’.”
Reya felt the rough texture of his BDU drop away from her grasp. She was too terrified to protest.
—
The Talking Stick was Sergeant Dalton’s favorite Inferno missile launcher and the words were haphazardly scribbled along the side of the tube in a white paint marker that had become worn over time and over many launches. A member of Alpha Company passed the long cylinder up the ladder until it lifted up from his hands in Dalton’s vice-like grasp.
The moving battle continued to erupt around him as Dalton hefted the launcher up through the hatch, sitting it as gently as he could on top of the APC as it bucked and rolled over the uneven terrain beneath him. He shook his head and steadied himself with one hand while locking his legs against the ladder beneath his boots. It wasn’t going to be an easy shot. He glanced back at Charlie and Delta’s APC a few lengths behind them. Corporal Tucker was in place and shouldering his launcher. As the ‘Boys best sharpshooter, Tucker was also their steadiest hand. Dalton slammed his armored gauntlet angrily on the roof of the APC. “Keep this damn thing steady!” He roared at the driver knowing full well the man behind the controls was doing his level best and was most definitely as scared shitless as everyone else, but Dalton just needed a patch of flat land and a couple seconds.
The Jenner passed by close along with the mangled Wolfhound. Both presented good targets but the terrain was too rough and he could barely get the launcher shouldered quick enough. They were gone before he could flip open the targeting screen and he cursed a long line of expletives as the motion beneath him seemed to get worse instead of better, like the driver had plowed right through a ditch. A second flight of LRMs closed in as he readied his aim. He paused to watch the arcs come in, knowing for the moment the convoy wasn’t being targeted by their trajectory, but seeing Ziska’s Raven get hammered, he knew which Crimson mech would have to take a lesson from the Stick. Unfortunately, with the Raven’s slim profile and agility, it would probably be the hardest shot of the three- but they didn’t have a choice. The Knights wouldn’t endure another volley and the next one could likely come for the unarmored convoy. He took a deep breath and shouldered the barrel snugly as the mech’s bird-like nose came around, sprinting away from Ziska and telling him which way to lead it. He activated the targeting computer.
The rotating crosshairs on the small screen snapped into an instant lock. For a split-second he didn’t believe it. It had to be a malfunction, but then he saw it.
Tucked into the side of the torso was Ziska’s NARC beacon.
Dalton didn’t question good fortune any further and squeezed the trigger. The missile angrily roared out the tube next to him, flying almost completely straight and true, barely correcting itself along its suicidal trajectory towards the beacon. He realized, as it soared away and the wash of heat from the blast passed over him, that in all his battles, he’d never once hooked an inferno shot to a beacon planted by a mech. It was the first time… and about as soon as that thought crossed his mind, Corporal Tucker’s shot came rocketing overhead, just as murderous in its intent.
Ziska heard screaming. She heard talking. Her head hurt. Her face hurt. She could taste something metallic in her mouth, streaming slowly between her lips. Blood. Her own blood. She ran a hand along her head, until she felt a stab of pain that left her cursing. The cut was deep enough. It would keep bleeding. It would annoy her. Smashing a hand angrily the nearby circuit break panel, she spoke calmly to herself,"Get up. Get up. Get up...Get up, Ziska."
The leg actuators spun with fresh power as Ziska carefully moved her throttle, giving the shaken battle computer ample time to register the granular movements. Trying to see through fresh layer of red, Ziska gently moved her pedals, trying to find purchase on the ground beneath her. Metal groaned, demolished armor plates twisting, and then breaking off as the RVN-3L began to move. Somehow, improbably, the battered light mech stood up. Lying down was death. Standing still was death. Fighting was probably death. But Ziska had almost died several times. It didn't bother her. It didn't worry her. They'd drawn blood. Her blood, but she'd cut them too. The active NARC beacon still flashed happily on her HUD. One way or another, there would only be one RVN-3L standing.
Forcing her BattleMech to stand, Ziska wiped the worst of the blood from her face with the back of her hand. The comms chatter annoyed her. Killing was a business. A job was supposed to be done cleanly. She didn't need her feelings to kill. She didn't hate the Crimson Fists. A job was a job. A kill was a kill. But better them than her.
"You talk to much, you all talk too much," she hissed, shivering with a fresh pang of pain that dug into the front of her forehead, Doc wouldn't be happy, Reya would probably complain, and the Colonel would have some helpful advice Ziska decided with a heavy note of resignation. Not bothering to key her mic. Let them think her wounded. Let them think her already dead. They'd find out soon enough.
"Giggles," Ziska said, shifting her wounded RVN-3L into a shuttering gate as she ignored the alarm klaxon and warning symbology that glittered in front of her,"Kill this trash."
They needed to kill the enemy RVN-3L. They needed the ECM back. They were out of time. The other RVN-3L had to die. She wouldn't weather another volley of LRMs. Her RVN-3L wouldn't survive more LRMs. She had no armor left for the Longbow to sandpaper. It was time to gamble, Ziska knew, it was time to be clever, and it was time to see how cool the Crimson Fists were under fire. Hearing the tell tale swoop of burning rocket engines, Ziska saw a hail of LRMs thundering towards the enemy RVN-3L. She didn't miss the single SRM missile that followed soon after.
Deftly dancing to the side, Ziska aimed her own weapons at the RVN-3L and let loose another alpha strike. Overkill was the only kill as Thrice Hanged had always said.
“ Looks like we got ourselves a talker, gentlemen,” Aroxy grumbled sarcastically. The other crewmembers cackled at the chatter of radio static. They’d long learnt to deal with intimidation and threats during the long course of their campaign. All of it was mere play, mere theater meant to mess with your head. A moment of hesitation or fear was an opportunity to exploit and the Crimson Fist knew exactly what we was playing at.
The entire crew braced for any impact, Takka ready to readjust the bearings of the tank at a moment’s notice. The thick clearing of the forest line was not good tank country but any cover was better than getting skewered by a laser or being blown to smithereens by an LRM. Aroxy couldn’t believe their crew’s luck. In their arrogance, the three Fists had focused on the mechs they had continued attacking rather than the tank. The Wolfhound hadn’t even glanced in their direction. It was the best target rich environment a tank crew could ask for.
Helma didn’t wait for Aroxy’s permission as she loaded another AP round, the chamber coughing out a empty brass shell before her black oil-coated fingers inserted in a fresh round. Ansel meanwhile adjusted the spray of their LMG towards the Wolfhound, sending a hail of round towards the mech as it lumbered towards the Raven Hawk. It might as well have done as much damage as a spitball but it was better than nothing.
“ Finish off that son of a bitch Wolfhound and get a lock on that chickenshit Jenner that’s harrassing us!,” Aroxy shouted. As if on cue, the SRM batteries on the Merry Go Round’s cupola popped out, aimed at an upward angle towards the swerving Longbow. The barrel was already in the process of aiming towards the crippled Wolfhound.Takka had already seem to read Aroxy’s mind before the words had even left his mouth. The familiar sound of Merry-Go-Round’s cannon made his ears bleed. The acrid smell of rocket fuel then hit his nose as a barrage of SRMs were let loose towards the damaged Jenner.
Ingrid rocked once more, this time sent forward! The explosions of a set of high-yield missiles were coupled with the instantaneous beeping in her helmet's speakers that warned her of a sudden and completely unexpected shot to the back. An early warning system like this had saved her life plenty of times before, but this time it was merely redundant.
