Author Topic: Show of Force  (Read 17107 times)

mikecj

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #60 on: 20 March 2019, 05:07:38 »
"Happens to me all the time" - Henry Jones Jr.
There are no fish in my pond.
"First, one brief announcement. I just want to mention, for those who have asked, that absolutely nothing what so ever happened today in sector 83x9x12. I repeat, nothing happened. Please remain calm." Susan Ivanova
"Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. Teach a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime." - Belkar Bitterleaf
Romo Lampkin could have gotten Stefan Amaris off with a warning.

Esskatze

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #61 on: 21 March 2019, 06:58:51 »
Oh my god, this must be the first time in the recent history of this sub-forum that someone spelled "hangar" correctly. Seriously, everyone around here writes "hanger", even the authors who are actually literate! You know, I was actually beginning to doubt myself here...  ;)

cklammer

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #62 on: 21 March 2019, 15:37:14 »
And now let us hope for "ordnance" instead of having to deal with an "ordinance"  ;D

Not you, dubble_g (yet  ::) )

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #63 on: 21 March 2019, 19:17:32 »
I have this sudden urge to write a story about people storing their ordinance in a hanger...

Short chapter today. The clam (sic) before the storm.

***

ELEVEN
Farewells


'Ordinarily, I think I’m supposed to say “We should do this more often,”’ Sebastian said. The wind blew cool and mournful, and it was cold in the shadow of the DropShip.

A line of new Ducal Guards recruits had disgorged from the nearby maglev station, and they went chattering and clattering up the gangplank as Sebastian and his father stood and watched. Sebastian shivered, jammed his hands into his pockets and set his shoulders against the wind.

A pair of security guards stood a discreet distance away. Colonel Marik was taking no chances with his new regimental mascot.

‘Mm, let’s not,’ his father agreed. ‘Let’s definitely not. I’d settle for a “Good luck” or “Safe travels.”’

‘Good luck and safe travels.’

‘Son,’ his father paused. Sebastian could see there was some calculation going on behind his father’s eyes, some geometry being slowly worked out, life’s arcs and angles calculated. His father opened his mouth, let it hang for a moment, before he said: ‘Son, don’t you worry about, hm, Sarloveze or any of that. The Duke and Colonel Marik are going to work things out. They’re going to make everything better, like it used to be. Just trust them. You’ll see.’

It was meant to be reassuring. Sebastian nodded, as though he had been reassured. ‘We’ll see,’ he allowed.

‘Things are going to change son,’ his father nodded. The last of the other recruits were marching up into the bowels of the ship. ‘Mm. Look, I have to go. But son, I just want to … ah … son, I … I have to go.’

Ah, hello there my old friend: Constipated Inability to Express Genuine Emotion. How I’ve missed you, Sebastian sighed to himself. I love you too dad. But maybe you didn’t have to say that. He hoped the old man understood. He glanced up at the sky instead. ‘Nice day for it.’

The sky was a single sheet of undifferentiated grey, more like a cheap painted backdrop or broken computer graphics than a real sky. The Real could feel so fake, sometimes.

‘A storm’s coming,’ his father said, shouldering his bag.

‘Naw, don’t be so melodramatic dad,’ Sebastian shook his head a little. ‘Gets like this all the time. This is just more of the same.’
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #64 on: 23 March 2019, 20:46:16 »
Did someone post a link to my blog on forums.spacebattles.com? Interesting to see where my traffic is coming from...

***

TWELVE
Bernardo, May 3014


The entire regiment filed into the darkened hall, the MechWarriors, the Aerospace pilots, the techs and astechs, medical corps, logistics personnel, clerks, cooks, even Colonel Marik’s footmen and attendants.

The Colonel stood at the front of the room, beside an enormous holoscreen, six meters wide and three high, glowing faintly green in its sleep mode. It gave the Colonel’s face a necrotic, almost holodrama-zombie cast. Gerald gripped a silver, eagle-headed baton at his waist in both hands, and nodded to the Majors and Captains as they filed in and claimed the seats at the front. Two robed ComStar acolytes stood behind him, next to the holoscreen controls, faceless within the folds of their cowls.

Tense-faced base security troops lined the two side walls, shoulder to shoulder.

The personnel shuffled and coughed and murmured into their seats. Sebastian and his lancemates claimed a group of seats in the fourth row, Melanie to his right, Rikard to his left. Sebastian ground his teeth a little when he saw Moreno slip into their row and plop next to Rikard, but he didn’t see a polite way to get rid of the man.

Once they were settled Gerald took a half step forward, and instantly a heavy, expectant silence blanketed the room. Someone sneezed in a back row and was quickly shushed.

Gerald cleared his throat, somewhat theatrically. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, one hour ago we received from ComStar an important communique from the headquarters of the C-in-C Capellan Operations Area, Duke Anton Marik. With the cooperation of ComStar, all units in the COA will be viewing this message simultaneously.’ He was about to turn away, hesitated, then looked at them again. ‘This is big, folks. Pay attention.’ He nodded to the ComStar acolytes, and took a step back.

The ComStar acolytes knelt before the holoscreen. They droned a repetitive, circular prayer, an ouroboros of belief that rose and fell, rose and fell, as one handed a crystal to the other, which was slotted into the machine. The prayers drifted into the waiting, expectant quiet, and the screen blinked to life.

Duke Anton Marik stood at a podium in the full parliamentary finery Sebastian had seen at the hunting lodge: A deep purple chasuble over a high-necked gold-and-white shirt, with fingerless MechWarrior gauntlets in gold-plated plasteel. On the cuffs of the gauntlets were not the four stripes of a General, but the double bars of the Captain General.

Behind him was a three-tiered riser, along which stood a platoon of generals and colonels dripping with gold braid like liquid honey. On the wall hung the symbols of the League and its provinces, the outspread eagle of the League itself at the top, the ankh of Regulus along with the pillar of Nova Roma and the tree of New Delos beneath. The planet-and-spike of Andurien and the star-orchid of Oriente were almost too small to see.

Anton placed his hands on the podium, bowed his head a moment as though in prayer, then raised his eyes to look straight at the holocamera.

‘Members of Parliament, my Lords and Ladies of our great League, my comrades in the Free World League Military, my fellow citizens. I speak to you tonight with heavy heart, but iron determination.’

He left a pause, then raised one admonishing finger.

‘The years since the ascension of my brother, Janos Marik, to the position of Captain General of the Free World League have sorely tested our unity and resolve. We began the new millennium full of hope for the future. I ask you: Where is that hope now? Despite my best efforts, we have faced failure on the Lyran front and short-sighted partisan bickering among politicians at home, even as my brother has grown increasingly tyrannical, ruling by dictatorial fiat rather than by law, even executing those who disagree with him and ignoring the advice of both his generals and Parliament. Contrary to all logic and reason, my proposals for reform have been rejected, time and again.’

The raised finger became a fist, and he hammered it down on the podium.

‘This intolerable situation cannot continue. I will not allow it to continue.’

He raised his voice. The fist became a blade, which he used to slice the air in rejection.

‘I denounce the madman and tyrant, Janos Marik. He is unfit to rule this great League of ours. I shall remove him, by force if necessary, and restore peace, law and order.’

Anton paused again. Someone at the back of the hall began to clap. Others joined in. He wasn’t so sure it was something to celebrate—revenge on Sarloveze and those who backed him, sure. But this? If the provinces fell into line behind Anton, sure, but if not. War.

Had his father known, or suspected? It was obvious now why Anton had suddenly spent mountains of money expanding his personal forces. Whatever was happening, his father would be at the center of it.

Another thought: If Melanie was right, this is what Gerald and Streicher had been cleaning out the regiment in preparation for. Not for Gerald’s bid for power—for Anton’s.

A few rows in front of Sebastian, Force Commander Adeyemi and Captain Streicher were on their feet, blocking Sebastian’s view of the screen. He glanced sidelong at Melanie. She twitched an eyebrow, and mimed clapping, though without making a sound. He shrugged at her, clapped his hands a few times. On the other side Rikard sat frowning, unmoving, while Moreno was another of those standing up. Moreno put his fingers to his mouth and whistled.
Gerald Marik, still standing beside the screen, motioned for silence. Adeyemi and the others sat down as Anton continued.

‘There is a clear and just precedent for this. Three centuries ago, Parliament begged my ancestor Oliver Marik to remove another mad tyrant, Elise. Though he did not wish power, he was willing to sacrifice everything, even his life, to liberate our people. How in good conscience can I do less?

‘I hereby strip Janos Marik of all titles and lands, and declare him an enemy of the people. He is to be arrested and brought to justice for his many crimes. I proclaim myself the true Captain General of the Free Worlds League.’

Another wave of hooting and clapping swept through the regiment, though Gerald was quick to hush them this time.

‘At this hour, forces under my command are in the early stages of liberating worlds across the League from his tyranny, freeing their peoples and defending our realm from grave danger. We will do our utmost to ensure no harm falls to the innocent inhabitants of these worlds, but make no mistake: We will not hesitate to do anything, use any weapon, take any measure required.’

‘Right on!’ someone shouted. Sebastian was surprised to see it was Captain Streicher.

‘Already, nearly a dozen BattleMech regiments and scores of worlds have pledged their allegiance to our great cause, and as this message goes out, more are flocking to our banner every day.’

There were a couple of claps from the noncoms at the back, but Sebastian knew the officers had all heard what Anton hadn’t said. A dozen regiments, a score of worlds. That was what—a sixth of the League’s regiments? A fifth, at best. A fraction, a tiny fraction.

‘Every one of these men has bravely chosen to defend the sanctity, purity and honor of the League. Today, my thoughts are with them, as are my hopes for a just and noble future. I know that trust is well placed. The jackbooted thugs of the regime will fall before your skill and bravery. For your sacrifice, comrades, know that you have the love and gratitude of the entire League.

‘We will defend our League. We will defend our freedom. We will be victorious.’

The holoscreen faded to black.
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #65 on: 23 March 2019, 20:47:15 »
There was uneven, sporadic clapping again, but many faces were thoughtful now, calculating. Heads bobbed together as people whispered with neighbors.

Sebastian was about to lean towards Melanie when Rikard tapped him on the other side. ‘Waddya reckon, chief. Gonna be a fight, isn’t it?’

Sebastian rubbed his chin, aware out of the corner of his eye that Melanie was watching him intently. ‘Let’s hope it won’t come to that,’ he said lamely.

Gerald Marik stepped forward and rapped his baton on the edge of the screen to get everyone’s attention, and immediately dispelled that false, illusory hope.

‘I think you all know where I stand on this, but in case there’s any doubt: I fully and unconditionally support Duke Anton’s call to remove my father, and I am placing this regiment at the disposal of the true Captain General, Anton Marik.

‘It’s too much to hope that my father will see reason, bow to the will of the people and abdicate. He has his loyalists, those too dirty and indebted to him to break loose, too addicted to the trough he’s been feeding them from, and they will fight tooth and nail to protect their unearned privilege.

