Author Topic: Show of Force  (Read 17091 times)

cklammer

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #90 on: 30 March 2019, 05:56:43 »
Hi dubble_g,

 RL intervened resulting in hiatus fowwing up on fan fiction reading ... so I am caught up again.

 The hits from Germany is most likely me (hopefully not only me :)).

 I must say that you have done it again: a top-notch job of a tale  :thumbsup:

 Excellent characters, unexpected plot twists ... I am really looking forward to the next installments  8)

Best Regards,
Christian

Sir Chaos

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #91 on: 30 March 2019, 07:32:35 »
The hits from Germany is most likely me (hopefully not only me :)).

*jumps up and down excitedly*

Me, too! Me, too!

Best Regards,
also Christian
"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

Esskatze

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #92 on: 31 March 2019, 05:43:07 »
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.

I hope that things between us aren't "frosty". But "cool" we can agree on, yes, as cool as the iceberg that sunk the Titanic.

Also, I seem to be the third hit from Germany. Ze Invasion of ze Germans is vell underway!

Sir Chaos

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #93 on: 31 March 2019, 07:25:47 »
I hope that things between us aren't "frosty". But "cool" we can agree on, yes, as cool as the iceberg that sunk the Titanic.

Also, I seem to be the third hit from Germany. Ze Invasion of ze Germans is vell underway!

Nah... when we invade, a lot more things get broken in the process. This is basically just tourism, which tends to cause a lot less collateral damage.
"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

cklammer

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #94 on: 31 March 2019, 14:26:37 »
Okay, three Germans now: do they have Skat in Battletech?

18 - with  Thunderbolt  ;D

Best Regards,
Christian

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #95 on: 31 March 2019, 19:09:03 »
Mein Gott, they're everywhere... Now I know how Patton felt at Bastogne. Although wait, no, he wasn't there. Though it does give me flashbacks to backpacking in Thailand, where every third backpacker was (A) German and (B) at least six inches taller than me.

Is it just this thread, or are our Teutonic friends just naturally a big part of the BT audience, or are Germans more likely to post replies than lurking Amerikaner, or do Americans not like my writing style, or ... just what exactly is going on. The people demand answers. Anyway, I'm obviously writing in the wrong language.

Also: Esskatze, in this context "frosty" just means cool, chill, mensch!

***

EIGHTEEN
Temporary recovery


A woman from the PR division, in a uniform with creases so sharp they sliced any light that dared fall on them, came to see Sebastian before Joshua Wolf’s arrival, bringing with her a small coterie of civilians—a vampish fashion stylist, a gently rounded, mousy makeup artist and a tall, curly-haired hairdresser.

They bustled in without introduction and with only a cursory knock, and surrounded the hospital bed, two on either side. The guard stood in the doorway, nervously shifting from foot to foot, unsure whether to remove them or not. Eventually, he shrugged, and went outside again.

The hairdresser parked a tiered and hinged kind of toolbox upon a chair, and began extracting a series of scissors, hair brushes, sprays and creams, while the makeup artist had her own palette, and the fashion stylist extracted four plastic-wrapped, freshly-pressed uniforms from a clothes carrier and lay them on the side of the bed.

The PR agent took one look at Sebastian and scowled. ‘He doesn’t look very injured,’ she snapped. ‘Can’t we put him in a cast or something? Bloodied bandage around the head?’

The fashion stylist pursed her blood-red lips, and tapped a finger against her chin. ‘Are you still injured?’ she asked Sebastian.

He shrugged a little. ‘Got a hot compress on my ribs.’

‘Can you wear that outside your uniform?’

‘Um, no? Not much point.’

The stylist shrugged, indifferent. ‘The dress uniform will be fine,’ she said to the agent. ‘Or maybe the cockpit tunic, shows the arms and legs off nicely. Ready to get back into action, that kind of thing. It’ll play well.’

‘Hope so. Unity, he looks so glum. Can he smile?’ The question, near as Sebastian could tell, appeared aimed at the hairdresser, who had taken a pair of needle-fine scissors and was peering intently at the top of Sebastian’s head.

The hairdresser lowered his scissors, looked from the PR agent to Sebastian and arched an eyebrow. ‘Well? How about it?’

Sebastian gave him a cheesy, teeth-baring rictus of a smile: all mouth, no feeling.

‘Good enough,’ the hairdresser shrugged. ‘Yeah, he can,’ he said to the agent.

‘How about the color? Can we lighten that a little?’ She eyed Sebastian’s hair critically. ‘Something to catch the light. A little more strawberry in the blond?’

‘I’m an artist, not a magician,’ the hairdresser replied. ‘Back at the salon, sure. Out here? Not likely.’

‘Well,’ she huffed, irritably. ‘He’ll have to do. And for pity’s sake, put some color on his cheeks. He looks like a ghost.’
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 #96 on: 31 March 2019, 19:12:15 »
Sebastian stood at the foot of his bed, and tugged at the cuffs of the uniform. The stylist had insisted it was perfectly tailored to him, but she’d evidently treated it with something to harden the fabric and stop it from wrinkling, and it itched wherever it met his skin.

There was a commotion outside the door, and Joshua Wolf swept into the room, two aides and a holocamera crew in tow.

If Rafael Moreno had been the cheap, plastic imitation of what a hero was supposed to look like, Joshua Wolf was the real deal. He did not look like an actor pretending to be a handsome, gallant, charming and intelligent soldier—it felt like he actually was those things, he inhabited those words to every last letter, oozed those qualities for his pores. Radiated them with every glance and smile. It was something almost alien, from a different world, another reality far removed from the Inner Sphere.

People talk about charisma, Sebastian thought, this is what they meant. Men were willing to fight for Jaime Wolf, the saying went. They were willing to die for Joshua.

‘You must be Lieutenant Gordon,’ he smiled and extended his hand, and as Sebastian shook it, he couldn’t help but feel he’d suddenly become the most important man in the galaxy. ‘Please accept our deepest and sincerest apologies for what happened. No hard feelings, I hope Lieutenant.’

‘Fog of war,’ he heard himself say.

‘Well, that’s very kind of you to say, Lieutenant Gordon, but let me tell you, we in the Dragoons take this very seriously. We like to believe we are professionals, the best. When we slip up, we don’t hide it, we admit our mistakes and fix them. So we’d like to make it up to you.’ He suddenly threw his arm around Sebastian’s shoulders and turned towards the holocamera crew. ‘Smile a little,’ he said very quietly, without moving his lips.

Sebastian blinked at the crew, and assayed a weak grin. The holocamera flashed. (Much later, that holo would appear again, in a hospital on Park Place).

‘Take a walk with me, Lieutenant?’ Before Sebastian could reply, he was being gently but insistently guided out the door, down the corridor, and outside. The crew trailed behind, obedient as little ducklings.

‘This way,’ Joshua smiled, and let go Sebastian’s shoulder. He set off at a leisurely stroll. After a moment of hesitation, Sebastian jogged a little to keep pace. ‘Ribs okay? Let me know if I’m going too fast. Now the camera crew is behind us, we can actually talk.’

‘About?’

‘Hell of a thing, living under a death sentence. You people—you’d think you’d have learned to put boundaries around war, fence it off a little.’

‘You have boundaries, where you’re from?’

Joshua gave him a slight, “nice try” smile, and ignored the question. The Dragoons never spoke of their origins. ‘Your CO was a little resistant to my visit at first. Anything I should know?’

‘Ah, that.’ Sebastian walked in silence for a few steps. ‘My … I was in love with a woman who is accused of defecting to the Jabos.’

‘Jabos?’

‘Janos’ boys. Our nickname for the … other side.’

‘A woman, huh?’ Joshua smiled a little, to himself. A faraway smile.

‘Go ahead and laugh,’ Sebastian said, disappointed in the other man in spite of himself. How you immediately wanted him to like you, to respect you, to listen to your ideas. How much it hurt when you felt he didn’t. ‘Hell, I’d laugh in your place.’

‘I’m not laughing at you Lieutenant—Sebastian. Can we use our first names? Call me Joshua, please.’ Joshua turned his head as they walked, and Sebastian was surprised to see no mockery there, only warmth and understanding. If it was an act, it was a convincing one. ‘Maybe there was a time when I would have, to be honest. But no. I’m the last one who should be laughing at how anyone loves.’

‘You?’