Returning the Ostroc to its full stance, she did a backpedaling three-point turn that brought the machine about-face as fast as she could. That Jenner was going to be a pain until she could get rid of it - but first, the life of her comrade was more important. Her limited readout of Ziska's Raven's status on her screen flashed critical warnings, and a quick glance to the right revealed the same thing - the bird-like mechanical form on the ground, smoking from fire and pushing itself back upward. If there was one thing they couldn't afford, it was losing her...
She offered a mostly redundant call of "Alleycat! Full retreat, don't waste your time here!" before she did much the same. It took too long for her tastes to line the shot up on the much more nimble Jenner, and she knew she was making a sloppy, dangerous shot, but if anything would spell out "Hau ab" to the enemy pilot, it was this.
Four barrels of fire, four tubes of missiles, all fired at once in its direction. After that, she'd run for the hills, or the storm cell at least. The heat around Ramrod flashed once more, violently, and this time it stuck. Regardless if she hit, if anything was going to scare it off...
Location: Western Continent, Espia NPDRE Outpost F-10 Date/Time: 18 April, 3030/0515 Hours Interactions: The Green Knights Gear: SERE Kit-
Tarak keeps a SERE(Survival Evasion Resistnace Escape) kit inside his cockpit incase he needs to eject and survive in the wilderness on his own for some time, he has a black hard polymer pack filled with MREs to last him a few days, a broken down Semi-automatic carbine with one 20 round magazine, a flash light, a canteen filled with 1L of water, a knife, a trauma kit to stabilize wounds and set broken bones, and a collapsible spade within it. This kit is attached to his seat to keep it from flying about and possibly causing damage while within the cockpit.
a white and grey camo clothing, a cooling vest able to take small arms fire and regulates his body temperature to allow for higher survivability inside and outside the cockpit, a pair of gloves, his boots, some light armoring across his body to more easily take impacts and dampen blows, and his Neurohelmet. He has a suppressed hand gun with one 20 round magazine holstered on his left leg, and on his right leg he has his Personal Cassette Player which has his "Flower's Favorites" cassette in it.
Desperado was focusing on the Crimson RVN-3L as he let loose his lasers to start to cut more of the shambling mech apart. Yet it took him too long to notice the rockets coming down onto the group. A missile rocked against Black Pheonix's chest as it blew up, thankfully it was at a bad angle so it stripping off mostly surface-level armor. Yet Tarak knew this was bad, he was one of the targets and he knew with LRMs he would have gotten the light end as most of them missed him. The Black Pheonix began to shift and looked back as Tarak was about to check in with Ziska, as a roar came over the mic, "CAT!!!" The Black Pheonix began moving back and checking the downed RVN-3L. Tarak looked over Ziska's Mech to view any damages on it, it seemed mostly fine from any proper lethal hits. Yet that did not settle if she had taken injury within, so the Black Pheonix began to take a defensive stance near the downed RVN-3L as Tarak waited for any response.
Yet, right when Tarak was about to let off another shot, he saw in the corner of his eye movement, his head twisted as Black Pheonix moved slightly to see that the RVN-3L he was watching over was rising. He was about to call out to her when she stabilized, yet she was already prepared to move, Desperado knew what she was doing, yet he could not stop her. Instead, he had the same sentiments, there could only be one bird controlling the battlefield. Black Pheonix began moving to support Alleycat, Desperado could not leave her to take another blow like that, it would put her out for good, so he prepared even to take the brunt if needed.
As the moment the Crimson Raven came within view, Tarak watched as it was lit up with Infernos, missiles, and lasers he watched as a mech was ripped apart. As the battlefield was slowly shifting the Black Pheonix turned to the Crimson Jenner that was taking chunks out of Ramrod and Giggles. Black Pheonix steadied its Right Arm to fire is Medium and Large Laser at the Crimson Jenner to help get the annoying Mech off their Heavy Mechs so they can peel out.
Thunder cracked overhead as the sullen gray skies of early morning gave way to a wall of thick black storm clouds. The weather system rolling in from the eastern coast of the continent had been even more severe than the forecasts had predicted, and an enormous cell of brutal thunderstorms blanketed the land for dozens of kilometers. Thick, blinding sheets of hard salt rain pulverized the ground, and gale-force winds of over 90 kph threw debris along. Anyone unlucky enough to be caught out in this dreadful mess risked being knocked off his feet by the wind, beaten into the ground by the stinging rain, or electrocuted by the arcs of blue-white lightning that danced through the clouds and struck the ground.
"How's it looking?" Colonel Wayne asked as the Mobile HQ plowed into the storm, its massive oversized wheels digging deep ruts into the mud. With Alley Cat's ECM field countered by the enemy Raven, the Colonel could at least monitor the Knights' status as the battle continued.
"Not much damage on Family Man, Desperado, or Giggles," Lieutenant Lyons reported as the Mechs' diagnostic computers fed information wirelessly back to the Mobile HQ. "Alley Cat isn't going to survive another salvo like that, though, and Ramrod's lost an awful lot of armor."
"And Family Man sounds like he's losing it," Cadet Higgins added. "Are we sure we want someone like that piloting a 'Mech?"
The Colonel didn't answer. Rivers was one of the first people Gaius had hired when he founded the Green Knights. He'd always handled himself as a professional in the past, not the type for that kind of outburst. Then again, he'd never had his wife and kid in enemy hands before. Under normal circumstances, after seeing something like that, he'd pull Rivers off the line, and not let him anywhere near the cockpit of a Battlemech until Dr. Nakajima had given him a full psych evaluation. But these weren't normal circumstances; he had to work with what he had left.
He just needed Rivers and the rest of the Green Knights to hold it together long enough to make it home. Then he and the doc would have a long talk with him.
"How's the storm?"
"Getting worse, sir,", Cadet Windham answered, his monitor showing a bright red splotch over the map of the region. "Visibility is going to be near zero before much longer."
The Colonel nodded. Targeting with the naked eye was difficult enough in heavy rain, but even advanced technology would be of little use. Water droplets in the air absorbed infrared radiation, reducing the range of thermal imagery. The hard impacts of the rain kicked up a thick fog as well, reducing the range even further. Under normal conditions, the thermal radiation from a Battlemech reactor shined like a beacon to IR scanners, but if they kept their speed low and didn't fire off their weapons, the enemy would struggle finding them without being right on top of them.
"Almost time to give them the slip," he said. "On my order, one last burst transmission, then we go into silent running."
"Yes, sir."
Meanwhile, the melee between Gawain's Green Knights and the Crimson Fists had become a cacophony of explosions and twisting metal. After nearly losing Alley Cat to the Longbow's opening fusillade, the Knights had turned the battle to their favor by concentrating fire first on the enemy Raven.
A salvo of long-range missiles from Giggles' Archer obliterated armor off of the smaller 'Mech's limbs, the incoming warheads smashing its left arm into useless scrap. As the Raven staggered from the impact, it caught two shoulder-fired Inferno rockets from Sgt. Dalton's infantry, the superheated gel bathing the avian 'Mech's torso in fire even in the pouring rain. Myomer muscles seized up and servos groaned in protest from the sudden buildup of heat, slowing the Raven down considerably. This gave Alley Cat an opening to return fire, with her own medium lasers and short-range missiles punching into the Raven's torso. A sickly green cloud of smoke signified the 'Mech's gyroscopic stabilizer had been hit, and the Raven's legs seemed to turn to rubber, the pilot desperately fighting against the machine's mass in a futile attempt to keep it upright.
