Operation VII: Pyre Light

[Captain Benjamin Maxwell]

Something is afoot on Sheratan...

[Commander Garrett Garland]

It was hot, damn hot. I’d been running my ‘mech at full speed with the constant use of JumpJets for the past hour; even my ‘mech’s advanced heatsinks couldn’t eliminate all of the waste heat. Perhaps some of the heat which I was experiencing was that of fear and anxiety—I had no idea what had befallen Sheratan and I could only hope that the Legionnaires were in one piece. Finally my Shadow Hawk peaked one of the many small rises separating myself from Site 187. To my delight, the base seemed to be on alert status, but I couldn’t see any signs of battle—I wasn’t too late. Checking my comm I found the jamming even worse here than out in the plains—we’d only be able to communicate with tight-beam optical signals. Focusing my transceiver on the base’s control tower I hoped to discover what had been happening.

“This is Commander Garland to Watchdog-1, do you read?”

“This is Watchdog-1, Commander—we’re glad to see you. Corporal Kazansky reported that you were on your way back but we didn’t know when. As you can tell we’ve lost nearly all communication and we’re not sure what’s causing the jamming. We picked up a strange signal from Gellen’s Heights, but immediately after that signal punched through the jamming got even worse. Kazansky has gone to do a fly over of the city but he hasn’t returned. We were about to send a ‘mech patrol out when you arrived.

“Thanks for the information Watchdog, can you connect me to the assembled patrol?”

“This is Blake—it’s good to hear from you Commander, we were about to go and investigate that signal from Sheratan. Ah, I see you now sir.”

I had just moved my ‘mech around the base as Blake finished his transmission. Standing before me were two massive assault class Battlemechs, a Zeus and an even larger Fafnir. Behind the two behemoth war machines stood yet another assault class ‘mech, a Hatamoto-Kaze Mk II. I felt under gunned amongst these awesome machines, but my ‘mech’s speed would hopefully make up for it—in fact I was going to need all the speed I could get in the next few moments. Toggling my comm, I replied to Morgan’s transmission.

“Blake, a patrol sounds like an excellent idea—any idea as to what’s going on?”

“Well sir, we haven’t heard from any of our forces in Gellen’s Heights nor have we received and communiqués from the militia, just that distorted message. I did pick up some distinctive words however—WORD has me especially troubled.”

The MechWarrior was right—that particular word was trouble. Hopefully we had enough forces on planet to deal with any threat though because we had no way to send for help—the HPG was down and the Liberty, the only DropShip capable of penetrating a military blockade usually stationed on Sheratan, was out for upgrades.

“Blake, I’d like you to start the patrol down towards Gellen’s Heights to figure out what’s going on—I’ll catch up with you as soon as my ‘mech is refitted for combat. Wait a sec, Captain Wolf is that you in the Hatamoto?”

“Yes Commander it is, but I’m not taking over just yet—I’m still not entirely situated here. As you know, I just arrived. I’m here if you need me but otherwise just consider me another MechWarrior for now.”

“Very well sir. Blake please consider yourself Guardian-2. Thorn, you’re Guardian-3—I’d like you to take point until I’m back. Captain, you’re designated Guardian-4. Blake, please start the lance towards Gellen’s Heights, I should be able to meet up with you before you get there.”

I didn’t watch as the assault ‘mechs slowly lumbered away—I needed to get my ‘mech battle-ready quickly. I trotted my ‘mech over to Site 187’s primary access elevator, riding it down to the MechBay. As ordered, the astechs were ready for my arrival, swarming around my ‘mech like bees removing pollen. With all of the simulator equipment detached they quickly loaded all of my ‘mech’s ammunition based weapons—I had already readjusted my pulse laser in case I ran into any trouble on the way back to base. With my ‘mech restored I rode the elevator back to the surface—putting my ‘mech into a sprint to catch up with Guardian lance. I was only a kilometer passed one of Site 187’s two bridges when I saw the smoke—a thick haze mingling with the clouds above. Another kilometer I could I see the city and three assault class Battlemechs slowly making their way towards it. The city was burning. I could hear explosions in the distance and occasionally see a flash of light through the thick smoke—but visibility inside the city had to be less than 100 meters. Fortunately the city’s residential sections were unaffected but the area surround the SpacePort was ablaze. Finally catching up with lance my comm indicator lit up.