‘Love can be a tricky thing. It’s about sharing, not control. Real love isn’t, at any rate. We don’t try to control the ones we love, do we?’ He chuckled. ‘There’s someone out there who throws herself headfirst into every fight she can find, but I wouldn’t have it any other way, because otherwise she wouldn’t be who she is, she wouldn’t be the one I love. Not that I could change her, even if I wanted. It’s hard, but I just have to trust she knows what she’s doing—and of course she does. She’s the best. You follow me?’

‘No, not really,’ Sebastian admitted.

Joshua laughed again. ‘No, me neither.’ They walked in silence again, long enough for Sebastian to pay attention now to where they were heading, where they might be going. This was the way to the ’Mech park. In particular, a sort of hangar building had been erected while he was in the infirmary, tall and wide enough to house a lance of BattleMechs.

‘You said “is accused of defecting” Sebastian, not “she defected”,’ Joshua said suddenly. ‘You don’t believe she did?’

He thought about how to answer that one. Gave up. ‘I think it wasn’t so simple.’

Joshua grunted sympathetically. ‘No. Real life rarely is.’ They stopped before the new hangar building, which had great ’Mech-scale sliding doors, and a more human-sized one around the corner. Joshua hesitated before the door, hand on the handle. ‘You don’t seem so happy here, Sebastian. I’ve seen your record.’ He tilted his head towards Sebastian and whispered quietly enough for the camera crew behind them not to catch, ‘Ever thought of going mercenary?’

‘No,’ Sebastian said automatically, but now that Joshua mentioned it, well, why not? Even if Anton won, what future would there be for him in a regime run by men like Frank Streicher. He could find Melanie, they could leave together. Start a new life. ‘Maybe, when this is over,’ he said lamely.

Joshua patted him on the shoulder. ‘Well, if you do, look us up.’ He winked. ‘We shouldn’t be too hard to find.’ He opened the door a crack, stopped again. ‘The techs did the best they could, on such short notice, with what’s available. So, just for the cameras, be nice, okay?’

‘For the cameras.’

‘Hey, don’t give me that Sebastian. Yes, this is a PR stunt. But it’s also genuine—We do feel bad about what happened, and we do want to make this right. It can be both, at the same time. Things in this life are rarely entirely good or bad, true or false, one thing or another. It is what you make of it.’

It was pitch dark inside. Joshua flipped on a small torch, and used its pencil beam to illuminate a small patch of floor. Two strips of tape had been placed there in an X.

‘Just stand there,’ Joshua said, ignoring Sebastian’s questioning look with a grin. There was a bustle around the two as the camera crew divided, some in front of them, some behind. ‘All set?’ Joshua said. ‘Lights!’

Floodlights in rows along the high ceiling blazed, forcing Sebastian to narrow his eyes to slits. There was something there in the center of the hangar, a huge and vaguely familiar profile. He blinked a few times, until his eyes adjusted, and he could open them wide again.

It was the Taranis. Check that, it had been the Taranis, in its previous life. Well, parts of it had.

It looked moderately hideous, a twisted parody of what his family’s Thunderbolt had been. It had become what they called a “FrankenMech,” a bolted-together mishmash of parts from half a dozen different designs.

The left arm was a stump, with a laser cannon and missile launcher attached directly to the shoulder. The right arm now hung bare and weaponless. The humanoid legs had been completely replaced with vaguely birdlike, backward-canting ones, nearly half as thick again as the Thunderbolt’s original legs had been. Another tube had been added to the shoulder, beside the Delta Dart long-range rack.

Sebastian became aware he was staring, and of the camera crew filming him staring.

‘Be nice,’ Joshua repeated, again doing his ventriloquism trick of speaking without moving his mouth. Then, pitched more normally for the cameras to pick up, he asked, ‘Well, what do you think?’

‘Incredible,’ said Sebastian. ‘I’m speechless.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ laughed Joshua. He nodded towards a figure standing by the foot of the BattleMech. ‘Come meet our Senior Tech. She’ll take you through the changes.’

The Senior Tech was surprisingly young, Sebastian thought, maybe barely as old as he was. A very precise woman whose Dragoon overalls were spotless and wrinkle-free, with a head of hair pulled back from her face, each follicle aligned with millimeter accuracy, and a compad she held flat, perfectly parallel to the floor.

‘This is our Senior Tech, Bynfield’ Joshua introduced her.

‘Just Bynfield?’ Sebastian asked as they shook hands. ‘I know someone with only one name, too. Are you from Astrokaszy?’

A blank look. ‘Where is that?’

‘Aren’t you people from the Periphery?’

‘Ah,’ she extracted her hand. ‘Yes. Well, actually no.’

Sebastian nodded, as if that made sense. ‘Glad we narrowed that down there.’

Joshua was quietly chuckling at the exchange. ‘Give it up, Sebastian. You aren’t going to trick us into giving up our secrets that easily. The specs, Bynfield?’

The Senior Tech nodded. ‘Yessir.’ She gestured up towards the BattleMech. ‘First of all, let me apologize. We have not had time to paint it, and I do not think we will, but I believe your own support staff can manage this to your tastes.

‘The leg assembly came from a Ki … excuse me, a kind of assault ’Mech,’ she tapped the compad, then pointed at the stump of a left arm. ‘We could not find a TDR left arm assembly on short notice, but we did have a point-defense ball turret that was the right size. That puts a Harmon laser on the left side, similar in capability to your old Sunglow, plus we upped your short-range missiles to a six-rack.’

She shifted slightly, pointing at the new weapons tube high on the shoulder. ‘The heavier legs means you will move slower, but can carry more weight. We had a spare KaliYama Class 10, so we have added that on the top there, beside the launcher, giving you a new weapon system to compensate for the loss of the left-arm machineguns, in addition to the three torso-mounted lasers. That should help you in combat against opponents such as, just for example, an Awesome.’
Bynfield thumbed off the compad, and tucked it smartly under her arm. ‘Any questions?’

‘Maybe after I have a closer look,’ Sebastian said. ‘But it’s amazing, the way you’ve been able to stick these parts together, and get them to actually function, in so short a time.’

‘Yes, we are proficient at … adjusting the configuration of BattleMechs,’ Bynfield replied, with a hint of pride. ‘Shall I show you the cockpit?’

Sebastian and Bynfield did a few laps around the feet of the BattleMech, before taking a power lift up to the cockpit and running Sebastian through the controls. Colonel Marik and Force Commander Adeyemi were talking with Joshua when they came back down, relaxed but serious, masters of the situation. The holocamera crew circled them, lenses drinking in the tableau.

Joshua looked up and smiled as Bynfield and Sebastian stepped off the lift and wandered back.

‘All good? Fantastic. I’m afraid that’s it for me. Sorry to hear we won’t be fighting side-by-side from now on. But good luck, Sebastian. We’ve had some hard times, and let’s be honest, they’re about to get a whole lot harder,’ Joshua shook his hand, firmly, and placed his other hand over top in a warm clasp. ‘But our future’s about to change. I’ve got a feeling.’

Sebastian waited beside Gerald and Adeyemi as Joshua and his aides walked away, turning once at the doorway for a last wave, before disappearing outside and into a waiting convoy of Dragoon vehicles.

It felt as though a little light had leaked out with him.

‘What did he mean about not fighting together, sir?’ Sebastian asked Gerald.

‘Mm? Oh, haven’t you heard? Now that the Jabos are running from Sophie’s World, we’re shifting to the coreword front,’ Gerald smiled. ‘To Berenson. Home of your old friends, the Fifteenth Marik Militia.
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 #97 on: 01 April 2019, 08:49:36 »
Also: Esskatze, in this context "frosty" just means cool, chill, mensch!

So happy to hear that. I was actually afraid I'd have to make it up to you by sending you a crate of best Belarussian vodka, made where my folks are from. Good to know that's not necessary at all.

Quote
Mein Gott, they're everywhere... Now I know how Patton felt at Bastogne. Although wait, no, he wasn't there. Though it does give me flashbacks to backpacking in Thailand, where every third backpacker was (A) German and (B) at least six inches taller than me.

Is it just this thread, or are our Teutonic friends just naturally a big part of the BT audience, or are Germans more likely to post replies than lurking Amerikaner, or do Americans not like my writing style, or ... just what exactly is going on. The people demand answers. Anyway, I'm obviously writing in the wrong language.

Germans indeed make up the second largest group in the BattleTech community. And at least in MechWarrior:Online, Russians are the third-largest in size. I wonder what's the reason for this. Whaddoya think, could it have something to do with giant walking tanks?

