Norms
2729
Matheran system nadir, Duchy of Oriente,
Free Worlds League
Klemens Humphreys
The Civil War started three months ago. It has been three months of desperation. It was the nightmare every civil war promises to be. Brother had turned against brother, sister against sister, parents against their children, and children against their parents.
The many militias of the Free Worlds League were the hardest hit. The two-decade-long purge of the Federalist units could not stop good citizens from recognizing a good cause, and they willingly sacrificed themselves for the cause. God, bless their souls. Two units of the Federalist Marik Militia had safely escaped intact. The 3rd and the 8th Marik Militia were our only two Federalist mech regiments. The rest of those fine warriors unfortunately sided with The Bitch, though they were moderately weakened in the infighting. The Marik Commonwealth, Oriente, and Andurien's provincial militias suffered no losses. The Regulans and their Indian warrior brotherhood were not so lucky, having turned in on themselves despite Cameron-Jone's best efforts.
I was wrong in my initial assessment. The Civil War would not be the stomping by Elise's loyalists that I expected. She pissed on the shoes of far too many people, and now she is to reap what she has sown. For now, we rebel souls, fighting in the name of tradition and democracy, stand equal to The Bitch and her tyranny.
That would not last.
Time is not on our side, for the weakened Regulus has sided with the Loyalists. Ultimately, that was two-fifths of the League's military and economic siding with Elise, not counting The Stewart Commonality, The Principality of Gibson, and the Duchy of Graham-Marik. Us rebels could only count on Oriente, itself possessing one-fifth of the League's economic and martial might, Kalidasa, and my own Andurien.
We had, perhaps, four years at most before the loyalists rallied enough resources to crush us. Already three months have disappeared, putting our battleline to rights.
Oliver and Boris Marik have, in coordination with the Parliament-in-Exile, identified two provinces that must be brought into our camp so that we may stand victorious. The first is the Duchy of Orloff, and of course, the Principality Regulus.
Boris' plan was simple, we moved to secure our rear towards Capellan space and push to the galactic north and west, coreward and anti-spinward. Should we accomplish our initial objective, we shall have only one front to worry over, while the Loyalists will have two, and a thousand planetary ones. Additionally, with the Duchy of Orloff, the combined might of us rebels will be equal to the combined might of the larger Loyalist provinces. Boris made some noise about the smaller provinces eventually siding with us. But, that was my dear Boris' softer side speaking. He was no warrior, he and I recognized that much. Though I appreciate the gesture for what it is. Our cause is righteous, and the Sphere knows it.
Boris in his capacity as the twenty-eighth Captain-General shall lead our forces into the threefold borders of the Marik Commonwealth, the Principality of Regulus, and the Duchy of Andurien. There he shall cause such a ruckus that all available loyalist divisions will be drawn into a single front. Meanwhile, Boris has entrusted upon me and my Defenders of Andurien with the task of crushing the loyalists inside the Duchy of Orloff. A task that I shall not fail.
The klaxons screamed overhead, and a baleful red light enshrouded all corners of the aging Vincent Mk39 Corvette.
"All hands brace for Jump," said the Captain. "Estimated time to Jump ten minutes out. All hands, I say again, brace for Jump, ten minutes out."
Technically, it is unnecessary for passengers to brace themselves. However, playing with the higher truths of the natural world is never kind to the human body, and so dizziness or worse is a common reaction. There were of course exceptions to this. Sailors and aerospace pilots are almost always universally selected for their ability to ignore, if not be completely unaffected by, Jump spells. That alone is what keeps the majority of humanity away from becoming true sailors.
"All hands, this is your Captain speaking, we are five minutes out from Jump…" The speakers croaked out.
And of this special few was an even smaller subsection of humanity, the sailors and aerospace fighter pilots who make their living in the military trades. They were the rarest breed of warriors, and here in this corvette, I am humbled to be their commander.