“This is Guadian-3. Sir, what should we do?”

I was about to reply when I saw movement in the smoke on the cities outskirts. A moment later an APC burst through the smoke, itself burning. Trailing behind the damaged APC were two twenty ton Red Shifts, some of the fastest Battlemechs ever produced. I didn’t even need my IFF to ascertain the ‘mech’s affiliation, they could be nothing but the Word of Blake…

[MechWarrior Aisa Thastus]

A jarring explosion slammed the rear quarter panel of the armored sedan in which I rode, returning to Site 187 after having parted ways with Captain Maxwell at the Gellen's Heights spaceport. Elliott, the driver of the sedan, swore loudly, and began to drive an evasive pattern. I was thrown across the rear couch, my back slamming into a door panel, shattering the plastic shroud. I struggled to turn my body toward the rear of the vehicle, hoping to visually ascertain who our assailants were.

As I pivoted into a kneeling position, peering over the rear of my seat, the vehicle's aft window shattered, several emerald pulse beams tearing through its thin ferroglass like shots fired through a piece of paper. One of the volleys struck the rear of the driver's seat, boring through the leather upholstery to sever Elliott's spinal column, causing him to go limp. The sedan veered wildly out of control, skidding off the ice-covered roadway into a shallow ditch, crashing nose-first into a thick drift of snow. I was thrown onto the spacious carpeted floor of the limousine as the relentless bombardment of the vehicle continued.

Shrapnel raining down around me, I scrambled toward the car's rear passenger door. I jerked wildly on the handle, but the latch was inoperable. Angrily, I cried out, and slammed a foot against the window's ferroglass in a futile attempt to breach it. The glass held fast, reverberating under my boot as it dissipated the powerful force of my kick. A pulse laser round burned through the sleeve of my longcoat, narrowly missing my arm as the assailants drew closer - I was running out of time.

Reaching into the recesses of my overcoat, I withdrew my final option - a vintage, chrome-plated Desert Eagle given to me as a gift by Captain Maxwell prior to his departure. In an astonishing act of trust, he had left the weapon in functioning condition, fully loaded, with a round in the chamber. I now understood why.

Flicking the safety off, I leveled the weapon at the resistant window, and pulled the trigger repeatedly. A volley of depleted-uranium rounds tore into the glass, compromising its integrity. I kicked wildly at the shattered remains, clearing the remaining debris away, and dove through the opening, into the deep snow that lay beyond.

The double whoosh of twin SRMs deploying filled the cold winter air as I scrambled behind a stand of snow-covered pines. The sound was followed moments later by a bone-jarring explosion which lifted the crippled sedan into the air, tearing it asunder, before depositing its tormented carcass onto the frozen earth, where it lay, gutted, flames licking at its charred frame. As the smoke cleared, my eyes were met by a chilling visage - a squad of Cavalier battle armor was making its way toward my position.

I pulled my comm unit from its holster as I slowly began making my way deeper into the underbrush. Before I even had the chance to attempt a transmission, I was met with the realization that the local comm net was being jammed.

This held the potential to become very ugly.

[Elizabeth Evers]

After a brief orientation from Commander Garland, I departed back to Gallen Hieghts to collect my craft. Apparently thier Logistical Commander was very particular about inspections and wanted to examine my Pinto as soon as possible.

The ride back to the starport where my vehical was stowed was interuppted by the bright flash and loud report of battle. The rig driver's radio was tuned into the Legionnaire's frequency, which afforded us the ability to listen as the situation report began coming together.

The salvage rig was hard pressed to keep up with it's driver's anxious pace. Hair pin turns and reckless civilian vehicals kept me white-knuckling the door's handle. All the while the driver wildly scanned the civilian band for information and muttered soothing things to me, like; "Damn thing's an invasion, that's what!"

Abruptly we pulled into a parking garage in an unfamiliar part of the city. The driver shut of his engine but left the battery running so he could keep tabs on the situations. A few awkward seconds of waiting finally pushed me to inquire, "What should we do?"

The rig driver could sense my distress and paused a moment to summon up something that would no doubt instill a sense of purpose in me.

"Nothing." My incredulous look pushed him to explain; "I am going to sit tight untill those mech's show up. You on the other hand have a chopper to pilot. I suppose that'd be something to look into."

