From the unpublished journal of Brian McEuen.
November 6th, 3028
The month between the arrival of Fitzhume's Highlanders and current operations has not been kind to the Furious Angels. Their only good break came during the Highlanders descent towards the planet. The Highlanders main LZ's were on Tripolis. The smallest and least populated of Arcadia's three continents, it also has the highest concentration of mines and other industrial concerns on planet, but it's tactical and strategic value are apparent to anyone. As the Three Mules burned in, Spector's Spectres managed to strafe and disable one while it was about 20000 meters above it's landing zone. Other than the crater, there was not a lot left. The remaining two Mules grounded and immediately began disgorging their cargo, two Battalions of Battlemechs, and a combined arms regiment. To face them, The Furious Angels have two reinforced companies of Battlemechs, a reinforced company of vehicles that haven't seen combat in over a hundred years (if at all), and a planetary militia that at best is uncooperative.
The Angels have resorted to Hit and Run Tactics. The Highlanders appear to be moving towards several of the larger mining concerns, and Takahito Fitzhume is a competent if unimaginative commander, relying on his numbers to hold the Angels back. Thus far Davout and his officers have played things close to the vest, taking great pains not to reveal to much. With some effort, two lances have shadowed a company of Highlander Mechs and accompanying conventional forces as they move towards a Kristonos mining complex. It has taken a few days to get everything as coordinated as possible. The Kristonos Mines are an excellent spot, with several entrances that lead to a main road, which is surrounded by slag piles that are sometimes decades old. It is an excellent piece of terrain to fight a defensive battle on.
"Roughrider, Roughrider, this is Red Cloud 6 Actual. Have eyes on the prize, repeat, have eyes on the prize." Red Cloud is one of the two infantry scout platoons the Furious Angels have. Despite my best efforts and intentions, their CO, Michael Kearney, has refused any sort of interview with me. Beyond the occasional hello I've never had a conversation with him that lasted more than six words. The one time I thought I had him cornered he literally disappeared from the room I was in. The members of his platoon are cut from the same cloth, quiet, aloof, and professional.
"Copy Red Cloud."
"Roughrider, I have 16 mechs, thats one-six mechs, 12 tanks with outriding Infantry on them. Estimate current arrival at Point HAMMER in two minutes at present speed."
"Apache Troop at the ready."
"Crazy Horse Troop at the ready."
Both mech lances are hidden. The heavy metal deposits and residual background radiation will shield them from the Highlander sensors until they fire. Further back in the tunnels is a battalion of Arcadian Militia, a company of tanks and two of Infantry.
"Nomad Troop, locked and loaded." The Artillery troop, carefully hidden away the past month. Davout has been waiting for a situation such as this to use them.
"Nomad, this is Red Cloud, change of target, target has moved. Drop 250 and left 150 from Point HAMMER, do you copy?"
"Nomad copies, drop 250, left 150."
"Nomad, Target, commence Firing!"
Five Kilometers away the crews of the Pelham's began their dance. A few seconds later the results were visible on a monitor, a feed that had been activated by the observing scouts when the command to fire went out. Of the 4 Pelhams in the Artillery troop, 2 fired HE rounds, the other 2 Cluster ammunition. The target was not the Battlemechs, but the tanks and accompanying Infantry. The first 3 rounds of firing, 4 rounds 12 seconds apart, were devastating. More than half the Highlander armor was knocked out, and few, if any, Infantry remained alive. The mechs reacted appropriately, spreading out to lessen any impact between them. It was what the Angel Mechs are waiting for.
Crazy Horse Troops was one of the heaviest lances in the Angels TO&E, comprising Leutnant Enbo's heavily modified Zeus, called the Roland by those in the unit, Sergeant Suvarov's Zeus 6S, John Reynolds Awesome 8T, and Alois Gerard's ON1-K Orion. The amount of firepower they put out in the first few seconds of combat is devastating to the lighter mechs of the Highlanders, one Commando and a Stinger are prone wrecks, another Commando is exploding as it's ammo cooks off.