"All hands, we are one minute out from Jump…"
I tried to think up more things to distract myself, as I sat in the jump seat of the command room. But, nothing would come. All that was left was the building of mild anxiety as we approached closer to emergence.
"Thirty seconds…" Claimed the good Captain. "10 seconds…
T-minus, nine seconds…
Eight…
Seven…
Six…
Five…
Four…
Three…
Two…
One…
Jump imminent." The Captain's voice then cut.
Suddenly, I went from being strapped comfortably into my jump seat, to having a dizzy spell spin the room anti-clockwise. Then the ship lurched forward like an ungainly frog. Unlike me, the sailors were already moving.
"Still get the spins from Jumping, I see," said a cheeky voice to my right. Ana Kos was a long-time friend, fellow MechWarrior, and commanding officer of the 3rd Andurien Defenders. A grunt in reply was all that I could manage. She softly chuckled at the schadenfreude.
I took a further ten seconds to right myself and join my commanders. As I looked at the holographic map I could see the good Captain had already dispatched the fighters out, an entire wing, eighteen aerospace fighters, flew around my fleet as the DropShips disengaged from the Jumpship Jump-collars.
As we had arrived at the system's Pirate Point, the world's L1 Lagrange point, we were functionally atop our target of Vanra at seven hours out. With the sun at our backs, we had sprung a surprise attack, and our emergence signature was the war horn sounding at their open gates.
Boris had given me orders to secure the BattleMech parts factory below, and Boris implored me to further secure the local aerospace industries intact for our cause if I was able. For the industries below were investors and buyers of his high-performance electronic concerns. I could do both. I was eager to do more, however. Orloff was once a part of the Duchy of Oriente, but after Camlann v Free Worlds League, they split off into their own province.
Orloff was a small province, but they had such a rich martial tradition that they exerted far more influence than their size suggests. That was especially true within the military circles. The 'Orloff Mafia' they were called, the 'Pompous Shankers' to their detractors. This is because Vanra is a warrior's world, the upper echelons emphasize proper behavior. Proper behavior that emphasizes a tradition of honor. Dueling for honor is common. At dawn and at dusk, in the streets, in the Capital's gardens, in the parking lot, duels happened everywhere, despite it being 'officially' outlawed.
Vanra's traditions and culture were partly thanks to the local Order of the Saber. The Order of the Saber was the highest possible award given by the Captain-General, recognizing true extraordinary heroism. It was in short a warrior's lodge, hardly unique within the Free Worlds League, but this one was explicitly tied to exemplary service to the Free Worlds League. When Vanra is inducted into the ranks of the rebels, by right of conquest we shall command some of the very best warriors the League has to offer, and the additional propaganda coup of the Free Worlds League's best serving again.
"Taking out Vanra, and by extension the Duchy of Orloff is an intelligent decision by our Captain-General. With it, Vanra's courtiers will have to side with us, giving us access to the most connected network of individuals within the League," spoke Ana.
I huffed dismissively. Well, yes. There were also the courtiers. But who cares about them? Certainly not me. Ana just rolled her eyes in reply to mine, before continuing.
"Really, old man. The courtiers of Vanra are the League's best designers and tailors. They literally have the ears of everyone of even mild importance within the League," she lectured. The rest of the commanders made themselves known, laughing with her softly. I had taken three of my four Defenders of Andurien with me to ensure total victory.
"Come off it, Ana. Our old man has nothing but Andurien and fighting on his mind," said Colonel Rachel Geravis, the commanding officer of the 2nd Defenders of Andurien.
That got the rest into a proper roaring laugh. I had to admit it was funny.
As we settled down, my aerospace fighter leader, Commodore Radford Rose, chose this moment to get us back to the business of war. "My Duke, I assume we are following standard tactics."
"That would be correct," I answered, before continuing. "There's no point in taking risks here. We have the advantage in BattleMechs, and an entire wing of ASF fighters besides. We have them at a three-to-one advantage. We just need to offer terms, and should they reject our terms, meet them on the field of battle. We'll roll them over in less than a day."