A few moments of uncomfortable conversation with a disturbingly disinterested rig driver yielded a general idea of how to get to my prized possesion and what vital settings I needed to input to keep from being blasted out of the sky by friendlies. A folded sheet of numbers and codes sat in my back pocket and fear of jihadist capture raced at my heels as I began a twenty-odd block jog.

[Abraham Tetsuhara]

The rose petals lay burning at my feet; the doctor wasn’t going to get her thank you gift for repairing my shoulder. The first sign of trouble had been the comm interference—no one on the news had mentioned any solar flares that day. The second sign of trouble had been the explosions. It seemed as if someone in the militia had become suspicious of the activities at the SpacePort and had come to investigate. They had been greeted by my estimates a full battalion of enemy troops. The floral shop from which I’d recently bought the flowers let off a slightly aromatic smell—burning foliage. The wobbies were shooting anything and everything they saw—they liked to cause as much havoc as possible and then subdue the population with their brain-wash camps later. Fortunately for me the enemy ‘mech which has passed by at a blazing fast pace had been trailing an APC and so no infantry had moved up this far. It was amazing how dishonorable the Word of Blake was—they’d use the weak, the civilians, against the warrior who they should be fighting. They loved to fight in cities—it caused the highest casualties. Luckily for us they didn’t just bombard Sheratan from orbit—but they were still going to be many, many, deaths this day.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure where to go. I was in the middle of the city—I’d never make it walking out of the city let alone to Site 187. The militia headquarters would probably be the first place the jihadists struck—I was stranded in an inferno. Looking around I noticed that the street had completely emptied—everyone was hiding in offices and shops—if only they knew they were just trying to avoid the inevitable. Although I was unarmed there was still something which I could do: scout. It seemed that traversing quietly and quickly overland and sea was my purpose in life, hiding for days waiting to report my information. I knew that at the moment the Legionnaires and whatever was left of the militia were horribly outgunned—I couldn’t do anything about that though. Something I could do, maybe, was help them get organized… or at least un-disorganized. Whatever was jamming the communications had to be the single most important asset in this battle and I intended to hunt it down. Withdrawing my radio I used it like a Geiger-counter—the more static I got the closer I was to my target.

Unsurprisingly I had ended up at the SpacePort—perhaps they were using the Kaiser’s Folly as a gigantic jamming station—but I was fairly certain that Mammoth Class DropShips were not capable of such things. Jumping from roof top to roof top I found myself as close to the SpacePort’s walls as possible without being on the ground. From my position I could easily see over the walls from my six story perch. My god I thought, the Legionnaires have to be outnumbered five to one—even if they hadn’t been caught off guard…

Regardless, I decided that since I was pretty much already dead that I should go out with a bang—I would fight to the last. Second to the Kaiser’s Folly, the most prominent feature was a massive collapsible dish being powered by the gigantic spacecraft’s fusion drives. The dish had to be putting out incredible amounts of electromagnetic radiation to be producing this kind of interference, but with a Mammoth Class DropShip’s generators at its disposal I wasn’t surprised.

Guarding the base’s entrance were several ‘mechs along with a contingent of infantry waiting to be deployed. My still present sense of giri implored me to continue nonetheless—if death was inevitable then make it an honorable one—and what was more honorable than dying for one’s brethren and comrades—even if their survival seemed equally unlikely.

Returning to the ground floor I hid in the building’s shadow, the sharp tang of winter air filling my nostrils. Sprinting forward I crossed the street to the SpacePort wall as quickly and quietly as possible; my discovery seemed imminent. Skirting along the edge of the SpacePort wall, careful to avoid enemy patrols, I found an old maintenance door. Although it was locked, a strong kick at the handle of the door broke the lock, swinging the door open. Although there was a heavy WOB presence on the DropPads and in the warehouses, the port building itself was empty—they must have assumed that no one would enter it from the outside.

Luckily for me the guards were also facing out—I could have snapped their necks in my sleep. However, the real threat was from the inner patrolling guards and vehicles—they had every angle covered—I would have to do this some other way. Despite the fact that the wobbies had ancient star league technology thanks to ComStar’s caches, they were not entirely unaffected by the decline of technology. Many of the ground vehicles still depended on petroleum—something which needed to be replenished. Off to the side of the SpacePort sat a lone petrochem truck—much like the one which had damaged the HPG station. This early in the battle—slaughter—none of the WOB vehicles had returned to refuel—the petrochem truck driver stood idly leaning on his truck. This presented for me a problem: I couldn’t sneak behind him, the truck was shielding him.