Sir Chaos

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #98 on: 01 April 2019, 09:15:40 »
giant walking tanks

The technical term is "big stompy bots".

Us Germans are terrible sticklers for detail, after all.
"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

cklammer

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #99 on: 01 April 2019, 13:16:11 »
We Germans are worse than stickler for details, we are perfectionists.

I have to remind myself time and again: good enough is good enough! And good enough now is better than slight better later! Otherwise things gets bogged down in detail. And that is not only me.

Best Regards,
Christian

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #100 on: 01 April 2019, 19:10:41 »
... Is the story even needed at this point? Y'all seem to be doing fine without me. :)) Or is this kinda like the radio now, some background noise for the conversation?

So happy to hear that. I was actually afraid I'd have to make it up to you by sending you a crate of best Belarussian vodka, made where my folks are from. Good to know that's not necessary at all.

My liver thanks you, if not my brain.

***

NINETEEN
Berenson, November 3014


It was a mountain so large and vast that when you stood on the slopes, it was impossible to tell you were on a mountain, save that the ground seemed to tilt forever under your feet, no matter how far you walked. You couldn’t see it when you were there—only by leaving could you appreciate the shape. From orbit or high-flying fighter would you see that those on the ground beetled across the shoulder of a giant shield volcano, a roughly-scribbled circle of upwelling stone 400 kilometers from edge to edge, rising 12 kilometers from the plain to the sunken caldera at the top.

It was geography so massive it had its own sub-geography. From the central caldera the landscape was roughly divisible into five pie-slice wedges. From twelve o’clock, true north, to about two o’clock spread broken and rocky terrain, becoming more gentle and sandy between two and five o’clock. From five to six was a narrow geothermal area, dotted with fumaroles, mudpots and geysers. Six to nine was a land of valleys and crevices, a twisting maze tracing the course of ancient lava flows. From nine back to twelve a series of high and hard ridges radiated from the peak.

The Fourth Ducal Guards were advancing along the ridges, while the Third pushed up the ancient lava beds, towards the geothermal springs. The Fifteenth was out there, on the eastern slopes of the mountain, but they were constantly falling back, refusing to be caught between the pincers of Anton’s two regiments. It should have been an easy campaign—the Berenson was in Duke Anton’s Capellan Operations Area, and as a loyalist unit (as their colonel had made clear at the Destreza meeting) the Eighteenth had been starved of supplies.

But battles happened now by mutual consent, and the Eighteenth was very clearly not consenting to anything.

Sebastian and Rikard were attached to Adeyemi’s command lance now, making a reinforced lance of six BattleMechs. They advanced cautiously down a narrow and twisting high-walled canyon. The lead Quickdraw would pop up to the shoulder of the canyon periodically, scan the area and jet back down. A laser-armed Wolverine-M came next, then Adeyemi’s own Thunderbolt, followed by Sebastian’s new ’Mech and Rikard’s Warhammer. A Catapult brought up the rear, an ostrich-like machine with large missile launcher bins in place of arms and a long nose packed with lasers.

Sebastian had dubbed his new ride the Mjolnir, after the hammer of Thor, the Norse god of thunder. Not enough remained of the Taranis to carry on the name, and in any case the new BattleMech seemed more a blunt instrument than a poetic god.

The canyon echoed with the distant echo of thudding of autocannon, and flights of bright-feathered missiles leaped into the air, just visible above the canyon walls, and then dove to ground in muffled explosions.

Adeyemi was on the battalion channel with Streicher and the other captains, trying to pin down the elusive Fifteenth, leaving the lance channel quiet.

To fill the time, Rikard had opened a private channel on a tightbeam comm laser to Sebastian’s ’Mech, and was explaining some of the stranger religions he’d encountered in the Periphery. There was little else to do but keep their eyes on the sensors, and slog slowly behind one another.

‘… so that’s why they believe that “reality” is actually a simulation, running in some alien mainframe,’ Rikard was explaining. ‘They believe that when enough people realize it’s a simulation, then the simulation will become worthless. Whoever is running it will have to shut it down and we’ll all wake up to whatever “reality” really is. It’s been a popular theory ever since the dawn of the computer age.’

The whole thing seemed daft to Sebastian. ‘What if reality is much worse than the simulation?’ he objected. ‘Like, if we’re all slaves, or starving to death, or not even human, just bacteria or something in a petri dish.’

‘Well, guess the point is that at least you’d know. You wouldn’t be living in an illusion anymore.’

‘No thanks,’ said Sebastian. ‘I’ll stick with this world, terrible as it is, over the possibility of something worse.’

‘Yeah. I kind of figured you’d see it that way.’

A signal from the lead Quickdraw cut through their conversation.

‘Devil Two to Devil One. Branching in the canyon up ahead,’ radioed the point man from his perch just above their heads. ‘Looks like a kind of delta. Five or six different ways we could go. Orders, sir?’

On the remote video link, Sebastian could see what he meant. The canyon widened a few hundred meters ahead, creating a kind of elongated, almost bowl in the terrain, a bit like a coliseum, with the surrounding rock wall pierced in six different places by gaps of varying sizes, leading further off towards the east and south.

‘The southern routes take us off course,’ said Adeyemi after a moment’s thought. ‘Devil Two, check out the easternmost route, Devil Three, the one beside it. Move ahead two kilometers and check direction, depth and width of the canyon. Rest of us will park, wait for your report.’
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 #101 on: 01 April 2019, 19:14:11 »
The Quickdraw and Wolverine moved forward, into the oval bowl. ‘Let’s go,’ the Quickdraw pilot said. ‘Last one in’s a Liao.’

The pilot kicked in the jump jets, lifting his ’Mech off the ground and over towards a large canyon leading east.

The video feed whited out. Sebastian looked up in time to see at least six particle and laser bolts slam into the ’Mech in midair from four different directions. The Quickdraw’s left leg was severed at the knee. It spun in a crazy pirouette, slammed into the canyon wall, bounced off in a landslide of rock and gravel, and landed on its back in a cloud of dust.

‘Ambush!’ Devil Three shouted. His Wolverine began to spit laser and missile fire towards the canyon mouths. Answering fire whipsawed across the ’Mech.

‘Covering fire,’ ordered Adeyemi, and charged his Thunderbolt forward, out of the entry canyon and into the bowl, Sebastian and Rikard close behind.

Sebastian cursed, but pushed his BattleMech ahead all the same. In an ambush, wasn’t it better to retreat, regroup, then hit back rather than trying to fight the enemy on the ground of their choosing? But it was too late, Adeyemi was already plunging forward.

Target acquired.’ The voice of the system the Dragoons had installed was still feminine, yet sharper and harder.

Eight assault and heavy BattleMechs lurched from the six channels, weapons blazing, an Awesome in the center. The moment Adeyemi’s BattleMech appeared they shifted their fire from the blackened and blistered Wolverine, and focused on the Thunderbolt.

The open channel crackled with a voice Sebastian knew all too well. ‘That’s him! No escape this time, Bastard!’

Armand Sarloveze had made good his threat. Here was his “Justiciar” squad, come to get revenge. And in the long transit to Berenson they’d missed the news. They didn’t know about the friendly fire incident or his new BattleMech. They thought Adeyemi was him.

Perfect. Sebastian interlinked every weapon to a single trigger, and fired everything he had at Sarloveze’s Awesome.
Rikard was shouting at him to engage some of the lighter ’Mechs. Adeyemi was yelling something too. But it didn’t matter. Here was Sarloveze, right where Sebastian wanted him.

Even the mighty Awesome staggered under the first salvo. Sarloveze tried to ignore him, and fired at the Thunderbolt again. Adeyemi’s ’Mech was rapidly becoming a wreck, armor cracked and blistered, burning from at least three internal fires, the shoulder Dart launcher missing.

Well, let him hold for just a few seconds more. Sebastian waited for his weapons to cycle, kept the crosshairs on the Awesome, and fired another blast. Lasers carved long glowing lines through the armor, missiles scattered over a dozen hits, the autocannon shells shattered an elbow, punched a line of holes in one shoulder and shot the comm antenna away.

The Mjolnir shuddered as autocannon shells raked the forward armor. A quad-cannon JagerMech, now turning to engage him. Beside it a Centurion. He had to finish this fast.

Armand’s Awesome blasted Adeyemi’s Thunderbolt with its triple PPCs again. Adeyemi’s ‘Mech sagged forward, bowing at the waist. Then the torso burst open in a spurt of black smoke and flame. The cockpit top blew open and Adeyemi was hurled skyward in his ejection seat as secondary explosions consumed his ’Mech.