An aerospace aide, judging from his rank wings, entered past the blast doors, coming by with a noteputer. "From the Captain, sirs. Preliminary reconnaissance and analysis are complete. These are the results." He handed it off to the Captain before saluting and leaving.
The Captain skimmed a bit before speaking, "Well here's some good news, intelligence is correct." Ah. That was indeed good news. "One BattleMech Regiment planetside. Though no sighting of their ASF compliment. But if it is just one Battlemech Regiment…"
"Then there can't be more than one squadron," I finished.
Excellent. We won't have to change our plans.
Nearly seven hours later, the ASF Captain was on the comm net ordering and coordinating his fighters into formation. We were going to perform the most exciting maneuver any military man must learn, orbital reentry. I sat strapped into my mech, cooling suit on, waiting for the fun to begin. I was in good cheer, for I had come prepared and brought a mighty warship to tip the scales of fate ever more in my favor.
The DropShip tipped. Unlike before on my vacation to Canopus, I wore a military suit, better capable of handling the mighty forces of gravity. I only felt some pressure when the embrace of gravity made itself known to us. The wonders of technology mitigated one of the fundamental forces of existence. Now if only they could do something about Jump dizziness.
Yelling erupted from both my commie and the DropShip speakers. In a controlled panic, the DropShip captain broke in. "Ladies and Gents, ensure yer all strapp'd in. We got aeros coming in hot. Mix bag of meds and lights. Gothas and Cheetahs most likely…" That was not to expectation. With only one wing Vanra's defenders couldn't afford to throw them away in a doomed assault on a DropShip convoy with an entire regiment of ASF. "All hands and passengers, latest from up high is that the enemy has brought out four wings of ASF into play. Say a prayer and sit tight. I'll get back to y'all twenty-five out." Just as he finished, I pieced together enough of what Radford was shouting through the comm net to come to the same conclusion.
Of course, an aerospace industry meant aerospace assets. Vanra wasn't a place for final assembly, but parts manufacturing for ASF and DropShips meant they had the skills and equipment on hand to do so. Judging from the fact that the Vanrans put out four squadrons, that ought to mean they were preparing for war too for some time.
My fretting for myself and my DropShips was for naught, however, as someone on the commie screamed out, "They're going for the DAS Sovereign!"
Blast it. Trapped as I am inside my mech, I would have to trust my navy's superior weight in tonnage to see off our foe.
I couldn't see or hear a thing of the battle that raged just outside the thin skin of my DropShip. All I had was the angry yelling from the commie, and my prayers to keep me company.
It was the longest half hour of my life.
Communications and sensors were reestablished now that the ionized gasses of reentry no longer blinded us. We made our way to the north of Utrecht per our backup plan. Nine Dictators and a number of Triumphs screamed down from the black heavens to land in clearings near the local boreal forest. A few of those Triumphs broke off for their own sites.
During the landing procedure, I had come to learn DAS Sovereign had been foundered. The remaining navy DropShips had returned the gesture and savaged the Vanran reinforced ASF wings. Only two of the enemy's reinforced wings of ASF had returned planetside, many missing their armor and doing the fighter equivalent of a limp.
When we finally landed, night darkened the Catania Highlands and a light fog swept in. As soon as the doors opened, I rushed my Awesome out of the DropShip along with the rest of my 1st Defenders of Andurien's mechs. Time waited for no man. That was doubly true for the enemy.
The highlands were as famous abroad in the League as Utrecht itself. One of the many hunting grounds of the local nobility, it was ninety kilometers north of Utrecht. The Catania Highlands were a hilly and heavily wooded boar country, visible even from orbit. Perfect to stage an assault out of, and better still for our purposes, as the woods canopy cover would hide us from our foe's air superiority until we reached three hours out of Utrecht. Not that there was much cover after at a DropShip landing site, not with the fusion torch engines and all.