‘I know what this means as well as all of you do: War.’

Adeyemi nodded, Streicher clearly said ‘Bring it on.’

‘There’s no finer unit in the League and nobody I’d rather have at my side than my comrades here in this room,’ Gerald looked slowly about the room. ‘We are moving out in three days to secure Zion Province. Pack your bags, ladies and gentlemen, for the road will be long, and harden your hearts, for not all of us will reach its end. I hope you are ready for the challenge.’

Silence fell across the room. The only one to speak was Moreno. ‘Ah was born ready, suh!’ There were a couple of chuckles, while Melanie rolled her eyes.

Gerald held up a hand for silence again, then a slow smile crept across his face. ‘But today should be a happy day. A celebration. At my suggestion, the Governor has declared today and tomorrow a planet-wide holiday, the “League Rebirth Day.” Of course, I’m not about to let you miss the fun! You’ll all get a 24-hour pass on one of those days. Tomorrow, we fight. Today, we celebrate!’
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #66 on: 23 March 2019, 20:49:04 »
The street party had a shrieking, manic, almost millennial pre-apocalyptic fervor. Traffic was at a standstill as people spilled from restaurants, pubs, tavernas and tapas bars, reeling with drink, singing or yelling or even screaming.

Sebastian, Melanie and Rikard stuck together, making a kind of battle wedge to break through the crowds with Sebastian in the lead, Melanie and Rikard on either flank. After the spaceport, any crowd would have made him jumpy. He was fairly certain this was the absolute, polar, diametrical opposite of what any sane psychologist would have recommended that he do.

They had tried to kill him. But did he really want to miss a party like this?

Someone was throwing fistfuls of M-Bills into the air, and laughing crowds leaped and clutched at the money.
A naked man ran laughing across the street, holding in two hands a giant flag with the black lotus of Bernardo on a white background, around which had been scribbled “Antton Fur First Lourd”.

Melanie tugged Sebastian’s hand. ‘Hey not so fast,’ she joked, peering intently at the twin moons of the man’s disappearing backside. She almost had to yell to make herself heard over the noise. ‘Slow down, enjoy the scenery.’

Sebastian gave her a cross-eyed look. ‘Come on, we’re late for the—’

A woman threw her arms around Sebastian’s neck and planted a sloppy, tequila-fueled kiss on his mouth. ‘Freedom baby!’ She bellowed directly into his ear canal. ‘Whoo! Freedom!’

Sebastian caught Melanie’s eye. ‘You’re right, what’s the rush?’ he asked innocently. She glared.

The woman untangled herself, with difficulty, apparently unsure of how many limbs she had, and went in search of other targets to aurally assault. She craned her neck up at Rikard, stuck her tongue between her teeth as she eyeballed the distance, and settled for a comradely pat on the bicep.

A pair of policemen trotted by, in pursuit of the patriotic streaker.

Someone reeled drunkenly into Rikard, then belligerently told the giant’s left nipple to watch where it was going. Rikard gripped the man’s arms, pinning them to his side, lifted him bodily into the air, tossed and spun him like a figure skater, caught him and set him down facing the other way. Rikard gave him a firm pat on the confused head.

A high-spirited policeman drew his service gun and fired into the air, sending everyone scurrying for cover. Sebastian threw himself prone, clutching for a gun he didn’t have, before spotting the lunatic cop. He dusted his knees as he stood, gave Melanie and apologetic shrug.

They made their way down to the docks, where triple-decker boats in the style of ancient paddle steamers were taking on passengers. Thousands of lanterns floated in bamboo and rice-paper frames in the river, while thousands more were born aloft by tiny drone copters and their own hot air.

Sebastian led them in a half jog as the shrill steam whistle blew, flashing his ID to the bouncers at the gangplank before stumbling, breathless, into the raucous, swirling crowd on board.

As the boat chugged and sloshed down the river, they chugged and sloshed about the deck. Sebastian whooped in relief as they slipped away from the crowds on the shore, feeling oddly safe, on this little floating sybaritic island.

Rikard was soon lifting people by each bicep in return for free drinks, and Sebastian and Melanie laughed and drank and danced and he held her close against his chest. ‘I feel invincible,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I love you, Melanie Chu.’ Suddenly aware he’d never said those words before. ‘I love you. I feel we could do anything together.’ She suddenly stiffened, and took a deep, shuddering breath. When she pulled away, she wiped her face, and his shirt was damp.

Then fireworks burst overhead and Sebastian turned to watch along with everyone else, as the night sky was filled with glittering, fizzing, booming light. When he looked back, Melanie was gone.

Sebastian plowed through the crowd, calling her name.

He shouted to Rikard, asked if he’d seen her, and Rikard nodded towards the stairs down.

At the bottom of the stairs, someone lunged for him and he grabbed the man’s collar and swung him around, bent him brutally backwards over the railing, teetering off the edge of the boat.

‘What the frack, man?’ It was nobody, a clerk or accountant, face sweaty and white.

Sebastian hauled him back from the rail. ‘Sorry,’ he said, straightening the man’s shirt in apology. The man nodded his thanks, then belched thunderously and was sick down the front of his shirt and onto his shoes. Sebastian leaped away just in time.

He found her on the first level, towards the churning wheel at the stern. Alone, leaning against the rail, watching the ship’s ghostly white wake trail away. She looked up as he approached, went back to watching the waters. He leaned next to her.

‘Sorry, Seb. I’m trying to enjoy this, really. I am. But we aren’t invincible,’ she said. ‘We can’t do everything. You heard the Duke. A dozen regiments? This isn’t a celebration, it’s a wake.’

He put an arm about her shoulders. She stiffened, but did not pull away. ‘Don’t count us out so quick,’ he said. ‘Besides, Rikard heard a rumor we’ve got more than twelve.’ She looked up and met his eyes. ‘Wolf’s Dragoons,’ he told her. ‘Anton signed Wolf’s Dragoons.’

Melanie’s eyes were wide in shock, then narrowed. ‘How? They work for Max Liao.’

Sebastian shrugged. ‘That’s the rumor.’

Melanie did pull away then. ‘Then he’s being used. We all are.’ Sebastian said nothing. ‘You got nothing? It’s like the whole galaxy has turned into a nightmare, a madhouse. What’s happening to you, to us, to everyone? I feel like—I feel like we’re losing our grip.’

‘I know, Mel, I know. I felt that way too. But then. They tried to kill me, Mel. Tried to kill you, me, all of us. That’s what we’re fighting against, Mel. People around the Capt … Janos Marik who think they can get away with that. So. Enemy of my enemy. Liao wants to help us, I’m fine with that.’

‘Can you fight, knowing that? Knowing you’re a pawn?’

‘People like us are always going to be pawns, Mel. Just this time we get to choose whose.’

‘I don’t know, Seb. I don’t know. I don’t know if I can do this.’ Melanie was clutching her own shoulders, shaking her head, over and over again. ‘The people we’ll be fighting—they’ll be our friends, our comrades, our fellow soldiers. I … I don’t know if I can do this.’

Sebastian took a deep breath. ‘Okay.’ Looked down at his hands. ‘Okay. Then don’t. Walk away.’

‘As if Gerald would let me.’ She scanned his face. ‘If I did, would you come with me?’

Sebastian kept his eyes on his hands, the lines criss-crossing his palms. That one, that was the life line, and measured the lengths of your days. That one, the love line, measured the depth of your love. He’s said the words, now felt how hollow they were, as shallow as a line on your palm. Such a shallow little groove. ‘They tried to kill me, Mel.’ His eyes found hers again, and he tried very hard not to see the pain there. ‘So. What will you do?’

She sighed, put a palm to her forehead. Her shoulders heaved once. ‘I’ll stay.’ Her voice was tiny. She dropped her hand, let it hand helplessly at her side. ‘For you. For us.’

‘For us,’ he agreed, taking her back into his arms.

Overhead, the last of the fireworks were dying.
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

mikecj

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #67 on: 24 March 2019, 05:29:23 »
Nicely written as usual.
There are no fish in my pond.
"First, one brief announcement. I just want to mention, for those who have asked, that absolutely nothing what so ever happened today in sector 83x9x12. I repeat, nothing happened. Please remain calm." Susan Ivanova
"Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. Teach a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime." - Belkar Bitterleaf
Romo Lampkin could have gotten Stefan Amaris off with a warning.

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #68 on: 24 March 2019, 19:33:49 »
Nicely written as usual.
Thanks mike!

***

THIRTEEN
Sophie’s World, September 3014


The Sixth Militia had fired the forest. In the dark of the night, the 100-meter tall Atlas trees wavered and crackled in the yellow and orange glow. The river than ran along the forest edge was black and mirror-still, reflections turning each burning tree into a stake plunged into the planet’s heart, or else making a ladder down into hell. The wind blew thick grey smoke and showers of embers across the river, where Sebastian’s lance and the rest of Adeyemi’s battalion marched in silence. The great trees towered above them, reducing the BattleMechs to almost human scale by comparison.

The first few months of the revolt had passed in a giddy blur, almost like a honeymoon that seemed to bear out Anton’s brave words, as they swept through the worlds of Asuncion, Suzano and Kyrkbacken in the Zion Province, and the planetary governments had meekly bowed and submitted without firing a shot. Crowds had gathered to watch the marching BattleMechs, not cheering, not hostile, but slightly bemused, still unclear on what this Marik family squabble would mean for themselves.

Now the honeymoon was over.

They were here with Wolf’s Dragoons, two entire regiments from the brigade, but even they hadn’t been enough to dislodge the dogged loyalist defenders—the Sixth Militia, the First Atrean Dragoons and a mercenary outfit called the Head Hunters. The loyalists were dug into strong positions on bluffs overlooking a river, and had driven back the initial probing assaults, thanks in no small part to the Sixth’s Death Watch battalion and their mammoth assault BattleMechs.

Battles in the 31st century happened more or less by mutual agreement. The size of the forces engaged was tiny compared to the size of the worlds they defended, and fusion power and energy weapons made them capable of operating far from their supply lines for months, perhaps years. Only a kind of gentlemen’s code to avoid prolonged campaigns and seek decisive battle ensured that there was any fighting at all.

Even then, a defeated enemy could often slip away, to fight another day. Which made it the goal of virtually every general to fight a battle of encirclement, to surround the enemy and force him to fight until he was utterly destroyed.

They had that chance on Sophie’s World, Gerald had decided. While the Dragoons’ Delta and Epsilon regiments—along with a single battalion of the Third to fool any enemy observers—kept the loyalists pinned to the bluffs, two battalions of the Third would swing around in a wide arc, cross the river far downstream, and catch the enemy in the rear, crush them between the Dragoons’ rock and the Third’s hard place.

They moved under cover of night, and under the spreading canopy of the titanic Atlas trees. Seemed the loyalists had had the same thought, and decided to torch the whole forest instead.

