The problem with having a reputation is having to live up to it. On Rastaban the men and women of the 6th Logandale Infantry Regiment finds themselves challenged to uphold the name of their forefathers or accept the shame of being the first to break with 200 years of tradition. But then, when you join a unit that has earned the nickname 'Dragonslayers', you hardly expected an easy life.
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26th January 3052
Planet: Rastaban
Corporal William Zhett propped his laser rifle against the wall as he cautiously lent out through the shattered window. Dispassionately, he ignored the devastation that had been visited upon the imposing stone frontages that had once marked the city’s financial district as scanned the narrow intersection, looking for signs of enemy activity.
“See anything Will?” Lance Corporal Brian Ely offered up a mug of steaming hot tea as he sat down next to William.
“Nothing as yet. But they will be back.” William said grimly as he took the mug in both hands, letting the heat warm him. Looking back into the room he watched what was left of his platoon going through those rituals that made up life in the field for infantry, cleaning their weapons, cooking food or failing that grabbing what sleep they could during this lull in the battle.
“Well we kicked them back once, we’ll do it again.” Brian replied optimistically. William stared at him for a second, he couldn’t decide if the lanky lance corporal’s relentless optimism was endearing or infuriating.
“We’ll hold. Like we always do.” William said at length, placing a comradely hand on his junior’s shoulder. He surprised himself with his sincerity. Privately he was willing to admit that with the destruction of the Knights of St. Cameron and the loss of most of the militia, victory was no longer a possibility, mere survival, probably a bit of an ask. Yet, the idea of his unit breaking just seemed unthinkable. He looked round at his troops and saw the same grim determination reflected in their faces.
The only other remaining NCO, Lance Corporal June Sempter walked over to them, the company lightweight boxing champion easily carried a twin SRM pack over her shoulders. “That’s what we do. Stand our ground, fight and if needs be die. That’s the Logandaler way.” She said with evident pride.
“Wouldn’t do to leave here without adding another kill to the tally. We’ve got a name to uphold.” Brian added with a smile.
William phased out as his two juniors continued to trade boasts and retell old war stories. Like most of the battalion they were coming up to the end of their first enlistment, 9 years of service, 6 of which was spent off world in the pay of House Steiner-Davion. However, they had seen precious little of proper warfighting, most of their experience was of small scale border actions. William though was a second tourist, with nearly 18 years under his belt including service in the war of 39. He could no longer bring himself to express the same enthusiasm for fighting. Yet, he too felt the pride burn within him. He was a corporal in the 6th Logandale Regiment, the ‘Dragonslayers’. Pride in his unit, pride in the name, had been fostered in him since his first day of training and he could not imagine tarnishing 200 years of tradition by showing cowardice today. Looking around he knew that the remaining 16 troopers in his platoon felt the same away. They all knew that they could not win, yet if hope had fled, pride remained and that pride kept them at their posts, none willing to be the first to admit defeat. A subtle vibration caught his attention.
“Quiet a minute.” He said as put his cup of tea down and placed a hand on his rifle. Everyone froze as they each strained their ears to listen. But, William wasn’t listening, he was feeling. He hesitated for just a moment before grabbing his rifle up.
“Places everyone. They are coming!” He shouted as he took up a concealed firing position. The room exploded into chaos as the sleepers were roused, SRM launchers were readied and the platoon took up their positions. Then it was all silence again as the platoon froze in position, hoping to avoid detection until the last minute. Everyone could feel the vibrations now as battlemechs drew close to their crossroads.
“I see them, 200m south.” William whispered to his platoon. He didn’t need to give them further instructions, they knew what to do. He keyed his radio and spoke very quietly. “This is Delta Sierra One Three, have two Clan omnimechs inbound on my position. Puma, Nova. Require assistance. Over.” He released the radio, but the only reply was static. Cautiously the clan mechs advanced down the road, weapons swinging right to left as they scanned for threats. With greater urgency William transmitted his report again, but again there was no response.
June crawled over to him. “Are we engaging?” She whispered.
It was a fair question, tactically they shouldn’t, their 7 SRM tubes with 47 reloads would not stop either of those mechs. Discretion here would be the better part of valour. But, he thought back to that painting that took pride of place in their barracks. The painting of the first Logandale infantrymen to bring down a battlemech, of the men and women of the 6th Logandale Regiment posing atop a destroyed Kurita Dragon, the event that had earned them their name. No, he would not dishonour that memory today.
“We’re engaging, wait for my signal.” He whispered back. The Clan mechs drew closer and the infantry readied their missile launchers. William raised his hand and waited. He waited until the Puma drew level with their 2nd floor hide, waited until he could almost see the enemy mechwarrior through the armoured glass of the mech’s cockpit. He dropped his arm.
“Up the Dragonslayers. Now!”
In rapid succession 14 missiles shot across the tiny distance to impact the stunned Puma. Yet the barrage did little more than scorch the beast’s armour. Frantically the Dragonslayers reloaded their tubes even as the clan mechs began to return fire. Laser fire slashed through the room as SRMs impacted the walls, throwing shrapnel everywhere. The stout stone walls kept the worst of the fire at bay, but already 5 of Williams troopers were down, killed or wounded. He shouted for them to keep firing even as he scooped up fallen SRM launcher, reloading it himself as there was no longer a crew left to man it. They couldn’t take much more of this he knew as he rose up, firing both tubes into the Puma. To his left he saw Brian cut down mid shot, but couldn’t go to his aid. “Keep firing.” He shouted, half pleaded as more of his troops went down. Half dazed by the explosions, William almost didn’t hear his radio crackle to life.