When the enemy revealed their numerically superior air assets, it activated one of our many secondary plans. Though, it originally assumed air parity between our opposing forces. Whatever else, we had landed. While it is true that mechs are helpless in the transition from orbit to surface, it is equally true that no one dominates planetside warfare as much as the Battlemech. The enemy's dominance of the air could now be properly countered by the combined might of three regiments worth Mechwarriors and their supporting assets.
I chirped into the comm net, "Warriors, as soon as all mechs are disembarked, we make for Orfloff City. Leave the convi's, they have enough assets to 'ware the enemy." With the Orloff Grenadiers outnumbered three-to-one and their ASF recently spent, the safest and most logical act was to simply push towards the enemy's most valued non-mobile asset, the mech-parts factory just outside of Utrecht. Give them no time to think, to plan, or to prepare. "Are we ready? Good, set speed to thirty-kay, and form The Fist. I want to be at Objective Primus as the dawn breaks at our back." Guns thundered in the background as I spoke my orders. It seems the enemy has bought the bait then. Good.
The immediate affirmations of my regiments were heartening, but not so sweet as the promise of battle.
"Papa Actual, this Sierra Actual. Reporting for the thirty-minute check-in. No contacts. Nothing unusual. Be advised, tree cover is thinning rapidly as we approach Objective Primus. Enemy air assets will have partial visual on The Battlefist. Out."
The light BattleMechs had ranged well ahead of the Battlefist and reported nothing of interest two hours in. Reports from the comm net had informed me the enemy nearly committed themselves fully against the bait south of the city. Disappointing, but expected. They'll be rearranging themselves against us soon, but by the time we'll meet it will be after I've taken the mech parts factory.
"Papa Actual, this is Alpha Charlie. Be advised: One lance of Victor Fox assets is vectored to your location. Model unknown. ETA ten minutes. Will update you as the situation develops at Objective Charlie. Out."
My people's warbooks have been updated quite recently. If it is unknown, then it must be new. More and more, the Vanrans reveal additional air capability not previously known. You can't make scout planes in a month, nor three. This was a deliberate build-up over, at minimum, a year.
Later, the scout mechs reported a single lance of conventional recon aeros flying overhead. Rather queer, but it explains in part how they've gotten a new model up so quickly. By creating an obsolete weapon from a bygone age they have short-cut much of the pains of design and production since any secondary school juvie can design and build them.
"Papa Actual, this is Alpha Charlie. We are seeing unusual activity East of your position. One lance. Light metal, ten tonnes. They are moving at one-hundred-and-ninety-four, that is, One. Niner. Four. Kilometers per hour, heading North, on the northern highway. They will be roughly parallel to your unit inside the forest, thirty minutes from now. No change at Objective Primus. Out."
At ten tonnes and at that speed, they couldn't be anything more than a bunch of heavy scout cars. Now we'll soon have all the eyes that the Vanran need on us.
I activated my comms and spoke my riposte, "Victor Charlie Actual, this is Papa Actual. Phase One. Alpha One. Break. Phase Two. Alpha Mark. Out. Sierra Company this is Papa Actual, swap Beta Company. Dancer. Expect, one lance of vees. Tenners. Papa Actual, out." A series of affirmations followed.
It was now my gun's turn to thunder out. The light mechs peeled back to reveal the heavier medium mechs. Their destination was to ward our rear against the scout cars. The mediums will perform adequately as the skirmish line with orbital surveillance to support them, and empty gently rolling plains before us. Everything was currently according to the timetable. And now we were out of the woods, the dawn breaking just behind us.
"Contact rear!"
What the devil?!