Sebastian waded his Thunderbolt across the river, dragging up cataracts of spilling water and kicking up capsizing waves with each step, then a plowing bow wave as the waters rose to waist height. Fiery pillars reared overhead. The heat gauge ticked up a few bars as the inferno beat down on his ’Mech. ‘Watch your heat levels,’ he said over the taccom. ‘And Chu, Moreno, don’t even think about jumping.’

Moreno ignored him, Melanie clicked in acknowledgement. He half-hoped Moreno would jump. Would solve one problem very quickly.

The four BattleMechs fanned out in a line. Delavigne’s lance was somewhere to their left, Demir’s to the right. Sebastian tried to get a fix on them, but with all the light and heat, infrared and low-light were useless, and the trees made too much clutter for ordinary radar. He called out their position on the taccom, and hoped they wouldn’t end up firing at each other. They had blue smoke dischargers to identify themselves if IFF failed, but who could even see colors in this?

They threaded cautiously around the great, 10-meter wide trunks. Battering-ram sized branches snapped and hurtled down to the forest floor, or bounced off their BattleMechs, leaving short-lived flames licking along the edges of armor plates.

‘Got something LT,’ called Rikard. ‘Three, no four bandits.’
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #69 on: 24 March 2019, 19:36:39 »
Red icons appeared on Sebastian’s HUD, annotated with range, likely weight. Small, light machines—sentry pickets maybe. ‘Confirmed,’ he said. ‘Moreno, Melanie, go wide around either flank.’

He stepped the Thunderbolt around the bole of a tree, entering a small clearing. On the other side stood a Vulcan, a scarecrow scout design with a light autocannon and a laser jutting from its chest, an incendiary flamer in one arm. The white severed head on green of the Head Hunters was slathered across its torso.

‘Target acquired.’

They fired simultaneously, Sebastian releasing a volley of missiles that whooshed across the clearing and scattered explosions across the Vulcan’s right side and leg, and splintered the trees on either side. A lance of red laser fire burned into the weakened side, causing a minor eruption as pseudomuscles burst into flame, pouring smoke from the machine’s side. The Vulcan’s rapid-firing, light 20mm autocannon rattled, smacking hailstone divots out of Sebastian’s right shoulder armor., while a laser shot arced away to his left.

‘Contact, it’s the Hunters, looks like a pyro squad. Don’t let them get away,’ Sebastian radioed, then lunged at the Vulcan. The pilot backed up, unsure which way to go, twisted right, then took a step left. Sebastian’s first shot sliced behind it, blasting a hole in a tree trunk, but his next two hit, slagging a rent across the right hip.

He dumped two short-range missiles into the gap, sprayed machinegun fire across the cockpit ferroglass to blind and confuse the MechJock, then he was on the Vulcan, jamming the barrel of his Sunglow laser right into the tear, and carving a boiling, white-hot line straight through the leg joint. The joint sheared away, sending the Vulcan sprawling drunkenly head-first into the bole of the closest tree.

‘Heat warning. Target destroyed.’

‘One down.’ A kill. His first combat kill, he exulted. He shook his head to clear the sweat from his eyes. A kill.

‘Got a Hermes. Engaging,’ Rikard was saying, voice distorted by the shriek of his particle cannon.

‘Pair of Firestarters,’ added Melanie. ‘Could use a hand. I got no eyes on Dingo Four.’

‘Copy, Dingo Two. Dingo Four—Moreno—get your arse back here or you are a dead man. Do not try me.’

Sebastian homed in on flashes of blue-white light, and found Melanie’s Griffin backing up as a pair of flamethrower-armed Firestarters tried to catch her in a pincer. They flung liquid jets of flame, bathing the forest in rivulets of molten lava.
He thumbed the missile trigger, and though half the rockets annihilated themselves on intervening tree trunks, he managed to draw the closer ’Mech’s attention. It turned towards him, just in time to catch a spurt of laser fire across its chest.

The pilot evidently recalculated the odds, turned and ran.

Sebastian let him go, switched targets, fired a fusillade at the second Firestarter, though his shots flew wide. ‘Heat warning.’ His cooling vest gurgled and hissed as coolant sloshed and pumped around his chest.

The Firestarter rocked back as Melanie landed a particle blast, leaving a great blackened crater burned into its side. The pilot panicked, and fired his jump jets, vaulting straight up into the air, into the burning canopy above their heads. Its shoulder caught on a massive branch, snapping it but twisting the ’Mech’s trajectory. It flew head-first into the bole of the tree, crumpled and detonated in furious explosion.

Pieces of flaming BattleMech and burning wood rained down on Melanie and Sebastian below. The cracked and severed head unit smacked into the ground hard enough to bounce once, and rolled to a stop at Melanie’s feet.

‘Someone should tell the Head Hunters they’re doing this backwards,’ said Sebastian, laughing with relief.

‘You weren’t kidding about not using the jets. I’m glad I didn’t try that. Thanks for the assist,’ Melanie radioed. ‘Think we missed one though.’

‘The night is still young.’ He turned the Thunderbolt around. ‘Dingo Three, you still with us?’

‘Yeah, got the Hermes.’ Rikard sounded slightly sheepish. ‘Managed to get a little hot in here though, had to shut down. Back online now. Where’s Moreno, uh, Dingo Four?’

‘Do you have to ask?’ Sebastian sighed. ‘Form up on me. Unless you feel like staying for the barbeque, we’re moving.’

The trees thinned a little as they moved, the ground gently sloping down. Through the oval, serpent-eye gaps between the burning trees, Sebastian thought he could make out a plain, and at the edge of the horizon, the bluffs overlooking the river. There was something else out there too, a sheen of moonlight on metal. Perhaps the surviving Head Hunters. Sensors were still having a hard time punching through the forest and its billowing smoke, embers and fire though.

The taccom cleared a little. ‘Devil One to Dingo One,’ Streicher came on the company channel. ‘You’re out of position. Step it up. We’re moving out of the forest. All units, skirmish line.’

‘Contacts, multiple contacts,’ Delavigne suddenly hollered. From the gaps ahead of Sebastian, light started to flare. ‘Unity, looks like the whole—’ There was a squeal of static. ‘—battalion. Need support, ASA-bloody-P.’

Sebastian reached the edge of the tree line, and stopped.

‘Target acquired, target acquired, target acquired…’ His targeting computer sounded like a broken audio disc. His HUD was plastered with red, from side to side.

‘Oh. Frack,’ he heard Melanie whisper.
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #70 on: 24 March 2019, 19:39:14 »
The plain before them seethed with metal monstrosities. In the reflected glow of the forest fire, he made out the bullet-nosed profile of an 85-ton Stalker, beside a pair of Orions and a hunched, derringer-armed Marauder. There was a BattleMaster, and behind it an Awesome, there a Zeus, and at the top of a small rise, the king of the battlefield and heaviest BattleMech in existence, an Atlas.

‘The Death Watch Battalion,’ Sebastian breathed. ‘Devil One, we’ve got to pull back.’

‘Negative,’ Force Commander Adeyemi cut through the channel. ‘We outnumber them two to one. Push through. Into the valley! For Colonel Marik! For Duke Anton!’

Third Militia ’Mechs poured from the woods on either side of them, and charged downslope towards the waiting loyalists. The air between the two sides was filled with light, impossibly, blindingly bright, thunderclouds of missile exhaust, writhing snakes of glowing tracers. Just the sound of it alone felt like it should crack the planet.

‘Seb?’ Melanie sounded the way he felt. ‘Seb, these aren’t mercs. These are Militia, Seb.’

‘Covering fire,’ he mumbled, half-hearing her. Tried to pick out targets, avoid hitting his own charging comrades. He tilted the shoulder Delta Dart launcher high, and fired high-arcing volleys over the heads of the front ranks. ‘Watch for flankers.’ That sounded like good advice. ‘Don’t do anything crazy.’ Like join the insane charge.

‘Don’t mind if I don’t,’ Rikard agreed.

‘Gordon!’ a voice bellowed on the open channel. ‘Gordon! No tricks this time, Gordon!’

Sebastian froze when he heard the voice. He recognized it instantly. Armand Sarloveze. The T&T computer highlighted the signal origin—an Awesome, bulling through the Third lines, swatting a Phoenix Hawk aside carelessly with its left hand, a mace-like fist.

‘I’ll have your head, Gordon!’

Sebastian clenched his teeth. Sarloveze had tried to kill him. Him, his father, Melanie, Rikard.

‘Don’t do anything crazy, Seb,’ Melanie begged.

Sebastian’s left hand wrapped around the throttle control in a crushing grip. Sarloveze had tried to kill him. He slammed the throttle forward. Ignored Melanie’s disbelieving curse. Let rip with everything in his arsenal.

Armor boiled and slagged across the Awesome’s torso, but the thing was as solid as a cliff-face, his fury merely chipping away at its surface. Sarloveze fired back, a triple blast of lightning, and Sebastian’s viewscreen polarized and blanked out for an instant, and when it came back the HUD flickered unsteadily. The Thunderbolt shuddered, and he clenched his teeth against a wave of dizziness, fighting to keep it upright.

Particle cannon were deadly, but field inhibitors made them inaccurate at ranges closer than 90 meters. So, get closer. Sebastian twisted, tried to keep his undamaged side towards Armand, dodged to the side, closed the range. Fired again, again, chaining the fire from his four laser cannon, leaving no gap for Armand to exploit. ‘Heat warning.’ He might as well have been using the Vulcan’s pea-shooter.

Armand took a step back. The muzzles of his cannon glowed, a halo flashed around each muzzle, and searing light lashed the Thunderbolt again.

‘Internal damage: SRM.’ Sure enough, the status for the Bical launcher flashed red.

Closer. Almost within swinging distance. Sebastian tried to concentrate his fire on sections of already-blackened and pitted armor on the Awesome’s left side. He wrote parallel, crackling red lines across the machine’s side, but still the damn thing looked barely damaged.

Armand took a step back. Sebastian moved forward, raised the right arm Sunglow laser. Then Armand lunged, left-arm mace swinging around. Sebastian saw it coming, got the right arm up, saw the arm hit, was thrown sideways in his seat as the mace crashed into the Thunderbolt’s arm like a battleship into an iceberg, with a monstrous rending and tearing.

The barrel of the right-arm laser crumpled.

‘Internal damage: Large laser.’

He couldn’t keep his balance this time, tipped sideways, was forced to go down on one knee. The Awesome looming in front of him, glowing in the reflected glare of the forest fire. White light crackled around its weapon tubes.

Then it rocked back, as three particle bolts hit it simultaneously.

‘Move Seb, move, we’ll cover you, move, movemovemove,’ Melanie urged.

Sebastian got the Thunderbolt back on its feet, staggered backwards a few steps. On the monitor saw Melanie’s Griffin and Rikard’s Warhammer still at the tree line, cannon trained on Armand.

‘Fall back, fall back, all units,’ Adeyemi called. ‘Rally point bravo. Fall back.’

Around Sebastian, the Third’s BattleMechs gave ground, like a receding tide, ones with jump jets leaping for the forest before giving covering fire for their slower-moving comrades.