Watching this in the confines of the TOC is very disconcerting to me. I've seen combat vids before, but this, knowing it's live, is a new experience. Maybe it's the lack of over the top style Solaris commentary, the lack of epic music in the background, but there is a finality to what I am seeing. The remaining Highlander mechs recover, a ragged line shakes out, men and machine find what cover they can and begin to return fire. A lance of Lighter mechs begins to move forward, bounding and covering behind slag piles and other equipment, hoping to flank the Assault Lance in front of them.
"Nomad, Check Fire, Left 100, Down 200, HE-Cluster Mix."
"Copy that." A few seconds pause. "Shot."
More artillery lands in the scattered mess that is the Armor and Infantry. The few remaining running vehicles begin to retreat. The Highlander Light Lance has gotten close enough now to start taking some long range shots at Apache Troop.
"Crazy Horse Troop," Leutnant Enbo's voice was calm as he twisted the Roland around and snapped a large laser shot at a Hermes that left itself too exposed. "Now!"
Several piles of slag exploded outward, the combat engineers earning their money as the light mechs of Crazy Horse Troop enter the fray, hitting the Highlanders on their exposed flank. Within seconds, a Highlander Clint and Hermes are down, and a Trebuchet is missing an arm. There is no one signal, but singly, and then in pairs, the Highlander mechs start withdrawing, following the retreating armor units. One Heavy Lance of Highlander's maintains good order, utilizing the piles and equipment. The Archer, Orion, Ostol and Thunderbolt have obviously been working together a long time, they move and cover and fire very well.
Molly Crauford, in her modified Commando, attempts to dash between two slag piles when the Orion turns on her and fires, the autocannon shells savaging her leg, which snaps off at the knee. Forward momentum carries her mech face first into a slag pile, and the TOC goes silent as they see the face plate cave in.
"Red Cloud 6, this is Roughrider 6 actual, detach a team to move in and get the status of Crazy Horse Four." Davout's voice is quiet, as is everyone else in the tent. Everyone is ignorantly aware that Crauford and Davout have been spending time together off duty, which lately has meant they have rarely spent anytime together at all.
"Copy Six." Whoever is handling the data uplink in Red Cloud Troop knows his stuff, zooming in and out, panning back and forth. The Highlanders have withdrawn back up the single entry road, the missiles of their covering lance keeping the Angels honest. Once they break past the entrance to the mine, the heavy mechs turn tail and run as fast as they can. Crazy Horse Troop, less Crauford, streaks after them, harrying them from distance, just to keep them running. Red Cloud Troop climbs into it's ORV's and follows after them at a respectable distance and angle. Meanwhithe retreating Heavy lance. Meanwhile, Apache troop plods along, not at full speed, but not taking its time either. The plan is to chase the Highlanders for a few kilometers, then break off back into the mining area. Ten minutes pass by, the mechs of Crazy Horse Troops harassing
"Something's not right," one of the new officers, Leutnant Huger. His flat Dalcour accent is even more pronounced. He's one of the new Armor recruits, a natural born soldier and leader to hear Davout talk about him. His Manstein crew is the best in the company. His leg in a cast, the result of a particular nasty fight with the climbing wall, is studying the screens. "Apaches gaining, but they haven't sped up..."
Davout looks at the screen Huger is staring at, then glances at the terrain display as well.
"Rough Rider 6 to War Party, break off, I repeat, break off and return to RALLY POINT COCHISE-"
"Contact Left!"
Whoever was leading the Highlander Company knew his stuff, the retreating Highlander fast movers had split off left and right, utilizing the ground cover to hide, while the retreating heavy lance had slowed their pace down long enough for Crazy Horse Lance to get pulled into a moving ambush.
The radios exploded with chatter.