Captain Samson continued, "This is Sierra Actual. Enemy contacts are Ripper VTOLs. Company strength, slashing attacks from the forest. Light damage taken." That wasn't what was reported from the aerospace command. "I am having difficulty visually identifying them with the Mk I's. Thermals are having equal difficulty, as the vee's temperature matches the temperature of the trees. Mag sensors work, but treeline is providing cover. Sensors indicate they are doing more damage than would be expected. They are possibly a nonstandard mo-"
"Papa Actual this is Alpha Charlie. Fifty-tonne Aero assets have scrambled from Objective Charlie's aeroport. They have split into three wings and are converging on your position from the East, West, and South. ETA fifteen minutes," cut in the crackling commie. It was too soon for all two of the Vanran's reinforced air wings to be ready to fly again. As a betting man, I'm certain these new wings are all conventionals based on the recon plane sighting. "CAP is already on an intercept course with the Western wing. Out." That is unfortunate. Mechs typically mount their weapons on the right arms, before arming the left.
I seethed. Thankfully, superior equipment would see us through. But, they had us dead to rights. The vees must have stacked upon each other as they tried their best to surf the land. Thus, tricking orbital reconnaissance. They're just powerful enough to kill on a backstab, and so must be dealt with. That alone would slow or stop one of our companies. Who in turn would be sitting ducks for the air regiment. An excellent demonstration of Vanran martial skills. But a better-equipped foe would seriously blunt my Battlefist. As it is, we will merely be delayed.
"All BattleMechs. This is Lord Humphreys. Vee assault rear. Conventional air regiment, incoming. Stand-to. Give them hell." Hmph. This wasn't how I wanted my first battle, but that is how war is.
The mechs of my regiments are an eclectic bunch. I had to buy whatever was available on the market. Leaving me with only four mechs capable of long-range fire support—Two Dervishes, an Orion, and a Catapult. The conventionals were soon spotted flying high in the sky at nine hundred kilometers per hour. They let loose a barrage of LRM fire, twenty a piece, from those upjumped vees. As usual, about a third of the missiles succumbed to modern ECM and exploded ineffectually. But the convi's opened up their bellies, and I knew I f*cked up.
Each conventional fighter dropped one bomb as they strafed us. I gave no orders to open fire, for I didn't need to. Lasers, tracers, lighting, missiles, and more reached out and touched the thin-skinned fighters. Some had their bombs explode within their bays, and a baleful fire engulfed a few of them. It was worse than I realized, they were using a combination of high explosives and inferno bombs. Luckily, we were in the open, so we would have clear lines of fire into the sky. A more cautious commander would be cooking alive in that forest as a man-made firestorm caressed them.
Just as quickly as they came. It was over. The last of the conventionals corkscrewed into the ground, the slightest damage being too much for them. There were no survivors from the bombing run. Captain Samson had radioed in that the Rippers retreated due East, probably to return to the city. Twenty minutes in total. The mech parts factory's backup generators for their emplacements should be turned on soon. We might still make it. Then the commie crackled to life again, another laser transmission from aerospace command. No doubt it was Jennifer coming with more bad news from Commodore Rose.
"Papa Actual this is Alpha Charlie. All enemy air wings have been neutralized. The sky is clear, for now," the tinny voice of Jennifer relayed. "Additionally, the Orloff Grenadier regiment will arrive at Objective Primus within three hours… I have been informed that the unit garrisoning this world is the 2nd 'Superiority in Action' Orloff Grenadiers."
That explained quite a bit. The Orloff brigade has a League-wide reputation for excellence on and off the battlefield, as well as wide operational latitude. However, two of the five of them are newly created. The older regiments possess the keener minds and more seasoned veterans. The 2nd Orfloff Grenadiers are the second-oldest regiment of the Orloff Grenadiers, and thus are the second foremost regiment of the Grenadiers. Now having garrisoned Vanra for some time, they have recruited and trained with the local militia protecting Vanra. Vanra being a warrior's world, there was no shortage of volunteers for war, nor doomed battles.
That settles it, then. "All mechs speed to fifty kays. Let us give them our reply!"