All it took was an errant piece of ferrocrete to solve my problem. Stealthily traveling around the perimeter of the SpacePort I found myself behind the truck with the driver on the other side. Fortunately for me the truck had two tanks: one attached to the cab and the other on a separate trailer. There was a small space between the first and second tanks so I proceeded to wedge myself in-between, my legs pressing against both sides of the tanks, only their pressure supporting me. Taking the small chunk of ferrocrete I lobbed it forwards and outwards, catching the guards attention. Slowly, with his weapon drawn, he walked towards the source of the noise, completely failing to look behind him. As quietly as I could—which meant silently—I jumped down and walked forward, my footsteps echoing less than featherfalls. In one fluid motion I grabbed the drivers head with both hands, one on his face and the other on the back. Jerking sharply I twisted his head to the left, snapping his spinal column. Grabbing his now lifeless body underneath the armpits I dragged him behind the truck, ransacking his corpse for the keys. Entering from the passenger side I scooted across the seat, finding myself in the driver’s seat. The moment the engine cycled and caught I put the petal to the floor, slowly accelerating the beast. Although I didn’t know it, this vehicle had actually been listed in the ship’s manifest—it had been too large to fit secretly in a container. About three seconds after turning on the engine I created suspicion. At five seconds I created panic. At eight seconds I created action.

Ducking down I felt shards of glass falling onto my bald head and back—some blakists had actually decided to shoot the vehicle. From my current position I couldn’t see over the dashboard, but I trusted my steady hand to have not deviated from its original course—the gigantic dish. From my vantage point I found myself staring at the steering wheel and the truck’s various controls. I couldn’t believe it—I was looking at cruise control! The moment I entered the SpacePort I assumed that I was dead—there comes a time in a soldier’s life when he accepts death and goes beyond the call of duty, holding back nothing because he knows that this is it—this is his last chance to do something. I hadn’t held back—I had twisted the man’s neck with perfection, I had steered the vehicle perfectly because I knew that I had too—there was nothing else I could do. But now I was looking at survival—it was very strange to have already considered one’s self dead and yet still plan on living. Pressing the cruise control button I opened the truck’s door, rolling out onto the tarmac. Staying flat to the ground I was still blown away by the massive concussion wave—my ear drums bleeding. Looking up for a moment I saw that I’d missed the shrapnel cloud and that my hand had stayed true—the dish was no more. All around me the ground was burning—some other flammable liquid must have been spilt here earlier. Standing up surrounded by flames I made a choice, a choice to survive. Leaping forward I jumped through the flames only into another kind of fire—this kind even more lethal. With bullets ripping past me I rounded a corner at full speed. Had I been thinking more clearly and my head less groggy perhaps things would have been different, but the rifle butt seamed to come from out of nowhere, catching me right in the forehead…

[Commander Garrett Garland]

It was quite incredible how fast a ‘mech could move—faster than many could track. However, a moment after the Red Shifts appeared I stopped considering their grace and speed; a huge fireball shot out into the sky. As if on cue my comm channel was filled with the desperate cries of radio-equipped civilians pleading for the militia to save them and even the militia themselves ordering retreats and fallbacks. While my lancemates focused on frying the Red Shifts, my attention was solely on the radio. The situation was dire indeed—the Sewer Rats were getting pummeled and we still had lost Legionnaires in the city—even one of our MechWarriors: Rhodes. And to think that Evers’ first day on the job was this—it was great on-the-job training. Looking back at the battlefield I saw that my lancemates had annihilated one of the Red Shifts, its remains strewn across the gradually descending hill to the city. However the other Red Shift had disappeared—it must have made it back to the city. Looking back at the burning metropolis I knew what had to be done—we had to make a stand, but not in the city; I wanted to spare the lives of as many civilians as I could and I had a little surprise for the Blakists back at the base. Shunting all of my ‘mech’s power to its transmitter I sent out a wideband broadcast.