The Awesome’s right arm cannon tracked skywards. Sebastian fired. The Harmon laser and KaliYama cannon hadn’t cycled yet. The smaller lasers and missiles splashed damage across the Awesome, here and there slicing into already-weakened plates, piercing through to the mechanisms underneath.

Armand fired, and Adeyemi’s ejection seat dissolved in a beam of blue-white light.

There was a whoop and cheer across the open channel. ‘We got him! We got him!’

Still firing steadily, the ambushing BattleMechs began to inch back. The Centurion moved between the Awesome and Sebastian, covering his commander’s retreat.

Sebastian fired on the Centurion, riddling it with holes, advanced, fired, tore free an arm, blew apart a knee. The pilot gamely tried to raise his right-arm autocannon and hit back. A blast from Sebastian’s left-arm laser lanced through its heart. As its fusion reactor guttered and failed, the machine pitched to the ground.

Sebastian brought a foot down on the Centurion’s back, ready to find and kill Sarloveze next.

His way was blocked by Rikard’s Warhammer.

‘Move,’ he snarled at Rikard.

‘Let them go,’ Rikard advised. ‘They think you’re dead. Let ‘em think that. Chase them, and we could be blundering into another trap. We’re down to three, they’ve still got six. Let ‘em go.’

The Quickdraw lay in pieces by the canyon wall. Adeyemi’s Thunderbolt was a heap of smoldering metal. The Wolverine was down, gyro shot through, unable to stand. Against which they’d only taken down the JagerMech and Centurion.
But the odds didn’t matter. Only one thing mattered, and that was ending the life of Sarloveze. After that? Maybe they would wake up from the simulation, like Rikard’s strange cultists, find it had all been a test. It didn’t matter.

Sebastian thought about shooting the Warhammer down. The crosshairs on his HUD settled over the other machine’s cockpit. The targeting computer flashed them green. Refused to lock on without an override. He reached for the override button.

‘He thinks you’re dead,’ Rikard repeated. ‘I’m not saying we give up. I’m saying we use that. Hit him when he isn’t expecting it. Don’t play his game.’

Sebastian nodded to himself. The idea made a lot of sense, he had to admit. He relaxed his grip on the weapons controls. ‘If we can shadow them from a distance,’ he mused. ‘Find out where they’re camped. If we hit tonight, their guard may be down. Probably be celebrating my death.’

‘Aye,’ agreed Rikard. ‘Nothing like showing up at your own wake.’

They were interrupted by a ping over the battalion channel.

‘Devil Four here,’ Sebastian responded.

‘This is Redback One. What happened to Devil One?’ It was Streicher, sounding irritated. ‘I’ve been trying to reach him for the last 10 minutes.’

‘Devil One is down. Devil Two and Three same. Grid echo-twelve. It was a headhunter team, eight bandits. We are planning to pursue. Hostiles are heading for foxtrot-twelve.’

‘All right, as senior captain I’m assuming control of the battalion,’ said Streicher. ‘Negative on the pursuit. All elements to return to rally point alpha.’

Sebastian mouthed several curses to himself in the quiet of his cockpit before replying. ‘Request you reconsider, Redback One. This is a high-priority target. We have a real chance to deal some damage here. Gonna look good if we can take out a headhunter squad.’ Clutching at straws, appealing to the man’s ego. But they couldn’t just let Sarloveze go.

Streicher seemed to consider the idea for a few seconds. ‘Tempting, but no, Devil Four. Pull back.’

Sebastian tried one last time. ‘A flyby, Redback One. At least have our birds see where their nest is.’

Streicher grunted. ‘It’s an idea. I’ll put in a word with ASF command, see if we can mark them. Now head for rally point Alpha. That’s an order, Devil Four.’

Sebastian mumbled a thank you, and killed the channel. Rikard moved aside, beginning to retrace their steps back up the canyon. Sebastian didn’t follow immediately. He sat, staring in the direction Armand had gone. It wasn’t too late. If he moved now, pushed the Mjolnir to the limit, he might still catch him.

‘Coming, Seb?’ Rikard asked.

It was a fantasy, a hopeless fantasy that had as much to do with the real world as some Periphery cultist’s belief in a galactic simulation. He kicked the console once. ‘Temper,’ the Mech said sharply.

Sebastian was startled. He looked around the cockpit but could see no camera. Who knew what the Dragoons had installed? Still, it broke the spell. He turned his ’Mech around, and plodded after Rikard.
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 #102 on: 02 April 2019, 02:01:15 »
... Is the story even needed at this point? Y'all seem to be doing fine without me. :)) Or is this kinda like the radio now, some background noise for the conversation?

I was aiming more for a "Waldorf and Statler on the balcony" act there.
"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 #103 on: 02 April 2019, 02:33:22 »
I was aiming more for a "Waldorf and Statler on the balcony" act there.

S: You talked through the whole story, you fool!

W: Who's a fool? You read it!
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 #104 on: 02 April 2019, 02:52:38 »
S: You talked through the whole story, you fool!

W: Who's a fool? You read it!

Both: Do-ho-ho!
"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

Esskatze

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #105 on: 02 April 2019, 11:02:06 »
So, just for clarification: The Mech the legs are from is a Kit Fox? Because I can't think of another Mech that starts with "Ki..." and has thin, birdlike legs. If so, how can the legs of a 30-tonner support a 60+ ton FrankenMech?

Sir Chaos

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #106 on: 02 April 2019, 11:08:44 »
So, just for clarification: The Mech the legs are from is a Kit Fox? Because I can't think of another Mech that starts with "Ki..." and has thin, birdlike legs. If so, how can the legs of a 30-tonner support a 60+ ton FrankenMech?

"Heavier legs", she said. Sounds more like a Kingfisher.
"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

XaosGorilla

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #107 on: 02 April 2019, 13:37:41 »
king crab

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #108 on: 02 April 2019, 20:49:12 »
Our simian friend has it right. The description is meant as an Easter Egg (-ish, type of thing) for MWO players:
https://mwomercs.com/corsair

***

TWENTY
Regrets


Frank Streicher looked pleased with his new Force Commander’s uniform. He kept crossing his arms or tapping his wrists, drawing attention to the rank at his cuff, or sticking a hand in his pocket so only the cuff showed.

He stood at the end of the meeting room inside the battalion’s mobile headquarters, a large and boxy six-wheeled armored vehicle that towed a large trailer containing a sophisticated battle computer. This computer could pull together sensor, video and communications data from all the units in the battalion and used them to create a composite map of the operations area.

At the height of the Star League, three or four centuries ago, these computers could produce real-time, annotated and scalable 3D images of the entire area and provided AI-driven advice to commanders, but like so much technology the system had grown old and failed, the factories that once produced the components had been bombed and blasted into oblivion, and it had been replaced with simpler, cheaper, cruder technology.

The map was two-dimensional, updated only fitfully as various units reported in. The only advice it could give was to check its network settings and try again.

It was working today, and at the moment displayed a large, grainy and slightly fuzzy aerial photograph rather than a map. The terrain it displayed was pockmarked with small, oddly symmetrically round lakes, along with hairline cracks and a few meandering streams of blue. Much of the photo was obscured by clouds of white vapor. Here and there the ground was marked by blocky, unnatural shadows.

Around the table stood Streicher, Sebastian and Rikard, as well as Lieutenants Delavigne (now field-promoted to Captain) and Demir.

‘We got a high-altitude pass by a pair of F-10s over Seb’s headhunter squad,’ Streicher explained. The F-10 Cheetah was the League’s standard recon and interceptor aerospace fighter. ‘They’ve pulled back to the Lesser Geyser Basin. Hard to get a fix with all the steam blowing about, but looks like all six ’Mechs are still parked there.’

The photo blacked out, and was replaced by another of the same scene, taken from a slightly different angle. If you squinted and used your imagination to fill in some of the missing pixels, Sebastian thought the shadows were probably cast by BattleMechs.

‘From the aerial recon and BattleROMs from Gordon and the others in the command lance, Intel’s best guess is they’ve got an Awesome, either a Marauder or a Catapult, what is probably a Rifleman—though there’s a slim chance it’s another JagerMech—a Shadow Hawk, what looks like a captured Capellan Vindicator and a Phoenix Hawk. Pretty sure it’s a P-Hawk at any rate, too big for a Valkyrie.’ Streicher read off a compad. He looked up. ‘Maybe 360 tons altogether, give or take. That’s a fair chunk of firepower.’

