Was just letting you know someone was interested
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jr0JaXfKj68
I shee, said Sean Connery. Sorry, didn't get the reference: been ages since I've seen the Red October.
***
Port Sean
3 July 3029Martel had left half his command behind, leaving anything damaged or without jump jets, taking only his own
Victor, Khan’s
Enforcer, the new
Hatchetman, the surviving
Clint and a
Dervish. If all five Earthwerks ’Mechs were here they’d be evenly matched, but Martel counted on Dyubichev being demoralized, short of spare parts and ammunition.
From the heights overlooking the village Martel couldn’t make out any of the ’Mechs, or indeed why Port Sean would be worth defending in the first place. At its peak the city had been home to perhaps 100,000; now reduced to about half that. A row of evil-smelling chemical refineries lined the docks like rust-red sentinels, but the ships at anchor seemed to be taking on people, not cargo. Some kind of barge was already putting out to sea, its decks almost awash as it sat low in the water, under the weight of thousands of refugees crammed onto its deck. The wake of a passing hydrofoil washed over the ship, and Martel thought he saw a number of passengers carried away.
He shook his head. Where did they think they were running to? Didn’t they understand there were no more safe places on this planet? Ah well, they’d learn soon enough.
“Khan,” he called the
Enforcer pilot on the company channel, “Your target is the port. I don’t want any boats escaping. Axel, Boris, you’re with him.” He nodded to himself, satisfied. “The rest of you on me. We’re going ’Mech hunting.”
They marched slowly through the outskirts of town, past lines of abandoned cars and the empty husks of buildings. A handful of militia with small arms took potshots at them from a high-rise apartment complex at one intersection, bullets rattling off armor and ferroglass like hailstones. A pickup truck with a quadruple heavy machinegun crudely mounted on the bed tore out of an alley and careened past them, the machineguns thudding wildly away, though they managed to do little more than chip away at the
Clint’s forward armor.
Khan’s
Enforcer and the
Hatchetman raked the apartment buildings with laser fire, causing entire floors to blow out in a hail of glass shards and rubble. One wing of the complex crumbled and collapsed in a thunderous fountain of dust as successive floors pancaked those below. The
Clint leaped after the pickup, its own cannon barking, turning the machine gunner into red paste before blowing the front cab into a greasy fireball.
There was no further opposition until they reached the port.
The first flight of missiles flew from rails in the
Dervish’s chest, and came screaming down on a cruise liner tied to one of the docks, blasting a dozen holes in its side, including one just above the water line. The ship began to list to one side, tiny figures of people desperately throwing themselves into the water as the deck was engulfed in flames.
The
Jenner came rising from the bottom of the harbor, water shedding from its frame in thunderous sheets as it vaulted into the air on jump jets and came down between the port and the
Dervish. The MechWarrior fired a salvo of laser shots at the Republican ’Mech, and immediately charged straight towards it the moment its feet touched the pavement.
“Alive,” shouted Martel. “I want him alive.”
Five against one was never going to be in doubt. Axel backpedaled the
Dervish, drawing the
Jenner further away from the port and allowing Khan to circle behind. The
Jenner landed a dozen hits, blasting away great chunks of the
Dervish’s armor, but firing too wildly to find any gap and strike the vital components inside.
And then the ruby red beam of the
Enforcer’s ChisComp laser sliced through the Jenner’s left knee, sending the machine sprawling to the pavement. A minute later, the head exploded outwards as the pilot ejected. The trajectory was tracked, and the pilot was easily caught in the
Hatchetman’s grasp as he drifted back down to the ground.
The
Clint moved to investigate the downed ’Mech, just in time for the
Jenner’s self-destruct, initiated just before the pilot ejected, to catch it in a massive blast and send it toppling backwards into the harbor. It promptly sank beneath the waves.
Martel and his men sank all the boats, of course, though that was easy enough and not very satisfying. Far better were the names they tortured from the captive pilot before they killed him:
Bernhard Klein, Dmitri Dyubichev.
Mount Cradle.
Laminar Hills
3 July 3029There was an isolated cabin by the side of the road, weathered with age but bearing it gracefully, with a long wooden veranda and shuttered windows. A civilian jeep stood parked out front. As he studied the building, Dmitri saw there was a man sitting on a chair on the veranda, watching them without expression.