“This is Commander Garrett Garland of the Legionaries to all friendly forces. If you can, head Northwest out of the city to Site 187—we’ll try and hold there. Our assault lance is currently running interference for any fleeing units—if you can make it out of the city we should be able to watch your backs. May god be with you, Garland out.”

With newfound determination I switched my comm from wideband to a lance specific channel. “Alright men, we’re about to get a lot of company—those Blakists certainly heard us too. Guardian-three and four, please take center, myself and Guardian-two will take the sides—I want a crossfire on the center of the city—but make sure to check your IFF before firing.”

With that I set my Shadow Hawk into a gallop, crouching on the hill’s northern flank with the city’s main freeway running between Wolf and Thorn. I could see Blake’s Zeus a little less than a klick away preparing for the oncoming onslaught. I knew that we’d have to pull back soon, but hopefully we’d be able to add some more units to our ranks before our retreat.

[Morgan Blake]

With their attention fully focused on the APC vehicle they were intent on chasing down, the Blakist Red Shifts had completely missed our prescence directly in their path.

We were caught by surprise, not expecting an APC to come charging in our direction. The few seconds that it took the Blakist mechs to clear the smoke and come into our visual range was enough for us all to be prepared.

No matter how fast a mech, once it is coming almost directly at you, it's almost like point and shoot. In a strange coincidence we had all decided to target the mech on the left, maybe because it was the one closer to the APC, maybe because it was the one firing at the APC most often. Who knows. What ever the reason, a light mech has very little chance of standing up to three assault class mechs.

Wolf and I bathed it in laser fire, creating rainbows in every direction as armour melted or was carved away. The Red Shift had survived this punishing onslaught and had even managed to turn at speed on the bitumen road without losing it's footing, a testament to the skill of the pilot.

This was where his luck ran out though. Thorn had held off unleashing his Fafnir a moment longer than Wolf and I had. The twin slugs from his Fafnir's gauss rifles slammed into side of the stricken Red Shift like possessed demons. The tortured armour panels and scorched internal structure offered what resistance they could, but their feeble attempts to stop the marauding invaders met with failure. The engine presented itself as a physical barrier to the onslaught, as did the gyro, but neither of these held the firm, steady resolve required to excise the demons within. It was only when the two nickel ferrous slugs bit deep into the heatsinks in the far torso, was it that their kinetic energy was finally arrested. A phyretic victory indeed for the Red Shift. Almost as an act of final defiance, with all of it's shielding ripped asunder, the reactor, which had so recently hurtled the Red Shift at increadible speeds over land, exploded, propelling shattered pieces of the light mech at even greater speeds in to the air.

The pilot had managed to eject from his mortally wounded mount, but the unbridled fury of the nuclear fueled blast easily outpaced his ejection chair, taking one final victim before it subsided, like a subdued beast of prey, sated on the flesh of it's latest meal.,

[Morgan Blake]

“Alright men, we’re about to get a lot of company—those Blakists certainly heard us too. Guardian-three and four, please take center, myself and Guardian-two will take the sides—I want a crossfire on the center of the city—but make sure to check your IFF before firing.”

With the Blakist jamming ended for the moment, we decided that it was time to add a bit of our own. The plethora of advanced targetting and missile guidance systems in use on the modern battlefield had made the addition of electronic counter measures almost mandatory in modern designs. What was unusual was that all four mechs in our lance mounted such ECM systems. By all engaging our ECM suites we were able to cover a greater area and thus deny the Blakist machines the smae communications they had so recently denied us. Their liberal use of their advanced C3 technology, which allowed them to share targetting data with each other, would be crippled by our ECM. Forcing them to either fight at a range outside of the ECM's range, which suited our longer range guns quite well, or would force them to come in close to point blank range where their weapons had the best chance of hitting, but where we could use the physical bulk of our assault mechs against them as well.

Reaching my position on the southern flank, I lowered my mech onto one knee. Almost like a medieval praying at the altar just prior to going in to battle. This way I presented a smalled target and a different profile to any oncoming mechs or vehicles. Hopefully they would mistake me for a smaller class mech and therby under estimate the enemy they would be facing. Only time would tell.

Commander Garland had sent his wide frequency broadcast message out several minutes earlier. It would be another few minutes at least before we would see any oncoming units, either allied or Blakist.