The ground at the Thunderbolt’s feet erupted, as a Stalker to one side loosed a volley at him. His enemy was there, in front of him, hurting maybe, but the Taranis was hurting too, and he’d run out of time. Sebastian swore to himself. To stay was suicide. He shuffled back, then turned, and threw the Thunderbolt into a run for the forest.

‘No you don’t Gordon, you’re not going anywhere,’ Armand said.

The Awesome charged forward. Lighting flickered around the Thunderbolt, missed, smacked into the bole of a tree to his right. There was an earthy moan, a wooden sigh, like a squeaky door being slowly closed. Then a snapping, splintering, and the tree trunk leaned drunkenly, held itself for a moment, then with a final crunch tipped over, 1,000 tons of flaming timber crashing to the ground between the Thunderbolt and Awesome, blowing up a solid, 20-meter high wall of fire-streaked smoke and dust. Its 10-meter wide trunk was nearly as high as the Awesome. Only its blocky head peeked over the top.

‘Fall back, all units fall back,’ Adeyemi was chanting. ‘Fall back.’

‘Sebastian, come on.’

Armand was yelling incoherently over the open channel, punching furiously but uselessly at the fallen tree. Sebastian spared him one last look, then turned and followed the other two BattleMechs back into the forest.

‘Fall back.’
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

mikecj

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #71 on: 25 March 2019, 04:06:00 »
Yup, time to go.
Its not over until the Assault 'Mechs come out to play.
There are no fish in my pond.
"First, one brief announcement. I just want to mention, for those who have asked, that absolutely nothing what so ever happened today in sector 83x9x12. I repeat, nothing happened. Please remain calm." Susan Ivanova
"Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. Teach a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime." - Belkar Bitterleaf
Romo Lampkin could have gotten Stefan Amaris off with a warning.

OpacusVenatori

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #72 on: 25 March 2019, 07:49:55 »
Wow. I almost felt the burning inferno while reading this. Good job  :thumbsup:
While some fight with honor, Others win battles

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #73 on: 26 March 2019, 19:34:38 »
FOURTEEN
Blue smoke


Dawn was breaking as the survivors straggled from the forest, still fitfully smoking and fuming, branches as denuded as though it were the depths of winter. The smoke was thicker, white as fog, parting only reluctantly as they shuffled through, across the river, and on to the higher banks on the other side.

The smoke made it hard to see who else had survived. Ghostly running lights flickered to either side. As the slogged ashore Sebastian spotted Demir’s Orion, leaking viscous strands of red coolant from its elbow and shoulder, leaving a splatter like blood in its wake. Rikard’s Warhammer walked with a limp, the searchlight was shattered and armor over the left knee hung in loose shreds. Melani’s Griffin seemed mercifully almost untouched, though slightly singed from its encounter with the Firestarters.

The console in his Thunderbolt was now sprinkled with islands of reproachful red. Two weapons systems out, he sighed, looking down at the mangled remains of his machine’s right arm. The armor schematic showed more red than green. And he’d failed. He’d faced the man who tried to have him killed, and failed. He smacked the console once with his open palm, but succeeded only in hurting himself.

Sebastian cracked open the faceshield on his helmet and leaned back against the headrest. And closed his eyes, for what felt like the first time in weeks.

‘Ouch chief, y’all look like shit.’

When Sebastian looked again, he was not greatly surprised to see Moreno’s Grasshopper wading ashore. With hardly a scratch.

‘Whereas you seem to have missed the battle entirely. We got a word for that in the Militia you know, Moreno. Rhymes with “cacking froward.”’

‘Nah, Ahm jes better’n you at not getting hit.’

‘I’ll bet.’ Sebastian was too tired to be baited. ‘I’m sure the after-action analysis of your data recorder with vindicate you when we get back to camp.’

Amazingly, the threat shut the man up. Every BattleMech automatically recorded hundreds of hours of sensor data, gun camera video and communications logs, that was routinely downloaded and analyzed to evaluate each MechWarrior’s performance. If Moreno had been a coward, they’d know soon enough. No point arguing about it now without proof.

‘All lances,’ Streicher radioed. ‘Status report.’

‘Dingo One to Devil One,’ Sebastian replied. ‘All units present and accounted for. Capable of limited defensive action, moderate damage sustained, Dingo Three has leg damage but can move. What happened, sir?’

‘All right, you’re in better shape than the other two lances. Looks like the loyalists were already pulling back from the river when we arrived, we blundered into their line of retreat, smacked up against their rearguard. Right into their Death Watch battalion and Head Hunters, as luck would have it. We were hitting CLG back there.’ ‘

CLG—Combat Loss Grouping, was the point at which accumulated battle damage would begin to take a unit’s BattleMechs out of action. It was a cascade point: One machine would go down, allowing the enemy to concentrate their fire on the survivors, meaning the next machine would go down even faster, and so on, accelerating exponentially until the entire unit was annihilated. Commanders kept an eye on the CLG of their units, and if they were smart, withdrew before they hit it. With the loyalists already in retreat, Adeyemi had decided the risks outweighed the benefits of sticking in a slugging match with the Death Watch battalion.

‘The Third is pulling back while the Dragoons pursue. Less danger of friendly fire. Get your lance ready to move Dingo One, we’re heading back to camp.’
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #74 on: 26 March 2019, 19:36:55 »
Sebastian acknowledged and clicked off, punched up the navigation data and switched the lance channel. ‘Get in line, folks. We’re heading home. Moreno first, then me, Rikard, Chu. Let’s go.’

The four BattleMechs organized themselves into single file, and began making their way back along the paths they’d taken to make their attack. The land was made of gentle, rolling hills carpeted with brittle, dry yellow grass. Behind them the sky was still smeared with smoke from the forest fire, but overhead it was almost painfully blue, just endlessly blue on blue.

‘Contact, Dingo One,’ Melanie said. ‘Got four Lightning ASFs, bearing 160, altitude 2000.’

Sebastian glanced at the display. Four tiny black shadows raced against the blue backdrop, approaching their column from behind. The hollow boom of their engines grew louder. He frowned. The Lightning could be bad news, even for an undamaged BattleMech, with a heavy Luxor autocannon tucked into the nose, each burst capable of delivering 200 kilograms of armor-piercing incendiary shells that could shred even the heaviest armor in seconds. ‘Anyone got an IFF?’

His own scope equivocated, lamely labeling the fast-approaching fighters “Unknown.”

‘Got nothing,’ Melanie replied.

‘Me neither,’ Rikard added.

It might be the enemy, then again, it might be the Dragoons. Cooperation and coordination with their new mercenary allies was still sometimes spotty. He didn’t even have a frequency he could call the Dragoons on. ‘Scatter, put some cover between you and the fighters. But hold your fire. We aren’t looking for a fight.’

Even as he spoke, the head of Moreno’s Grasshopper puffed a plume of smoke and a quintet of missiles leaped into the sky. The bright points of their exhaust dwindled and drifted, before detonating in tiny grey clouds, well behind and below the four fighters.

‘Cease fire,’ Sebastian shouted. ‘What did I just say?’

‘Better safe than sorry, chief.’

The four fighters tilted a wing up, and began to curve towards them.

The Grasshopper’s missile launcher spat again, trailing five thin fingers of smoke across the sky, again detonating well away from their targets.

‘Moreno,’ Sebastian growled, opened his mouth to say more but a flash a rage ran down his spine like lightning. Without thinking, he moved the Thunderbolt forward a step and brought the left arm around in a roundhouse punch, crunching into the side of the Grasshopper’s head. ‘I said. Cease. Fire.’

The first fighter’s nose dipped, and it gathered speed, racing along the ground towards them. Sebastian thought he glimpsed markings, a black wolf’s head on a red background.

‘Pop smoke,’ he told the others. ‘It’s the Dragoons, deploy smoke.’

Two batteries of small, tubular electrical smoker dischargers welded to either side of the Thunderbolt’s torso cranked open, and began to discharge wisps of vivid cobalt smoke.

The lead Lightning opened fire, with a deep-throated buzz from its autocannon, smoke fuming from its nose like a dragon. The ground geysered in hopscotch explosions as shells impacted in a zig-zag line leading up to his Thunderbolt, then hammered into the side, the shoulder, flinging the torso sideways with the impact. Fire blossomed from the shoulder, and the entire arm assembly snapped free and went tumbling across the ground.

‘Blue,’ Sebastian shouted into the open channel, ‘Blue, you bastards, blue. We’re on your side!’

The first fighter pulled up into a climb and angled away. Revealing its wingmate, bearing straight towards him. Sebastian didn’t even have time to curse before the shells plowed into the already weakened waist armor, punched through it, holing the BattleMech all the way through in a dozen places.

The BattleMech’s own weight and gravity did the rest. The upper torso and leg assemblies were now joined only by smashed and blasted threads of carballoy and titanium, that bent, squealed and then snapped under the stress.

The torso slid left, the legs fell right. Severed almost cleanly in two. The ground leaped up towards the Thunderbolt’s viewscreen and Sebastian futilely raised his arms in front of his face before he was smashed against the restraints.
The torso came to rest face-down, canted at a steep angle, so that only the restraints kept Sebastian in his seat.
He hung against the harness for a moment in shock. Felt nothing at first. Then pain, by degrees, beginning with his shoulders and hips where the restraints had bruised him and scraped the skin, spreading across his chest, up the back of his neck, all around his skull.

What he’d have liked to do was the heroic thing, which would be to bravely fall unconscious and wake up in the field hospital, preferably with one or more beautiful nurses in attendance, or maybe Melanie watching protectively over him. But no. No such luck. His body was providing uncooperative, brutally insisting that he remain awake and able to fully experience every moment of the agony shrieking from every limb of his body.

He flexed his hands tentatively, tried to move his arms, grimaced against the pain but it didn’t seem to get any worse. He wriggled out of the chair harness, grabbed his neurohelmet and heaved it off his head. There was a stabbing ache in his side with every breath, that flared white-hot through his eyes when he tried to touch it. So, don’t do that.

Outside, Melanie’s Griffin stood in front of his cockpit, facing Moreno’s Grasshopper. The Grasshopper took a step forward and the Griffin raise its right arm cannon threateningly. Rikard’s Warhammer stepped forward on the other side, and the Grasshopper hesitated, took a step back, then turned and began to walk away.

The comms were dead but he tried anyway, pushing futilely at the dead switches and hissing each time he moved his side. He hung his head, took a breath, then agony flared and he wished he hadn’t done that.

Sebastian grabbed the discarded helmet, the survival medkit and crawled to the back of the cockpit. Unlocked and shouldered the hatch open, then dragged himself onto the tilted surface of the Thunderbolt’s back.

‘Oh thank god,’ Melanie’s voice boomed from external speakers. ‘You all right, Seb?’

‘Never better,’ he muttered, but knew the mics on the Griffin wouldn’t pick it up. He slowly raised a thumbs up over his head, using his good side—such as it was. Then let the arm fall slackly to his side.