"Crazy Horse One is down, repeat, Horse One is down!" Pierre Villenueve, one of the Angels plankowners. Red Cloud screeches to a halt, creeps to the crest of a small ridge, and gets eyeson the battle again.
Crazy Horse Troop is retreating as best it can, Villeneuves Firestarter in a crumpled heap behind the line of advancing Highlander mechs. A barrage of LRM's envelops John Reynolds Awesome, and a few seconds later he ejects, the 80 ton machine falling backwards.
"Get the Militia moving, have the fast movers come out and harass the Highlander mechs, provide covering fire so they can retreat back through the mining complex. Plan GOTH is in effect here people." Davout's voice is flat, with a tinge of disgust. Gone to Hell, indeed.
"Roughrider 6, this is Apache 6, Militia is not responding..."
"What!" Davout nearly jumps out of his chair. He moves over to a commo tech.
"Sir, Major Faulkner says he's under orders not to abandon the mining complex, and is refusing to leave."
"Those aren't his orders!"
The TOC is now a bustle of activity.
"Whose closest?"
"Bandit Troop is an hour away."
"Air cover."
"Spector has one ASF he can put in the air, the rest are down for maintenance." The situation, which was at best tenuous for the two troops of mechs, has taken a dangerous turn towards disaster.
Meanwhile, Davout is on a hardline with the Commander of the Militia.
"Look, I don't care Colonel. He has his orders, you issued them, and he's ignoring them. Now, you either get his ass moving or I will."
He hangs up the phone and sits back down on his chair, watching events unfold. He's stuck in the one place he's most uncomfortable, watching events unfold and having no way to influence them. He knows his presence on the net would only undermine Enbo and Sergeant Blucher's authority, they have eyes on the scene, while Davout is limited to what Red Cloud can show him.
It's not quite a disaster, for one thing the Angels appear to have better fire discipline and better shooters in their ranks, as they fall back towards to mining complex, more of their shots hit. However, the remaining Highlander mechs have a heavier throw weight, and its begins to show as more and more Angel mechs break off. The slag piles and terrain of the mining complex will slow any pursuit down, and to their credit, the Angels retreat towards their safety is orderly.
Enbo and Suvarov are the last two Angels mechs to the main gate. Enbo's armor is pitted and scarred, half of his weapons are damaged or inoperative, and he's the better off of the pair. Suvorov's Zeus looks almost skeletal, there is little to no armor left on the machines torsos and legs, one of which has a fused knee. The remaining 9 mechs of the Highlanders are all damaged to various degrees, their advance has been steady.
"Angels Mechs, this is Captain Angus McRory, Fitzhume Highlanders." A radio message, broadcast in the open.
"Put Enbo on a second speaker," orders Davout. His sitting in his chair, arms crossed.
"I call upon you to surrender," continues McRory.
"A reasonable request Captain. I ask your indulgence for a moment." replies Enbo.
"Sir? Andrew?" asks Enbo. "Your call sir."
"No, it's not." replies Jason Suvarov. He's a younger Mechwarrior, from the Free Worlds league. A recent friend of Spector's, I've often found them chattering away in Russian.
"My Reactors shielding is gone. I'm a dead man." The TOC is quiet. A quick glance at Enbo's reading shows this to be true, the chest of the Zeus is glowing red hot in the heat display.
"Tang, when I start, you go. Red Cloud, call a strike in on this position, lets wreak some havoc." Theres a pause. "Sir, when you see Ariel next, tell him Standing Orders."
Davout is silent for a minute, then keys his headset.
"Copy that Jason..Red Cloud, make it happen." He takes his headset off, and walks out of the TOC. Meanwhile coordinates are being called out.
"Shot."
"Apache, shot lands in ten seconds."