[Tech Sergeant Forester]

Suddenly the jamming ceased and the comms channels where flooded with transmissions. Civilian cries for help, Militia calls for retreat and regrouping. It sounded like chaos had come to reign supreme. Suddenly a signal punched through, fighting over and subduing all others.

“This is Commander Garrett Garland of the Legionaries to all friendly forces. If you can, head Northwest out of the city to Site 187—we’ll try and hold there. Our assault lance is currently running interference for any fleeing units—if you can make it out of the city we should be able to watch your backs. May god be with you, Garland out.”

This was it, confirmation finally that Sheratan was under some kind of full scale assault. Guardian lance were already deployed, Commander Garland in his Shadowhawk at the head of the three assault mechs of Morgan, Thorn and Wolf. We hadn't heard from either Asia Thastus or William Rhodes, our other two mechwarriors since this whole conflict had begun. We were all hoping that they would show up soon. I wasn't the only one to take glances at the dormant Dire Wolf, meekly sitting idle in it's assigned bay. I am sure we were all thinking the same thing. Wishing the Captain were here to lead the way with the unforgiving fire power of Tyrant. The Dire Wolf anchoring our lines, it's mere presence providing a rallying point for our troops and a source of death for our enemies.

This is Guardian One to base, I want Asia's Timberwolf and Rhode's Verfogler prepped and ready to go the moment they arrive back at base. We haven't got time for any delays. Keeps the mechs manned and the hatches locked in case of any intruders, we can't afford for them to fall into enemy control, over.

[Captain Adam "Gunman" Wolf]

The dessimated Red Shift carcass' laid strewn about the asphalt as all four 'mech in Guardian Lance engaged their ECM, the sudden onslaught of the ECM would wreck havoc in any enemy electronic system within the radius, watching over along the southern flank I noticed Blake lowering his 'mech into a kneeling position, the radar contact quickly diminishing giving a false image, if it wasn't for the fusion reactor deep within its belly, the Zeus would appear like a cluster of rocks or a small tower to most radars.

The concept of decieving the enemy was exactly what my 'mech was designed to do, having dispersed the heat generated from combat already, I activated the Null Signature system installed on my 80 ton monster. The flickering translucent glow flooded across my 'mechs exterior before fading away leaving nothing but a very faint distortion in the place that my 'mech had clearly been only moments before.

Fanning out along outer reaches of Guardian-3's ECM range, I positioned Ryuuko Hinote, the name I recently christened the Hatamoto with, meaning Dragon's Fire, so that Thorn's ECM and my own overlapped slightly in the middle while providing the most extensive range possible for any incoming friendlies.

This is Guardian-4, I'm in position with Null Sig engaged, sending co-ordinates now, if any Blakies decide to happen upon us they'll be quite surprised when they see an Assault 'mech appear out of thin air.

Wait a minute, I've got a possible contact bearing one-seven-two, moving about 60 clicks an hour. Can't get a positive ident outside the ECM range though. Guardian-1 looks like he's closing on your position. Over.

Moving my 'mech very slowly along the outer edge of the ECM coverage from Thorn's Fafnir, I moved as close as I could towards the contact without breaking the continous coverage between the units of Guardian lance. My fingers brushing lightly across the fire control triggers and buttons on the control joysticks, just waiting for another Blakist bastard to make the mistake of engaging us.

[MechWarrior Alex Thorn]

After dealing with the Red Shift, Guardian Lance took up a defensive postion. Blake lowered his Zeus into a kneeling position as Wolf activated his Null Sig. Well all activated our ECMs.

Wolf maintained a slow watch around the outer edge of my ECM. I turned the torso of my Fafnir around, watching for any oncoming enemies with my scope up. Then Wolf radioed in.

Wait a minute, I've got a possible contact bearing one-seven-two, moving about 60 clicks an hour. Can't get a positive ident outside the ECM range though. Guardian-1 looks like he's closing on your position. Over.

I turned to face Guardian-1, then went back on my patrol.

Alright guys stay on your toes. We know that the Blakies attack in numbers. So there is bound be other 'Mechs around here.

I flipped the radio off and continued my scan. I stopped when I saw a small dot rising over the horizon at a quick pace. I turned the scope off and got ready.

Okay boys, I was right. We have more contacts coming in. Looks like they will be heading straight for us Guardian-4. Guardian-2 watch from the sides. They may try and surround us.

[Lance Commander William Rhodes]

All the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players.