Sebastian leaned forward over the image. ‘All the more reason to hit them now, sir, before they get back in the fight. Just give me a couple of men.’

Streicher gave a regretful little smile. ‘Wish I could, Gordon. I don’t deny taking this guy out would look good, and the boys could use a morale boost right about now. But we’re stretched thin trying to pin down the rest of the Eighteenth.’
Sebastian gripped the edge of the map table hard, feeling the plastic begin to bite into his fingers. He wouldn’t let go.

‘Sir, just one lance, and we can take out six bad guys. Not just for me sir. For Adeyemi, too.’

Streicher sighed, and absently tapped his artificial eye with one knuckle. ‘Look, Gordon. In a week or two, once the QKD and Wolverine are back in operation, or we salvage the Centurion, maybe we can do something. For now, I can give you two. You and your buddy,’ he nodded towards Rikard. After a moment’s thought, he added: ‘Plus a lance of Harassers from the HQ security company. That’s it. The best I can do.’

It sounded like a suicide mission. Two BattleMechs against six, 165 tons against 360. Plus four little Harasser hovertanks, whose speed and dual missile launchers might come in handy in the first 30 seconds of a fight, before their paper-thin armor meant they were blasted to pieces.

Well, he couldn’t wait for a better offer. He looked at Rikard. The big man gave a careless shrug, as though easily swatting his concerns aside. ‘It’s crazy,’ he said, then amended: ‘I like crazy.’

‘Well, you’ve come to the right war.’ Sebastian turned back to Streicher. ‘Then with your permission sir, we’ll leave immediately.’

‘All right, I’ll send word to the security company. Good luck,’ Streicher saluted. ‘One thing before you go,’ he said, and walked to a table at the side of the room, reached into a message pouch sitting there, pulled out an envelope and handed it to Sebastian. ‘For you. Might want to read it in private.’
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 #109 on: 02 April 2019, 20:50:44 »
From the corner of his eye, Sebastian saw Demir and Delavigne stiffen slightly and look at one another. It was addressed to him, from the Personnel Division on Anton’s headquarters of New Delos. ‘Thank you sir,’ he said absently, not seeing the looks of sympathy from the other two lieutenants. He remembered the last time Streicher had handed him a message, and what had happened after. Adeyemi’s message too, in the hospital on Sophie’s World. ComStar, he thought, so rarely brought good news.

It was dark out as Sebastian and Rikard left the mobile HQ and descended the steps. A long spray of milky-white stars arced overhead, for all their number and greatness just a bare fraction of the galaxy, just as the ground that stretched to the horizon was a tiny part of this world, even the massive mountain they stood on but couldn’t see just a bump on its surface.

‘See you in ten,’ said Rikard, looking at the envelope in Sebastian’s hands. ‘Maybe fifteen.’

Sebastian nodded, wandered back to his tent and sat down on the cot. No point in putting it off. He dug a thumbnail under the seal, pried it open, and took out the letter. At first, all he could see was Duke Anton’s sigil at the top, printed on thick, glossy paper.

He unfolded it.

“We regret to inform you … “

Sebastian dropped the letter, as though stung. He stared at it, unseeing, printed text a meaningless splatter of ink across the page, for several minutes. He picked it up again, and noted how his hand shook.

“We regret to inform you of the death of your father, Captain Lloyd Gordon, while on active duty with the Second Ducal Guards on Abadan.

“Some small measure of consolation may be found in the knowledge that your father died bravely, for the ideals which have made and kept the Free Worlds League the best and greatest of the Successor States, and the true heir of the Star League.

“I am confident his sacrifice has contributed to removing the madman and tyrant, Janos Marik, and to restoring our League to greatness.

“Yours sincerely,

“Anton Marik.”

Sebastian blinked away tears. He folded the letter neatly in half, then tore it into two pieces. Then tore each of those again in half. And tore the four quarters in half again, and again, before the stack of paper got to thick and too hard to tear any more.

He threw the pieces on the floor.

A brief action report was attached. It tried its best to dress things up in grand words and pretty adjectives, but it was a hasty and thin camouflage over the bald truth: His father had died in a petty, meaningless skirmish.

The Second Guards had landed, bumped into the heavy BattleMech regiment of the Stewart Commonality’s Home Guard. A few shots had been exchanged. Nothing serious. More for show than anything, a symbolic shot across each other’s bows.

One of those symbolic shots had caught his father’s Centurion wrong. Angled the wrong way at the wrong time. A very unsymbolic missile had exploded against the head unit, an unsymbolic detonation had blown a thousand shards out of the cockpit’s interior wall and send them flying in every direction, but mostly through his father. Death was about as instant as it got. About as pointless as it got, too.

As the final icing on the excremental cake, the Second had retreated soon after. The BattleMech was lost. There wouldn’t even be a body to mourn.

Sebastian tore up the action report, too, and let the shreds mingle with the letter, in a constellation about his feet, white paper on the dark ground. What did that make him? Maybe the black hole, at the center of the galaxy. That felt about right. Hollow and empty and everything he touched got crushed.

There was a gentle rustle at the tent door, of someone making just enough noise to be heard.

Rikard stood in the opening, eyes taking in the paper blizzard about Sebastian’s feet. ‘Maybe we should call this off,’ he suggested mildly. ‘Might not be the best timing.’

Sebastian’s face was expressionless as he dusted his hands on his thighs and stood up. ‘Why not?’ he said flatly. ‘Not like there’s going to be a better time.’

He strode from the tent, brushing past Rikard. Leaving the shredded message of his father behind.
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)

cklammer

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #110 on: 03 April 2019, 11:14:31 »
Every post is something unexpected.  :thumbsup: ::)

Dubble_g

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #111 on: 09 April 2019, 00:14:14 »
TWENTY-ONE
End Run


They advanced through the predawn fog, black shadows across the land, following a thin ribbon of a blue river that ran through the center of the Lesser Geyser Basin. The four Harasser tanks running slow and quiet in front, followed by the Mjolnir and the Warhammer.

The sound of their footfalls was lost amid the busy, industrious organ pipes of the geothermal vents. Fumaroles howled and shrieked as expanding gas fought to free itself from between thin cracks in the ground. Rainbow lakes, multicolored by bacterial colonies, bubbled and gurgled to themselves. Vapor rose from their surfaces in dragon shapes, and curled serpentine about their BattleMechs, cloaking them from view. Geysers seethed, grunted, and vomited gouts of water into the air, three times the height of a ’Mech. The spume pattered down on them, and their armor grew wet and shiny.

A pale and hesitant dawn was just creeping above the horizon when the lead Harasser tank broke the silence.

‘Approaching the target site,’ the tank commander reported. ‘I think I … yup, one contact. Bearing oh-nine, range 2000. MAD says 45 tons, so either the PXH or the VND.’

Sebastian checked the sensor uplink from the tank. The enemy BattleMech wandered slowly across the view, from left to right. A sentry then, patrolling about the camp. There would probably be at least one more ’Mech up and active, on the other side of the camp. Good odds, if there were only two. If he was right, and the rest of the squad was celebrating his supposed death. If they moved fast. If, and if, and if. Well, this wasn’t a game, and there were no certainties. He’d come too far to turn back now.

‘All right, power up, go full throttle, make one high-speed pass and leg it,’ he told the tank commander. ‘Watch for another ’Mech on the other side. Don’t engage. I just need you guys to make a distraction.’

‘Oh, we’re good at that,’ the commander acknowledged, and clicked off.

The murmur of the Harassers’ thrust fans slid up the scale to a high-pitched wail and the four low, sleek hovertanks rocketed forward. Sebastian pushed his own throttle all the way forward, feeling the cockpit bounce as the Mjolnir’s legs pistoned into the ground.

Target acquired.’ A red icon was painted on his HUD. The T&T identified it as a Phoenix Hawk. A scout killer and sniper, 45 tons and twice as maneuverable as his own ride, but ran hotter than Hades and was as thin-skinned as the Devil.

Clusters of bright light glowed in the fog, accompanied by the scream of missile thrusters. Still racing at full speed, the four hovertanks loosed four dozen missiles at the Hawk, though perhaps only a quarter hit. Tiny blossoms of fire sparkled and flamed out.