The Raven lurched forward, and suddenly the 'Mech's head section blew open. Blasting out from a hatch on top, the Raven's Mechwarrior shot skyward on a streak of white flame and smoke, the ejection pod ostensibly protecting the pilot from the elements, at least for a while. Once the pod's parachute opened, however, it caught the buffeting winds, which swept the pod and the unfortunate pilot off to gods-know-where.
The smoking, mangled remains of the Raven splashed down into the mud, its internal components still intact enough to salvage. Assuming, that is, that the survivors would be able to claim it.
Meanwhile, Family Man's Shadow Hawk attempted to bring its fists down onto the smaller Wolfhound. The enemy pilot bobbed and weaved enough to keep the 55-tonner's fists from connecting with its head, but the Wolfhound still caught a pair of crushing blows to the torso before it managed to wrest itself free. Given that it wasn't capable of keeping up with the Shadow Hawk in a brawl, the Wolfhound pilot put some distance between itself and the bigger 'Mech, then opened fire with its medium lasers. While one went wide and set a tree alight like a torch, the other two caught the Shadow Hawk in the legs, carving off rents of armor as the Wolfhound hoped to hamstring Family Man's machine.
It would not get a chance to continue this assault, however, as a massive shell from the Von Luckner's autocannon slammed into the Wolfhound's left leg, the single shot shattering the armor and mangling the limb into a twisted mess. Barely enough of the leg's structure remained to keep the Wolfhound standing, and as the two larger opponents bore down on it, the Wolfhound began to withdraw.
Merry-Go-Round then turned its attention to the enemy Jenner, who continued to harass Ramrod with another laser slashing into her Ostroc's left arm. The heavy battle tank let fly with its trio of short-range missile launchers, covering the Jenner in a maelstrom of high explosives. Over a dozen of the missiles hit home, ripping the entire left side of the light 'Mech away and leaving only a few pockmarked scraps of armor on its center. As the Jenner reeled from the sudden burst of intense violence, it was struck again, this time by the lasers of Desperado's Phoenix Hawk. The 45-tonner's large laser scorched the Jenner's right leg, while the medium punched through the last of its center armor, frying one of its Jump Jets in the process.
Crippled by the immense damage, the pilot of the Jenner also broke away, joining the Wolfhound in retreat.
"Impressive, Green Knights," the Longbow pilot who called herself the Fire Witch bellowed over open comms. "You have managed to draw first blood today, but that small victory is the only one you will find on this field. And even this small victory you will find to be tainted."
Raising the huge, cylindrical launcher tubes to an upward trajectory, the Longbow once again let fly with a massive salvo of long-range missiles. And again, the swarms of missiles split in the air and came down on multiple targets.
The first flight smashed into the Von Luckner, warheads crushing into its front and side. While the tank's armor held, two of the warheads had smashed into Merry-Go-Round's treads, snapping off one of the return rollers and dislocating the front drive wheel. This would make the tank significantly harder to control, especially in miserable terrain like this. If the Green Knights and Crimson Fists continued the fight, Merry-Go-Round would be a sitting duck.
The second flight bore down on Alley Cat's Raven, but as he had intended to protect Ziska from further damage, Desperado lunged his Phoenix Hawk into the way, taking damage across the arm and torso.
The third flight of missiles was intended for more precious cargo: one of the water trucks. However, without the Raven to guide the missiles, splitting fire between multiple targets became that much harder for the Longbow, and the flight of LRMs sailed overhead, blasting apart a thicket of trees a hundred meters away.
The fourth flight, however, found its mark on one of the ammunition trucks. The resulting explosion was forceful enough that it titled the closest truck by it onto two wheels, nearly knocking it onto its side. For a few seconds, the secondary crackles and pops of munitions filled the sky with noise and light like fireworks. It would be almost festive, if not for the fact that the two people inside the truck had died, and the Knights had just lost several tons of warheads and autocannon shells they would need for future battles.
"Green Knights, this Gawain Actual," Colonel Wayne's voice crackled over the Knights' secure comms channel. "Cover the convoy and withdraw into the storm, lose them in the rain. You're not here to win the fight, you're here to complete the job. Going dark-- see you back at HQ."
The blood price had been paid; violence for violence, grief for grief. As Raven had his Shadow Hawk begin retreating along with the convoy, he said to the enemy, "Console yourselves in your defeat - It will mean nothing in the end."
His mech began running for the storm, following his commanding officer - Ingrid - and the rest of the convoy, realizing that his outburst would get him a stern talking to (at best) from the Colonel once they were back home. But he knew how useful he still was and how his actions hadn't endangered the group... Yet. He can get through the long talk and remind the Colonel that while the latter had his love interest imprisoned, he had a lawfully wedded wife and son in that same imprisonment and risk of execution.
Wait, no, that's a bad idea. The Colonel does not know he loves the Captain yet, and tugging on his heartstrings might get me a worse punishment than a talking-to and maybe the first level of punishment.
Colonel Gaius Wayne was a friend, a friend who had grown somewhat distant from the chains of commanding others, but still a friend. He needed to save this friendship; he cannot lose more ties with other people. But considering how his wife and son were still in enemy hands, how they can be tortured in unspeakable ways at any moment, then killed, how can he not lose it? This was his family he was talking about; every second they were in the enemy's prison was a second of uncertainty that gnawed at his heart.
He had thought that fighting in the battle would remove some of the uncertainty; it did, but it took a psychotic outburst to cleanse himself of some of it. Rage had freed him of his feelings for a few seconds, and that was alluring, addictive, and above all, dangerous.
The sound of raindrops could be heard hitting his mech, and as his cockpit cooled, Raven knew this: That if this continued, if he surrendered again and again to his rage, he'd lose the Colonel's trust, and may have already lost Ingrid's, and will lose everyone else's.
Katrina and Andrew's faces flashed before him, driving away guilt and regret as he whispered to himself, "Katrina, Andrew, I will rescue you... Whatever it takes."
”Eat shit!” Marit held a short, private celebration in Archie’s cockpit when she saw the left arm - and with it the dreaded NARC launcher - fly off the Crimson Fists scout ‘Mech. The enemy Raven guy must have seriously hated her by that point, having taken off both his arms already with assistance from her lancemates. A bunch of SRMs followed, the Raven shuddering to a halt in a blaze of inferno gel before being cracked open like a walnut, Marit even managing to catch a glimpse of the purplish-white glow of the plasma from the breached fusion chamber as it rapidly cooled down and dissipated in contact with air.
In that moment, when the Fists Raven’s ECM was silenced and Ziska’s own ECM coverage came back up, the threat of long range missiles from the Longbow was somewhat diminished, if only temporarily, allowing Marit a second or two to look around in relative peace. The Wolfhound was looking rough and preoccupied with Family Man. That was the first time she noticed Ziska’s Raven was covered in mud and missing an awful lot of pieces on the surface. She keyed the mic and broke her radio silence. ”Alleycat, you alive in there?”
But the Longbow needed something else to shoot at. Left to her own devices, of course the Fire Witch didn’t pick a target with thirteen tons of armor and barely a scratch on it, she wasn’t braindead. Ziska was right - she did talk too much, especially for that rotten shot. ”What’s the matter, hard to aim without your tattletale scampering about?” Marit giggled to herself, not bothering to transmit that. No point tempting the fates so. But she would eventually land a solid hit, the convoy was practically a turkey shoot and another savlo would almost certainly kill Ziska, and the Fists were aware that losing either the latter or much more of the former would be a crippling blow to the Knights. Thus, Archie turned on his heel, coming to a stop facing the Longbow in the distance as he walked backwards to keep up with the convoy. Despite looking like a person carrying a keg under each arm, knowing what was in those kegs still made it an intimidating sight. ”Pay no mind to the trucks or the Raven, you big ugly bastard, look at me.” She muttered to herself as she let another volley of two times ten missiles fly at the Longbow. 50 missiles left.