"Captain, while your offer is generous, I am afraid I have to decline." The ground erupts as the artillery shells land. One hits the Thunderbolt in the torso next to its boxy head, and it collapses like a puppet with cut strings. The confusion is brief, and enough. Enbo fire as he retreats down the main entrance, focusing on McRory's Archer. Suvarov bellows a Russian warcry, then moves as best as he can into the fray. It is over quickly, Suvarov's mech explodes, taking with it the damaged Highlander Crusader. The delay is enough though, Enbo is able to retreat through the main entrance and into the slag piles. McRory doesn't follow though, he knows its a losing proposition for him, what initiative he has will be lost. He retreats.
The TOC is silent, there will be more battles to come. I leave the tent, noone notices.
The field laager is a quick setup, rudimentary gantry's, a few supply vehicles, the command tents themselves are quick setup affairs. Davout is marching off in his Warhammer as I leave, the rest of the Command Lance trailing him. News of whats happened at the mining complex has spread, the grapevine is well grown and tended here.
Most of B Squadron is present, I find Tolbhukin laying in the shade beneath his Chameleon.
"Mister McEuen. A hard day today." I thought he was asleep.
"Indeed. I was wondering if I could ask you a question."
"Of course."
"Jason mentioned something about Standing Orders?"
Mikhail lifts one eye, staring at me for a moment. The he sits up.
"It's a Russian thing. You go back through time, people will tell you they've been through it all, seen it all, had it rough. A Russian, a true Russian, will laugh at you. They know war, they know poverty, they know loss, they know suffering, and through it all they endure. Because that's what they do. And through the centuries, its been ingrained into us. No matter what the circumstances, we will endure. Kerensky was Russian, a true Russian, as was Jason, as is Ariel, as am I.
"There used to be a romantic movement about us. Look how tough they are, look how they endure. The soldiers especially. From facing Jhengiz Khan on the steppes, to Hitler in the Great Patriotic War, to Amaris during the occupation. We endure, we don't know any better. Anyways, Standing Orders. Its a cinematic tradition, but like all things its based in truth. In the context of what Jason was saying, Its a saying, probably changed over time from the original, but it goes like this: If you cannot move, become a pillbox. If you cannot shoot, become a bunker. If you are out of time, become a hero."
He stands up, stretches, towering over me. How he fits into the cockpit of his mech I am not sure.
A small bottle appears in his hand, a home brewed vodka he's been working on. Rumor has it the techs use it to strip paint from the units. But its only a rumor.
"Suvarov died a hero today. I can only hope when my time is come I can do the same." He takes a swig of the bottle, and passes it to me, and expectant look in his eyes.
I take a swig.
The techs weren't to far from wrong. But Tolbhukin was right. By the end of the campaign, he too, would be a hero. January 7th, 3029
Author's Note: The New Year has not started well for what remains of Fitzhumes Highlanders. Captain MacRory's call has split what remains of McNab's Battalion. Almost two companies worth of Mechs walked into captivity, leaving McNab to retreat towards his dropship. The Angels pursuit has been steady, and not overly aggressive. For all intents and purposes they are herding what remains of the Highlanders.
"You did what?"
"I challenged him to a duel. One on One."
"Why?"
"Because I Know its the one thing he will go for. He hates me, and he'll want to show off. I told him when, I told him where, and I said I'll be waiting for him."
"And you did this without asking any of us?"
"Why Louis, did you want to fight him?"
"That's not what he's saying, Andrew..."
"Then what are you saying?"
"How could you make that decision?"
"Look, we know the terrain there. He can't have picked a better place to dig in and hold us off. While we own the air that dropship isn't going anywhere, and I'm not willing to spend the lives we'd need to dig him out. And until supply gets the artillery problems sorted out, its either this or a full frontal assault. Now, I know deep down we're Lyrans...."
"But a duel? Why?"
"Because it will distract him while the real fight is going on..."
January 8th
Brian McEuen: Have a moment?
Andrew Davout: Sure. Maybe. Well, depends on what your going to ask.
BM: Just a couple of questions before you head out, but if you think this is distracting I can always come back.
AD: I admire your faith in me Brian.
BM: How so?