The cockpit screens in the brand new VR5-R Verfolger came to life as William spoke the security protocol phrase, a quote from William Shakespeare's As You Like It.

I love that new BattleMech smell. [/i]

The 65 ton Verfolger was fresh of the Arc-Royal Mechworks assembly line, purchased through the bargaining skills of Morgan Blake. William smiled at the warm growl of the beast's 325 VOX XL engine as he lovingly caressed the control sticks, moving the heavy machine out of Site 187's Mech Bay and toward the base perimeter.

Rhodes and the troopers of Emma's platoon had barely escaped a pair of Word of Blake Red Shifts who had been chasing Big Bertha all the way through the burning streets of Gellen's Heights. Fortunately, they had run into the Mechs of Guardian Lance, who had made short work of the Blakist scouts.

Clinging to handholds on the torso of the Verfolger, were four troopers from the Sewer Rats, including Leftenant Emma Mirado, dressed in advanced Infiltrator Mk. II battle suits. Also known as Puma suits, and equipped with advanced stealth technology, the left arm of each suit ended in a deadly Federated-Barrett "Magshot" Gauss Rifle.

The Verfolger itself was well armed, with an Energizer ER PPC slung under the right arm, a massive Myron LBX autocannon over the left shoulder, 3 Defiance medium lasers in the torso, and a Surefire AMS unit in the forehead. Twelve and a half tons of Royal-7 armor protected the chassis which was equipped with a CASE system to protect the ammo bins.

Pointing his Mech towards the last position of Guardian Lance, William opened up the throttle, accelerating to the maximum speed of 86 kph.

Guardian 1, this is William Rhodes, hence forth Guardian 5, in the new Verfolger with an attached squad of Pumas. Where do you need us, over?

[Gen Miyamoto]

The whole facility was abuzz, and most personel were busy preparing for battle. From grease monkeys to phd's, the conflict on Sheraton was setting people to motion. All save one.

I sat at the terminal, re-reading the suspension notice for the forteenth time. Typing a reply would be nearly impossible, as my new robotic limb was still ungainly and clumsy. It would be weeks or months of physical therepy with Jessica before my arm functioned like it should. I suppose this is what decrepit warriors do after they are too old to see battle, curse to themselves and rage inwardly. I left then, to go find a bottle of stronger spirits.

[Commander Garrett Garland]

“Guardian-5 it’s good to hear from you, form up on me. My flank is a little under armed and your firepower would be appreciated. If you wouldn’t mind splitting with your Pumas I have a task for them.”

From what I knew, our forces were greatly outnumbered and although our current firing set-up, coupled with our height advantage, should provide a kill-zone we needed everything we could get. Switching my radio over to the Puma squad’s frequency I gave them their assignment.

Like demons schizophrenics saw out of their peripheral vision, I could see cloudy silhouettes through the haze—their malicious intent obvious. It seemed that they were congregating—waiting to make a strong push. We’d actually gained several more wheeled and tracked units but their moral and battle-readiness was so low that I sent them back to the base—we’d make our own congregation there. As if a rabbit startled by a gunshot, a SNT-04 Sentry broke from the smoke, enormous volumes of weapons fire following in its wake. Checking my IFF I discovered that the Sentry was probably the militia’s last ‘mech—it was incredible that he’d made it out of the city in the first place. None of that was going to matter in a second if we didn’t do something though—the Sentry’s armor was dripping from its back, liquefied by the intense heat of lasers and broken from the shock of depleted uranium slugs. Thankfully the Pumas had been busy at work—just as the ‘mech broke free of the haze I’d received a ready light from them.

Four pillars of flame jetted from the top of the nearest apartment building—their exhaust adding to the already cloudy battlefield. As the Pumas reached the zenith of their arc, the apartment building behind them experienced several small explosions—blowing out its supports. Toppling to the right, the building’s debris fell right in the line of fire between the unseen enemy and the fleeing Sentry.

Acting as a catalyst, the fall of the building spurned on the unseen forces, bringing them into the light. Only the first wave had appeared and already I knew our chances slim.

“This is Guardian-1 to Guardian Lance—cover that Sentry. I want a controlled retreat back to the base—we’ll make our stand there.”