It was strange, she thought as she took a few steps away from the convoy in anticipation of incoming hellfire, but close enough to double back and soak up the hate if the Longbow went for the water trucks. Throughout the entirety of her - admittedly brief - career as a MechWarrior, she always thought of long range missile carriers as something that was standing a fair distance away from the fight and being annoying. What the Crimson Fists Longbow was doing right now. And yet here she was, trying to draw fire to herself.
The heat had yet to immediately abate, despite the rain that rolled down the front of the cockpit in sheets. Sweat began to run in small rivers through the neurohelm's visor, and her skin felt like it was being placed up against hot metal everywhere - but this moment's pain was paid off in success. That Jenner, pain in the ass that it was, at least had the common decency to avoid a pointless death like its comrade in the Raven had. Ramrod's eyes caught up with the retreating mech...
She had a shot, briefly, that'd have a good chance of simply removing it from the field of battle - one burst of laser fire to the damaged leg could bring it down into the ground, helpless. And it'd be one less problem to deal with in the future...
She did not take the shot.
Though hardly a codified piece of knightly lore, if she wanted a retreat, she would give the same to the warrior on the other side of the glass. That was simply what felt correct in the moment, and with that decision made, she turned away.
She didn't see fit to repeat the Colonel's orders this time, simply trudging along in the mud to back up the convoy, suffering greatly as this machine's stiff artificial muscles were slowed by the excessive heat. A single large laser shot was thrown at the Longbow, even if it was unlikely to hit at this distance - anything else would've only brought this machine to an outright dangerous heat level, and with steam rolling off of its torso already, she didn't see fit to find out what her limit was.
Sparing a moment as she carefully disengaged from the fleeing Crimson Fists, Ziska studied the crumbled form of the enemy RVN-3L with grim satisfaction. The pilot had been unlucky. She didn't fancy the enemy MechWarriors chances in the storm. But they knew the risks. And now they knew the score.
Keying her mic, Ziska finally replied over the encrypted comms, "I'm good, Giggles, thanks for the assistance. You too, Desperado. I'm falling back."
She didn't bother taking any potshots at the enemy light mechs as they faded out of range. Her BattleMech was in no state for more fighting. She was in no state for more fighting. The Colonel's orders were clear, it was time to fall back. She knew they had to pace themselves. Asymmetric warfare was a marathon, not a race, and the Green Knights would have more time to bleed the Crimson Fists dry..
"I always said you'd die on some backwater planet," a deep voice rumbled from the jump seat crammed into a corner of the already cramped RVN-3L cockpit.
"Shut up," Ziska hissed between gritted teeth. She didn't bother to look. She would have recognized the voice anywhere. The smug, Davion military accent. The rolling consonants, laced with the rough pronunciation of a born scumbag. She could feel the flicker of unwelcome neurofeedback. The system was running hot. Reya would be happy. Her modifications to the Guardian ECM system had worked perfectly. However, Ziska doubted Reya would be happy about her BattleMech. Davids, Davids she knew would be furious. The thought of his imminent rage almost made it all worth it. It had been too long since their last argument and subsequent screaming match.
"I'd rather not," the speaker countered, laughing in the old way that Ziska had always hated.
Cursing loudly, Ziska turned, staring daggers at the heavy set man sitting uninvited in her BattleMech,"Get out of my BattleMech, Thomas."
"Don't hate me Tereza," Thrice-Hanged said, raising his hands up, grinning as if that would mollify her. "I'm just the messenger."
"Yeah? And what message is it that you're here to share? ComStar finally looking to pick me up?"
"Ha, I don't think they'd take you. Not anymore. But that's not what I need to tell you-"
"Shut up, Thomas, I don't want to hear it," Ziska said, waving a hand wearily. "Dead people can't talk. Go away. Leave me alone."
"Ah...How's the head? You hit it harder than you thought, didn't you?"
"I'll live," Ziska fumed, trying to rub the blood out of her left eye. She'd have to bother Doc Yuri. The blood was a pain. The pain was more pain. Ziska felt a pang of annoyance. She felt tired. It wasn't the time to sleep. She had to keep moving.
"Stay awake, Tereza. You're not much use unconscious," Thomas chided. "Kinda fucked up though, isn't it? You're talking to a dead man. To a ghost. You're losing it."
"I'm not," Ziska chafed, remembering Family Man's screaming.
"Systems running hot. Neurofeedback. Head wound. You're just noise. Nothing more," Ziska continued, willing herself to believe it.
"You tell yourself that, Tereza. Tell yourself that this conversation isn't happening. Remind yourself that you don't believe in any of this crap anyways."
"I don't," Ziska said, nodding. "You were always the one blabbering about Blake's infinite mercy. But please, spare me the preaching, it was bad enough when you were alive. Go away, Thomas, please."
"If only you knew," Thrice-Hanged said, his voice suddenly low and sad. "However, I can't leave, not yet, I still have matter to discuss with you."
"I'm not talking. I'm not talking to anyone," Ziska countered. "You're not here. You're not real. And if you are. Well, then I'm going to kill you again. I'm going to kill you again. And again. And again. I'll kill you as many times as I have to until you finally leave me alone."
"You didn't kill me the first time," Thomas chuckled.
"Well, it's the thought that counts isn't it? Not my fault that the Davion pirate hunters beat me to the punch."
"Ha, you were planning to kill me? For shame, Ziska, and here I thought that were were-"
"Of course," Ziska interrupted, letting out a low bitter laugh. "You were losing it. You were going to get us all killed. A mad dog gets put down, Thomas, you know that."
"Aye, I always told you that."
"You did. You always did. You fucked up. You fucked it all up, Thrice-Hanged. And now. Now I'm here. And you're...you're still dead."
"You got a plan?"
"Colonel does, I suspect, maybe the others too. I'm just doing what I do best. Surviving. Killing. You know, the usual."
"Intimately," Thrice-Hanged cheerfully agreed and Ziska could feel his smile burning across the air between them.
“ Got a hit on all our targets, sir!,” Takka whooped out loud. The internal targeting screen that was connected to the front facing cameras on the Merry Go Round’s front viewport became awash with a bloom of bright infrared from the miniature explosions that impacted the Jenner. As soon as he saw the Fists began to make a hasty retreat to the forest line, Aroxy rolled his shoulders in relief and signed. Now, they could get a move onto the convoy before they attracted any further Fists to their position.
Then, that damn Longbow had to ruin their day.
“BRACE FOR IM-,” The words just left Aroxy’s mouth as the salvo of missiles stitched a line across the Merry-Go-Round’s frontal ceramic plating. The entire crew was thrown off their seats, tumbling inside the tank as it shook with a thunderous rattle. Aroxy slapped his ears several times to get rid of that infernal ringing noise. The other members of his crew groaned as they pulled themselves up.
The integrated stress sensors within Merry Go Round had activated for the first time in months, alarms and damage readouts flickering on the ceiling control panel just above the targeting screen. Diodes danced in a haze of green, yellow and red.
Aroxy inched his neck up towards the viewport of his periscope. He could see the fading raptor-like figure of the Longbow disappearing in the horizon. Its subsonic engines burnt a smoldering orange, trailing behind a grey line of smoke and spent fuel. He continued to keep an eye on it to make sure it wasn’t coming back for any more runs before turning back to assess the condition of the rest of his crew.
