Author Topic: Tales of the 5th Marik Militia - A Night to Remember  (Read 1985 times)

carmenara

  • Recruit
  • *
  • Posts: 3
  • Don't mind me, just poking fun in people
    • My YouTube Channel
Tales of the 5th Marik Militia - A Night to Remember
« on: 15 July 2017, 06:53:07 »
5th Marik and the Brahmastra Discovery
Originally posted on the HBS Battletech Forums



Chapter One
"A Night to Remember"


July 3029
Sweethaven, Second Chance


While the 4th Succession War rages on deep within the Inner Sphere's core, the reported discovery of an ancient Brahmastra weapon by a local farmer has led to the quiet tropical planet being the center of attention in the region. Local militia commanders race to locate and secure the mythical device while the Dark Shadows bear tidings of foreign mercenaries being contracted for deep strike operations.

But what was a Brahmastra really?

As described in ancient Indian mythology, a weapon of mass destruction. It is said that when the Brahmastra was discharged, there was neither a counterattack nor a defense that could stop it, except by another Brahmastra. The Brahmastra never missed its mark and had to be used with very specific intent against an individual enemy or army, as the target would face complete annihilation.

The weapon was also believed to cause severe collateral damage. The land where the weapon was used became barren, and all life in and around that area ceased to exist. Both men and women became infertile. There was also a severe decrease in rainfall with the land developing cracks, as in a drought. The Brahmastra is mentioned in the epics and Vedas as a weapon of last resort and was never to be used in combat.

Which brings us to the present.

Marik military command is considered something of an oddball. While the Captain-General has centralized control over all of the House's military forces, individual units have often been redirected to serve the interests of local provincial governments. In this case, Colonel Allyce Verschwunden and her 5th Marik Miltia departed their icy homeworld of Les Halles and arrived at Second Chance several weeks later, during which they were greeted by the news of unmarked DropShips landing in the Sweethaven theatre of operations.

Suffering readiness penalties from the annual monsoon season, the local militia forces without 'Mech support were steadily driven back to the namesake province's capital city, losing the countryside altogether. Yet, when Colonel Verschwunden assumed overall control of planetary operations, not a single local commander could tell her what was she up against. Those cowards simply retreated to the only position they knew how to defend. Faced with untrustworthy allies, she had her S-2 requisition AeroSpace surveillance historical tracks from Space Traffic Control while corrobating reports from local news outlets and, most unusually, on-planet social media networks.

Fearful civilians don't lie, after all.

****


FW-197 thundered through an endless gray-blue haze. Ominous-looking mountain peaks sailed by on both sides while the 1,900-ton aerodyne plowed through torrential rain defying all logic and common sense - no one without an AeroTech degree could figure out why this flying brick didn't just drop out of the sky. But rest assured, Leopard-class DropShips can, and have been flying for many hundreds of years and this was no exception.

Led by a pair of heavy aerofighters and flanked by another on each side, FW-197 was at the vanguard of a column of three DropShips of similar class and 3015-spec Irian Technologies M-2A1 configuration. PPC and laser turrets appeared to casually track terrain features as the aerodynes slowly banked around them, sheets of condensation shrouding their upper wing and lifting body surfaces as they maneuvered. Air-augmented fusion rockets pushed them along at subsonic speed, a tremendous roar echoing through the valley like the hailing of the gods.

On FW-197's bridge, Captain Vijendran Chandran let a random thought pass through his mind. From a ground-level perspective, the appearance of their company-sized drop taking place would certainly bear a lot of resemblance to the Mahabharata, written nearly 4,000 years ago in Ancient India. It spoke of great airships that fired bolts of lightning, and the all powerful Brahmastra, that once armed with a secret key, would completely annihilate its target unless countered by another such device or an interceptor specifically intended for it - it certainly sounded like the Ancient Indians were chronicling Captain-General Kenyon Marik's invasion of Second Chance in 2787.