The Phoenix Hawk turned as the tanks screamed past it. Machinegun fire crackled form the bulbous weapons pods under each arm. The Mech stopped, took careful aim, and fired the laser mated to the outside of its right arm. A Harasser swerved, too late, and a long tongue of flame burst from its engine.

‘Hit him with everything,’ Sebastian called to Rikard. They were 500 meters away and closing. The Phoenix Hawk had its back to them, concentrating on the tanks.

Sebastian punched the weapons selectors, grouped his long-range missiles, laser and autocannon, and fired.

The laser hit first, melting a hole in the Phoenix Hawk’s weaker rear armor. Rikard’s twin particle cannon struck a shoulder and the back of a knee. Missiles pelted destruction across its back, and then the autocannon shells tore into the machine’s heart. The arms jerked wide, as though the Phoenix Hawk was being crucified. It sank to its knees, gyrostabilizer destroyed, and the pilot rocketed free from the top on a plume of exhaust.

Target destroyed.’

Sebastian pounded past the downed ’Mech without slowing. They had to move, hit the camp before the rest of the squad realized what was happening and got moving. Blue lightning flashed ahead—the other sentry, the Vindicator, firing on the Harassers.

Four giants loomed in the mist before them, lined up as though for a parade, silent and still. He might have seen figures bounding up the ladders to one or two of the cockpits. He wasn’t sure. They might only have seconds.

‘Those look pretty,’ Sebastian said to Rikard. ‘Mess ‘em up, starting with the Awesome. I’ll deal with the Vindicator.’

The Vindicator was the same tonnage as the Phoenix Hawk, but slower, more heavily armored, with the heavy punch of a particle cannon in its right arm.

The pilot sensed Sebastian’s approach, turned from pursuing the fast-dwindling shadows of the fleeing Harassers, and loosed a blast of white fire. Sebastian brought the right arm up across the Mech’s chest, absorbed the bolt’s fury, and answered with a salvo of laser, cannon and missile fire. Half missed, but enough splashed damaged across the Vindicator to send it reeling back.

Rikard was shouting over the taccom. ‘One of them is powering up!’ There was a squeal of static. ‘Could use a hand!’

‘Only got the one,’ Sebastian muttered to himself. Light bloomed in the 360-vision strip above the HUD. Worry about that later. He kept the right arm up, as the Vindicator loomed larger and larger in his forward view. The pilot realized what he was doing, and tried to backpedal. The back foot plunged into a mudpot, unbalancing the ’Mech. A few seconds wasted, but it was enough.

The Mjolnir’s right shoulder caught the Vindicator just below the cockpit, crumpling the chest armor, and toppling the BattleMech onto its back in the bubbling, seething mud.

‘It’s mobile! Like, anytime around now Seb.’

Sebastian stomped down on the Vindicator’s left knee, smashing it to splinters. ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he said, and turned around.

It was the Awesome. Armand’s Awesome. Of course it was. The other three were still standing, impossible to say if there was anybody on board or not, but the Awesome was lumbering forward, driving Rikard back step by step as he tried to keep his distance.

Sebastian muttered something about picking on your own size. He took a breath, and fired. The Awesome lumbered around. Sebastian could see the scars of their earlier fight. So hit there again.

Fire. Cycle. Fire again. Again. Neither were trying to maneuver, like two boxers pounding away at each other. Sebastian switched to chain fire, to take advantage of his weapons’ faster cycle time. Squeezing almost constantly now. Fire, fire, fire. Break, dammit, break. Armand had to break.

The two assault BattleMechs closed. Fire and lightning leaped back and forth. Smoke from missile exhaust billowed, obscuring them. Thundering explosions shook the ground, and the blast waves blew haloes in the mist and bent the geyser fountains.

There was a final, deafening clap of sound. And silence.

The smoke thinned and faded, and pulled back like a curtain. To reveal only a single BattleMech left standing.
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 #112 on: 09 April 2019, 00:17:22 »
A figure walked towards the prisoners, slowly, taking his time. He’d waited long enough, for this. Bare feet slapped against the wet rock and he walked—he’d shucked the neurohelmet, the cooling vest, gauntlets and boots. Just thrown a jacket over his tunic, a concession against the hot spray, thumbs tucked behind the eagle buckle on his belt. He might have been humming. Just a little.

Slap, slap, slap. He got there, one foot at a time.

The three surviving Harassers had circled back. Their six crewmen sat or stood by the vehicles, fingering submachineguns and sidearms.

Sebastian nodded to them, and grinned down at the prisoners.

Armand was on his knees beside two other MechWarriors, hands bound together behind their backs with black ties. The Phoenix Hawk pilot had escaped, two more that had run for their machines had been turned into vivid red cones of splatter across the rocks by the machineguns of Rikard’s Warhammer.

Rikard stood behind the prisoners, towering over them like a judge from one of the Buddhist hells. Behind them was the sinkhole of a large geyser, and its thick, sulfurous steam swirled about the prisoners. Armand looked up as Sebastian approached. He shook his head in denial, no, no, no.

‘I killed you.’ Still shaking his head. ‘I watched you die.’

‘Wishing doesn’t make it so,’ Sebastian shrugged.

‘Give me a sword,’ Armand snarled. ‘Give me a weapon. Face me like a man. Not like a coward, the way you did my brother.’

‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re not at a high-society party right now,’ Sebastian said mildly. He had expected to feel hate, but now that he came to it, he just felt tired. Melanie was gone and his father was gone and nothing had filled their place, and by itself his hate of Sarloveze now seemed a small and petty thing. Like an empty room, suddenly rendered small by the lack of scale or things to compare it against. No, just tiredness. Like a great coil of tension had finally unwound, or the comedown after an adrenalin rush—he was through being hunted. It was over. He could kill Armand, he could let him live, watch him be led off as a prisoner. Either way, he’d won.

‘I’ll kill you,’ Armand growled.

Sebastian took a breath, and let it out slowly. ‘You’ve tried twice already. Three times including yesterday. Today makes four. Maybe it’s time to find a new hobby, hm?’

‘I demand satisfaction,’ Armand said.

‘Good for you,’ Sebastian rubbed his face. Then turned to Rikard. ‘Call the regimental HQ, have them send someone to pick up the prisoners.’

‘They killed your traitor father,’ Armand said from behind him.

Sebastian turned.

In the geyser behind the prisoners, a dome of water pulsed upwards above the surface of the vent and erupted, throwing a plume of white water and steam dozens of meters into the air with a sudden whoosh. The water fell back as a sudden squall, some landing on Sebastian and the others, still painfully hot despite. It stung like tiny pinpricks.

Armand was grinning, shaking the hot water from his hair, lips pulled back from his teeth. ‘Didn’t you hear? Missile to the cockpit. All those splinters flying around inside turned it into a blender. I heard they had to wash him out with a hose.’

Sebastian’s hands curled into fists.

‘Come on, coward, murderer, fight me. Someone give me a sword!’ Armand shouted.

‘That was war,’ Sebastian said tightly. ‘He died in battle. He knew the risks. While you were trying to murder us like a terrorist. Hiring a hitman to do the job you couldn’t. Who is the real coward, Armand?’

Armand laughed, an ugly, choking sound. ‘Your own people sold you out, you know. They told us where you’d be. That’s how much you’re hated, Bastard of Bernardo. Even your own side can’t stand you.’

Sebastian forced his hands to relax. Lies, all lies. Armand was just another liar in a long line of liars, everyone trying to twist and mold Sebastian into the shape they wanted, drive him down the channel they wanted, like a mouse in a maze they’d made. Here was a desperate, pathetic man, willing to say anything to get one last shot at him. But Sebastian had won. It was over. He would listen to no more lies. ‘Will someone get this man out of my sight?’

Rikard stepped behind Armand, and yanked him to his feet by wrenching up on the ties around the man’s wrist, tearing an outraged squeal from the man.

‘We killed your girlfriend, too,’ Armand spat when he caught his breath. ‘What was her name? Hsu? Cho?’ He giggled and laughed, tongue hanging out. ‘Yeah, she tried to betray you, too. We let her think she’d get away with it. Once she got out of the cockpit, we had our fun with her, then put her up against a wall and blew her pretty little brains out.’

Sebastian didn’t recall moving. He had, though.

He’d moved forward and grabbed Armand by the collar of his tunic. Lies, all lies, a small part of him said. But it was a tiny voice, lost in a storm of fury that rushed in to fill the hole, exploding upwards into his mind like a black and red geyser. Rikard let go the man’s arms and took a few steps to the side. Sebastian was breathing hard, teeth clenched together. Armand grinned. Their faces were just centimeters apart.