AD: You think I'm coming back <smiles>
BM: Well, I've seen quite a bit these past four years, nothing would surprise me anymore.
AD: It has been a strange and interesting trip.
BM: In our first interview you had mentioned that you wanted to study history. Do you think you could ever go back to that life?
AD: Well, that's an interesting question. What brought that up?
BM: Well, if there's one thing I've found since I started these interviews, it's that almost everybody here is doing what they want to do. But I get the impression from you that being a mechwarrior, being a commander, it hasn't been your calling. It's something you do because you are good at it.
AD: Have you been talking to Doc Adler again, haven't you? (Doctor Avram Adler is the units Psychologist. He does not do interviews.)
BM: No, just an observation.
AD: It's a good one. <Sighs>. I....I wish I could explain it so that it made sense. Then again, I have a hard to explaining it to myself, and if I can't explain it to myself, how on earth am I going to explain it to you? You know whats crazy? <Pauses> All my life, there's always been someone better than me, no matter what I attempted to do. But I've always been near the top.
BM: I'm not sure I understand?
AD: I got that scholarship to Tharkad, but only because the person ahead of me on the list chose to go to New Avalon instead. I graduated from Coventry Top Five, but I was fifth, there were four better than me. I've always managed to excel, but its taken quite a bit of hard work and studying. Except in one thing.
BM: Whats that?
AD: This. <Davout waves his hands around his office, which are filled with the remnants and mementos of the past years.> For reasons I cannot explain, being a soldier, being a leader, it's like breathing to me. It's second nature, and I'm good at it. And that causes me a serious amount of personal grief.
BM: I'm not sure I understand.
AD: How do you tell people your one talent in the universe is killing them efficiently and effectively? That when your looking at a photo or a vid your assessing the terrain and figuring out how your going to deploy your troops. That when planning I can see in my mind whats happening...sad thing is I'm not even the best in the unit at that. Nicholai, Leftenant Orlov, he's become my sounding board on many operational details, and he can just glance at what I want to do and tell me the potential pitfalls and mistakes waiting to happen. Course, he's been playing Grandmaster level chess since he was 12 as well, so maybe that has a lot to do with it...
BM: So why does that cause your so much trouble?
AD: It's purely in my head, I assure you. Laughs slightly. I don't know. I wish I could explain it but I really can't. It's not the idea of killing, I am OK with that. Least I think I am. Well, maybe not. I don't know. <Silence>
AD: We used to hunt on Coventry. Deer and Elk, go spearfishing on vacation. But fighting...I remember Will sending me vids from time to time, talking about his training, and his first skirmishes, how he was scared sh....well, scared. It becomes less about the fight and more about survival...about knowing what you would do to win, about knowing when to cut out so you could fight another day. I remember the tone of Will's vids changing over time, but I didn't pay attention to it. Didn't really hit me until he died on Severn.
BM: So when did it first start bothering you?
AD: Hesperus, against the Dragoons. That was an on the job training situation. I literally landed, got my mech, was introduced to my lance, my Sergeant, and my CO, Two weeks later I'm in the field and two weeks after that the Dragoons are at the drop point.
BM: Did you come close there?
AD: Pauses. My 'hammer got hipped the first week of skirmishing, so I moved to a different Warhammer. My company was in the Kawnee Valley, when Epsilon Regiment hit us. We get a contact, move to investigate it, next thing I know, I'm lying on my back, the cockpit glass is gone, I'm showered with what remains of it and cuts...apparently I caught an autocannon shell from an Orion with my mechs face.
BM: Ariel mentioned a similar incident on one of his combat patrols when he first started flying...
AD: Yeah, we shared a few drinks over that one night.
BM: So what did you do?
AD: In short? I got mad. Stood up, rejoined the fight. Three hours later about the only armor I had left was on my rear torsos. The gyro was dinged, the SRM launcher had been shot clean off, I was missing an arm, left leg was fused at the knew, worst shape I'd ever been in, second hardest fight of my mechwarrior life.