“ Status report!,” Groans of pain only answered him. Aroxy blinked as flashing sparks dribbled out from an exposed wire that had come loose during the attack. “ I said, status report! How badly were we hit, Takka?”
“ Well, sir ….Takka wiped a drop of blood from a red cut across his forehead. “ Nothing bad happened to our engine or our essentials. In all circumstances, the improvised ablative and composite layers took most of the hit and came out unscathed, save for the food hall we welded on. Real worry is the right tread, though. One of our wheels popped out along with our right return roller. Not a mission kill but….”
Takka didn’t need to say the obvious to drive the implications in. Merry Go Round would be literally driving at a snail’s pace. If they pushed more power into the engine, they would run the risk of permanently disabling themselves or disentangling their treads from the main wheel assembly.
“ Enough time for a field repair?”
The radio then burst to life and Colonel’s Wayne’s order dispelled any notions of what Aroxy had suggested. Aroxy slammed a fist in frustration and took off his tanker helm, hair matted with sweat and cordite. A crippled tank driving in this weather was equivalent to having Takka paint a bullseye on their asses. It would take a miracle for them not to get tagged as they would surely limp behind the main column at their reduced speed.
After some deliberation, the Merry Go Round thrummed to life once more, the small fires on its hull doused by the drizzle as its heavy treaded wheels struggled to gain purchase on the slowly soddening ground.
Location: Western Continent, Espia NPDRE Outpost F-10 Date/Time: 18 April, 3030/0515 Hours Interactions: The Green Knights Gear: SERE Kit-
Tarak keeps a SERE(Survival Evasion Resistnace Escape) kit inside his cockpit incase he needs to eject and survive in the wilderness on his own for some time, he has a black hard polymer pack filled with MREs to last him a few days, a broken down Semi-automatic carbine with one 20 round magazine, a flash light, a canteen filled with 1L of water, a knife, a trauma kit to stabilize wounds and set broken bones, and a collapsible spade within it. This kit is attached to his seat to keep it from flying about and possibly causing damage while within the cockpit.
a white and grey camo clothing, a cooling vest able to take small arms fire and regulates his body temperature to allow for higher survivability inside and outside the cockpit, a pair of gloves, his boots, some light armoring across his body to more easily take impacts and dampen blows, and his Neurohelmet. He has a suppressed hand gun with one 20 round magazine holstered on his left leg, and on his right leg he has his Personal Cassette Player which has his "Flower's Favorites" cassette in it.
Tarak saw the Jenner get lit up, multiple missles, lasers, explosive round tore into the light mech. As multiple destroyed pieces of the Battlemech come apart Tarak felt as if he laid one more shot in, it was gone. Desperado took hold of the grip as he began to lead the target for the moment he was to hit the larger rocks, either he would tear off one of the legs to make it go down in a hell field of rocks and hail, or tear out the other jumpjet and make the Battlemech go critical. Yet right when he was to pull the trigger, and alarm went off in Tarak's ear as he threw himself in front of Ziska's Battlemech.
Tarak's Battlemech shook as missles bore down onto it, yet he was right where he needed to be. Alleycat didn't get torn up anymore, Tarak let out a sigh as he felt the shaking stop. Tarak heard Alleycat key up her thanks and her proclamation of retreat as the Black Phoenix gave her a thumbs up. As Tarak turned back and prepared to start his retreat as well. Tarak went over and grabbed his cargo bin as he began to leave with it, as he noticed Giggles seemed to almost be taunting the Longbow to only go after her and her Battlemech.
Tarak keyed in his mic as he called out to her, "Giggles, tee up with me, I'll stick with the vehicles, just make sure we don't get snuck up on. The storm will make the effective range of that bastard no where near us, but that also includes us". Black Pheonix continued to drag the container behind it as it kept up with the vehicles in case they were to become targets of a random salvo of missles coming down with the hai or a Battlemech decided to try and get one last hit and run in.
Abandoned Neodymium Mine Eunsan Mountain Range 250 Kilometers Southwest of Balya Gora March 23rd, 3030
The cavernous expanse of the mine's main chamber had bustled with activity for the past seven days, the few dozen remaining members of Gawain's Green Knights in constant motion as they converted the place into their makeshift headquarters and hideout. The technicians and their teams of AsTechs had been hard at work making repairs, stripping down parts from one machine to make use of them on another, performing what maintenance they could with the tools they had on them to keep the 'Mechs and vehicles up and running. Now, for the first time in days, there was nothing to do but wait until the Knights returned from their mission.
In those hours of stillness, the men had come to realize just how thin their morale was stretched. Rations were running low, water was getting more scarce, and the techs were expected to work miracles with equipment that wasn't much better than what could be found in a civilian's garage. Many of them had worked out their frustrations in the Scrap Yard the previous night- and had the bruises and fat lips to prove it- but their weariness gave way to a general malaise that sunk over the crews as they lazed in the largely empty motor pool and 'Mech bays.
While things were still, it would be wrong to say it was quiet. Echoing off the cave walls, the sound of a crude guitar made from an ammunition box and a few used strands of myomer twanged out the strains of an ancient Terran folk song. Picking away at the string-box was a wiry old man with a scraggly white beard, his skin chestnut brown from years under the suns of various worlds, his eyes obscured by a tarnished old pair of mirrored shades. The cigar tucked into the corner of his mouth was burned down to a bare stub, but despite never seeming to take a puff, he kept the cherry lit and glowing.
The old man, whom everyone just called "Pops," had only joined up with the Green Knights three years ago as Wrathchild's Mechtech, but it felt like he'd been there all along. Everybody knew Pops, and yet nobody seemed to know anything about him. According to some stories, he was a Taurian salvager on the run since the infamous Tripitz Affair. Other accounts had him as one of the original Waco Rangers. Depending on who you asked, Pops had served in the court of the First Prince of House Davion, lost two fingers in a duel with a DEST ninja, and been a former lover of "Lady Death" Paula Trevaline. Of course, most suspected that a good many of these stories had been spread around by Pops himself. He was always good for a tall tale, a strong drink from his still, a few dirty jokes, and a song.
"I'm so boooooored!" the high, somewhat nasally voice of a young girl cut into the old man's playing. "Play a happy song, Pops, this one's too slow!"
Pops raised an eyebrow and glanced at Sunshine "Sunny" von Kemp, the ten-year-old sister of Lena "Wrathchild" von Kemp, whose Wolverine had gone up in smoke and flames on the day of the coup. Hundreds of klicks away, her younger brother Diego was being held with the other civilians in some prison camp by the NPDRE. And yet to Sunny, this whole disaster was like a long camping trip.
"Happy songs are for happy times, young'un," Pops said, not missing a note as his fingers worked the frets from muscle memory. "Once the Colonel and the Knights are back with the food an' the water an' everything else, there'll be plenty to celebrate. If we celebrate before that, it'll jinx it."
"Does it have to be all this old stuff, though?" she complained. "Can't you play some Ded Mek or something?"
Pops chuckled. Ded Mek was an electronic punk band out of the new St. Ives Compact, which had been mostly cranking out vitriolic anti-Capellan protest songs. Lena had bought Sunny one of their albums as a souvenir during their last deployment, and Sunny listened to it non-stop for nearly a month before Pops 'accidentally' lost the batteries to her stereo. The girl didn't get any of the political messages; she'd thought that their big hit "Dear Romano" was a happy love song to a nice girl they liked, rather than an ironic hatchet-job against the Liao Chancellor and her crimes against humanity. Sunny just liked the energetic beats.