‘Not so tough now, huh?’ Armand said. ‘Give me a sword. You want to fight? You want to kill me? Let’s see you try.’

‘Sometimes I wondered if your brother was innocent,’ Sebastian said. ‘I wondered if I killed the wrong man. Now. I’m thinking it was just a good start.’

Still holding Armand’s collar, Sebastian began to drag him backwards, towards the geyser vent. Armand roared and
shouted, feet writhing and kicking, scrabbling on the slick rock.

They stood at the edge of the vent, about three meters wide. Two meters below the lip, the water frothed, bubbled and churned. Thick clouds of steam fumed upwards, hot and damp and reeking of rotten eggs.

Sebastian held Armand out over the edge.

Armand snarled. ‘Is this supposed to scare—’

Sebastian let him go. Armand fell, screaming and thrashing, headfirst into the boiling water. The splash when he hit was almost immediately lost amid the constant churning.

Sebastian waited a heartbeat, then turned and stalked back to where the other two prisoners sat. Rikard stepped in front of him, mouth open, but took one look in Sebastian’s eyes and backed away.

‘He was crazy, man, just crazy,’ the second prisoner said as Sebastian stood over him. ‘Look, we didn’t kill any prisoners on Sophie’s World. I swear. You’ve got to believe me.’

Sebastian pulled the man to his feet by his lapels. ‘Why?’ he asked coldly. ‘Why should I believe you?’

‘Because it’s the truth!’ the man squeaked, indignantly.

Sebastian shrugged. ‘Whose truth?’

He hauled the man backwards, towards the vent. Walking mechanically, without expression. Ignoring the man’s pleading and begging. ‘Look, you kill me and you’ll never know, man. You’ll never know what happened to her.’ But Sebastian was done with uncertainty. Maybe you could never know anything for sure. Everything was somebody’s fiction, a story they wanted to tell you and believe, for their own reasons. The truth was, there was no truth.

He took the man to the edge and just pushed him in, without pause.

And walked back for the third prisoner.

The Harasser tank crews were shifting, muttering to one another.

‘Seb, Unity, don’t you think that’s enough?’ asked Rikard.

‘No,’ he said, and pulled the third prisoner towards the hole.

‘Go to hell,’ the prisoner spat.

‘That’s it?’ Sebastian asked. ‘That’s all you’ve got?’

‘I hope you die,’ the other said. ‘Go to hell.’

‘You already said that,’ Sebastian said. And shoved the man in the chest, tipping him over the edge.

A pulse of water bulged and rose towards the lip of the vent. Sebastian hastily stepped back as it surged, burst, and blew skywards. He’d wondered if the blast might not blow the three dead men free, but all that rose was a plume of steam, a pillar of insubstantial nothing, and all that fell was a faint, hot drizzle that quickly dried, leaving nothing behind.
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 #113 on: 09 April 2019, 00:18:45 »
Some of the security men looked grim and satisfied. Others eyed him with disgust. One turned away, refusing to even look at him. But they’d said nothing, done nothing. Perhaps that was what they hated, for making them complicit in his crime, for breaking their illusion of the purity of this war and what they did.

Rikard just silently shook his head and walked away.

The tank crews went, too, one by one, until only Sebastian was left. He watched the sun climb higher, which was wrong somehow. It should be sunset, an angry red glow, not this cheery tangerine. Just as he should feel guilty for the murder of three men—and it was murder now, not death in combat or even a tragic accident, as the younger brother’s might have been—he was a murderer, he’d become a murderer, everything Armand had accused him of.

And he didn’t feel guilty for that. For failing Melanie, for what he’d put her through, for not being there to save his father, for not dissuading the old man from following some idiot dream of combat, he felt guilty for those things. Still hated the dead Armand, blaming him for all of that somehow.

But the guilt he thought he should feel, that was missing. The part of him that should have felt that was broken. The part of him that said, what were three more deaths? Drowned or killed by shrapnel or boiled alive, they were still just as dead at the end. Why was one a crime, the other a duty? There should be an answer for that, but he suspected it was an invented one, another random rule people made up to create order in a chaotic world. It was a little subroutine in the simulation, and made no more sense than anything else.

When Sebastian returned to his cockpit, the regimental headquarters was broadcasting on the emergency channel. ‘All units, priority one message, regroup at drop point. Repeat, priority one, regroup at drop point.’

In the yellow-streaked dawn above, faint pinpricks of light were plowing across the sky, leaving feathery comet-tails of condensing vapor. DropShips, enough for another entire regiment. Reinforcements for the loyalists.

A priority one regroup meant Gerald Marik was giving up, and retreating off-planet.

So it had all been for nothing. All they’d fought for, all they’d lost and sacrificed. Three bodies, at the bottom of a boiling lake. Blood on his hands. For nothing.
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 #114 on: 09 April 2019, 01:32:22 »
Now that was well-deserved. While I'm afraid that Armand didn't lie about Melanie, I do hope that he merely tried to rock Sebastian's boat. Dubble_g, will we find out for sure?

mikecj

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Re: Show of Force
« Reply #115 on: 09 April 2019, 14:26:58 »
Civil Wars get nasty...
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 #116 on: 09 April 2019, 20:55:20 »
Dubble_g, will we find out for sure?
Hm, well, if you think about it, you already know the answer to that one.

***

TWENTY-TWO
Bernardo, December 3014


The Third Militia, together with the Fourth Ducal Guard, had fallen back to Bernardo, their old barracks, though quite why Sebastian was not sure he understood. It wasn’t as though they were falling back towards anything in particular—there were no reserves waiting, since all Anton’s regiments were fully committed elsewhere, and falling back on your supply lines only made sense if there was some advantage to be gained. Supplies weren’t the problem, though. It was the sheer imbalance in numbers, and changing the scenery wouldn’t change that fact.

So what did Colonel Marik and the rest hope to achieve by coming here?

The Fifteenth Militia, now reinforced by the Thirty-First Militia, had arrived at the system’s zenith jump point soon after the Third. The two regiments’ DropShips were inbound, and would be decelerating down, a day or two out from Bernardo’s atmosphere.

In response, Colonel Marik had moved the Third to cover Fort Irwin, while the Fourth Ducal held the spaceport and their line of retreat.

Gerald called a staff meeting in the entrance hall to the fort, with the vermillion trees Sebastian had sat beneath with Melanie visible through the doorway. Sebastian kept his eyes down, and avoided looking at it. A diorama of the fort and its surroundings had been demolished to make way for a holographic map table, which trailed thick, black umbilical cords to a row of processors down one side of the room.

The Colonel was a changed man. His perfectly-styled hair was clumped in disarray, his finely-trimmed beard sprouted wiry hairs at odd angles. The uniform was rumpled, unwashed, and his eyes were grey around the edges.

Gerald gripped the eagle-topped swagger stick he’d held the day Duke Anton declared his intention to overthrow the Captain General. Gerald banged it on the edge of the table for silence.

‘Before we start, let me get something off my chest. As you all know, I have never shied from saying what needs to be said. I have never been afraid of the truth! And the truth is, the regiment’s performance on Berenson was inexcusable. Pathetic. You all ought to be ashamed! You couldn’t pin and destroy one single, weak, starving regiment. You all fought like useless idiots, like green recruits,’ Gerald spat at them, pointing the stick at random faces. ‘And you have the temerity to blame me! I did not fail the regiment. The regiment failed me. The regiment failed the Duke. The people of the League. Thanks to your weakness, the enemy has followed us here. If there is anything to be salvaged from this debacle, it’s that you now have this one chance at redemption. Do not fail me again!’

Gerald smashed the stick down on the map for emphasis and paused, but if he had expected any reaction, he was disappointed. The graphics on the table wobbled at the stick passed through them, but were otherwise unfazed.

Sebastian and the rest of the officers kept their eyes on the floor, the walls, or else simply stared back at the Colonel in stony silence.

Gerald grunted in disgust, and stabbed at a button on the holomap table. Nothing happened. Gerald pushed it again, waited a second, then again and again, in rapid succession. Still nothing. ‘Fracking useless piece of—’ he whirled on his aide, Esposito. ‘Damn thing’s broken.’

‘If you’ll allow me sir,’ Esposito said smoothly, reached over and pressed a different button. The map table came alive, with unit dispositions sparkling into being across the terrain.