Utrecht was fairly large, home to something around six hundred thousand souls. The factory was northeast of the city. The parts it produced were the all-important gyroscopes, a necessary part to ensure the steady flow of BattleMechs. We were now ten minutes away from it. I keyed into the comm net and gave some important instructions. "Victor Charlie Actual, this is Papa Actual. Phase two. Set one-oh. Out." The comm suite automatically confirmed the line was good, and signaled that he received and would follow my orders. Ah, the joys of modern technology. No one would ever have to deal with the tedium of those bygone days again! "Echo Actual, you have the right. Close the door. Alpha Actual, proceed as planned." The 2nd and 3rd Andurien Defenders peeled off.
The factory loomed before us, back dropped by Utrecht. The factory's tall walls and gun turrets would soon greet us. Then the whole thing erupted in fire just as my first mechs entered range. Great gouts of ferrocrete and dirt lifted into the air, like puddles do when it rains. A battlecry sounded out on the open air, by radio and audio we screamed our bloodlust.
Then a PPC shot flashed out.
A Wasp took the hit and fell.
Enemy mechs!
At f*cking last! I shall soon have a proper battle. I switched to my regiment's channel and drummed out the battle plan. "All companies standard battleline two." After a series of affirmations, the regiment reformed itself into three lines to exploit the holes in their wall. The heaviest went to the front to absorb the damage. The rest behind, supporting us with fires and e-warfare.
My Awesome led my lance's charge. Right behind me were an Orion, and a Warhammer—the lances Catapult staying behind tubes firing. Before me was a hole big enough for three heavy mechs to walk abreast. A Stoic Wolverine stood tall upon the ruins of the wall, calmly putting rounds into my regiment's charge. It was picturesque, the perfect image of a MechWarrior. The Wolverine then started slowly walking back down from the top, now more sensibly half-covered by debris.
A shame.
The running pace I set would throw off my aim at distance. So I held my peace until I knew I could score a hit. At three hundred meters, I pulled the trigger. Three bolts of pure force slashed out through the air. Two shots hit and one went wide, it passed through his left. The Wolverine's right and center torso was now black. The chest livery of the 2nd Orloff Grenadiers was gone.
Realizing that now one-third of his frontal armor was gone, my foe refocused on me specifically. Too bad, the second rounds of artillery fell. Smoke curtained the battlefield, they could not see. And we were now upon them.
I crested the wreck of the walls, seeing nothing by my eyes or sensors. But, I knew where my foe was.
My left fist lashed out and struck true. I had caved in the center of my quarry. The Wolverine fell, giving no response. Most likely, the MechWarrior was too dazed to do so.
A Wolverine mounted two main weapons, the venerable AC/5 and the daunting SRM-6—mounted on the right arm and left torso respectively. An AC/5 is nearly useless in close-quarter combat, so he would seek to use it to shield his SRM-6. Being audacious yet cautious, he would most certainly side-step to the left so that he was clear of my charge and ready to give battle.
I couldn't admire what I wrought, as there were more foes to fell, and so many allies eager for their own marks.
Sudeesh's Orion stepped in beside me, watchful with his guns ready. Following him were the rest of the light and medium mechs. "Milord, there appears to have been only a single lance to man the walls. They have retreated deeper within."
"We shall proceed as scheduled," I replied. I surveyed the skirmish site. The smoke was clearing from our area. A wind was blowing it into the city. Despite a few surprises, everything was going quite well.
The rest of the Grenadier lance was soon swiftly defeated. We spent the next 15 minutes clearing out the surface of the factory of secondaries, the MechWarriors. The Vanran vees and well-dug-in infantry gave a good showing, but they were nothing to warrant my proper attention. The harder part was still ahead, to clear the thick ferrocrete brutalist block warehouses and deeper below where the parts were manufactured. That would be the responsibility of our supporting assets, however. And then two things happened at once. The ground beneath my mech's feet heaved slightly up then sank back down, and Rachel's stressed voice sounded through the comm net.