"Afraid I only know the old stuff," Pops grinned.
"That's because you are old stuff," Sunny joked, and the two shared a laugh.
Pops played another verse while Sunny listened, and after a while, she piped up again.
"Hey, Pops?"
"What is it, hon?"
"...I'm hungry."
While his hands continued to play, the expression on Pops' face struggled to keep its composure.
"We're all hungry, hun'," he said. "Just gotta hold out a little longer, 'til the Colonel gets back."
"...okay," the young girl said, pouting a bit.
To lighten the mood a bit, Pops asked, "So what's the first thing you wanna eat when the food gets here?"
"Oooooh," Sunny's eyes grew wide. "I want some lo mein noodles! Or some strawberry ice cream! Or--ooh! A Triple-F Burger, with all the toppings! But no pickles. I don't like pickles. And then some of Lena's hot chili and--"
At the mention of her sister, Pops' fingers slipped on the frets and he hit a sour note. The old man looked away.
"Whatever, she's coming back," Sunny said, arms crossed. "Anyway, what are you gonna eat when the food is here?"
Pops sighed. "I'd fight my way through the entire DCMS right now for a good juicy steak. Real beef, I mean, not one o' them "Meat Tree" fruits they ship outta Marlowe's Rift. A big thick ribeye, cooked juuust right, not a shade over medium-rare, with a side of Corridani tubers and greens...that'd do just fine. Right now, though, I'd be happy with just a can of hash and some coffee."
Sunny rolled her eyes. Grown-ups always wanted the most boring things to eat.
From farther up the mines came the rumbling of engines and the thundering steps of titanic feet, and the techs in the cavern began to spring to life.
"Well, looks like the break is over," Pops said, putting the guitar away and reaching into his pockets for a pair of earplugs. "Get your earmuffs on, kiddo."
Sunny nodded and pulled the too-big pair of noise-canceling earmuffs from around her neck to over her ears. The noise from a Lance of Battlemechs and a fleet of trucks in an enclosed area was going to be a hell of a racket, and Pops wanted to make sure the girl wasn't going to go deaf from it.
Sure enough, over the next few minutes, the cavern echoed with a riotous din. The convoy of trucks were the first to enter the chamber, and they had barely rolled to a stop before Sol's crew had begun to unload their precious cargo. Pops couldn't help but notice that there were two fewer than there should have been.
The Mobile HQ was next, parking itself in a corner out of the way.
Finally, the five Battlemechs, the three APCs, and the heavy Von Luckner tank thundered into the mine, each bearing the scars of combat across their armor. Pops took a look at the Raven and Ostroc, and let out a low whistle.
"Looks like the boys an' me are gonna have a loooong couple o' nights gettin' those fixed back up," he muttered, more to himself than to Sunny, who followed him about for want of anything to do.
Several minutes passed as the trucks were unloaded and the Mechwarriors climbed out of their machines. After a quick word with the Colonel, Doc Yuri and one of her assistant MedTechs hurried to the Raven, climbing up the gantry to tend to the pilot inside.
"Keep the Raven online until I say so!" Colonel Wayne shouted over the noise. "I want the ECM field up while Sol's crew checks every square centimeter of these trucks to make sure they're not bugged!"
Pops raised an eyebrow at that. That sort of thing was usually reserved for either the most elite of special forces, or the bad guys in a cheap holo-vid. If the Colonel was being this cautious, something must've really gotten under his skin.
"You heard the man!" Chief Aadil backed the Colonel up. "Check for anything, I mean any-damn-thing- out of the ordinary. You find so much as a screw out of place, I wanna know about it! Now get it done, people!"
There were a few groans mixed in with the yes-sirs, which were quickly met with a harsh glare and an unspoken promise that the Chief was going to call out a few names in the Scrap Yard that night.
After a while, the initial chaos settled into routine, and the Colonel gave out another general address.
"Mechwarriors, transmit your BattleROM footage to the HQ. I want to go over the data and determine how things went down. Debriefing in sixty minutes.
"Chief Aadil, I want a full inventory of what we've got from this mission on my desk before debrief. I know we're all hungry, and we're all thirsty, and we're all ready to enjoy the spoils of victory. But first, we need to know how much we have and how long we can make it last. Now that the Espian Guard and the Crimson Fists have been hit once, they're not going to make it easy for us to hit them again.
"Lastly, if anyone has or knows where to find the personal effects of the following people, bring them to me. AsTech Kyla Moore. MedTech Jimmy Okada. MechTech Eduardo Garcia. Engineer Mustafa Rasheed."
There were a few sad mutterings at the mention of the four volunteers who were killed in the fight.
"We'll mourn the ones we lost when we have the luxury of time to do so," the Colonel stated. "Until then, the mission remains. Vivere est mori."
"Vivere est mori!" Sergeant Dalton roared, the rest of the Buckshot Boys joining in unison.
"Vivere est mori," Chief Aadil said solemnly, a handful of techs echoing his voice.
"Shit," Pops cursed as he worked. "I liked those kids. Garcia was probably the worst hand I've ever seen with an arc-welder, but damned if he didn't know how to work with myomer. And Rasheed still owed me fifty C-Bills from the last card night."
"What was that thing everyone just said?" Sunny asked, carrying a clipboard and making a tally-mark for every drum of water Pops helped unload from the truck. This simple bit of inventory was the most useful thing the ten-year-old could do, and she was happy to finally be helping.
"It's some old Terran saying," Pops answered. "Means 'to live is to die.'"
"That doesn't make any sense," the girl said with a frown.
"It'll make sense when you're older," the old man said.
"And why does the Colonel want their personal effects?" Sunny asked.
"For the Memorial Hall," Pops explained. "Back on the Clover, on deck twelve. Not everybody comes back from a job, hon'. So we keep their memories alive by keeping something that was special to them. A lucky watch, a favorite wrench, a picture from back home. In Garcia's case, I'm gonna turn in that Hachiman camcorder he kept making vids on."
"I've got Lena's bear," Sunny mentioned, "But we're going to hold onto that for when she gets back."
"....yeah," Pops said, not looking the girl in the eye as he agreed. "For when she gets back."
Even strapped in securely, the last explosion had nearly lifted her out of her seat and she was sure the large wheels of the APC had momentarily left the ground from the blast force. Barely after she could even begin to reconcile this new horror, there was a new sound: rain. Pounding and torrential rain that washed over the lightly armored hull with such volume that all chatter within the small vehicle was ceased as the chassis lumbered and maneuvered towards the rally point as speedily as its driver dared. It was like a great curtain being pulled by some invisible hand over a small scene in her life that had brought her closer to death than she had ever been. The dim lights in the small space flickered over the rougher terrain and Reya, all adrenaline within herself completely spent, felt like she was being rocked to sleep in stark exhaustion. Within a few kilometers she was out and her head fell over like a ragdoll on Corporal Tucker’s shoulder.
------------
A gentle shrug woke her and she could see the other ‘Boys calmly preparing to disembark as her eyes slowly blinked open. Other voices could be heard outside amid the echoing rumble of a closed atmosphere.They were back at the cave and the stiffness in her neck ached badly. She massaged one hand over it beneath her hair and tried rotating her head around slowly. So tired she had been, that she hadn’t even loosened the belts and her shoulders and waist likewise ached from being held firmly in place. As she drowsily moved to unbuckle herself, Corporal Tucker stood up to fall in line with the rest of the company under Sgt Dalton’s command. She could hear the big Sergeant’s booming voice outside without even a hint of fatigue. He sounded the same as when they had departed. Tucker gave a small nod as they filed out and she was left alone.