‘You know,’ Rikard said, ‘I don’t think I like Moreno very much.’

Sebastian chuckled, then winced. He threw the neurohelmet aside, and watched it bounce and clatter off the BattleMech, and roll into the waist-high grass. He wanted to scream, but knew that drawing a breath for one would only make the pain worse. ‘Ouch,’ he said instead. It wasn’t especially satisfying.

Overhead, cobalt smoke continued to drift into the deep blue sky, blue on blue on blue.
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

mikecj

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #75 on: 27 March 2019, 08:32:58 »
Nice, blue on blue... perfect phrase to end this segment.
There are no fish in my pond.
"First, one brief announcement. I just want to mention, for those who have asked, that absolutely nothing what so ever happened today in sector 83x9x12. I repeat, nothing happened. Please remain calm." Susan Ivanova
"Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. Teach a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime." - Belkar Bitterleaf
Romo Lampkin could have gotten Stefan Amaris off with a warning.

Esskatze

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #76 on: 27 March 2019, 09:58:55 »
You know, I usually accept anything you throw at us readers, but this time I have to critizise your decision to rape logic for the sake of narration and story. There is actually no way in hell that any reasonable commander would have shrugged off a soldier disappearing at the beginning of a fight, just to emerge later unscathed. I understand that you need this for your story's progress, but really, that could have been handled better, more gracefully.

Other than that, the last chapters were written beautifully, as always.

Sir Chaos

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #77 on: 27 March 2019, 10:29:55 »
You know, I usually accept anything you throw at us readers, but this time I have to critizise your decision to rape logic for the sake of narration and story. There is actually no way in hell that any reasonable commander would have shrugged off a soldier disappearing at the beginning of a fight, just to emerge later unscathed. I understand that you need this for your story's progress, but really, that could have been handled better, more gracefully.

Other than that, the last chapters were written beautifully, as always.

How did Sebastian "shrug it off"? The version of the story I read had all the signs of "This is going to have consequences, later, when there is time for it."
"Artillery adds dignity to what would otherwise be a vulgar brawl."
-Frederick the Great

"Ultima Ratio Regis" ("The Last Resort of the King")
- Inscription on cannon barrel, 18th century

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #78 on: 27 March 2019, 19:28:55 »
Nice, blue on blue... perfect phrase to end this segment.
;)

How did Sebastian "shrug it off"? The version of the story I read had all the signs of "This is going to have consequences, later, when there is time for it."
That was the idea, and may I say I like the idea of being so utterly disorganized that you receive a knighthood for it. Well done, Knight of Chaotitude. That's what I like to see.

Esskatze, you didn't like it, and that's fine, I really don't mind, though "rape logic" is a bit, you know, a bit 'Whoah there dude', for what this site is. We're all just here for a bit of a laff, a bit of the pyew pyew, and this website costs you literally zero local currency of your country and/or bitcoin, whatever. I'm gonna take it that this is a sign of how invested you are in these stories, which is great, fantastic, really good to see, just ease off on the R-A-P-E analogies and we'll be best mates. Aight?

***

FIFTEEN
Friendly Fire


He rode in the back of the MASH truck, slightly numb from the painkiller they’d given him, chest cool from the ice packs taped to his ribs. Nothing broken, they’d said. He’d watched the BRV—BattleMech Recovery Vehicle—arrive as the truck began to move out, and seen the great pincers of its crane arms reach out for the two halves of his broken Thunderbolt.

Sure. Nothing broken.

He replayed in his mind, over and over, what he’d say to Streicher or Adeyemi when he got back, how they’d agree with him that Moreno was a liability, a danger to their own people. What he’d say to Moreno himself, or better yet, how Moreno would try to start a fight, and Sebastian would have an excuse to break the man’s face open. Snap him in two, just like the Thunderbolt.

Just for a change of pace, Sebastian brooded over the fight with Sarloveze, too. On the whole, in the last 24 hours he had, he reflected sourly, absolutely covered himself in glory.

Melanie’s Griffin and Rikard’s Warhammer had gone on ahead after the medics arrived, easily outpacing the truck as it crawled through the grasses, swaddling its charges against bumps and potholes as though it was transporting eggs.

Leaving him alone with his thoughts, his endlessly recycle scenarios of revenge. Wrapped in a fantasy, wrapped a painkiller daze, wrapped in a cushioned and padded medical truck. Almost perfectly insulated against the Real.

Still, once he’d dealt with Moreno, what then? His BattleMech was in pieces. Recovered, which was a small blessing—one of the great advantages of being left in control of the battlefield these days was the possibility of salvaging and repairing units that had been crippled or immobilized. As the Succession Wars dragged on and production capacity across the Inner Sphere plummeted, technicians had gotten better at making do, at jury-rigging field repairs and patching over holes. The Head Hunters’ Vulcan and Hermes, for example, could probably be back in action in a week or two, though the self-immolated Firestarter would be worthless except as an object lesson.

Being cut in half, well now, that fell somewhere between the two extremes, but far closer to the “smashed to pieces” end of the scale. The Taranis might be repairable, but in a few months maybe, up to a year. By which point the revolt might be long over.

The Thunderbolt was the family machine, so technically it was only loaned to the Militia. They couldn’t junk it without his permission, but they could de-prioritize it, leave him sitting on his hands for the duration. He might be assigned or borrow a replacement from the regiment, though no telling what they’d give him. The Vulcan he’d taken down maybe.

And there went any hope of taking on Sarloveze again. A 40-ton infantry hunter against an assault machine twice its weight? Nope. Not looking good.

Maybe, if he got Moreno cashiered, he could get Asha’s old Grasshopper. Sebastian like the idea. Kick the man out of his unit and get his ride in the deal. There was something almost poetic there.

The MASH truck rumbled past several rows of skeletal gantries and scaffolding that cradled the regiment’s surviving BattleMechs, technicians already scurrying across their surfaces or hanging off cradles by their side, orange and blue laser saws flaring, power drills and wrenches whirring, pumps gurgling and chugging. Ordinance trucks puttered from a prefab warehouse to one side of the field, their trailers stacked high with ammunition or replacement parts. Sebastian saw Melanie’s Griffin and Rikard’s Warhammer, but both cockpits were dark and empty. Already in debriefing, he guessed. 

Finally, the truck chuntered to a halt in the middle of the Third’s camp, surrounded by rings of camouflaged bubble tents that served for temporary quarters, in front of the larger boxy, prefab shape of the white and red field hospital.

A ramp extended down from the side of the truck, and white and green-clad orderlies and doctors stretchered off some of the more seriously wounded. Sebastian limped down on his own, and found Captain Streicher waiting for him at the bottom, arms crossed, brow creased into a V.

Sebastian gingerly sketched a salute. ‘Sir.’ He took a breath, winced again. ‘Sir, MechWarrior Moreno hid during the battle, disobeyed my orders and almost got me killed. I know hiring him was your call sir, but this is, it’s just, sorry sir but you can’t protect him anymore. I want him thrown in the stockade, sir, I want him in irons, Unity sir, I want that man to face a firing squad—'

‘You’ve got bigger problems than Moreno, Lieutenant Gordon,’ Streicher cut him off.
 
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #79 on: 27 March 2019, 19:30:47 »
‘Sir?’

‘With me,’ Streicher turned and strode off towards the battalion command tent at a fast pace, forcing Gordon to jog to catch up, each step driving needles of pain into his side.

Streicher threw open the flap, made his way through the crowded, cluttered tent and its milling commtechs and astechs and squidlike tentacles of cables and wiring. Past a 2D map table where Force Commander Adeyemi and his staff pored over a replay of their recent engagement. Adeyemi’s eyes flicked up to Gordon, hardened, he shook his head fractionally, then looked down at the map again.

Streicher came to a halt beside a desk with a square of four monitors stacked two by two, on top of a black, boxy control unit bristling with bundles of color-coded, zip-tied cables that led to a row of processors with status lights like blinking, flickering cyclopean eyes. A commtech sat on a metal tube chair in front of the desk, and looked up at Streicher expectantly, fingers poised over the keyboard.

One top monitor showed sensor data, the one beside it a video feed, and beneath them a weapon status monitor and a communications log. The data downloaded from a BattleMech data recorder. Only, the Mech in question was not Moreno’s Grasshopper.

It was Melanie’s Griffin.

Sebastian looked from Streicher to the commtech, back again. Streicher looked at the monitors, coldly refusing to meet his eyes, and the commtech was looking at Streicher. Waiting.

‘Play it,’ grunted Streicher.

The time stamp on the video feed began to advance. The view bounced as the ’Mech moved, showing blurred flashes of giant tree trunks, before opening out and revealing the massed phalanx of the Sixth’s Death Watch battalion.

Sebastian heard his order to provide covering fire to the mad, headlong charge. The weapons indicator for the particle cannon pulsed, cycled, pulsed. On the view feed, lightning blasted again and again.

Harmlessly, up into the sky.

Melanie had hit nothing. She hadn’t tried to hit anything. Hadn’t even gotten a sensor lock on any of the enemy BattleMechs. Only when he’d gotten into trouble had she fired on Sarloveze’s Awesome. Then backed off once he was safe.

Sebastian was less surprised than Streicher evidently expected. Fighting against mercenaries like the Head Hunters had been one thing, but her fellow Militia, something else. If he felt anything, it was guilt, for putting her in this position, for dragging her here when she would have deserted the unit if left to her own devices. He’d known, he’d known how she felt, and had carried on regardless.

‘Gordon,’ Streicher said slowly, ‘Your MechWarrior refused to fire on the enemy. Maybe she just lost her nerve, but maybe it was something more serious. Did, for example, someone tip off the Sixth about our flanking move? We’ll be investigating thoroughly. During the investigation, MechWarrior Chu will be relieved from active duty and confined to quarters. There’s no room for sympathy for traitors in this regiment, Gordon. If she’s guilty, there will be consequences. In view of your personal relationship with MechWarrior Chu, I am also immediately relieving you of command of the lance. You’ll be in reserve until your BattleMech is repaired or we can find a new one for you.’

‘But sir—’

‘Gordon, I don’t think you realize how close I am to placing you under arrest, too. Colonel Marik still thinks highly of you, and it would break his heart to hear that you’d been offering comfort to an enemy sympathizer. If I were you, I’d spend less time thinking of excuses, more time thinking how I might prove my loyalty to the regiment. Such as by sharing any information you have about Chu’s treachery.’ Streicher paused, evidently to allow Gordon to speak. The bionic eye shone faintly in the reflected glow of the monitors. ‘Anything you’d like to share, Gordon?’

Sebastian shook his head. ‘MechWarrior Chu is loyal, sir. She—’ Streicher was already looking away. His mind already made up. And now that Sebastian thought of it, wasn’t it odd that Streicher had downloaded and reviewed Melanie’s data so quickly. As though he’d been expecting it, waiting for it. ‘Is that all sir?’