It was certainly very unusual that a Brahmastra would be digged up by a local farmer after so long, yet, stranger things have happened in war. Perhaps an aerofighter jettisoned its nuclear payload after a malfunction, or to evade enemy attack. Or a WarShip's space to surface missile failed to detonate then somehow survived intact as it plowed into the ground. Vijendran thought the former scenario was more likely, for orbital ordnance, trajectory permitting, could hit the ground at over 10 kilometers per second velocity.

"Passing Waypoint 8. 5 minutes to initial point. Mechwarriors, prepare for deployment!"

Hands flew across control panels and reached for comms switches as the DropShip lazily banked to take the turn to the initial point. Captain Vijendran glanced at the tall, lithe and gray-haired figure beside him. She affixed him that dirty look that persisted ever since their heated debate over the drop profile for this operation. Vijendran didn't wish to risk a conventional level drop. They would be sitting ducks flying straight and level in possibly contested airspace against unknown enemies. And so he devised this hare-brained scheme to perform an aero-ballistic maneuver kicking the Battlemechs out with the ventral catapults while the ship performed the kind of aerobatics best associated with agile aerofighters - he would perform a combat-spec atmospheric re-entry, transition to aerodynamic flight at low altitude to literally drop off everyone's radar, approach the drop zone at an unexpected bearing, and at a point ten miles from the target, pitch up dramatically and release the jump-pack equipped BattleMechs at a fifty-degree angle while performing a half-loop.

It sounded more ridiculous than flying a Leopard under the Golden Gate Bridge, and that level of ridiculous was difficult to top. It was certainly a Hare-Brained Scheme, with capitalization.

"If I die I will haunt you for the rest of your life, Vijay," warned Allyce, her steel-gray eyes narrowing in mock-aggression," but I liked your crew's hospitality and competence that I admit, has gotten us this far. And the murtabak last night and what came after... that was special."

Vijendran may even have seen what appeared to be a smirk forming at the corner of her ever tight-lipped mouth, but they had a job to do and they ended their little one-night tryst by understanding they both had very important jobs to do. As with all of FW-197's previous combat deployments, the chant of the ship's Hindu Priestess and her devout acolytes was played over the intercom.

Om Mata Om Kali
Durga Devi Namo Namaha

Shakti Kundalini Jagadumbe Mata
Shakti Kundalini Jagadumbe Mata

Hey Ma Durga Hey Ma Durgaya
Hey Ma Durga Hey Ma Durgaya

Kali Durge Na Ma Shiva-ya
Kali Durge Na Ma Shiva-ya

Om Mata Om Kali
Durga Devi Namo Namaha...

And then everything ran like clockwork under the blessing of the Goddess Kali. The synchronized dance of heavy machinery in the 'Mech bays. The line of astechs that stripped, dressed and outfitted the pilots in a strangely ritualistic fashion. The scurry of master 'techs as they handed off the machines to the chosen ones that would take the great avatars into battle. And then the final movement of the Command Lance to the middle of the gargantuan 'Mech carrier's bay. The mechanical clunks as four great war machines were hooked up to the ventral catapults that would project them through the sky on nothing but wings of a prayer. And the non-combat complement aboard ship that recited said prayer... that was special. It made Allyce feel honored. Humbled. Humbled with the recognition that all of this was so she could get her Orion into battle with the peace of mind that the interstellar voyage, the battlemech upkeep, the atmospheric entry, and the pre-drop maneuvering was all for her to concentrate on piloting her Orion in battle and defeating the enemy. Whatever was out there, was no cakewalk. They had to be seasoned professionals, guns for hire that lived for the 31st Century Gold Rush that was LosTech acquisition.