"Papa Actual, this is Echo Actual. Enemy ASF is in the air. I say again, enemy ASF is in the air over Objective Charlie. Multiple other air assets were also identified. Several companies of modified Ripper VTOLs and more wings of conventionals." A long-suffering sigh escaped my lips, letting out my frustration through my breath. The Grenadiers had foiled my primary objective. And, their hammer? They were intent on using it. "We have engaged the Grenadiers near the city center. Resistance is stiff. Requesting reinforcements," I acknowledged and made my regiment about turn, meanwhile I shot out a quick warning to Ana about what transpired in the factory. We shall enter the city through the northern highway and then continue on to take the city and its spaceport.
As soon as we walked out, a wing of the Grenadiers' conventionals was upon us again. Blessedly, we were only strafed with primitive rockets and machine guns. But, we had to stop to properly address them, lest they get a lucky backstab. This time they retreated with some of their members in good order. I traded some words with aerospace command during it. It was the smoke. The smoke barrage was making orbital surveillance difficult with all its anti-sensor additives. Crazy bastards, these Vanrans. Sortieing for airstrikes while blind. The moxy of these people!
For all my due respect for the enemy, their air superiority was beginning to suffocate our timetable. I wanted this world captured within eight hours at the quickest. However, recent events have pushed it closer to our more modest timetable of a full day. Our ammunition in general was depleted by a quarter, and the long-ranged munitions were one-third of the way gone. The loss of the DAS Sovereign took with it most of our supplies. I dread to hear Sudeesh's report after this debacle. My second will not be pleased.
We were harried by more airstrikes as we approached the city. This time by their proper ASF. They delayed us by precious minutes and ripped tonnes of armor off my regiment's backs. Once inside, the airstrikes ceased. The airstrikes by the fighters at least. The Rippers made themselves known inside the city proper. They flashed between buildings, in our fleeting meetings they would shoot off their three medium lasers while moving. We took hits. They took none. Our attempts to return the gesture were simply too slow, and we went from a run to a walk to 'ware our foe.
It wasn't long before Rachel's and my forces rejoined. They were in a furious exchange with the rest of the 2nd Orloff Grenadiers, who had their supporting forces with them. Some handfuls of Von Luckner wrecks and scores of infantry corpses dotted the streets. The minimap showed Rachel's arrayed themselves in standard battline one. A row of mechs traded blows with their quarry, careful not to be caught by a lucky AC/20.
Ana's voice sliced in through the battle's din, "Alpha Actual to Papa Actual. We have cleared the surface of Objective Secundus. Proceeding to Objective Charlie. We will likely be delayed due to enemy air superiority."
I had the measure of the Grenadiers by now. With my regiment's addition, we could stretch the battleline longer, and enfold upon our enemy's weaker sides. They don't have enough BattleMechs to stop us now.
With a single order, the regiment split into two. I swung my wing right, leading the way. A single Ripper flashed through my mag sensors between the buildings on my right. As I walked, I lifted my right arm, anticipating where the Rippers would reveal themselves. I saw the wind swirl the light smoke before I saw the Ripper. I pulled the trigger, one PPC fired off just shy of the corner of the buildings down the T-intersection. I was right to do so, my reward was the flash explosion of a vee going up. Moving at nearly a hundred kilometers per hour, I couldn't look at the Ripper for longer than a half second before it mightily crashed down the street and beyond my sight. But, I saw. I saw the Ripper was missing its entire front from my bolt of lightning.
I at last had some satisfaction against them.
We made our way down the line and a lance of Von Luckners and infantry met us. A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one. My Lance fired only once before we turned them all into wrecks. It was then that I was struck. Three Rippers appeared behind me and amongst my company, using their speed and design to slip in unnoticed. Laser fire clawed my back a cherry red before missiles from the infantry hit my front. Trusting my people, I fired off all three of my PPCs to scatter the infantry, and a Hermes from my company torched the rest. "Thank you, Adam," I gave a short thanks to the Hermes' MechWarrior.
"No worries, sir. The Rippers have retreated by the way," relayed Adam.
Now I know why Boris liked to call aeros 'sky cancer'. It was quite fitting.
A quick check of the tac screen showed my forces, thus far, have only suffered moderate damage. Within the expected bounds of fighting a Veteran regiment with all their expanded supporting assets.