Streicher’s look was contemptuous. ‘Get out of my sight,’ he snarled. ‘Or Colonel Marik’s favor won’t be enough to save you.’
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #80 on: 27 March 2019, 19:34:15 »
Sebastian saluted again, stiffly, and slowly walked out of the tent, aware of the eyes on his back. It was a long, long walk back to the entrance, through the heavy and oppressive air, and an even longer one down the rows of tents, dodging the people who walked past, through the too-loud whispers and unconcealed smirks.

It was getting dark again, the last flowering of light already wilting, ashen shadows growing and lengthening. Sebastian stuck to the shadows, kept his head down, kept walking.

He found his bubble tent and ducked inside.

There was his folding cot, on which he’d unrolled his sleeping bag, his duffel bag parked on the ground. The stock of the Silver Talon shotgun poked from the half-open zipper. A folding table, a chair that was more wireframe than actual furniture. And that was it.

He ran his hands through his hair, and stopped them there, a claw on either side of his skull. He dug his fingers into his scalp, gritted his teeth and fought down the urge to scream.

Melanie. He had to talk to Melanie. No way he could sit and wait here. No way.

He turned, stepped outside again, got his bearings, and began to march towards her tent. If she was confined to quarters, there would be a guard, but he’d bully or bluff his way past, or, or he’d do something, he didn’t know what. But he had to talk with her. No way he could leave this, like an open wound. No way.

There was no guard outside.

Sebastian slowed his walk. He craned his neck, looking around. But no, the guard hadn’t just wandered off a little or sat down or gone for a smoke. There was no sign of a guard at all. Soldiers walked past him in either direction, nobody taking any notice. No alarms. Like nothing had happened.

Sebastian walked slowly to the tent, twitched open the flap, took one more look around to make sure nobody was looking, and went inside. The interior was much like his own tent, only without the desk and chair. Cot, sleeping bag and blanket, duffel bag. Sebastian crouched by the bag, guilt over his nosiness in full retreat before his growing concern. But there was nothing, only clothing and a few personal effects in the bag, a few mementoes of their time together and her family. No signs of violence or a struggle.

Only, a torn-open message pouch and a small strip of paper on the pillow. With a single line of text.

His guilt was utterly routed, curled up into a tiny corner of his psyche, telling him not to mind it, to pick up the paper and read it. A starkly short, simple message.

’Mech park warehouse C / 2200 / Bhandari

Sebastian held the paper by either edge in his hands. Well, if she’d gone there, the guard would have gone with her, so, two absences explained. But. Odd. Bhandari, his Chief Tech. Had some mechanical problem happened with the Griffin? But then, he wasn’t Melanie’s Tech, so why would he send a message about it? He had to know she was under investigation, so why even ask her to come down in person anyway.

Bhandari. Who’d been happy to let his men lynch someone for being rude about Duke Anton.

And then. Sebastian had gotten a message, just like this. The day a man tried to assassinate him at the spaceport. He’d assumed the familia had arranged the message, but, what if.

Sebastian shot to his feet, paper falling from sightless fingers, and he plunged headfirst out of the tent, and sprinted back to his own. A weapon, he needed a weapon. There, the Silver Talon. He yanked it from the duffel bag, fumbled for a box of shells, cracked the receiver open and loaded the shotgun, clicked it shut.

The ’Mech park. He ran, shotgun clutched crosswise against his chest, breath coming in harsh rasps against the ache in his side. Cursing himself, cursing his slow, sluggish legs. Faster, faster. If anything had happened, he’d. He’d. He’d kill them, kill every last one of them, he’d kill himself, he’d burn this world to a cinder. Please, let her be okay. Let nothing have happened to her.

Figures loomed in the dusk, and he dodged aside, ignored a protesting shout, a sarcastic ‘Where’s the fire?’, kept running.

The BattleMech gantries loomed larger, ancient dark statues against the blue-black sky. Sebastian slowed, listened. The park was mostly empty, still. There was only a small crew working on Demir’s Orion, trying to straighten an armor plate with a power hammer. The steady, echoing crump was the only sound.

The prefab warehouses were to the side. Where was C? It was the biofuel depot, for the ground vehicles. Lower priority, further from the ’Mechs. Isolated, where few people would go. Sebastian dashed down the line of buildings, spotted a line of light under a door. One last spurt.

He crashed a shoulder against the door and rebounded back, drawing a hiss of pain. Damn thing was locked. He leveled the shotgun at the mechanism, waited for the crump of the power hammer against the Orion, and fired, the echoing thud masking the sound. He kicked the door open.

There was a short corridor, ending in another door. A woman screamed from the other side.

Sebastian charged, burst through the door.

It was a small, claustrophobic office. Tyler Kobayashi, Melanie’s Tech, lay sprawled in a heap on the floor, as though asleep, but his overalls were stained black and red. Melanie was tied to a chair in the center of the room, black plastic ties around her wrists and ankles. Bhandari stood in front of her. His face looked bruised and puffy on one side. He held a square metal can in both hands and was using it to slosh a thick, sweet-smelling liquid onto the floor at her feet.

‘What the—’ said a voice at Sebastian’s ear.

Melanie’s tent guard was right by the door. Sebastian whirled, smashing the butt of the shotgun into the man’s face with a satisfying crunch, throwing the man back against the wall as he screamed, blood spurting from his nose.

Bhandari looked up, eyes wide in shock. He dropped the can, reached for a knife at his belt.

Sebastian fired from the hip.

Bhandari’s face and neck dissolved in a hundred violent, red detonations. He toppled backwards, into the spreading pool at Melanie’s feet, twitched once and was still.

The guard was still slumped against the wall, moaning, holding his face in both hands, blood running from between his fingers. Sebastian dropped the shotgun, reached down and pulled the man’s service pistol from its holster. Pressed it against the side of the man’s head.

‘No wait—’ the man bubbled.

Sebastian fired. Felt something spatter against his face.

‘Seb, Unity. Seb, what the frack is going on?’ Melanie’s voice quavered, hoarse from screaming.

Sebastian tucked the pistol into the back of his waistband, bent beside Bhandari’s body, drew the man’s knife and sawed through the ties around Melanie’s wrists. ‘Streicher thinks you’re a traitor,’ he explained, working the blade back and forth furiously. ‘I think Bhandari took the opportunity to—’

Her hands freed, Melanie grabbed Sebastian’s head in both hands, pulled him towards her and kissed him fiercely, desperately. He was aware of nothing else, only the shape of her pressed against him, the feel of her, the only thing real that existed in the entire galaxy. Alive, she was alive, he was alive, he could go on living, knowing she was alive.

Sometimes it seemed so hard to know what was real, what mattered, what should matter, but here, now, everything was simple.

And it wasn’t. Sebastian pulled reluctantly away. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘Let me get your legs free.’ He bent down, just as he heard a voice behind him.

‘Bhandari?’

Melanie’s head jerked up. Sebastian spun, drawing the guard’s pistol even as the door flew open, and Rafael Moreno crashed into the room.

Sebastian brought the gun up, but Moreno’s foot lashed out, catching his wrist, throwing the pistol to one side so his shot impacted against the prefab wall and punched a ragged hole in it.

Moreno charged into Sebastian, making him gasp in pain, and they both grabbed for the pistol, grunting and wrestling, faces inches apart. Moreno shoved Sebastian, and his foot slid out from under him, slick with oil. He went down on one knee. The pistol was twisting, twisting around.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Melanie had the knife, was frantically slashing at the ties about her ankles. Just had to buy her time to get free.

Sebastian rocked his head back then smashed it forward, headbutting Moreno in the nose, and then man screamed but held onto the gun. The pressure loosened though, letting Sebastian surge back to his feet. He had the pistol almost free, hammered a chop down on Moreno’s forearm, got one hand off the gun. One more second.

Moreno laughed.

‘Ahm glad you came, chief,’ he hissed. ‘Means she gets to watch you die first.’ He suddenly let go his grip on the pistol, danced back a step.

Before Sebastian could aim, Moreno spun in a roundhouse kick. Right into Sebastian’s bruised ribs. The air whooshed out of him, and he fell, tripped over the body of Kobayashi, and crashed gasping to the floor. Blinded by tears. The pistol knocked from his grasp, thumping to the floor at Moreno’s feet.

‘Think you can order me around, academy boy?’ Moreno chuckled, crouched and picked up the pistol. Sebastian couldn’t answer, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything by curl around the black hole of pain that had opened in his side.

Stupid hurt, wounded pride. He was going to die, because one man didn’t like taking orders from someone younger than himself. They were fighting a war to decide the future of a fifth of humanity, but this is what it came down to. Not noble principles. Not lofty goals. Revenge. Pride. Prejudice and hate. Liberty, freedom, good government, strong leadership, they were just paper-thin excuses. Not real.

No, what was real was Moreno’s resentment. And the gun now in his hand.

Moreno smiled. ‘Good-bye, chief.’

Moreno’s head was jerked back, Melanie’s hand wrapped around a handful of his carefully gelled hair. Bhandari’s knife was in her hand, and she plunged it into Moreno’s neck, and twisted. His eyes bulged and rolled up, blood bubbled and trickled from between his teeth. His hand flapped weakly, trying to find the hole in his neck, trying to stop the flow of blood gushing around the knife hilt. Moreno tried to swing the gun around, but his arm just flopped loosely, vaguely. He vomited another bright gush of blood and went slack.

Melanie let go Moreno’s hair and the knife, let the both slide to the ground. She spat on his dead face. Then knelt beside Sebastian, and gently levered him up from the floor into a sitting position, his head cradled against her chest.

It was one of those moments he wished would never end, that he could stretch into infinity. Eternally here, eternally in her arms, knowing she was safe.

But of course, she wasn’t. Not with Streicher sure of her treachery, especially not with Bhandari and Moreno dead, without witnesses. No, regardless of what they’d done, what they’d prevented from being done, she was very definitely not safe.

Sebastian was in pain, unimaginable pain. And the thing was, he was about to do something that would hurt much worse.
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

Sir Chaos

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #81 on: 28 March 2019, 04:35:03 »
;)
That was the idea, and may I say I like the idea of being so utterly disorganized that you receive a knighthood for it. Well done, Knight of Chaotitude. That's what I like to see.

I didn´t technically receive the knighthood. Too formal and organized for my taste. No, it kind of... fell off the back of a warhorse, if you know what I mean. A Klingon promotion kind of thing. The previous owner wasn´t doing anything with it any more, so I gave it a loving home.
"Artillery adds dignity to what would otherwise be a vulgar brawl."
-Frederick the Great

"Ultima Ratio Regis" ("The Last Resort of the King")
- Inscription on cannon barrel, 18th century

misterpants

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #82 on: 28 March 2019, 13:56:00 »
You know, I usually accept anything you throw at us readers, but this time I have to critizise your decision to rape logic for the sake of narration and story. There is actually no way in hell that any reasonable commander would have shrugged off a soldier disappearing at the beginning of a fight, just to emerge later unscathed. I understand that you need this for your story's progress, but really, that could have been handled better, more gracefully.