Her hands moved slowly. Even though she had apparently slept for the vast majority of the return, she didn’t feel refreshed at all. The loose belts thunked against the hard seat and she let out a long sigh that dropped her shoulders.
Never in her life had she been so terrifyingly afraid. When they had fled the capital, she could at least see the threat and there was an idea of safety with the others and a tangible goal of escape. Even then, somewhere deep down, as arrogant as it felt to think, she didn’t believe they’d get her- and she was right, but the raid was completely different. Trapped inside a thin hull of metal, completely blind to the outside where a ferociously determined enemy had sought her violent death, her entire life had come down to random chance. Reya Wyatt, citizen of the Draconis Combine, heir daughter of Wyatt Interstellar, graduate of the Imperial Institute, dead on the backwater world of Espia where she had given up a bright future, voluntarily, to play war with a bunch of mercenaries.
She caught herself staring blankly.
Glancing outside, no one had yet noticed her with the lumbering arrival of the mechs. Reality was setting back within her mind and she immediately felt darkly regretful of the selfish thoughts. Still, as she looked at the ramp some part of her knew that she was now different from when she had stepped onboard.
“REYA!” Sunny shouted gleefully, running with arms wide. Reya Reya Reya, REYAREYAREYA REEEEEEE-YAAAAAAA! The young girl nearly took Reya off her feet and she dropped the case containing her drone on the cave floor. For a few seconds she didn’t speak and just held the embrace a little longer and a little closer. It was the same way Sunny often greeted Lena upon her return from the field and in some way, Reya felt like it restored her some measure of humanity.
“Did you get to do anything cool?! Sunny asked excitedly looking up.
Reya looked around briefly, still holding her arms around the girl. They were two supply trucks short. One of the missing told her exactly what the violent explosion had been before the rain and she shook her head slowly. Four people lost that could have just as well been her. At least the portable fusion reactor that she and Dalton had liquidated survived and there was already a crowd gathering around the unexpected prize. “Not really this time” She said, immediately seeing it wasn’t the recounting that Sunny was hoping for. “It was just-” Her voice trailed off when she spotted Pops’ ragged guitar. “Was he playing that depressing music again?"
“Oh my God, YES. He wouldn’t stop!" Sunny proclaimed with a dramatic measure of depleted ten-year-old patience. “I told him, I knew you’d be back, but he said it would be a jinx!”
Reya shrugged wearily. “Maybe he was right…” The exchange was cut short as she watched Dr. Yuri and one of her assistants hurriedly making their way to Ziska’s stricken Raven.
“Is miss Ziska gonna be alright?” Sunny asked, genuinely concerned. Even her young and inexperienced eyes could tell the Raven in particular had taken a colossal pounding.
“I think so…" But she wasn’t sure. Even injured, Ziska had managed to pilot the small mech all the way back, through a storm, with no problem. Reya wanted to go over, but knew better. Like herself, Dr. Yuri was a professional and she would only be in the way, especially with an energetic and inquisitive child in tow. She grabbed Sunny’s hand and picked up the drone case once more, “C’mon, I need to turn over all the footage my drone captured, after it’s copied, you can fly it around the cave all you want.”
Marit safed all the weapons, set the feed systems to unload the launchers and backed Archie into the ‘Mech Bay, the BattleMech leaning on the scaffolding to take weight off the actuators. Once the reactor had shut down and the gyros had spooled down safely, she untangled herself from the cables connecting to the neurohelmet, the six point harness and the tubing from the cooling vest. Taking the helmet off was always a relief, especially after eleven hours, and she took a few seconds to revel in the ability to roll her shoulders again. Setting a 50 minute timer to make it to the debriefing in time and uploading the BattleROM data, she went over the past eleven hours in her mind, looking for anything the Colonel might chew her out for to prepare for it: Some lapses in comms discipline, getting so fixated on one aerial threat she missed another. On the other hand fate decreed she called attention to the threat of Meteors just before the Warriors arrived, so maybe that would go unnoticed, and looting the extra containers was something she said, even if it was an obvious thing to do. She also took the time to note down a Striker, a turret and a Warrior, as well as an assisted Raven, into her logbook.
Next up on the agenda were the post-deployment checks. Two minutes later, her side of those was almost done and she climbed out of the ‘Mech. Lovett was already waiting for her at the hatch with a towel and a bottle of water to rinse off the crust of sweat she’d built up during the mission, while the rest of the technical team were pinning the actuators and doing preliminary visual checks. Retreating back into the cockpit to get dressed somewhere warm, she finished the last item on her checklist by reading off the runtime clocks to Lovett. “So how are we looking overall?” The senior technician of the ragtag team asked, checking what she reported against his notes. ”Dents from LRMs in armor plating, legs and center torso, but nothing breached it. Others had it way worse. How are we looking on regular maintenance?“ “Next up’s the gyros, 2804 hours left on those. Everything else is 4k plus.” ”By then we’ll be long gone.” “One way or the other.” ”Oh shush, yee of little faith.” She jokingly chided the ‘MechTech, a wagging finger rising up from the hatch, ”Anyway, as far as Overhauls are concerned, we’re laughing. You need me here for anything else?” “No, we’re fine. You brought him back in good condition.”
With her responsibilities out of the way, she set about climbing down the scaffolding, stopping at the ‘hip level’ where the techs were busy preparing to start removing the damaged armor plating. When they set out in the morning, she hadn’t noticed Rimmer’s swollen lip. ”Afternoon, guys. Dave, how long will this take?” “It’s only a few sections, less than a ton. Two hours, but more if the mountings are damaged, why?” ”When you’re done here, I’d like you to head on over to Alleycat and Ramrod’s bays, see if they need extra hands. Those two got beat up pretty bad.” “Yea, I saw. What did you piss off that could do that?” ”A Raven, a Jenner, a Wolfhound and a Longbow.” “Smeg… Alright, will do”
Despite the deaths, she still felt good about the mission. They lost four of their number, yes, some food and ammunition and had been forced to abandon some of the cargo containers. But still, there was some good news too, in addition to the nine trucks of loot and surviving an ambush by the Crimson Fists. ”We got one!” She called cheerfully to a crowd of onlookers with a thumb up as she set out to take a walk around the ‘Mech Cave. She’d go check on Ziska once the doctors were done with her. The Colonel was correct - she was hungry and thirsty alright, but most of all, after eleven hours in a chair, she needed to stretch her wooden legs.
The residual steam from her Ostroc hadn't yet dissipated before she was climbing down its side, having to skip a couple rungs on the mounted handholds as they had been blown off by shrapnel in the fighting. There were still a couple pockets that glowed with an unnatural heat within the cratered armor, and its innards hung open like a man disembowled.
Ingrid was better off, nothing more than the usual slight tenderness in the limbs from getting thrown around in combat. A few seconds after she left the comfortable sauna of her cockpit, the winter cold of the cave - amplified by wearing not much else besides a cooling jacket, boots and briefs - bit at her skin. Her expression was grave, her lower lip pulled taut upward as she took her neurohelmet off, handing it to advancing form of Sanders silently.
"Ma'am?"
"Yes?"
"Looks like you managed to get the shit beaten out of you, ma'am."
"I did, Sanders. Thank you for your work on the hand actuators." She gave a brief huff through her nose, and looked at him in the eye as she added "If her crew is willing, get to work on the Raven first. I did not suffer much here."