Dmitri called a halt and slid down a chain link-ladder from this cockpit to the ground. Lucy soon joined him, while Ayako and Stephen kept watch. Dmitri walked over to the cabin, palms up and out. “Morning,” he called to the old man. “Don’t suppose you could spare a drink and a bite to eat?” They’d brought nothing to eat but the emergency rations in each BattleMech, and they’d grown heartily sick of those halfway through the first meal.
Indifferent silence was the only response. Perhaps the man was deaf. Dmitri moved closer. “We can pay, of course,” he said, slowly reaching into a pocket and pulling out a wad of M-Bills. He doubted he’d be needing them any time soon.
“You’ll pay, that’s a laugh,” the old man said at last. “We’re the ones who always pay, in the end.”
Dyubichev nodded in sympathy, Lucy just rolled her eyes. “We’re not the invaders, though,” he explained.
“Don’t matter.” The old man fell silent.
Dyubichev let the silence stretch. When it seemed the old man had nothing more to offer he nodded, and turned to go.
“I had three sons, once,” the old man said suddenly. “Lost one in a Capellan raid, one in a Lyran, the last of ‘em in a Davion one.”
There was a pause. Dyubichev turned back. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.
The old man shook his head. “No you, ain’t,” he spat. “But you should be.” He waved his hand at the mountain road they’d come up, back down towards the crumbling mine and rusted vehicle graveyard. “All this fightin’ and you tell me what changed. You tell me what they died for. Nothing.”
Dmitri made sympathetic noises.
“Have you heard of Van Diemen’s Diamonds?” Lucy asked suddenly.
“Who hasn’t?”
“What would happen, do you think, if they were found?” she pressed. “Don’t you think something would change then?”
The old man laughed, hollow, mirthless. “Not likely. Wouldn’t be long before someone used it,” he said. “Probably against us.” He looked at them for a long moment, as though weighing something, then chuckled and shook his head. “But good luck to you anyway,” he said as he dusted his hands off on his coveralls, stood up, and walked slowly, painfully, back to the house. “Jes’ hole a sec,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll get yer drink.”
Dmitri was silent and thoughtful throughout the rest of the day’s march. He kept tabs on the civilian news channels, though it was hard to make sense of what was happening. The official channels were filled with opaque official pronouncements and patriotic holovids; Director Sheri Porter’s “Eagle Squadron” trilogy about a mismatched band of League MechWarriors learning to overcome their differences and throw back Capellan invaders seemed to be a favorite. Stephen tried to access the informal networks; planetary ‘net vlogs and amateur radio operators, but they were no better. Everything was rumor, conjecture, guesswork. Marik armor fighting, falling back. Government figures escaping offworld. He heard Port Sean had fallen, or had been bombed, and thought of Bernhard. Dmitri hoped he was okay.
That evening they halted in a clearing amid a forest of giant, 100-meter tall Umbra trees. The northern horizon pulsed with flashes of white and yellow, too far away for the sound to carry. Once, a bright pinpoint of light blossomed in the sky and went streaking down, like a shooting star. The meal was cold and silent, and they pitched their tents far from one another. Dmitri lay awake in his bedroll, until the flap opened and Lucy slipped in beside him, wordless.
Later, he felt the small, round hardness of the diamond on her necklace. How strange, he thought, that people should fight and die for something so meaningless, as though one rock should be worth more than another just because it sparkled prettily.
Lucy reached up and pulled his hand away.
“We talked about this once before, when it was just a fantasy,” she began. “But now it’s reality, so I’m asking you again: What are you planning on doing if, when we find this thing?”
“Find Captain Martel and blast his smug arse into orbit, for a start.”
“Revenge?”
“He killed Adam,” he objected. “Tried to kill us.”
“Wasn’t personal, so don’t make it. Look, Dmitri, I’m not here to help you work out your guilty conscience over Adam. I’m sure as hell not here to help you work out some weird catharsis for whatever history you and Pavel Ridzik have. I’m here for me, I’m here for the very literal diamonds we can get for selling Van Diemen’s Diamonds. Davion, Marik, ComStar, doesn’t matter. Pretty sure the same goes for Ayako and Steve.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“We find this thing, we make sure it’s real. Then we head for neutral ground, and auction it off to the highest bidder.”
“Just like that? How do you think we can get off this planet?”
“You’ll think of something.”