Just as I finished my communiqué I saw a brilliant strobe of lights flash from the smoke and then felt my ‘mech’s heat soar as I received multiple long range laser bursts. Backpedaling, I fired my UAC5 at the approaching enemy ‘mechs…

[Morgan Blake]

The militia Sentry shot from the confines of the smoke cover to race towards our position on top of the hill. There was a brief hesitation in the mechs gait as the pilot obviously spotted us, momentarily unsure of our allegences. Taking solice in identifying our Legionnaire's crest, he raced past us to the safety of site 187.

This time the Blakist machines did not blindly follow their quarry out of the smoke cover. Obviously the Red Shift we could see amongst their forces was the same one from earlier and had no intention of embracing the same fate as his bretheren had.

With the militia's Sentry safely past our line, the Blakists decided to snipe at our mechs instead. Momentarily cut off from their supporting bretheren by the collapsed building, the Blakists had decided to concentrate on Garlend's Shadowhawk, the lightest mech in our unit, in the hopes of quickly reducing our numbers.

A few errant shots had been fired at Thorn and his Fafnir, but none had yet been directed to either Wolf or myself. Thorn had been steadily moving backwards, replying to the enemy fire with his own extended range large laser and twin gauss rifles. The retreating movement by Thorn and Garland was having it's desired effect of drawing the Blakist machines in closer. Emboldened by their apparent ease of advancement, the Blakists completely failed to realise they were drawing ever closer to Wolf and myself.

The slower Toyama and two Initiates were taking the direct path, following the road, laying down suppression fire from their long range weapons as they hoped to over whelm the retreating Fafnir and Shadowhawk. The Red Shift as a shark sensing blood in the water made a wide flanking sweep to the north, posibly hoping to get Garland to turn to face him, exposing the Shadowhawk's rear armour to the oncoming slower mechs.

The Buccaneer started a flanking move to the south, where I was still stationary. As the Buccaneer came closer I automatically assumed that I had been spotted and identified. After all he was coming almost directly at me. When he didn't start firing at long range I realised that he had mistaken me for a natural outcropping of some sort and was hoping to use my position as cover for himself.

Activating my advanced Targetting Computer, I let it automatically track and adjust for the Buccaneer's movement. At 150 meters distant I fired a brace of LRMs. This had exactly the desired effect. Though the missiles shot wide, their sudden appearence halted the Buccaneer almost in it's tracks. This was the moment I had been waiting for. Letting the Targetting Computer work out the best firing solution, I unleashed to full force of my clan manufactured PPC and medium lasers at the Blakist machine. The PPC bit deep into it's left leg, while the three lasers scored armour from the right arm to the centre torso. Recovering quickly, the Buccaneer fired it's own brace of missiles at me before dodging sideways. I would have been peppered by more missiles, had my ECM not interferred with the guidance system on several. As it was I took several minor hits to the right side of Eisensturm.

Now the Buccaneer was attempting to flank me in an effort to bring his deadly hatchet into play. As I waited for my weapons to cycle through I glanced at my tactical display. The Red Shift was still far to the north, though with it's blindingly fast speed this could change in a heart beat. The slower Toyama and Initiate were still intent on Thorn and Garland. So for the moment it was just the Buccaneer and myself. Still I had to make this quick, otherwise I would be cut off from the others and at the mercy of the Blakist reinforcements which were sure to come eventually.

Turning to face the Buccaneer again, I unleashed another volley of charged particle beams and emerald laser beams. Shreading more armour from the Blakist machine, I failed to penetrate anywhere but had significantly reduced the protection in several places. Turning to face me, the Blakist pilot lashed out in fury, blazing away with every weapon at his disposal. The look on his face must have been incredulous as he realised that I had followed him around and was no longer where I had been moments before when I fired.

Unleashing another volley of my own, I was rewarded with several hits to the already wounded left leg of the Buccaneer. Shredding the last of the armour from the leg, my PPC and laser started to bite at the delicate internal components. Stepping down on his left leg to pivot towards me once again, the full weight of the mech caused the mech's foot to snap off at the ankle, sending the Blakist to the ground.

Checking my tactical display, I had to end this now. Walking upto the crippled Blakist, I fired as I went, managing to amputate the left leg completely and judging by the sudden convusions the mech exhibited I had managed to damage the Gyro as well. With a departing kick to the Buccaneer's torso, it was time to leave this party.