Nothing I've seen shows Seb as a "reasonable" commander or within a reasonable situation. Fresh out of the academy, trying to keep his head down while the higher ups in his units play politics, getting caught up in an escalating cycle of revenge...very little points to him "reasonably" handling an insubordinate lance member in an active war zone.
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Tegyrius

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #83 on: 28 March 2019, 19:10:21 »
That thing you do so well, Dubble_G?  You're doing it again.
Some places remain unknown because no one has gone there.  Others remain unknown because no one has come back.

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #84 on: 28 March 2019, 22:10:57 »
That thing you do so well, Dubble_G?  You're doing it again.
What, pissing off my readers? Lol.

***

SIXTEEN
Loss


You can’t stay here,’ Sebastian said slowly, quietly. Working his way through the ugly truth, and the worse conclusion waiting at the end. ‘Streicher thinks you’re a traitor. I don’t think he ordered this—far easier just to have you shot—but how is this going to look? You and me alive, no witnesses, Moreno and Bhandari dead. He’s going to take this as proof.’

He looked up at Melanie, his face still against her chest. All he could see was her chin, which nodded jerkily. ‘Why?’

‘BattleROM data. Because you wouldn’t fire on the Sixth. Moreno’s had it in for us for ages, and saw his chance. Frame you for the murder of your tech and claim you were killed trying to escape. Then burn the bodies, to make sure nobody checked too closely.’ Sebastian gulped down, clenched his jaw and knew what he had to say next. He reached up a hand and squeezed her shoulder, hard. ‘Take your ’Mech. Go. Be what they say you are: a traitor. Defect to the loyalists. If you stay, they’ll arrest you, put you on trial, execute you. You have to go.’

Melanie looked down at him, blinking, processing what he’d said.

‘Come on,’ Sebastian urged. He let her go and picked up the Silver Talon shotgun, used it as a crutch to haul himself to his feet. Gasped at the effort it took. ‘You’ve got to go, you’ve got to go now, before people come looking. Get a head start in the Griffin, it’s as fast as anything in the battalion, nobody can catch you.’

He pushed open the shattered warehouse door, stuck his head out and looked around. Dusk was gone, full night had settled over the camp. The warehouses and ’Mech park were shades of black and grey, dotted with cones of sodium-yellow light from overhead lamps. Demir’s Orion was bathed in bright floodlights, and a power hammer still cracked rhythmically on its armor.

Sebastian took Melanie’s hand, and led her towards her Griffin. ‘Okay, walk slow. Casual.’ Casual was, of course, too much to ask. Careening from near-death to abandoning everyone she’d served with in the space of a few minutes. It was a wonder she was holding together at all. She trailed wordlessly behind, walking almost robotically, a zombie.

‘All right, up you go,’ Sebastian said at the foot of her ’Mech, determinedly not thinking about what his words would mean. ‘Hot start, then just floor it, head north.’ He dropped the shotgun, took her shoulders and enfolded her in a hug.

Put his hand to the back of her neck, and stroked her hair. ‘I love you,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Now go.’

Melanie didn’t move. Her fingers worked into his shoulders, as though to reassure her of his solidity. Seeking some anchor in this nightmare.

‘Come with me,’ she said, voice barely a whisper.

Yes, he wanted to say, of course yes, he would go anywhere with her. How he’d been dying for her to ask him, and dreading it as well. Because the answer had to be “No.” It would be a death sentence for him to go, as sure as it would be one for her to stay. He choked back a sob. ‘Please,’ he begged, heedless of the tears in his eyes, ‘don’t make this harder than it already is. Sarloveze is out there. He tried to kill me. If I went with you, if I tried to give myself up, would I even live long enough to surrender? Shot out of hand. While “reaching for a weapon.” Or would there be an “accident” in the internment camp. He wants me dead, Mel, everyone in the Sixth knows. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. But I can’t.’

‘What will Streicher do, if you stay?’

‘Guess there’s one way to find out. Better odds than I’ll get with Sarloveze, Mel. I’ll take my chances.’

She drew back, angrily wiping away tears with the palm of her hand. ‘You’re an idiot,’ she said.

‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’

‘You’re living in a fantasy.’

‘Well, aren’t we all? The fantasy where all of this is going to make sense in the end, instead of being the stupid, pointless, shitty mess that it is.’ Sebastian hugged her again, felt her resist at first, then soften, and allow him this one last moment. ‘Now please, you have to go. I’ll find you, when it’s over. I’ll come find you.’

‘Another fantasy,’ she repeated. ‘Guess we need fantasies though. Maybe I’ll find you first.’

‘I’d like that.’ Already, he felt lost.

‘Me too.’ A final kiss, bruisingly hard, and she let him go. ‘Me too.’ Then chain ladder clinked gently as she climbed, and Sebastian watched her, couldn’t take his eyes off her, waited until she disappeared into the cockpit. Every breath hurt, and he wasn’t sure that was all the fault of his bruised ribs.

The Griffin’s reactor came to life with a bass rumble. The sound was something that pulsed and vibrated in the hollow hole inside of him, in the pale, shadow ghost he’d become. The hammering by Demir’s Orion abruptly stopped. Sebastian could hear vague voices raised in question, puzzled now, not yet angry or frightened.

Melanie’s Griffin stepped forward, tearing through the gantries that enclosed it. Metal screamed and shrieked, snapped and fell to the ground in twisted heaps. 

She raised the right hand, with the particle cannon mated to the outside of the wrist, towards him once, in salute. Or perhaps farewell. Then she twisted to one side, aimed and fired. The brilliant bolt lit up the night, a falling star that streaked over his head and detonated against the thin, fragile walls of Warehouse C. A second later, the stacked biofuel canisters inside erupted in a volcanic inferno, hurling a plume of fiery smoke and ash into the sky.

The voices of the techs around the Orion turned to confused shouts, panicked questions and bellowed orders. A siren began to sound, high and shrill.

The Griffin was already moving, turning towards the north, striding away, slowly at first but gathering speed.
It felt like an out-of-body experience, as though he were watching himself walk away, leaving this scrap of helpless, powerless consciousness behind. Behind him, the camp was stirring, an enraged wasp nest sound, people boiling out in all directions, angry and fearful and confused. Welcome to the club, he thought.

Melanie swept past the sentries and guard towers at the edge of camp almost unchallenged, as guards frantically radioed for orders, for explanation of what was happening. One brave soul fired a laser rifle, a tiny pinprick of light that seemed to touch the leg almost gently. The Griffin did not slow or turn. Did not look back. Just shrank, dwindled into the night, and was lost in the darkness.

Tousle-haired MechWarriors still struggling into their cooling vests sprinted by, racing for their machines, followed by excited gaggles of techs. They paid Sebastian no notice. Someone slammed into his shoulder from behind, knocking him forward a step, but they were gone, pounding towards the gantry, leaving him an island of calm in the churning mass of buzzing people.

Sebastian stayed there, long after the Griffin had disappeared from view, standing, watching the empty place on the horizon where she wasn’t anymore.
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #85 on: 28 March 2019, 22:12:13 »
Sebastian looked up, and saw Rikard looking down at him. Rikard held a wide-beam torch, that he used to illuminate Sebastian, running the light up and down him, making Sebastian squeeze his eyes shut against the glare until Rikard lowered it.

‘Can’t find Chu, or Moreno,’ Rikard said. ‘One of them’s in that fire, the other one in the ’Mech, I figure.’ He sighed. ‘You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you LT?’

As though from a great distance, he watched his body nod, jerkily like a marionette. ‘A little.’

‘’Bout what I figured.’

‘You figured right.’

‘Figures.’ There was a long pause. ‘Moreno?’

‘Tried to kill her. And me, when I showed.’ He could say it calmly because it happened to someone else. To Sebastian Gordon, not whatever he had become.

‘That figures too,’ Rikard nodded. ‘Real surprise, that. Like a bolt from the bl … bloody great big, black thundercloud. Just you and me, now.’

‘O happy day.’

‘Likewise. Still, glad you killed him, and not the other way round.’ Rikard rested a hand almost gently on Sebastian’s shoulder, nearly engulfing it completely. ‘Colonel’s looking for you. Figured it’d be better if I was the one that found you and brought you in. Some of the other boys and girls are getting a little. Excited.’

Sebastian sighed. He should care, but didn’t know how to, anymore. ‘He seem angry?’

Rikard nodded, in conscious imitation of Sebastian earlier. ‘A little.’

‘Figures.’
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

Esskatze

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #86 on: 29 March 2019, 03:24:33 »
Esskatze, you didn't like it, and that's fine, I really don't mind, though "rape logic" is a bit, you know, a bit 'Whoah there dude', for what this site is. We're all just here for a bit of a laff, a bit of the pyew pyew, and this website costs you literally zero local currency of your country and/or bitcoin, whatever. I'm gonna take it that this is a sign of how invested you are in these stories, which is great, fantastic, really good to see, just ease off on the R-A-P-E analogies and we'll be best mates. Aight?

Ah, this might be the language barrier at work. In my language, that would be an un-offending (though still a bit harsh) thing to say, but I know that English native speakers have become touchy in that regard. Perhaps "violating" would better way to express that, although that still might rub you the wrong way. Hm. "Rubbing" in the context of a grown man touches me in all the wrong places. Or how about "bending" logic? Still, though that may be just me, I think that in some of your other works you were more successful to describe utter battle fatigue. But you are right, it's your story and you write it the way you want, whether I like that single specific part of the great overall story or not.

I admit that I am myself a bit touchy when it comes to violating - or bending - logic for the sake of story. Having just finished the fourth of Stackpole's novellas for HBS BattleTech, I still feel the scars on my soul. It really was a painful experience, and it killed any wish to read anything from Stackpole again (who was one of my least favorite writers to begin with). Man, I wish I could get the time back (and the money, I paid actual money, not just bitcoins!). Sad!

Now to the chapters at hand: awesome work, again! You really had your way with them all. Especially how Melanie took Moreno from behind, man, I didn't expect this. But it gave me a humpin' good feeling. How only Streicher needs to receive his load... but wait, I was to ease up on the analogies, so I only say great job, can't wait to see how things will become even more screwed. Up. Screwed up, I meant.

mikecj

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #87 on: 29 March 2019, 08:00:57 »
I think you captured the nature of the Free World's pretty well so far.
There are no fish in my pond.
"First, one brief announcement. I just want to mention, for those who have asked, that absolutely nothing what so ever happened today in sector 83x9x12. I repeat, nothing happened. Please remain calm." Susan Ivanova
"Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. Teach a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime." - Belkar Bitterleaf
Romo Lampkin could have gotten Stefan Amaris off with a warning.