BM: Lot of casualties?
AD: I had two pilots punch out but they both lived. I got the Orion that hit me early one, PPC blast hit the LRM ammo, pilot never punched out.
BM: Did you think about if afterwards?
AD: That battle? In a clinical sort of way. What did I do wrong, what could I have done better. Some people, they go all introverted on the job, wonder why them and not the other person, or vice versa. Me, I figured it was him or me. I never really dwelled on that part of it. I never really gave any attention to the fact I had killed another person. Part of me says they knew the risks, just like I do. The other part, it didn't really bother me to much...
BM: Till Dalcour?
AD: No, that was different. First time it really hit me was on Pencader, when we came across Kommandant von Hausings remains. He put up a hell of a fight, and for that he was executed about as blatantly as you can imagine. I remember coming across the battlefield, being able to see in my mind what had happened, who got knocked out when and where...But the thing that turned me cynical was McNab's award ceremony afterwards on Cavanaugh. I'd just sent my sergeants remains back to his wife on Thorin, my company was decimated, and he got a medal, and he didn't do a verdamnt thing. And that night I started figuring out ways to kill him. Easy ways, hard ways, hidden ways...and that's when I realized it: here I am talking about taking someone else's life, and it's like I'm ordering breakfast at the canteen. Dalcour was, well, cathartic in a way. Both times we were there.
BM: Do you think this feeling is pathological?
AD: The only thing pathological about me is my hate for Russ McNab. I'll be honest, that hate used to keep me warm at night. Its dissociative, that's for sure. That's when I realized that killing wasn't hard, and neither was living with it.
BM: And that bothers you?
AD: What can I say, I'm weird like that. But then again you have places like Marinius House on Zaniah...
BM: So do you see yourself as a Cincinnatus then?
AD: Pauses, thinking for a moment. I'll admit the idea of settling down and leaving this all behind has it's merits, but to quote another famous military man, I could never leave this life. God help me I love it.
BM: You've never been a particularly religious man though.
AD: I know, I'd hate to think what sort of mental contortions I'd be doing if I did have some sort of religious bent.
BM: So do you believe in a God?
AD: I believe in a higher power. Is it the Christian God, the Jewish God, Allah, or some unknown deity? I'm not sure. I'm pretty sure a higher power helped me on Hesperus, and guided us to that Mennonite village on Dalcour, and saved me on Engadin...
BM: You've never mentioned Engadin before-
AD: <Interrupting> Forget I ever said that.
BM: So there are some things about this life that bother you then?
AD: Yes, but to me, they're minor. And part of me says they should affect me more. And part of me often wonders if what I do feel is the right thing. The only thing I know I do feel on a constant basis is grief when one of the members passes away, but I suspect that's universal.
BM: So is there a difference to you when say, Jed Gudin or Gouvion Bessieres gets killed as opposed to say-
AD: Greg Wolcott? I'd be lying if I said no. Losing someone like Jed was like losing a part of me. We served together, he was in a sense my second brother. Govuion, I didn't know too well. He was a private person with a history he didn't want to share, and I respected that. I knew what happened with him, and felt he needed a chance to redeem himself. I'd like to think that if I were in the same situation I'd be able to do as well as he did. Wolcott was a training accident, and those happen. Does the manner of his death means it affects me or the other members of the unit less. Would his death have somehow been "Better" if it was in combat, or in sacrificing himself like Gouvion or Mikhail or Jason? I don't know. His deathbothered me, maybe more because of the way it happened. But then death is a part of this job. Top says he didn't join the military to die old and in bed, I think if you asked around you find that's a universal truism for those of us in any uniform.
BM: So you don't expect to grow old and die in bed?
AD: Oh, I plan to <laughing>. And so does Top, believe me. But no plan survives contact with the enemy. Given the nature of my chosen profession, I need to do what I can to make those odds more in my favor. Pauses. See, you think after all this talk about death and feelings and emotions I'd be all melancholy...