“Delta Sierra One Charlie, this is Rider 2. Keep your heads down I am engaging.”
William’s hair stood on end as three beams of manmade lightning shot past his window and slammed into the Puma, knocking it backwards. Heedless of the danger William stuck his head out of the window, his eye opening wide as he saw an Awesome striding through the smoke towards them. He ducked back inside just in time as another trio of PPC blasts shot through the street and into the stricken Puma.
“It’s Gibson’s Commandos.” He reported excitedly to the platoon. The Commandos were fellow Logandalers, but right now they looked like salvation. “Well don’t just stand there. Keep firing!”
Caught in the crossfire the Puma was soon sent crashing to the floor, its pilot ejecting as its ammunition beginning to cook off. The Nova tried to stand its ground, but after taking repeated PPC and SRM hits its pilot activated their jump jets, bounding clean over the buildings, fleeing to fight another day. William’s surviving troopers began to cheer and celebrate, until June’s warning shout brought them back to reality.
“Dire Wolf!”
Stalking forward the 100ton warmachine opened fire as soon as it sighted its enemy, quad ER Large Lasers stabbing out as LRMs arced towards the Awesome. Weathering the impacts, the Awesome began to advance, returning fire with its PPCs as it did so. To William it was an awe and terror inspiring spectacle, the first time he had ever seen two assault mechs square off at such short range. “Reload the launchers.” He shouted above the crashing noises generated by the exchange. Only 7 of his troopers were left on their feet, he could hear the cries of his wounded begging for help but he couldn’t help them now, first they had to win the battle. The Dire Wolf was almost level with his window now and though PPC blasts tore at its armour it continued forwards without flinching. The Awesome was not so lucky, its right arm hung limp and massive slabs of armour had been melted away to expose the delicate internals. The Dragonslayers opened fire again, but their implacable enemy simply ignored their stinging attacks, focused utterly on pounding the Awesome into submission. Then, suddenly, the Awesome rolled to one side and drove into a building, revealing its companion that had sheltering behind its great bulk. The black liveried Battlemaster surged forwards, catching the Dire Wolf off guard and another cheer rose from the lips of the Dragonslayers, they knew that mech, every Logandaler knew that mech, the hereditary mech of the Gibson family, piloted by Major Samuel Gibson himself.
Yet the Dire Wolf’s pilot had a concealed ace as well. While he had pounded the Awesome with lasers and LRMs he had reserved the fire of an Ultra Autocannon 20. Now he used it with relish, blasting away chunks of armour even as Gibson’s Battlemaster pounded the Dire Wolf with lasers, SRMs and its fists. William brought his launcher up to his shoulder and fired off both missiles, watching the great beast shrug off the tiny explosions. He turned to reload.
“That’s the last of them!” June shouted as she emptied her laser rifles battery into the cockpit of the Dire Wolf out of pure frustration and fury, a useless gesture as they both knew. Helplessly they watched the Dire Wolf regain the upper hand, forcing the Battlemaster back through pure weight of fire. William looked around in desperation. “There has to be something we can do?”
“Gives us a hand down here!” William and June barely heard the shout from the stair well. Running over they saw what was left of the anti mech platoon struggling to drag a wheeled heavy support lasers up the stairs. Without hesitation they threw themselves down the stairs, pushing exhausted troopers out of their way as they grabbed the ropes tied to the lasers and heaved. Sweet broke out on William’s brow as his muscles screamed at him, then, with a cry the laser began to move again, bouncing up the stairs faster and faster as the crew gained momentum.
“In here. Quickly.” William gasped as the laser were wheeled into the room and pushed up against the shattered windows. Right behind them the crew went into action, slamming energy cells into breach and opening fire into the flank of the Dire Wolf as fast as the capacitors would recharge. Yet, William could see that even their destructive fire was not going to be enough. Gibson’s Battlemaster had been knocked to the floor, fire raging across its chest as the Dire Wolf stepped forwards to deliver the final blow.
“Help me.” The cry came from behind William, a strange mixture of determination and desperation. To his surprise he saw Brian, his leg severed at the thigh, dragging himself towards the window, his SRM Launcher held in a death grip, a live missile still in its tube.
William rushed to him and scooped up the offered launcher. Heaving it to his shoulder he locked onto the Dire Wolf. Something made him hesitate and he switched his aim to the mechs left shoulder when the paint scheme seemed disjointed, as if an armour plate had become dislodged. He whispered a quick prayer as he fired, the seemingly insignificant missile streaking away towards its target. At first the impact explosion was tiny and for a second nothing more happened, then there was another explosion, larger this time, then another and then the whole left flank of the Dire Wolf exploded outwards, the pilot rocketing to safety in his ejection seat.
A sudden hush settled over the field, the remaining combatants almost too shocked to speak. Gingerly the Battlemaster picked itself up and turned to the assembled infantry.
“Good kill the Dragonslayers!” Gibson used his mech’s loudhailer as he brought the Battlemaster’s right hand up in a facsimile of a thumbs up. Surprised to be alive and ecstatic to have brought low the king of the battlefield, the assembled Dragonslayers whooped and cheered, momentarily forgetting their pain and loses. William cheered with them, but as he turned to congratulate Brian he found himself staring into the dull eyes of his dead friend and all sense of elation died within him.
“I’ll make sure it’s recorded as your kill.” He whispered to his friend as he carefully closed Brian’s eyes. “It’s the least I can do.” It was all he could do.