‘I knew that,’ said Gerald waspishly. He used the blunt end of his stick to point over the map. ‘Streicher, your battalion has the perimeter. Divide the men into pairs, put outposts here, here, here, everywhere you see here.’ The stick waved vaguely, in a broad circle around the fort. ‘Esposito will send you the data, you figure it out. Do I have to do everything around here? Useless, the lot of you. The other two battalions will remain here at the fort. When Streicher’s men detect the Jabos advance, we’ll fall on them with both battalions, crush them, wipe them out, throw them back into space!’

All well and good, thought Sebastian, but it would almost certainly mean that whatever pair encountered the Jabos spearhead first would get wiped out long before help could come. He looked at Delavigne and Demir, and read the same realization there.

Gerald had halted in mid-rant, his stick still poised, quivering in midair. After a moment’s stillness, he let it fall limply to his side. ‘Hopeless,’ he muttered. He began massaging his face with his free hand. ‘Fracking hopeless.’

Some of the officers shuffled uncomfortably. Someone cleared their throat.

The Third had not had time to repair the damage of Sophie’s World, and had left more damaged material behind in the hasty retreat from Berenson. The Fourth Ducal Guards were in better state, but greener, less well-trained. Even so, the numbers were not wildly against them. Such despondence seemed odd.

Sebastian was surprised how deeply the reverse on Berenson had affected the Colonel—unless theirs had not been the only setback, and the news on other fronts was equally grim? His father’s unit, he remembered, had been easily pushed off Abadan with barely a fight.

‘Sir,’ Streicher broke the silence. ‘When we began this great journey, Duke Anton said we must use all measures, use any weapon necessary to achieve victory.’

Gerald stopped massaging his face. ‘No,’ he said, voice muffled behind his hand. The hand moved again, kneading his brow. ‘No,’ he repeated, though quieter, less sure. ‘No … well. But. No.’

Esposito cleared his throat loudly and clapped his hands. ‘You have your assignments,’ he said. ‘Now go do your duty.’

The meeting broke up and the officers filed outside into the park. Sebastian waited until they were almost all gone before he followed. He’d reached the doorway when he heard the Colonel call out.

‘Force Commander Streicher,’ Gerald said. ‘Wait. There is. We. That is, you will have … a special assignment. Remain here.’

Sebastian loitered in the doorway for a moment, long enough to see Streicher’s slow and satisfied smile as the Force Commander turned back. The Force Commander threw him an unreadable look as he walked past Sebastian. Streicher had the look, Sebastian decided, of a man pleased to find out his paranoia had suddenly been proven true.

Sebastian watched the two of them, Streicher and Gerald, heads bent together over the map, speaking low. Sebastian stood framed in the doorway. To them a hazy, backlit shadow.
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 #117 on: 09 April 2019, 20:57:32 »
Sebastian had been paired with Rikard, as he knew they would. They parked their BattleMechs in the lee of a hill, climbed down and pitched their tents at the crest. Built a grass fire. Not for heat—they left the BattleMechs running, and hooked up a pair of infrared lamps—but just to have something to burn. And then got roaring drunk on the last of the tree frog poison and fermenting mourning cane, watching the firefly lights of the incoming loyalist DropShip engine flares.

‘This stuff is revolting,’ Rikard confided, holding up the bottle. ‘And I’m from the Periphery. Trust me, I know revolting. And this is it.’ He took a swig, pulled a face. ‘Gaaah! Just the worst.’ He lifted the bottle to his lips again.

‘Save some,’ Sebastian complained, holding out his hand for the bottle.

‘Just be wasted on you,’ Rikard waved him away. ‘See those lights up there? Candles at your funeral, Seb.’

‘That’s why I like you, Rocko. So cheery to have around. Now pass the damn bottle.’

Rikard handed it to him. Sebastian held it up critically to the firelight. There was maybe two finger-widths left if you had very small hands. ‘Wow. Thanks.’ He drained it in a few swallows. ‘Well, you may be right about one thing,’ Sebastian admitted. ‘This really tastes awful.’

‘But seriously Seb, the numbers do not look good. Unless our boy upstairs has some super-secret master plan to get us out of this, it’s ... Yeah. It doesn’t look good.’

Sebastian nodded absently, and threw the bottle into the darkness. He heard it rattle off something hard, and go thumping down the slope. ‘You got any better ideas?’

Rikard looked down at his feet, and kicked a little at the edge of the fire before replying. ‘Seb, lemme tell you about the ancient and noble Periphery art of surrender.’

Seb’s laugh was without humor. ‘Don’t think that’s really an option for me anymore.’

‘No,’ Rikard agreed. ‘Not for you.’

The next morning, they saw the dust plumes rising against the horizon before they saw the BattleMechs themselves. Sebastian raised a pair of 10x binoculars to his eyes, and fiddled with the focus until the shapes leaped out at him. From the top of their hill, the horizon was 10 kilometers away, but already the giants seemed terrifyingly close.

‘How many?’ Rikard asked, hand raised to his brow, squinting.

‘Plenty,’ Sebastian said, lowered the binoculars and offered them to Rikard. Rikard held up a hand and shook his head.

‘Naw. I’m good.’

‘I’ll get on the comm, let HQ know they’re coming.’ Even at 10 kilometers distant, the Jabos would be on them in less than 10 minutes. ‘Grab your helmet, meet me at the ’Mechs.’ Sebastian jogged down the hill, got halfway down at stopped. He looked over his shoulder, but the big man was no longer there. Frowning, Sebastian retraced his steps to the tents.

Rikard was inside his tent, bent over the cot, stuffing everything he owned into a duffel bag. He glanced towards the opening as Sebastian came in, then turned and continued to pack.

‘The enemy is thataway, Rikard.’ Sebastian said, aiming a thumb over his shoulder.

‘That right?’ Rikard said, not looking up.

‘You, ah, not joining us then?’

Rikard straightened, and turned to face Sebastian. The top of his head scraped the tent’s ceiling. Rikard’s face was calm, but his body radiated tension. ‘Nope,’ he said quietly.

‘I thought you liked crazy.’

‘I do. This is insane.’

Sebastian nodded. ‘All right.’ He wasn’t even sure if this counted as a betrayal. Maybe as a loss, another connection to humanity severed. He couldn’t say it wasn’t justified. ‘Can I ask why?’

‘Hey, I fought for Anton because it was either that or a cell,’ Rikard said. ‘I like you, Seb. Even if you are a little crazy, hell, maybe because you are. But it’s a lost cause, Seb. Even I can see that. And I’m not gonna die for this, for you or Gerald or for Anton, or any of this pointless crap. You get me? Even if by some miracle Anton wins, nothing changes. It’s just digging one hole to fill in another one.’

‘Sophie’s World, Berenson, it was all for nothing?’

‘Well, yeah,’ Rikard made it sound tautological, so evidently true it wasn’t even worth discussing. ‘Long-term, none of this matters, Seb. The things Anton or Gerald talk about, freedom or independence or justice or whatever, they don’t mean anything. It’s not real. It’s just shuffling the chairs on the bridge of the ship. Me dead on a battlefield, now that’s real.’ He looked hard at Sebastian. ‘You gonna make this hard for me?’

Sebastian shook his head. ‘Naw. Guess you’ve earned that much.’

‘You should quit too, Seb. It’s twisted you, man, like I hardly recognize you. That shit with Sarloveze is over, you finished it. So why keep fighting?’

‘They’ll be looking for me now, after Berenson.’ He looked up at Rikard, and smiled faintly. ‘Every time I think I’m digging myself out of the hole, I find I’ve only made it deeper. I don’t think I get to walk away. But it’d be nice if one of us could.’ He stuck out his hand. Maybe the last decent thing he could do. ‘Be well, Rikard. Good luck.’

Rikard wordlessly shook his hand. He didn’t wish Sebastian luck, and Sebastian was grateful or that. They both knew it wouldn’t have meant anything.
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 #118 on: 09 April 2019, 20:58:09 »
Sebastian didn’t die, the Third didn’t crush their attackers, Streicher’s secret task either failed or made no difference, and Gerald Marik’s sole contribution to the battle was to order another retreat. The only one who looked even vaguely satisfied with the whole operation was Streicher.
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 #119 on: 14 April 2019, 00:09:20 »
Hum, distracted by other things at the moment. New writing on my blog. Will finish this when I get back on my desktop. If anyone's still reading...
Author, "Inverted" (Shrapnel #4), "Undefeated" (#10), "Reversal of Fortunes" (#13) and "The Alexandria Job" (#15)