BM: True. Let me ask you this, and feel free to not answer.
AD: Well, that's a loaded statement.
BM: Is Russ McNab better than you?
<Pause> Andrew sits still for a few moments, and I begin to wonder if I did indeed cross the line.
AD: He's a good pilot, a good gunner. And as anyone can tell you, the weird and improbable can always happen on the battlefield, the one shell or laser with "Your name on it" will always find you. If I die today, I die doing what I love doing. And that to me is not a wasted life.
Atala Forestry had a contract to remove a few hundred acres of certain old growth on the Konstantin Peninsula. From the air it looks like a patchwork quilt, a sea of green broken by a couple of square acres of recent harvesting. About a third of the way up the Peninsula the remaining mechs of Fitzhume's Highlanders have dug in, and they've chosen their ground well. Hilly terrain with limited approaches, limited line of sight. The cost of digging them out would be too high. A few kilometers away from the Highlanders defensive line is one of the harvested areas, maybe a kilometer squared of cleared trees, bisected by a small river. Other than the stumps and underbrush, there's no other terrain.
"Roughrider Six, Red Cloud Six, have eyes on 4 mechs, say again eyes on 4 mechs, heading towards the north end of the clear zone."
"Copy that Red Cloud."
"I still say this is a dumb idea."
"I understand Top, but this is also the easiest way to get the job done. And you know it."
"Do you trust him?"
"Of course not, Tang that's why I have you all here with me."
"Roughrider Six, Red Cloud Six. I have visual on one Orion, one Crusader, one Phoenix Hawk and one Wolverine. Estimate arrival at North treeline in two minutes."
"Thank You Red Cloud. Pull back to Point RENO and await further instructions."
"On the way Sir. And Good Hunting Roughrider."
"Thank You."
It didn't take to long, you could see the tops of the trees move as mechs brushed against them, birds and other species taking to the air. Davout stepped his Warhammer out into the clearing about 50 meters past the southern part of the tree line, and opened a clear channel.
"Took you long enough Russ."
"Go to hell you piece of-"
"Temper, temper Kommandant. Or is it Colonel now?"
"Like you care, Davout. Besides, in a few minutes it's not going to matter." At the North end of the cleared zone, the Orion stepped through, and also came about 50 meters in. It's armor was a patchwork of repairs, but it looked fully operational.
"I didn't think you'd be serious about this Andy."
"Russ, have you ever known me not to keep my word? After all, I told you on Pencader I'd do what I could to get back at you, I told you on Cavanaugh I'd have fun spending your ill gotten gains, and I told you on Galatea that that the next time we'd meet it would be face to face and in a mech."
McNab didn't answer, but if a mech could shake with anger the way it's pilot was, the Orion was going to fall apart.
"As I said over the radio Russ, if you win, you get to retreat unmolested to your dropship and get to jump back to wherever you came from."
"You mean when I win."
"Whatever makes you feel better at night Russ."
"But the flip side remains true as well. I win, and the rest of the Highlanders surrender to the militia."
"You think your winning, how cute."
"Russ, I did give you my word, right? And as you know, I always keep it."
"I'm going to enjoy killing you Andy. You've been a pain for nine years, and I'm going to die a happy man knowing I killed you and there's nothing you can do about it." As the exchange has gone on McNab has slowly been moving his Orion forward.
"You've obviously not heard the good news then." replied Davout.
"And whats that?" McNab's tone was as derisive as he could make that.
"I'm going to be a dad. It's going to be a boy. And if I die here today, his mom will make sure he kills you, sometime, someday, somewhere. So you had better give it your best shot."
McNab screams, and triggers his LRM's, but they fly wide. Davout doesn't even move his mech, but twists at the torso to watch them fly by tens of meters away.
"Russ, if that's the best you can do, you are well and truly screwed." Twisting back around, Davout steps forward, raises his Warhammer's PPC's, and fires.