She heard him say something about a savior complex, but paid it no heed. From there it was straight to her 'room', a subdivision made with some leftover medical curtains, where unlike the others she had no one waiting to welcome her back. Her interim period was spent bathing by dumping lukewarm water over her head and calling it even, returning to her whole uniform, and then marching back to the briefing table. There, she sat on a crate with her sheathed saber clasped over by both hands and pointed toward the ground. The spitting image of an old Terran warlord of many centuries ago, if being a short, barely imposing and slightly damp woman didn't impact that impression.
In her own internal estimation, she hadn't succeeded. Supplies were here, casualties were acceptable, but their expenses in repairing damage were going to be great and not all of the supplies were here. The debriefing would be the ultimate determining factor in their success, but for now, the tight-lipped expression Ingrid made while staring forward was enough to get across that she had failed by her own metric.
She was tired. Staying awake had required more effort than she remembered. Thomas. Thrice-Hanged. Seemed to know better than to bother her. She almost forgot he was still in the cockpit. Muscle memory sent her fingers clattering across keys, broadcasting her Battle Rom data to the Green Knight HQ. She liked the cave. She quite liked the cave. It was comfy, Ziska had argued more than once. She enjoyed the rough sparseness of their temporary base. There were less distractions. Less interruptions.
Only what mattered remained. Only what they could carry with them. It was only a matter of time before they had to move again. The Crimson Fists and government forces wouldn't be caught napping again. Hunters would be coming. The old game would begin again. Cat and mouse, well...cat and cat. They weren't just prey. And the Crimson Fists weren't just hunters. Every step, every sortie, every chance they got they'd make the Crimson Fists pay. In blood, in mechs, and in lives.
"Ziska?" A voice asked from far away, accompanied by the gentle hiss of the cockpit seal disengaging and a gust of mercifully cold air as the cockpit hatch opened. There was a familiar lilt to the feminine voice, a Combine clip, serious and to the point,"The Colonel said to keep the Raven running, he wants the ECM to stay on, he’s worried about surveillance devices."
"Yeah, yeah, I had heard him," Ziska managed, flicking switches until the RVN-3L patiently waited in standby mode, the fusion reactor no more than a gentle hum. "What are you going here, Doc?"
"You’re hurt," Doctor Yuri Nakajima said matter-of-factually. Ziska admired her directness, her professionalism. Nakajima didn't play games. She didn't pretend. She didn't tell people what she thought they wanted to hear. Just like Davids. Just like Davids, Nakajima made it a habit to correct Ziska, and she tried, damned if she didn't try to convince Ziska to drink less, to act less rashly, and to get into fewer fights.
"Says who?" Ziska managed, ignoring the throbbing pain.
"Ziska! Look at me," Doc said, peering down at Ziska over her sliding glasses.
"Sorry, Doc, it’s kind of hard to see right now. I tried wiping away the blood, but never was much good at cleaning. What was that the Colonel said about a briefing?"
"Don't worry about that now, let me take a look at you, that's a nasty cut."
"Turns out it's not a good idea to eat a volley of LRMs from an Assault...who would've thought?" Ziska rambled, laughing as she released her safety, and stumbled to her feet.
"Ziska, listen, you need medical attention! Sit down! Stop moving!" Doctor Yuri Nakajima snapped, pushing Ziska back into the seat. For all her many qualities, it was too bad Nakajima couldn't take a joke, Ziska recalled, remembering the last time the doctor had yelled at her.
"I need a drink. We can do this dance later. Let me go, Doc, I'm sure there's someone else you can fix first."
"Ziska, if you don't stop moving, I will simply have Master Sergeant Dalton secure you until I can properly treat your wounds. And I promise you, he won't be nearly as gentle as I will be."
"I can take him," Ziska said, doing her best to glare at the doctor with her guy.
"You're going to get yourself killed if you keep this up, Ziska."
"Nah, cat's got nine lives, don't you know? I'm only at fifteen. Plenty more to go."
"Are you going to behave or do I need to get the sedative?"
"Fine, Fine!" Ziska grumbled, raising her hands in mock defeat. "You can have five minutes, Doc. Glue or staples, it's all the same to me, just patch me up enough for the briefing. You can have your way with me after."
Supported by an exasperated looking Doctor Nakajima, Ziska emerged from the smoldering RVN-3L with a bandage covering the right side of head and an open bottle of Tikinov vodka clutched in her left hand.
Her technicians, already feverishly attacking the ruined armor of the BattleMech, looked up as Ziska sauntered forward with the help of the doctor. Seeing Ziska, Kesi's face turned pale, and for a moment Ziska almost felt bad. Kesi was too kind to be a mercenary, she thought. She was a good friend and Ziska knew she would be worried. Sunther pretended not to notice and offered a brief nod, before turning his attention back to the data pad in front of him. Minhas looked to be on the verge of tears, casting worried gazes at the RVN-3L and Ziska in equal measure. Kan, serene as ever, to Ziska's great annoyance, simply approached to offer Ziska a kind touch on her shoulder and gentle squeeze. Licht frowned, aware of the amount of repairs that would have to be done, but Davids, Davids was already raging.
"You call this being careful?"
"Careful enough," Ziska shot back with a grin. "Drink?"
"You can shove that bottle right up your ass, Ziska," Davids spat, picking up a wrench, storming down the gantry, and back to the RVN-3L.
"Well, more for me," Ziska said, shrugging as she took a slow, heavy pull from the bottle. Doctor Nakajima's frown did little to dissuade her.
"Minhas, don't look so worried! I'm fine. The RVN-3L is...uhhh...mostly fine. Traded some armor for a Crimson First RVN-3L, no more, no less. But now, help me get me to the briefing, Davids can manage without you for half an hour."
About ten klicks from the neodymium mine, Hugh suppressed a chuckle as he lowered his rangefinder binoculars, allowing them to dangle carelessly from a lanyard around his neck. All that manpower and gear on the side of those red bastards and yet not a single one of them noticed little old him lurking in the bushes, in that weather, watching the whole shebang go down. Come to think of it, neither did the Green Knight mercs, but that could be chalked up to them not being from here. While the rebel hated the NPDRE with a vengeance, as a fellow Espian he couldn't help but cringe with embarrassment on their behalf for not knowing as well as they should the lay of the land. Their land. Just as well though, or else they might've carried the day or tracked the Green Knights back to their base – terrifying prospects both.
But why though? Could it be that stomping and rolling around virtually unopposed with all that firepower at their disposal simply got to their heads?
Or maybe – just maybe – despite all that jingoistic “all-Espian” propaganda they've been putting out always and everywhere since taking power, not everyone fighting on the side of the NPDRE are actually Espians?
Those questions and others like them are better pondered over a nice stiff drink and in the company of like-minded people, Hugh thought as he remembered the Mason jar by his side, with its now dog-eared and faded green knight label. The empty jar and the rangefinders were the only things he carried with him after stashing his Lumberjack in the woods some distance away; after all, it stands to reason that the offworlders would be mighty suspicious of an unfamiliar native like him waltzing into their hideout just like that, not to mention still having some really itchy trigger fingers right after their sortie, common enemies notwithstanding. Not packing weapons of any kind might improve his chances of making it through without getting roughed up, or worse.
Hugh picked up the jar as he got up from his crouch and made his way to the mine, grinning at the thought that whoever made the hooch to sell on the black market must've done so on the sly, meaning he won't be the only one in hot water at the end of the day.
Arriving at the entrance, Hugh placed the Mason jar visibly at his feet then put his hands up in the air. “Hello? Anyone home?” the Espian called out. “I'm looking to buy some of this fine moonshine right here, heard you people happen to be making some.”