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #88 on: 30 March 2019, 02:13:20 »
Ah, this might be the language barrier at work. In my language, that would be an un-offending (though still a bit harsh) thing to say, but I know that English native speakers have become touchy in that regard. Perhaps "violating" would better way to express that, although that still might rub you the wrong way. Hm. "Rubbing" in the context of a grown man touches me in all the wrong places. Or how about "bending" logic? Still, though that may be just me, I think that in some of your other works you were more successful to describe utter battle fatigue. But you are right, it's your story and you write it the way you want, whether I like that single specific part of the great overall story or not.

Right on, gotcha. It's easy to forget BT has a non-English following (on my blog I seem to get a lot of hits from Germany and Malaysia???). I'd probably be tetchy too if I had to read four Stackpole novellas. So, we cool now, we so icy we be sinking the Titanic, we so frosty we've single-handedly averted global warming.

***

SEVENTEEN
Intermission

'I’m inclined to believe you’re just young, with the foolishness that goes with the territory,’ Colonel Marik had said, with a slight shake of his head. ‘And you were in love, which doubles the foolishness. Amazing what a pair of thighs can do to a man’s judgement, eh? Still, not everyone shares my view, Gordon. Some say I’m letting my affection for your past deeds cloud my judgement.’ His shoulders had twitched a little, as though to flick away such questions. ‘We’ll see. I’ve got a lot on my plate, more important things than one missing MechWarrior. Colonel Wolf himself is coming with the Alpha regiment to speed things along here, you know. Won’t matter if the Jabos have one more ’Mech or not.’

They put him in the infirmary, and left him there. Sebastian was a patient. He was a prisoner. There was a guard outside the door, who only came inside on the rare times Sebastian had visitors—a doctor to check the progress of his bruised side, an orderly to bring his meals. His ribs required nothing more complicated then rest and minimal being-kicked-in-the-chest in order to heal, so he sat or lay in bed, looking at nothing in particular, and that was fine with him. He felt as colorless and thin as the walls, as permanent as the prefab structure. Knock him down, pack him up, stick him in a crate.

Ship him back home.

Gerald’s aide, Esposito, had wordlessly dumped Sebastian’s belongings in one corner. He’d taken the Silver Talon shotgun when he left, in a petty and symbolic show of Sebastian’s loss of favor.

Rikard came by several times.

‘Nobody gives you trouble for visiting the suspected traitor?’ Sebastian asked during the second visit.

‘Sure, one guy did,’ Rikard nodded, and flexed his corded muscles. ‘Once.’

Sebastian chuckled a little, for the first time in a while. ‘How do you do it, Rikard? Life just bounces off you, doesn’t it?’

Rikard patted a continental shelf of pectoral muscles. ‘Most things do, yeah.’

‘Nothing gets through?’

‘The galaxy is what it is,’ Rikard said. ‘There’s plenty that’s horrible about it, but if I thought about that I’d be miserable every day. And that’s no way to live. So, I guess I kind of pick and choose what to focus on. Make my own reality, you know?’

‘No, I don’t know,’ Sebastian said sadly. ‘But I wish I did.’

On the third visit, Rikard brought news from the front. The Alpha regiment of Wolf’s Dragoons had indeed come burning in, landing behind enemy lines and helping to rout the First Atrean Dragoons. The remaining loyalists, survivors of the Sixth and Head Hunters, were in retreat. Around five companies of MechWarriors had been captured. Sebastian sat up, grabbed the list of names from Rikard, scanning down with one finger.

‘Sorry, Seb, she ain’t there,’ Rikard said. ‘Not listed as KIA, either. Maybe she got away.’

Maybe she had, he had wanted to believe. A fantasy. Of course she had escaped. People needed fantasies.

A courier brought a datachip in a ComStar pouch, whose seals had been torn and roughly pasted back at least twice, so that the top and bottom halves didn’t line up. Censors, of course, going through his mail. The chip had a recorded message from his father, slightly redacted, and he watched it on a unit propped at the end of the hospital bed, with the guard watching impassively over his shoulder.

His father’s face appeared, too close to the camera, so that every pore was visible, blocking out what appeared to be a barracks room behind him. The time stamp said September, but the location had been pointlessly blurred out. Sebastian knew his father’s unit, the Second Ducal Guards, had been on Holt, before attacking Abadan on the border of the Marik Commonwealth.

‘Ah. Hm. Son? It’s me, your father,’ Lloyd Gordon said. He wore grey and purple fatigues, with his arms crossed and resting on a desk. ‘Hope you’re, ah, keeping well. We’ve just arrived on—’ there was a sudden hum that drowned out the audio ‘—and, well. Hm. It’s like I told you son. Everywhere we go, people are lining the streets and cheering. There was a parade in, ah, [hum] city, and people where throwing flowers for us. People are ecstatic, this is what they’ve been waiting for.

‘This is the crucible, son. The League will be reborn in the fires of this battle. This is the turning point of history. We’ve got some great people here, Colonel [hum] and Force Commander [hum], they ah really have a clear vision for the League. For centuries, we’ve been looked down upon, hm, laughed at, humiliated by the other realms.

‘But not anymore. We’re going to take back our realm, mm, take back our rightful place in the Inner Sphere. This is just the beginning, son. This is where it starts.

‘And we’re in this together, son. Still can’t quite believe it. Like a dream come true. I know I, well, I wasn’t always good at, ah, expressing myself, and you know I was disappointed for Oliver, and that wasn’t always, ah, easy for you. But that’s all past. What’s important now is that you and I do our duty, and ah, do our part to see Duke Anton’s vision through.

‘Love you son. Say hello to that nice girl of yours. No pressure, but your mother and I would love to see some grandchildren one day. Hm? Alright, that’s about as long as I can afford—’ His father reached out, and the screen went blank.

In the darkness, a message appeared: “Would you like to record a reply? [Y/N] 10% discount available on messages under 2 minutes.”

There was no keyboard on the playback machine, so Sebastian couldn’t answer.
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #89 on: 30 March 2019, 02:17:27 »
Force Commander Adeyemi was the only other one who came. He, too, had a datachip and a video to show Sebastian.

‘I’ve got good news and bad. The bad first.’ His long-jawed face was grim, and he held up the chip before slotting it into the player. ‘It’s a segment the Jabos broadcast on the entertainment channels, put out by their propaganda department,’ he explained. ‘CO and I thought you’d better watch it.’

The holo started up. Ominous, slightly martial music played, over heavily stylized black-and-white file footage of combat. Artillery cannons belched smoke into the sky. Aerospace fighters flashed over the terrain, letting fall trails of tiny black sticks that blossomed into fire when they hit the ground. A BattleMech staggered under fire, belching heavy smoke. The view began to pull back, so that these images became a collage. Four images at once, then 16, 32, 64, each one getting smaller and smaller, until the details of each clip were lost, forming only a pattern of light and dark. As the view pulled even further back, these tiny squares of video formed a shape. A face. Anton Marik.

The title appeared across his face, in a battered, battle-worn font made to look as though it had been splattered with blood. The title was “Faces of Evil.”

Sebastian watched with detached boredom. So the official channels didn’t like Anton much, so what? Over horror-movie background music, highly desaturated clips showed Anton as a child, a teen and a young man, and a narrator described a tormented, violent, unstable youth. There were interviews with childhood classmates, fellow academy graduates, even the Captain General himself, all testifying to Anton’s instability, cruelty and ruthless ambition.

Well. They would say that, wouldn’t they?

The first segment ended. Another face appeared. Colonel Gerald Marik. The Captain General’s second son got the same treatment as his uncle—troubled childhood, an angry young man growing into a dangerous adult.

Sebastian had stopped listening. Neither man was actually accused of any serious crimes, he noted. Embezzlement, wasting government money, a hint of incompetence. No massacres or murders. Being a bully as a child. Was that the best they could do?

There were others, after Gerald. Various colonels and governors who’d gone over to Anton’s side, all had their characters assassinated with a kind of dutiful diligence, a boring thoroughness.

The last face to appear on the show was Sebastian’s own.

“Sebastian Gordon: The Bastard of Bernardo.”

There were multiple clips of his charge, knocking Anthony Sarloveze’s Hunchback into the water. Edited, of course, to exclude the explosion that had blown Thaddeus Vanra’s ’Mech to pieces.

They’d interviewed Sarloveze’s brother, Armand. Of course. ‘This is the kind of person Anton has attracted to his side,’ he told the interviewer. ‘Cowardly murderers.’

Hadn’t he recently faced Gordon in battle on Sophie’s World, asked the interviewer.

‘Correct,’ Armand nodded curtly. ‘I would have had him, but he is heavily guarded. For this reason, the Captain General himself has authorized the creation of “Justiciar” lances, for the expressed purpose of hunting down and killing the criminal leadership of this revolt. The way to crush this rebellion is to take out the ringleaders. Cut off the serpent’s head and the body will die.

‘Let this be a clear message to anyone whose loyalty is wavering: Traitors and killers will not be safe anywhere, no matter how far you run or where you try to hide. And to Gordon, I say this: We’re coming for you.’

The next interview was even worse. ‘Yes, I’ve known Seb since childhood, all his life, obviously,’ said his brother, Oliver Gordon. His brother sat beside his mother on a couch, the two of them looking stiff and strained. ‘It’s incomprehensible to us that he’s become this monster. We are deeply sorry for those he has hurt. We are donating half of our estate income to fund a hospital to help treat those wounded in the terrible war my brother has helped start.’

Adeyemi leaned forward, and killed the power on the playback unit.

‘Oh,’ said Sebastian. Just went he had thought he was dead, beyond all feeling, they found a way to drive the knife in a little deeper. A way to make him hurt. ‘Ah.’

He had foolishly assumed that hospital was where you went to get better, not where you went to have everything taken away.

It was as though he was living in a kind of reverse-Big Bang, the universe inexorably shrinking all around him and closing in, all the things he’d known being slowly erased from existence. Melanie first, now half this family—his mother and brother.

Sebastian had hoped they might have been left in peace. The era of “Total War” and mass mobilization was long over. Wars these days were the province of a tiny handful of hereditary warrior elite, with a small sprinkling of professionals. Raids and battles and invasions were highly stylized affairs designed to keep the Real where people lived and the Hole where combat happened separate. Even this revolt, he’d thought, was in the end a personal matter, between Anton and Janos, Armand and himself. They could have left his mother out of it.

‘Under duress, I think, Gordon,’ said Adeyemi. Trying for sympathetic, sounding uncaring. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll put you in my command lance once we get you a new ’Mech. We’ll get this guy.’

Oh yes, and there was an officially-appointed extermination squad out there now, looking for him.

‘A new ’Mech? That could take a while, sir,’ he said.

‘Ah, well that’s where you’re wrong, Gordon,’ Adeyemi said. ‘That’s the one good thing that’s come of your 15 seconds of fame. Seems somebody high up in Wolf’s Dragoons heard about your friendly fire incident, and wants to make it up to you.’

‘They do?’

‘PR gig, trying to improve cooperation between the Dragoons and us regulars by showing all of us as one big happy family. They’re sending someone out next week to meet you.’

‘Who?’

‘Man by the name of Joshua Wolf.’
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)