She still blushed a bit as the DI computer completed its power up self test and brought the full power of the 75-ton Battlemech into operational status. Still locked in the drop cradle she contemplated the feel of the many hands that touched her, and dressed her in piloting gear. She was not accustomed to such and felt it strangely off, yet, with the hospitality of FW-197 making her feel like royalty for the past few weeks, how could she refuse? It would have been rude to her hosts. And she certainly had utmost respect for those who knew how to run a tight ship... so they could have some time to focus on themselves and the people who trusted them to carry them to their hour of triumph.

"ALL HANDS - BRACE FOR MANEUVERING."

Her stomach lurched as the ship pushed down into a sudden dive, gaining speed alarmingly as it plummeted to the ground. Feeling the kick, hearing the distant whine of the nuclear turbines as they spun up to maximum RPM. At what must be the last moment for a vessel this size, it started piling on positive Gs pulling out of the dive at near-supersonic speed then pointing its nose to the heavens. With a greater than 1:1 thrust to mass ratio, necessary for its mission of surface to orbit 'Mech carrier, it did not lose that speed but continued to accelerate at a slow pace. As she performed a comms check with her lancemates she saw unsecured debris start to tumble down the length of the bay, pinging harmlessly off the thick skin of her 'Mech. The pitch angle inexorably, slowly, steadily grew and grew, until she felt she was laying on her back now, and as the invocations of the Goddess Kali crew to a chorus she saw the floor of the ship lower with a resounding THUMP before the pressure seals opened and the heavy armored doors slid open to reveal the chaos below.

Massive walls of water and condensation flooded into the 'Mech bay in a thick mist. Gazing out into the distant gloom she saw laser beams glitter between mountain peaks. Attack jets on fire diving and wheeling between streams of autocannon fire. All these moments that will be lost to time.

Allyce tightened her grip on the joysticks and checked her harness for the last time. Time for glory. Or death. Whichever the Goddess desired of her.

"LAUNCH SEQUENCE ACTIVATED. CAT ONE... READY... LAUNCH!"

The electromagnetic catapult firing at full power felt like being kicked from a zero to hundred miles an hour in an instant. And she found herself sailing through the air in a parabola, flashes of light from lighting both natural and man-made lighting up the valley. DI computer's dynamic balancing program was all out of sync, limbs flailing for a moment before its handler sent down calming sensations through the neurohelmet. The battlemech gracefully twirled through the air on torque supplied by its mighty control moment gyroscopes now, in ballistic free-fall, arms spread out, legs slightly open and actuators relaxed for landing as the jump pack's expendable engines ignited to slow the descent.

Panning her helmet's synthetic vision display upwards, her last glimpses of Captain Vijendran's FW-197 were of it rolling back upright at high altitude, tracers streaming from its tail as its aft AC/20 fended off the two light Aerofighters that managed to slip past its escorts. It was accelerating rapidly to safety, its thrust to mass ratio improving significantly after having disgorged several hundred tons of payload.

There was a moment of silence after the jarring landing that sank her Orion's foot pads deep into the Sweethaven soil. All around her was the chaos of battle. The barely contained desperation over a dozen comm frequencies as elements of the 5th Marik, 1st Company engaged the enemy. The calls for close air support that never came as pilots couldn't spot targets through torrential rain, and the few smart munitions that could navigate in the gloom were quickly expended against air-defence sites.

She extracted her left foot from the thick rice paddy mud, and then her right. A friendly unit icon appeared in augmented reality in her forward field of vision. Aadya "Mockingbird" Mehra's Commando was standing by for orders, head mounted sensor array sweeping to the left and then the right. Allyce keyed her mic, yet, she choked up on something, and when she spoke it was something so alien, yet felt so right, considering her earlier send-off.

"Hey Mata Kali, Hey Mata Durge," she chanted, "Hey Mata Kali, Hey Mata Durge. Kali Durge Neha Nohama."

There was a deathly moment of silence as the frequency went dead. Then, as one, the rest of the 5th Marik chorused in unison as they rallied to secure the beachhead.

This was certainly a night to remember.

 

Register