The short engagement did confirm something. We were now on the flank of the enemy, this was corroborated by the minimap showing my forces' positions. "Check the map. We've got them now!" I yelled out. A cheer rose from the fellows in response. I let my light mechs loose, they knew what to do. The medium lance stayed just behind mine. The Rippers were still on the prowl after all.
My good feelings would be further elevated. Far away, another Awesome stepped out onto the street. A lance of heavies followed after. No fire was exchanged as we stared each other down. The rest of the world flowed by and around this one point on the battlefield.
The midday sun shone down, its light glinting off our armor and glass.
An unspoken challenge was given.
And I gave my agreement.
Six PPCs struck out, and the duel was met. All six struck true. Two of my shots hit the left leg and one in the left torso. While theirs struck my right arm, center, and left torso.
A second barrage, then.
As soon as my PPCs cycled, we fired off at the same time. They struck my right leg and center torso again. I, however, was rewarded with a headshot, and a score on their left torso.
A third barrage fired soon after.
I scored again on the left torso, one on the left arm, and the left leg. My foe only struck once on my right torso, their left arm PPC veered wide.
They must have panicked then, realizing with that one missed shot I had the advantage. They took one halting step back just before the PPCs cycled.
Like an executioner's axe, my fourth and final barrage thundered out.
Their panic wasn't enough to throw their aim, however, as they struck my right leg and the left torso.
Again, all three of my shots hit. The left torso and leg were brutalized.
Then the Ripper company pounced. Eleven of them sliced around our flanks, having successfully evaded the light mechs. Distantly, I was made aware that the rest of the enemy lance retreated, as my foe was now walking to duck behind the street corner. I spied a slight halting wobble as they moved.
Rather miffed, I shot again. All three hit, and the last of the enemy's right leg armor disappeared before a following shot scored internals. One of their shots went wide again, one hit my right torso and the other my right leg.
A Hunchback from my company leading the medium lance appeared from their left. A single-shot rang out from their massive Tomodzuru AC/20, and the Awesome fell, left gone. A Ripper fired off their medium lasers in retaliation but disappeared again before anyone could shoot it.
I checked my map again and saw that Ana had entered the city with her 'Pavise of Andurien'. The battle was coming to a close.
I took the time to walk up to the fallen Awesome. While their nerves got the better of them, I should still show respect for honoring the duel. The MechWarrior lased me a message. "Well fought," it said, that brought a smile to my lips. Turning the audio of my speakers down to something more reasonable, I asked, "Warrior, my name is Klemens Humphreys. I lead this assault, and I offer you terms of surrender. Do so, and you shall be treated according to the Ares Conventions. Do you accept?" I hoped they would. The Sphere could use more like them.
Another message was lased to me, accepting their defeat and tendering their surrender. Suddenly, all across the battlespace, the fighting began to die down. A general message of surrender was being broadcast across the radio waves.
Ah. It seems my interlocutor was the commanding officer of the 2nd Orloff Grenadiers.
Most excellent!
After having accepted the surrender of the 2nd Orloff Grenadiers, the rest of the planet was swiftly secured.
I was in an excellent mood. I decided to celebrate by bringing out my best whiskey and to smoke some Arcasian cigars. While I couldn't take the gyro factory entirely intact, the aerospace and DropShip industries were pristine. And most joyful of all, I got to fight a proper battle against proper warriors. The Vanrans militia, though lacking in training and equipment, acquitted themselves well with their martial valor.
I was in such a good mood that even scarring my eyes on the noteputer reports couldn't bring down my good cheer. Some complaints about our heterogeneous supplies. Bah. We can fix that later.
As I was taking another sip of my pine tea, a flash message from the Parliament-in-Exile came in. Oliver Marik Assassinated.
Oliver Marik was assassinated on the Regulan world of Tiber.
Dear f*cking God. What a disaster.
I prayed that Boris was safe. This could not have happened at a worse time.
Last edited:
