(Legend of the Joker's Wild, Set 2, Side Story 2: Inferno In Chicago)
Welcome to the geographic center of SUCK for the Earth Alliance. Welcome to the lands where steel meets steel in a contest to decide the fate of the Earth Sphere and its residents.
This is the kind of operation I like to write. Large unit, strategic operations, with everything on the table — and I do mean everything, from Infantry all the way to warships, all jockeying for their own goals and purposes. Formations comprising thousands of personnel, hundreds of thousands of tons of equipment, fighting for control of a strategic hub in the center of the Earth Alliance Atlantic Federation. Mendel wants Chicago as their beachhead, and to turn it into an abbatoir of assbeating for the Blue Cosmos pricks. The Earth Alliance wants Chicago so they can route forces and materiel through it towards other operational theaters (South America, Europe, Asia). Something's got to give.
Welcome to the party :)
The Jokers Wild Set 2 covers the war at the large scale. This story covers the small-scale operations that make or break the larger campaign in North America. Unlike the typical fare for Gundam, though, there will be no rubber-band campaigning in this story. If anything, this will resemble something of a demonic cross between the Russian Front in '43 and '44 mixed with a healthy dose of Kuwait and southern Iraq in '91. Things will alternate between slog-fest fighting and blitzkrieg ops that would make Rommel pop a two-foot woodie. And, if that last sentence didn't catch your attention, this story will go a little more in depth toward colorful language and metaphor that is favored by both the Earth Alliance and the Magi.
Each story section will feature a wide array of forces, and a wide array of tactics, but the primary focus will be on a class of units in each. This chapter mostly focuses on breaching forces and territory taking; next chapter will be a different enigma entirely.
Lastly, unlike my other works, this story is driven as much by the technical and strategic aspects as it is the personnel behind the triggers. Yes, kiddies, the tools of the trade will make a major difference. Love it or leave it, there will be a disparity in operations and forces here, and I intend to play that for every drop of blood I can squeeze out of this stone. You can expect cameos from some of the bigger names of the SEED storyline, but this story is mostly about the average Joe Blow or Jane Blow trooper on the ground.
This is the way I do things here in the Joker's Wild, and if you have differing opinions, I want to hear them in review or PM. Reviews will be used for ideas as appropriate.
All that being said, shall we now get on with the obligatory notes and the tale of the impossible come possible?
-x-
GENERAL DECLARATIONS (These apply to all sections, and other declarations may be added in the chapters)
Note that Stravag does not own any part of any included works, in whole or in part. By my use of the included works, I intend no challenge to the copyright or the legal ownership of such works. I claim ownership only of the original elements, characters, and premises of this story.
Writing note: numbers in parentheses, like this: (0) mean check the footnote for something else I think goes along with the thought. Could be informative, could be humorous, or both. This will be my preferred method of including explanation or detail information that would otherwise disrupt the flow of a story, providing the backdrop that is deserved of the disparate elements without breaking into the narrative with an author filibuster.
BAAAAAD LANGUAGE WARNING: Much as in real life, there will be foul language in some sections. Even the best of us let fly a four-letter word when really pissed off, startled, or else. Though it will be seen, it shall not be grossly common.
VIOLENCE WARNING: It is fairly safe to say, regardless of this being a massive crossover, or as a direct cause thereto, there shall be an amazing amount of violence. Get used to the thought. Expect strange conclusions to some fights, and expectable conclusions to others.
DICE WARNING: To simulate the randomness of life, elements of this story, all derivatives, all side-stories, and all continuations thereof shall be subject to the use of random number generation to determine the course of events. This will lead to otherwise illogical or against-pattern outcomes to some elements in the story, though this is expected by the author and will not be glossed over. Real life itself is random, and that is how this story shall flow, for the most part.
RELATIONSHIP WARNING: I may normally be fairly light on this subject in my writing, since more of my focus is on the political and military dimensions of the conflict at hand, but in this case there is some political dimension and some military dimension in addition to normal interactions. Expect to see some canon pairings, some non-canon pairings, and some very, very strange pairings. Fate does weird things to those it favors.
ANTI-POLITICAL-CORRECTNESS WARNING: To strive to be politically correct serves no purpose, for real life makes no such distinction. I will not do so. Death before dishonor. End of story. (note that this also applies to normal fandom principle: if I have to choose between reality and preferred perception, I will choose reality).
And NEG, THERE IS NO CHARACTER BASHING IN THIS STORY! PERIOD! Every character is entitled to some props even if their only purpose in the story is the classic image of deus ex machina. You will see this rule in full effect mostly in later Sets of the story, though it may come into play in some part here in the first one.
(Joker's Wild, Set 2, Side Story 2: Inferno In Chicago)
(15 April CE 73, 1620 Hours Lima (Local) time)
(In orbit around Terra)
Star Captain Juliette, descended of the Focht Bloodheritage (but not Blooded, so not officially recognized), relished her present office view like few would ever do so. After all, of Magi citizenry, less than a quarter would ever lay eyes on the cradle of humanity, Terra, and less than a half who saw it would ever set foot on the planet.
Juliette was watching the planet below, looking out from the external cameras of her drop-pod toward the arctic circle. The view was stellar, literally — where there was no planet or atmosphere, she could see off into the space beyond it. Below, a few visible fires raged here and there, some smoke plumes clouded the atmosphere from where the suborbital bombardment had done its dirty work. Other than that, the view was both breathtaking, and to an extent holy to the veteran Magi Mechwarrior. After all, there would be no Mendel Protectorate without the Magi Empire, and no Magi Empire would exist without the planet below her.
Unlike most of the citizenry of the Magi, she intended to see the planet, set foot on the planet, and in this case liberate the planet from the asshole tenants on the planet below. Nothing could wreck the real-estate values faster than living next door to the premier bigots and racists of the Cosmic Era, and that claim could literally be made of more than half of the planet's land mass.
Political and philosophical positions aside, the ultimate sin of Blue Cosmos was one of sheer arrogance. In demanding capitulation from the Protectorate, and using nuclear arms against the Magi or her citizenry, the terrorist organization had declared themselves the arbiters of who lives, who dies, and who has the right to live in Existence. Telling a Star Empire that they were not allowed to live, especially a Star Empire that was literally older than the written history of the planet below her, would only engender one possible outcome: absolute war.
Such a series of thoughts brought to mind a simple warning for the rest of her Binary (Supernova) formation. "Gamma Binary of the 222nd, heads up!" Juliette 'pinged' her troops.
"Listening, boss-lady," Star Commander Nicholas answered almost immediately.
"Look around you. Relish this view, all of it. Remember the sight of Terra from well above it, as we descend to the ground below. Engrave this view unto your hearts, for within the quarter-hour we will be down on that maligned mudball, scrapping down one of the most prolific terrorist states ever to exist. Remember this scene well, for in years to come you will have reason to tell your posterity of the events here, and not all those memories should be of war."
"Aff, milady Juliette," Mechwarrior Reinbach said with complete gravity.
"Upon this planet, all started here, and yet as far as we reach into the deep darkness of space, we always come full circle to the cradle of humanity. It is the Tao (1) of the Star Empires," Star Commander Willem Bluetooth commented philosophically. He was the commander of 3 Star (Assault Infantry), Gamma of the 222nd. Though a Supernova formation, and thus a full twenty points of combat force (ten 'mechs, ten points Armored Infantry), Gamma Binary was still technically under the command of a Star Captain — Supernova formations were not classified as a Cluster (light), even though they fit the bill by the numbers.
"Fuckers on the planet below went out of their way to nuke us." A hocking sound provided a short pause between sentences from Point Officer Soma Serekundo. "Preemptive apologies for whizzing on the sunshine and rainbows, but I'm not here to soak up the view. I am here for vengeance — my sister was on Mendel II, and I want to nail every swinging dick of Blue Cosmos to the White House door I can chop off, or I will die trying."
"Relax your killboner a bit there, Point Officer," Mechwarrior Zoie Richardson half-ordered. Technically she outranked Soma, but the margin of authority was measurable in micrometers. On the other hand, being the one lady in the unit he showed any interest for, she had an ability to at least calm his fury from time to time.
"You will get your chance, Point Officer Soma," Star Colonel Gray Pearson said by way of breaking into their conversation. "You will all get your chance, but Juliette's words ring true. Remember this day, remember this view, remember the fear and the adrenaline as you drop into Chicago. You men and women are the leading edge, the cutting blade of our swift vengeance. Cleave the Blue Cosmos apart, sever their limbs from the body, sunder their torsos in a rain of blood and guts. A world has stood idly by and watched as megalomaniacs started a nuclear war. Today, we demonstrate to a world how the Star Empires deal with megalomaniacs."
The Star Colonel paused for a moment, which Juliette guessed was a brief break to reread his order packages. "222nd, listen up. The airport, your initial goal, is too hot. We have eyes on a full battalion of enemy Mobile Suits guarding O'Hare. If you dropped right down on the tarmac, half of your units would be damaged or destroyed before you had metal feet on the ground."
"Understood, sir, where do we put down now?" Star Commander Nicholas asked.
"There is a rail-head switchback due south of the airport, no guards, no direct obs from the airport garrison. The entire rail-head is about 4 and a half kilometers east to west, with roughly two-thirds of a kilometer north-to-south territory. Given standard dispersion, your Cluster should have no problems landing in that area."
"Sounds fun, where do I sign up?" Mechwarrior Delette Jackson asked nobody in particular.
"The 221, 224 and 223 Clusters will be landing in the Schiller Woods to the east of the airport. You will have roughly two kilometers overland march to get to the perimeter of the airport, and with the 221 cluster landing toward the north of the drop area, you will be due east of the enemy garrison battalion on the airport. Chances are better than fifty-fifty, you will be the first in a hard engage scenario."
"Looking forward to it, Gray," Star Colonel Heather Caecilius commented savagely. She commanded the 221st Cluster, and had some of the best overall warriors in the Protectorate under her command.
"Lastly, 225 Cluster will be landing in the Caldwell Woods area — this puts them 9 kilometers minimum from the airport, but since 225 is mostly artillery forces, that works to our advantage. That said, don't get trigger happy, 225 gun-bunnies. Logistics will be coming down with the Dropships, but you won't have first call. Ration your fire intelligently."
"Aye, sir!" Star Colonel Hilda Von Berekow said cheerily. She commanded the 225 Cluster, and had the dubious distinction of being one of a dozen artillery gunners in the old Magi Empire who could consistently hit an apple with her Sniper cannons at the maximum gun range.
"The command trinary for the Galaxy will be putting down due west of the Schiller Pond. We won't be digging in, though; once we have ADATS active, and once the primary forces breach us a clean entry, we will close up and set up a more permanent command post in one of the ramp buildings on the south side of the airport. We good to go?"
"One question, sir," Mechwarrior Vicki, of Zulu Binary, asked. "Why not send in the Gundams if they wanted the airport taken fast and hard?"
"It's not a question of taking the airport, Mechwarrior. I've known a few classes of third graders, when outfitted with properly sharpened popsicle sticks, that could take the airport. Command wants this piece of real-estate held and held for a long time, so we need Battlemechs and Armored Infantry on the ground. Let the sexy fast-movers do their thing to the few pockets of ground forces in the area, because it will be us holding the ground in the face of opposition. We all know who gonna love them long time when the shooting really gets going, and it ain't gonna be the metrosexuals driving the Mobile Suits."
"Got it, sir!" Vicki half-shouted in answer. More than a few mechwarriors of the 22nd Samurai Century had laughed at his apropos. Even up-armored with modern Magi or Star League armor composites, most Mobile Suits were two-hit-wonders.
"Recap: the 22nd is primarily tasked to taking O'Hare. You do your damndest to achieve that goal. We are landing outside of their airport proper, with an overland march in. Expected resistance is 1 battalion of enemy Mobile Suits, mixed, and possible partisan forces if they get their shit in gear fast enough. Once we have the major ground forces cleared, Infantry will enter and secure all airport facilities. Follow?"
"Good to go sir!" Star Colonel Xavier Rojas shouted in his typical former-Ranger fashion. He had been an American Ranger, who had converted to Sigma Mercenaries, then had converted to Magi regular forces, then took the Mendel path when it came up on the radar. He was the commensurate challenge seeker, and this was the lead challenge in Existence at the time, so...
"Very well, we begin drops here in the next thirty seconds. Godspeed to you all. Gray Pearson, signing out."
-x-x-x-
(15 April CE 73, 1630 Hours Lima (Local) time)
(Airport Garrison Facility, O'Hare Regional Departure (ORD / KORD), Chicago, Earth Alliance Territory)
Finding Conall Mandel sleeping at 1600 in the afternoon was not unheard of in the slightest. Of the two Captains in the Battalion, Conall got the graveyard shift, where the ass-kisser Emil Frank had the afternoon watch. Major Emilea Abbey routinely did the morning watch, mainly so she could stand her Raider Full Spec on the top of the #4 terminal and watch the sunrise every morning. All in all, someone with horsepower was always on duty.
Today, however, there was no such thing as sleep.
"Landing operations confirmed, middle Asia and Euro-Russian territory. We're next, kids," Emilea said. "Going by the Magi playbook, they would probably land in either Florida or Baja, peninsula areas where there is only one way in and they could easily stop any attempt to drive them out by way of limiting the battlefront."
"Okay, good for Mendel. I take it, you think we're going to get called on to head out and help boot them off the continent?"
"Probably, no, likely," Major Abbey nodded twice. A few eyes ranged down to her deliberately-loose shirt while it was kinda-sorta bouncing, but most returned to her face fast enough. "The Mendel forces have been landing in Century strength as an opening position — the absolute floor figure for a Century is 800 combat points, and from everything we have witnessed so far, Mendel isn't running their Dropships too light. We can expect something in the area of 1400 to 1500 combat points on the ground for their first wave, with several more centuries of reinforcements to come."
"The Earth Alliance in total has not had 1500 Mobile Suits, and that was before Mendel began shelling us from space," Captain Frank complained. "How do we expect to counter them in limiting terrain with a numerically inferior force?"
"You know the routine, Frank. This is the army: ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do or die."
"Napoleon wasn't exactly a winning ticket in his later years," Emil countered with a sarcastic tone.
"And neither is Lord Djibril, but they still paying us, so they still getting our loyalty," Captain Mandel groused.
"Lord Djibril is a real piece of work," Emilea half-complained. "With leadership of that caliber, we don't need Mendel coming down here to beat our asses, left alone long enough Djibril would have flatlined Blue Cosmos all on his own."
"Yeah, and that makeup job — " Conall was interrupted by a hangar door that slammed open against the metal wall. All eyes were on the entrant, and hands had gone for pistols instinctively at the sound, but everyone relaxed when they saw it was not a hostile.
"THEY'RE COMING! THEY'RE COMING! MENDEL IS COMING!" The barely-a-teen runner shouted as he closed on the table.
"Hold!" Major Emilea grabbed the kid by both arms and abruptly brought him to a fast stop. "Calm down, kid. It's not like we're in the line of fire yet," she tried consoling the youth.
"No, seriously! They're coming, Major! They're coming here!" he half-wailed.
"Here? As in, O'Hare Airport?" Captain Mandel asked for clarification.
"YES!" The kid shouted well above loud enough to be heard.
"How soon?" Emilea asked, shocked.
"They're dropping right now!" the kid half-shouted.
"Get to your duty section, now!" Emilea shoved him toward the door he came from. "Radio!" she ordered of Captain Frank, who passed one to her immediately. "Command, full alert! We have incoming!" After thirty seconds, no alarms, no response came over the radio or intercom. "Command, Major Emilea, put this airport on alert! We have incoming!"
"Hey, honey, you play it cool, maybe you walk away alive, eh?" a wildly unrecognized voice answered over the radio channel.
"Who the fuck is this?" Emilea asked after a few moments of brain-lock subsided.
"Just another Ghost, doing my job to make things easier on everyone," the same guy answered. "You let the boys waltz in calm, maybe you walk away alive and unharmed. You try to play nasty, you get the dirty deeds done dirt cheap."
Emilea lowered her radio handset for a moment. "Conall, Emil, get to your company barracks and get your guys up and moving. It only takes them twelve minutes to drop, and we're already behind the curve." After the Captains split up, she started walking for her own personnel barracks with the radio handset back up. "I always thought it was dirty deeds done to sheep, Ghost."
"Nah, strategic sheep operations are someone else's department," the Ghost said. "At a guess, you're probably on your way to your machine, honey. I'll warn you, you're about to walk into a wall of whoopass. I really suggest you play it smart, but your call if you want to die on the field of battle, eh? This is Ghost, out."
Emilea fairly kicked the crew bunk door open. "CHARLIE COMPANY! WAKE IT AND SHAKE IT! WE'VE GOT INCOMING!" she shouted loud enough to make sure everyone in the room was awake.
-x-
" 'Fly into the sky with a supersonic speed, reach out to the space, 'cause it's all super magic / 'Cause we're falling to the light, 'Cause we're falling to the night, G-6-0-6-S, Speed of light / Let it bounce, let it fly, let it roll, in Tokyo, London, Paris, New York / 'Cause I know you can all see the light, 'Cause I know you can all feel the vibe,' " Star Captain Juliette sang along with the male vocals, though not with the female vocals that comprised most of the song. Though others in her unit would not admit it readily, more than half of her troops thought See The Lights (Vocaloid IA featuring ASY) a catchy song
"There is a price we old hands get to pay," Mechwarrior Delette Jackson commented after her commander finished singing along with the song she was listening to. "We're anachronisms, mired in the ways of heavy metal, and now dropped onto a society that is, well, lacking our taste in music."
"A little bit faster paced," Mechwarrior Zoie Richardson gave her an alternate consideration. "Don't get me wrong, I like speed metal just as much as I like Vocaloid music, but the latter only if it is fast and hard enough, and the former, well, any time it qualifies as speed metal."
"No, Delette is right," Hank Goldwater stood up for the old hand in his unit. "Metalheads, though the heart and soul of the Magi touman, are a dying breed here in Mendel. It's not for doing anything wrong, really, it's just we're outnumbered by people that listen to pop music, techno music, stuff like that. I guess we just have to suck it up and soldier on."
"Do not fear, Delette," Juliette said calmly. "Nick's psych warfare gear is loaded with the hard stuff. The first song loaded is Into The Fire by Sabaton and it only gets worse from there."
"Good," Delette said. "Any Nightwish in the lis — " she was cut off by a warning buzzer in her cockpit. "10,000 meters AGL, time to blow the shells."
Star Captain Juliette lifted a safety cover from over a switch on one of her overhead consoles, then toggled the switch. A series of explosive bolts built into the seams of the drop cocoon around her omnimech detonated from the bottom up, which cause the airflow around her to shear the cocoon away from her 'mech in the same fashion that one would peel a banana. Within two seconds, her Timber Wolf Omnimech and accompanying five Armored Infantrymen were exposed to the afternoon sky above Chicago.
"Welcome to Terra, 'Mechwarriors of the Mendel Protectorate," Juliette said. "Landing in two minutes, drop cradle is active and armed."
"Captain, contacts, some enemy machines on patrol around the airport, others appear to be powering up in the garrison hangar," Mechwarrior Scholtzheim made note of immediately. "Got a laser rangefinder pass, Cap'n, they know we're here,"
"And they shall see their reapers coming for them," Mechwarrior Dennis (of the second star under Juliette) said with a savage tone to voice.
"Attention garrison forces, O'Hare International Airport, this is Galaxy Commander Tatienne Barlow, Multimage Protectorate of Mendel. I bring a full Galaxy of 'Mechs and Infantry to this area of operations. You are advised to surrender forthwith, before my personnel are required to strike you down. Does your commander have a position on this request?"
"Yeah, lady, I do," another lady answered the open broadcast. "You are requested to Go to Hell forthwith, do not pass 'go', do not collect 200 earth-dollars. Plain enough?"
"What is your name, officer?" the Galaxy Commander asked after a moment.
"Emilea Abbey, Major, Earth Alliance Garrison forces O'Hare."
"I give you credit for your bravado, Major Abbey. You will be remembered for your resistance. May combat be thy judge."
"Bring it, wench. I've got all the bravado you'll need today," the Major answered.
"Landing now, now, now," Star Captain Juliette said over the encrypted channels. "Team, declare when you land."
"Two, down." "Three, on the ground." "Four, ready." "Five, good to go," her last operator answered.
"Second star is down and good to go," Star Commander Nicholas reported five seconds later.
"Spread out by the star, assault 'mechs forward with faster machines on the flanks. Hit them hard and bulldoze any opposition," Juliette ordered. "Starting the music now."
-x-
(North River Road and Moore Lane, bordering Schiller Woods)
Mick and his brother Kevin sat on the edges of their beds, watching the lights in the afternoon sky come down to Earth. It was definitely different, the lights coming down in the park were not Mobile Suits, they were something else.
They also rattled the house as each machine landed, to the point that it resembled an earthquake by the time they had landed.
"Mick! Kevin! What are you — the damn air raid siren is going off!" their sister Jane shouted over the sounds of the impacts in the distance.
"So?" Kevin asked as the rumbling subsided. "Not a damn thing we can do about it, sis. Might as well sit down and enjoy the show." Kevin nudged an open chair toward her.
"Fine," Jane groused. With the parents out at work and school closed indefinitely, the three teens were stuck at home. It wasn't much consolation, but at least they had an unexpected vacation to enjoy the chaos on the television and around them.
"How many you think, Kev? Sixty?" Mick asked after a few moments of listening through the open window at the sounds of collapsing trees and moving machines.
"At least seventy," Kevin answered.
"Seventy-five in a full Mendel cluster," Jane noted as she took the offered seat.
"Looks right, then," Kevin said. "A lot of them."
"A lot of steel," Mick noted. "And it sounds like they're coming for us. Where to?"
All three were silent for nearly a minute before the answer occurred to Jane. "The airport! They're going for the airport!"
"Oh, wow, that's some brass balls," Mick commented sharply when he realized what that kind of battleplan meant. "I mean, think about it. It's an airport, a nice, big, flat-as-hell expanse of concrete. They'd be sitting ducks for air, ground, or naval attack."
Something that sounded like a guitar caused them all to listen closer, though after a few moments they understood what they were hearing. After a few chords, it broke into something that sounded like hard heavy metal music — the kind of music not played on the radio, and practically never sold at a regular retailer.
"The hell? They're giving away their position with music?" Kevin said in shock.
In the distance, the three could hear the lyrics: 'From above the airstrike came and it burned the world below / napalm falling from the sky and it leaves no man alive / I feel, the fire starts to burn, the heat controlling my mind, napalm is burning us alive, within me the beast's final roar, now ready to strike!'
"They're sending a message," Mick said as he shut the window to cut the song coming in. "These guys don't give a fuck anymore. They want the enemy to swarm to them. They want Blue Cosmos and the EA regulars to present themselves for slaughter." Mick pointed out the window at something that was moving through the trees across the road in front of the house. "They want this bloody," he concluded, pointing to one of the most feared Assault 'mechs ever produced: a Dire Wolf. The machine coming through the trees, with his friends, carried the classic five-barrel arm pods that made the Dire Wolf feared, and the single missile launcher on the left shoulder.
"Oh, oh my God! Mom! Dad! They're Earth Alliance auxiliaries! They're — " Kevin bit his sentence off.
"If they're lucky or smart, they'll be out of place and they'll make it through," Mick said coldly.
The 'mech that was putting out the song emerged from the forest roughly directly in front of the house. It was big, bigger than the Earth Alliance mass production machines by a good factor, and built into the left side of the torso was a grated speaker system with enough volume that the bass was rattling all the windows and the frame of the house. The end of the song, though, was merciful; Kevin was sure they were headed for broken windows courtesy of the bass.
Of course, as the machine trudged past the house, the second song began: 'Through the gates of Hell, as we make our way to Heaven, through the Nazi lines, Primo Victoria!" the singer began the song's intro, which segued into some pretty hard guitar work.
"Did he just seriously call the Earth Alliance Nazis?" Jane asked nobody in particular.
"Oh yes, they just went there," Kevin said. "I, for one, welcome our new mechwarrior overlords. Especially if they're playing that kind of badass game."
More 'mechs would come through the forest, headed laterally across the town by way of Moore Lane. Cars were crushed. Streetlights and telephone poles were flattened. Backyards were violated. Even, so far as Mick could tell, the large ten-meter above-ground pool belonging to the super-rich-bitch classmate Yolanda was crushed and water ran down the street.
The first wave of his personal war just marched by. And it was both terrifying and exhilarating to him just the same.
-x-
"Second Samurai, this is Star Colonel Gandalf Fletcher, 224 Cluster. We are crossing the rail-head due east of the airport. We will be on the airport grounds in thirty seconds."
"Confirmed, Fletcher, keep it rolling. Enemy so far is a no-show for the 222 Cluster. That means they are jacking off at the jumpoff point, so it's a street race to see who gets to them first," Galaxy Commander Tatienne Barlow said with a clear smile to voice.
"You know me, boss-lady, I'm not riding the speed demons in this outfit. 222 will beat me there sharpish," the Star Colonel half-wheezed. Despite his forces being primarily for defense or siege action, there was little expectation that they could not be used for assault purposes just the same. They just had to be used in position where they could be supported by fast-movers and in direct forward engagement.
"Command, Romeo 11, flash traffic!" Star Commander Brianne shouted. "Hard contact, western perimeter of airport! Four enemy Dagger L machines, 8 minimum Linear Tanks!"
"Romeo Trinary, Fletcher, engage at will. Hammer 'em flat and keep rolling!" the Star Colonel shouted in response.
"Copy last," Brianne answered. She mopped at her face with a towel; she had told the AsTech that the air reprocessor wasn't working properly in her cockpit, but now she had enough proof of it. Just walking her machine was putting a strain on the cooling system and the air conditioning, two things essential to the survival of a 'mechwarrior in their own machine. "Third of Romeo, stagger it and march! Atlas has center, I have right rear."
The machines were already walking in a semi-spread formation, so spreading out into a three-forward-two-back stagger was technically simple and fast. Ten seconds, another few shots traded, and everything was dialed in.
The first change in the scoreboard came from the 'sniper' 'mech in the unit, piloted by the 'old wench' Mami Gronchi. 42 years of age, supermodel physique, and decidedly against regulation waist-length hair turned eyes outside the cockpit toward said career slacker Mechwarrior. A long tenure in her preferred assault 'mech, the ATM-2A Atmaweapon, belied her lack of rank; she had been passed over for promotion twelve times since she enlisted, all voluntary on her part. She was a line grunt at heart, and wanted to stay that way. Her choice of machine ensured a long tenure on those lines; the Atmaweapon possessed the same armor as an Atlas, and was geared towards fighting a long-term long-range battle with whatever it wanted.
A Linear Tank had made the fatal mistake of firing on Mami, which gave her a very good indicator where the firing platform was. She fired her Gauss Rifles in pairs, the two body gauss rifles, then the two arm gauss rifles, using target interlock circuits to simplify her firing order and aiming requirements. The first two slugs missed; the second pair of slugs did not, which caused the tank to light up as the ethanol fuel burned off in the tank body, set alight by the Linear Gun discharging into the frame of the tank..
Brianne picked up where her subordinate fell off, her personal Highlander IIM (C768 variant) gave her the firepower necessary to reach out and touch the ambush party some two kilometers away with ease. The Multimage refit of the venerable Highlander assault 'mech retained the jump ability, retained the gauss rifle (and reduced its mass by 3 tons), and traded in the body weapons for a pair of LRM 20 racks, two ER Medium Lasers, and a SRM 4 for close-in work. All in all, it made for a very lethal long-range platform that could also 'goomba stomp' most machines with a Highlander Burial — few Mobile Suits, tanks, or 'mechs could withstand being landed on by a Highlander.
The left Dagger L drew her ire first and foremost, a Gauss Rifle shot to the body that flayed the entire chest cavity of the machine open in a single shot. The center Dagger L took the other part of her fury, an entire salvo of LRM 20 missiles that shredded it readily into scrap and distributed it over a wide swath of the rail yard they were crossing. "Got two!" she announced.
"I've got this," 'Mechwarrior Clara Rovigatti said with a devilish tone. Her Atlas was also a Magi rebuild of the venerable Inner Sphere assbeater, the 9S variant used an ERPPC in place of the massive close-range autocannon or long-range gauss rifle of the old version. The large lasers in the arms had been upgraded to Clan-spec Large Pulse Lasers, making them hit farther and more accurate, and the missile launchers had been rebuilt using their Streak equivalents, rendering them impossible to miss. The sheer fear factor had not changed, but the firepower increased significantly.
The Streak LRM 20 dropped a solid stream of hits into the right-side Dagger L, and after the twelfth missile the Dagger was pretty much combat ineffective. The fourth Dagger L actually appeared to have a competent pilot, who was too busy running away to shoot at the incoming machines. Still, he had weapons in hand, so he was still considered a threat party, and an ERPPC to the leg sheared it off just below the hip.
"I have this one," Star Commander Brianne declared before she cut loose on one of the tanks with her SRM-4 launcher. Four missiles joined a salvo of Silver Bullet Gauss Rifle, ample to shred the leftmost of the tanks on the road above the rail yard, though her primary action wasn't using her missiles. By hammering her 'rudder' controls, the jump jets in her legs and torso fired off, catapulting the 90-ton monstrosity into the sky and toward the tank row. One tank immediately realized what she was going to do, and made a sprint backwards away from the line. Two tried elevating their gunbarrels to try to shoot her, but both missed low. The others either didn't realize what was going to happen, or didn't care and kept firing at the other assault 'mechs in her Star.
At least, the tank commander for the one she targeted did see his fate coming. As she cut the jump jets and let it drift down towards the tank she intended to stomp, the tank commander stared up at the plummeting mass of metal and myomer, even to the point of impact. The Highlander landed hard on the turret and front glacis of the tank, with enough impact to shear the turret completely out of the turret ring and flip the hull almost completely up onto its nose. Seeing an opportunity for demoralization, Brianne reached out her full left hand toward the engine compartment, grabbed a hold on the radiators, and used her 'mech's innate strength to flip the now-nose-standing tank down into the railyard.
"Death from above! Who wants the next?" Brianne asked over her machine's external loudspeakers.
"Surrender your arms, Earth Alliance pukes, or suffer our blades!" Clara Rovigatti said as her Atlas stepped up to the same level as the Linear Tanks. In response, the fifth tank in line shot her nearly point-blank with its linear gun, which severely pocked her chest armor but failed to penetrate. "So you wanna play with the big girls today? That can be arranged, dezgra dogs!" A second shot from the same tank missed between her body and arm, though a shot from a different tank clipped her left leg and tore a chunk out of the armor. Clara reached the Linear Tank before another shot was loosed, and kicked the front of the hull hard enough to stove the armor in and crush the driver. For the coup de grace, her Atlas reached down with both hands, took hold on the barrel of the tank, and lifted up. Several seconds of 'mech straining gave way to the sound of metal ripping apart as the turret separated from the body of the tank, and her Atlas stood up holding a tank turret by the barrel, as a metal rocker would hold a guitar before he slammed it into the ground.
"Make some noise, sister!" the pilot of the unit's Blood Asp shouted. Olaf Rovigatti took a moment to fire on the fourth tank in line, which was trying to dwell in on his sister's rear with the main gun. A single shot of the ER Large Laser in his machine's gun configuration silenced the tank; the laser cooked clean through the target, and a goodly portion of the leftover energy caused a thermal bloom inside the hull that literally cooked the crewmembers alive.
"Oh hell yes!" Clara stepped past the ripped-apart tank and slammed the turret down on the number seven tank in line, which blow immediately jammed the turret and prevented it from moving. A second blow in roughly the same spot distorted the frame and casing of both turrets, and a third blow in fifteen seconds caused an arc of electricity to jump from the target tank into the passing Atmaweapon assault mech's leg, signifying the destruction of the gauss rifle in the victim tank and probably also the thorough electrocution of the tank's crew. The one downside of such an electrical discharge was the temporary spastic reaction of the Atmaweapon's leg, which caused it to collapse onto the tank chassis.
"How many hits does it take to get to the electrical center of a Linear Tank?" Olaf asked in clear derision of his nominal foes, by way of retooling a quote of an old Terran television commercial for tootsie pops.
"One, two, three," Brianne played off the joke to the conclusion. Given the joke was open-air courtesy of the five 'mechs external loudspeakers, the surviving crewmen were quick to pop their hatches and raise arms in defeat.
"Where to now, boss?" Mami asked after she had her sniper 'mech standing.
"Push for the center," the Highlander pointed toward the geographic center of the airport.
-x-
"This is freaking unreal," the Tower Supervisor said with clear shock to voice. "How many are there?"
"I count fifty or so to the east, coming up behind the industrial park on Montrose," the south field Tower Lead said. "Big suckers, slow as hell but they just shredded some tanks like fuck."
"I'm seeing over fifty on the south, getting ready to cross over runway 28, sir," a different Air Traffic Controller said.
"What? Oh shit!" the tower sup looked at the 'ouija board' and saw that a flight was due to land in 10 seconds. The plane was too close to landing to divert, but after a moment he realized that the Mendel machines had stopped on the taxiway south of the runway, they had not entered the landing space of the plane. "Oh, thank God, they saw the plane coming in."
"Mendel forces, this is O'Hare Ground, the plane landing on Runway 10 is a civilian passenger liner. Requesting safcon for the aircraft to Terminal Five," one of the ATC operators put out as something of a forlorn hope, given what they had heard from the Blue Cosmos members on the airport staff.
A response took three seconds to come back. "O'Hare Ground, 22nd Galaxy command, Tatienne Barlow reporting good copy last request. Request for safcon is granted by default. We do not fire on civilians, only threats and Blue Cosmos. Continue further landing operations as normal, please advise 22nd Galaxy Command Section of any further landings on frequency 178.67 so we can clear our equipment or debris out of the path of the aircraft. How copy?"
"Good copy, Galaxy Commander Barlow," the ATC Supervisor responded. He let off the radio switch and changed over to intercom for the control tower. "All air traffic control personnel, listen up. We have over 100 Mendel machines on the airport, and more on the way. This airport, whether we like it or not, is now a possession of the noisy neighbors from space. I did my time on the line, and was in the Second of Jachin Due in a Mobile Suit. I was lucky to survive their hit-and-run with their space forces. They got the ground units here, now, and they aren't doing any hit-and-run. By nightfall, the Earth Alliance won't have any possessions in the Chicago Metropolitan area. These are the facts."
"So now what, sir?" one of the junior ATC operators asked.
"I'll leave the political wrangling aside. Coordinators, Eugenics, Pure Humans, nuclear arms, Blue Cosmos, that's your job to sort it out. I'm not going to tell you what you should believe. I also won't tell you to remain on the job if you don't think you can stomach doing air traffic control for Mendel. If you wish to walk, report to your lead and turn over your remaining operations for the night." Before he finished the last sentence, some of the ATC operators had turned in their ID badges and clearance cards so they could leave.
"Admin personnel, get on the phones to every present and past air traffic controller, see if they're willing to come in and do crisis management. To those of you who are staying, I'm sure I can wrangle some hazard pay out of the bosses. Thank you, and resume ops as normal. All arrivals or departures are to be reported to Mendel section Command, frequency 178.67, contact Galaxy Commander Barlow, to ensure no conflicts with ground units or fire lanes." Every operator that remained had scribbled down the frequency and name to make sure they knew what they were going to have to do clearance with.
"This job just got a shit-ton more interesting," one of the senior ATC Operators said with a smile. He set his fourth radio set to the Mendel ground coordination frequency, and dialed his headset over to the fourth radio set (normally a hot spare for his first three). "Attention, Mendel Ground, this is O'Hare ground, reporting departure from Terminal 1 Charlie concourse, 1 aircraft to depart ORD by runway 3-2-Lima, cargo and passenger mixed load to Equatorial. How copy?"
"O'Hare Ground, Star Captain Monty, good copy your last. I have one Binary crossing the south end of 32-Lima at this time, will be clear in 45 seconds. No expected force movements that runway for the foreseeable future, clear for semi-hazardous ops on 3-2-Left until further notice," a different voice answered.
"O'Hare Ground, this is 2-2-5 Cluster Command, be advised we will be conducting artillery fire missions into the Atlantic Federation Military Facilities at the north end of the airfield. Any landings or departures on runways 27 Right, 22 Right, 14 Left, 14 Right, or 9 Left may be considered danger close depending on timing. Please advise of any activity on these runways well in advance as a safety precaution. How copy?"
The ATC Supervisor picked up his headset and selected a radio set with that frequency. "2-2-5 Cluster, this is ATC Supervisor, copy all. No departures on those runways scheduled for next 3-0 minutes. 1 landing expected runway 3-2-Right, aircraft will be routed away from engagement area after landing at best possible. Make sure you have all adjacent taxiways to 3-2-Right clear of machines and debris before it lands, over."
"Solid copy, O'Hare ground," the radio operator for 2-2-5 answered immediately.
-x-
"Mom, look at that shit!" a teenage daughter said to her parents, pointing out the terminal windows into the distance.
"Chelsea, you know better than to — " the mother stifled her rebuke on bad language when she saw what the teen was pointing at. "Oh, dear god, no wonder a lot of the flights today are delayed."
"Sick, twisted bastards," Chelsea's father groused. "Using an airport as cover for their landings. How low can these space-faggots get?"
"Dad, they don't look like they're taking cover here, they look like they're just passing through," Chelsea guessed. Twenty 'mechs were stomping through the gap between the #2 terminal and the #1 terminal sections, heading north across the airport. "And there, look, that plane is still parking, so they're not stopping flights."
"Honey, this is not a good time to be arguing with your father," her mother commented.
"Whatever — does that 'mech have a flag on it?" she pointed to a very large, boxy machine that came into view after the first twenty passed the main taxiway.
"Yeah, says 'Hotel Binary, 22nd Samurai Galaxy'," one of the airport cops said, standing by the windows just the same as a lot of other tourists. "The other flag he has says 'if you can read this, you're in range'."
"Marvelous sense of humor," Chelsea's mom half-complained.
"Wait, something's not right here," her dad said. "Those 'mechs, they're carrying the Armored Marines?"
"Yeah, you're right, they are," the airport police officer said. "That's inventive. One machine carries in five Armored Marines, obviates the need for separate APCs," he said.
"And are those tanks, then?" Chelsea asked after some large wheeled vehicles started advancing around the 'mechs. She did a quick tally and came out to twelve of the large wheeled vehicles as well as four large tracked tanks and four similarly-large wheeled vehicles with a large cannon and several smaller assemblies on the turret.
"I don't know what those are supposed to be, tanks, armored cars, IFVs, they just look bizarre," her dad said. "What the hell other crazy crap is Mendel going to pull out of their ass?"
"Uhm, dad, check over there," and Chelsea pointed off into the distance, past the 1 Terminal.
"Oh, God, those Mobile Suits are going to walk into a wall of firepower," her dad grumped. "It's going to be a massacre."
"Uh, what the?" Chelsea saw some unusual movement at one of the baggage handling vehicles below her, so she looked closer. A couple of ground guys had set up some kind of rocket launcher or small cannon on the back of one of the ramp vehicles, took aim at one of the passing 'mechs (this one the more recognizable Timber Wolf omnimech), and fired a shot. The rocket trail ran true, slammed into the side of the 'mech, and appeared to do nearly nothing to the machine except scorch paint.
The Mendel 'mech stopped, twisted its torso to the right and down to look squarely at the offending troops, then cut loose with both machine guns next to the cockpit glass. Chelsea did not watch what happened to the two instigators, she was more interested in the lady pilot in the cockpit not 80 meters from where she was standing and almost at eye level to her. Only after the machine straightened back up did Chelsea see the pilot full-on, and she realized that the lady in the cockpit wasn't a space monster like her dad always insulted them, but another human fighting for her life.
The pilot threw a quick and sloppy salute at the gawkers in the windows of Terminal 2, then turned back toward the north. After four seconds of looking north, the Timber Wolf cut loose with both missile racks, a small herd of missiles headed north towards the approaching Mobile Suits. The daughter, mother and father all watched the missiles as they arced up, flew a good distance, then nosed down into two separate Mobile Suits; by the time the explosions ended, there wasn't much left of their torsos.
"Mom, going to the bathroom," Chelsea said automatically, and turned to head down the terminal jetway toward the clinic and the bathrooms in that direction. A screech from her left caused Chelsea to look back toward the battle, where the Earth Alliance Mobile Suits were now firing back at Mendel, with nearly-haphazard gunnery for effect. One shot struck an aircraft, another shot scorched the concrete, two missed completely over the terminal, but after a few suits had been dropped, Chelsea thought she was in the clear again and continued walking.
It was a prescient choice. No sooner than she had walked ten paces, something struck the terminal jetway behind her, accompanied by a searing blast of heat applied to her back and a significant shockwave. Her pants were all right, but the light sweater she was wearing was quickly removed because of small flames. After a few seconds of stomping on her sweater, Chelsea looked back to where her parents, the other travelers, and the airport police had been standing. The pavillion was on fire near and far, with a large chunk of it having been cored out in a nearly-circle cut and burn pattern.
"Mom! MOM!" Chelsea shouted, unable to see any trace of her. She started to bolt into the damage path, but someone bear-hugged her from behind to stop her.
"Don't, kid! Don't!" the janitor holding her back half-shouted. "Let the fire department handle it. That section of the terminal is probably gonna collapse!"
"I can't — I have to get to — I," she stopped struggling after a few moments, when she realized that the blue dress lady hanging impossibly precariously over the far side of the jetway was what remained of her mother. Of her dad, she could see no remnant.
"Don't, kid. There ain't nothing you can do now," the janitor said, realizing which parts of bodies had been her parents.
"Who fired that shot?" Chelsea asked after a few moments of considering what had happened.
"It came from the far side," the janitor said, pointing into the distance. Chelsea looked at her tormentors in time to see the last Mobile Suit crumple under autocannon fire from several 'mechs. "Those were Earth Alliance machines."
"Thanks for stopping me," Chelsea said, almost devoid of emotion in voice.
-x-
Star Commander Nicholas watched with a savage smile as the Arrow-IV missiles slammed into the enemy hangar facility and the four machines still not moving inside. By the time the fourth missile of six struck the building, it was already reduced to rubble; the last two missiles simply ensured that the cockroaches had company in Hell when they arrived.
"2-2-5 command, this is Gamma Six, reporting good fires, good effect on target. Hangar is down, estimate minimum four kills for that gunner," Nicholas reported by radio after the dust settled and confirmed his initial guesstimation.
"Gamma Six, Whiskey Four, a pleasure Star Commander. Tell the bastards to keep the change, eh? Whiskey four, returning to standby."
"Nick, Juliette," the Star Captain prompted him.
"Nick's Pool Hall," the Star Commander replied with a grim chuckle at the end.
"Do Blue Monday, Orgy. Time to make a statement."
"Got it," Nick said reflexively, even if he did not recognize the song's name or artist. (One of the problems of being a mobile warfare DJ / Psychological Warfare Officer was that his comrades often times asked for songs that were in the database, but to which he had never heard or even known to exist.)
Within seconds of selecting the song, the vibration of his 65-ton Ebon Jaguar Omnimech (1) began in earnest with the first drum strikes. Whoever this Orgy band was, they liked their bass drum and their hard guitar, even if it wasn't properly Metal. With 4 tons of amplifiers and high-range speakers mounted in what would normally be his missile packs, Star Commander Nicholas could literally play a tune loud enough to be heard at 5 or 6 kilometers partially-obstructed distance, or 12 kilometers open land distance. For certain, when crossing the 4-Left runway, everyone in O'Hare and the surrounding suburbs would hear it.
Mendel had tried being the nice neighbors to the Earth Sphere. The locals had decided to shoot nukes at Mendel for being nice. Hence, the game was now full nasty and Nicholas intended to do them for full effect.
"Ah, nothing quite like the sound of hammering on a foe with their own intention to screw you over," Nicholas said with a yet-larger smile. "Command, Gamma Six, soft contact two Windam machines — scratch that, three Windam machines, north of the northern warehouse facilities."
"Gamma Six, cleared to fire at will," the Star Colonel ordered.
"Going live on Rotary AC/5, hazard firing line," SC Nicholas said as he threw the toggle for his weapon to spin up. More than once in the annals of warfare, an unwitting allied 'mechwarrior had blundered through a fire line of Rotary Autocannon and been chopped up by it, so when circumstances permitted a commensurate pilot would warn his allies.
The barrels took only two seconds to spin up, and once he put his finger down on the fire button, the cannon let loose 60 rounds of 60mm HEAP ammunition where his crosshairs were. Because the cannon was mounted outboard on the left arm, Nicholas had to hold his movement stick right to compensate for the severe left-hand recoil caused by the massive volume of cannon fire.
The effect on target, though, was impressive. Of 60 shots, roughly 35 struck the rear Windam and flayed the armor completely off the rear of the machine, enough to cause the jump-jet fuel tank to blow out. Once the fire salvo was done, the barrels on his RAC/5 spun down so he could continue the engagement with his other weapon of long-range reach — a Large Pulse Laser. As the second Windam in the stack turned to look at his downed ally, Nicholas took the shot and cored out the upper chest of the new-model Mobile Suit, including the critical linkage between the cockpit and the machine's electrical system.
"We're on the scoreboard," Mechwarrior Scholtzheim Reinbach The 4th declared as his Vulture II Hessian prepared to take some more fight to the Windams and more Dagger L machines in the area. The Windam tried to take guard behind its shield, but not fast enough; MW Reinbach clipped the machine's right shoulder with the massive gauss rifle in his right arm.
The Vulture II Hessian was not a common Magi 'mech, but quite a few of them had been purchased off the Hessian Weapons conglomerate, who manufactured it for their own personal use. It was a stalwart upgrade of the Mad Dog Omnimech, taking the venerable Ghost Bear support 'mech up 15 tons, maxed out the armor, and dropped the speed down to something slightly less insane for a machine of the 75-ton bracket. The result was a machine that could survive just as long as a Timber Wolf and carried nearly double the weapons and equipment of the Timber Wolf, in a package that still cost less per machine on average, even when counting in exotic electronics.
By far the most popular variant of the Vulture II Hessian was the G1 variant, and the death of one Windam in one shot was ample proof why. Scholtzheim continued his march forward into the teeth of the enemy base, first speaking with his ER Medium lasers (both missed), then the ER Large Laser in his left arm (A hit and a downed Dagger L with a flight pack). His partner behind a concrete revetment was downed before Reinbach could lock on with his LRMs, a pair of Silver Bullet Gauss Rifles from the Deimos Assault Omnimech put some 21 forearm-length steel shards into the chest and head of the Launcher Dagger L, more than half of which penetrated into vital areas.
"This is Richardson. Slasher smile is active, heh," Mechwarrior Zoe Richardson declared on both open radio and loudspeaker as her machine's cannon arms came up to firing position. The third Dagger L in their team, a Sword Dagger L, ate a total of twelve 120mm Autocannon slugs and shells, mixed between APFSDS and HEAP, all in the lower torso and hips. What was still intact of the machine was scattered in three directions, the pilot assuredly dead.
"Continue driving them before us. Two points break left, two points break right. Drop your chalk and continue the advance!" Star Captain Juliette ordered after the last visible Strike Dagger machine fell before her own guns.
-x-
"This is fucking asinine!" Emilea half-shouted as her command panel showed one machine after the next drop offline from the command network. "And their choice of music sucks balls!"
"An asinine reality is still reality," Captain Mandel said coldly. "I have my company reforming north of the hangars, but it won't amount to much, Major."
"Twenty machines to their fifty, not including infantry support." To point, someone had tried popping off a RPG-29 at the stopped Omnimechs that were dismounting infantry, though the result was less than satisfactory. One shot, minimal damage, and the AT crew that had fired on the similar-to-a-vulture Omnimech found out a few seconds later that the barrels under the centerline chest of the machine were not for show. From where she stood, Emilea could easily see the blood smear of the four-man team all over their sandbag bunker, a last testament to their attempt.
"Command! Green lead! We're under attack from due east! Thirty, no, forty machines!"
"Freaking hell! What now?" Emilea wailed.
That answer was fast to arrive for Major Emilea. Before any of her subordinates could deliver a smartass retort, Emil Frank's Sword Calamity Gundam took a pair of PPCs to the left leg, more than ample damage to completely burn through and drop his machine to the ground. Emilea was the first to see where ti came from, and had only a curse for her own failure of defensive acumen.
"Attention, garrison forces O'Hare, this is Star Colonel Heather Caecilius, 221 Cluster. You are surrounded on three sides, outgunned by two orders of magnitude, and our artillery battery has your range. Play it smart, Major. You dying here in a failed attempt to garner company in hell will have no effect on the coming campaign, and we both know it. You're not obligated to die for that makeup-wearing sociopath unless you want to, and I'm not obligated to pull this trigger unless you want me to. Your call."
"Major, they've got us rolled up on the south," Captain Frank said, watching through a side monitor as the heavy-hitters from the south closed up, bad music and all.
"Boss, I don't see any way out of this," Captain Mandel said with clear dejection to voice. His was the best armed and defended of the surviving machines (A Slaughter Dagger with IWSP gearpack), but even in the face of ten-to-one numeric superiority he had no expectation of doing anything useful.
Emilea chuckled mirthlessly. "Whatever happened to the honorable way of war?"
"That went out the airlock with the nuclear attack on Multimage civilians. Now, you may want to consider taking the offer out. We're not in a position to offer a second chance," Star Colonel Pearson said.
"Okay, okay, message received," Emilea said with exasperation. "Jeez, and I thought Mendel wanted blood."
"Oh, we'll get it, plenty of it," Galaxy Commander Tatienne Barlow answered, a voice Emilea easily recognized. "I'm also not interested in killing people wholesale, and once this is done, you get to walk away. Everyone that survives wins."
The Major did not answer immediately. For all that the offer at hand was very appealing — surrender or death, effectively — the result was not so simple. Surviving now meant that she was gambling on Mendel living through this invasion, which was decidedly not so simple a task. If Mendel lost and her forces survived, the Blue Cosmos hard-liners would probably execute any Earth Alliance surrendering troops for 'political apostasy' or whatever bullshit charge they wanted to drum up. Essentially, she had the choice of gambling on dying now, or dying later at a reduced risk.
Of course, if she was dead either way, she figured the way out that had the best chance of survival was it. "Very well, Earth Alliance Garrison O'Hare officially surrenders. Set 'em down, ladies and gents. Our battle is over."
"This is so bullshit," Captain Mandel complained.
"Wasn't it you just talking about an asinine reality still being reality?" Emilea threw his words back at him.
"Point," Conall Mandel said with dejection. He was not the first to set his weapons down of the Garrison, but not the last.
-x-x-x-
(15 April CE 73, 1800 Hours Lima (Local) time)
(Airport Garrison Facility, O'Hare Regional Departure (ORD / KORD), Chicago, Earth Alliance Territory)
"Captured a company or so of mixed Earth Alliance Mobile Suits intact, various light ground vehicles, two Linear Tanks, and supplies. Not a bad start for the 22nd," Star Colonel Gandalf Fletcher said with some satisfaction to voice.
"More to the point, the whole 22nd is in place, where we need to be, and relatively intact," Star Colonel Gray Pearson added with a bit of irony to voice. "It's not often we can say we actually arrived where we were supposed to be."
"Especially with this all-star crew the Master Executor assembled for this party. Nobody in the top 100 Star Colonels throughout the Empire's Mobile Forces came along for this one, and I know at least two of them who applied." Star Colonel Heather Caecilius folded her arms over her chest, her posture and body language mirroring her frown. "I wonder what the criteria for personnel selection was. Something else may be up here."
"No clue," Gandalf groused. He spent a couple moments twiddling with his beard before he shrugged his defeat. "You know anything, Xavier?"
"They don't tell me shit, amigo," Star Colonel Xavier Rojas answered coldly. "Only thing I know right now is whose ass to kick."
"If you know that much, you're ahead of the curve," Pearson said with a smile. "In this case, it's not much more complicated than that. Those that don't stand down get dropped, those that surrender or survive get booted off planet. And, for added fun, we get to break their toys, kick them out of their own clubhouse, and throw random cold-cuts at them until they cry uncle."
"What a bloody good waste of salami that would be," Gandalf said in jest.
Their radios crackled, indicating an incoming message. "22 Command, this is Dropship Splatterpope, coming down with three. Requesting landing instructions."
"Splatterpope, this is 22 Command, GC Barlow reporting. Contact O'Hare Arrival on frequency 170.25 for landing instructions."
"That name is so fucking wrong, but oddly hilarious," Star Colonel Caecilius said with a giggle after the fact.
"Someone had a serious sense of humor when they commissioned that name," Heather said with full sincerity, though the wide smile was hard to miss.
"Did I just hear that right? That Dropship's name is Splatterpope?" Star Colonel Hilda Von Berekow asked as she joined the group. She was the last into the Airport of all the 22nd Galaxy, due to her distant drop location. A couple disorganized Blue Cosmos cells had tried to stop the movement of a cluster's worth of artillery 'mechs, but their failure was categoric and bloody.
"You heard right," Gray said with a nod.
"That is freaking awesome," Hilda said.
"Tacky as hell, but for a combat Dropship, hard to argue with," Heather said in counter to the newcomer Star Colonel.
"Well, now that we have our friends dropping in, time to hit the Earth Alliance fan with an overloading amount of shit," Gary commented.
-x-
"O'Hare Arrival, this is Mendel Dropship Splatterpope with four. Requesting landing clearance."
"Splatterpope, O'Hare, state arrival and departure schedule for your formation, over," one of the Flight Controllers requested after a few moments of being stunned by the name. He deliberately let off the microphone and waited a second before he looked to the traffic controller next to himself. "You catch that name?"
"Hell yes I did," the ATC Operator answered. "These guys have some serious balls, naming a Dropship that. Think they might mean business?"
"I dunno, the two hundred plus 'mechs on the airport makes a helluva loud noise."
"O'Hare, Splatter, my formation intends landing in next two minutes, unload time 6-0 minutes, depart as soon as cleared. We have a goodly portion of a Legion of troops to drop here, might as well get to it."
"Affirmative, Splatterpope, your formation cleared landing runway 9 Left. Say type and load, please."
"Type of Dropships involved are Guild II Dropships, all four ships are loaded better than 9-5-thousand tons at this time."
The Air Traffic Controller swore after her microphone was off. "Guild II ships. Spheroid ships, once they land, they won't be moving."
"What about the runway? Can it take that much weight?" her adjacent Flight Controller asked.
"Good question." The ATC Operator switched the radio on. "Splatterpope, O'Hare Arrival, if you land, will it tear up the runways?"
"Arrival, negative, repeat negative. Ship's footprint and landing pressure after engines off is well below footprint of a loaded 7-4-7 freighter. Only caution is, no craft or vehicles within 1000 meters of landing Dropship, the exhaust sideblast from these monsters can be a hazard. How copy?"
"Good copy, Splatterpope, can you dense-pack on one runway?"
"We're planning just exactly that, avoid tying up too many of your runways."
"Splatterpope, ATC Supervisor, you won't have to worry about it," the ATC Supervisor said. "Earth Alliance ATC Network has declared a no-fly zone over central North America. Anything not already in landing pattern for O'Hare is being rerouted to their nearest airports. After 1830 hours, this airport is exclusively Mendel territory."
"Arrival, Splatterpope, copy last. That simplifies things, but neg, we won't be the only arrivals here. The Earth Alliance has pissed off or pissed on every country on planet, including themselves. Mendel is one among many looking for asses to rip and kill, and you men will get a front row seat to the freak parade as it lands in town. Speaking of landing, Splatterpope is rotating over the 9-Left runway now, show 90 seconds to touchdown."
"Do we have a camera out in that area?" the Flight Controller asked.
"I have a couple, here," the ATC Operator changed one of her terminals over to flight line surveillance, and put a camera on the 9L runway. "Holy shit, they're 80 seconds out, and look at that wind!"
"Engine exhaust, milady. You're looking at thrust from 18,300 tons of fusion engine. Concrete and rebar will survive, but if you're going to routinely handle Dropship landings, you'll want to upgrade to heavy landing pads." Even as the radio operator on the Splatterpope spoke, the downblast was enough to start stripping off the localizer lights from the runway.
"Better inform Property Maintenance, the localizers on 9-Left have done been blown off the airfield."
"Erm, okay, yeah, those localizers are headed for the Wisconsin border," the Flight Controller agreed, then began typing up an email to the Property Maintenance supervisor on duty today.
"This is one of those days that will either go down in my cherished memories, or kill me," the ATC Operator said as the bottom of the first Dropship appeared on the screen. "Here's to hoping I get to remember it."
-x-x-x-
(15 April CE 73, 1930 Hours Lima (Local) time)
(1100 Beech Street, Rockford, Illinois, Old United States Territory, Atlantic Federation)
"Beer and potato chips, and live news reports of how badly screwed the Earth Alliance is. It does not get any better than this."
"Cheers," Jeane raised her own beer and clinked the bottle to Katie's in salute.
"Check this out! Mendel has a network feed going out, live viewcam action and color commentary," Katie's boyfriend, Danny, said with some serious surprise, staring not at the television but his own tablet.
"Send it over to my television," Katie suggested, to which he complied. A flick of the picture and her network-enabled television immediately attached to the stream, already in progress.
"India Binary, Command, be advised that the force rolling down Golf Road in Schaumburg has been delayed. Juliet Binary does not believe they will be able to make the rendezvous at at the West Higgins / Golf Road intersection," a voice said on the radio while the view showed the boresight camera of India-3, which was listed as an Iron Horse Infantry Fighting Vehicle.
"Command, India Lead, copy your last," a lady answered after a short pause. "Does Juliet want us to double down Golf Road to try to flank their resistance, over?"
"Negative, India, continue operations as planned. Juliet expects they will be clear of all opposition within five mike. Sports fields at Hoffman Estates school must be taken and held for use as helicopter FARP location at this time. Expected resistance is partisan only, no organized Earth Alliance forces in vicinity."
"India copies all," the same lady answered. The black text box at the bottom of the viewscreen subtitled what she was saying (it was in Japanese, so not readily understandable), and listed the speaker as Star Captain Giselde Undine. Katie thought that was easily the most bizarre name she had ever seen, but she figured she would have to get used to it. Naming conventions among the Magi were very unusual, compared to most on Terra.
"Bit of a boring drive," the gunner for India-3 said in English over the vehicle's intercom.
"I like it boring during the landing and fortification phase," the tank commander responded with clear humor to voice. "It will get plenty hot enough after that, keeping it frosty for now is preferable."
"I hear that," the gunner said. "Wait, what the hell is that?"
"What the hell is what?" the TC asked.
"Check camera 3, boss."
"Hunh," the TC grumped. "Oi vey! Field gun, right side! In that strip mall!"
"Oh shit, this is gonna hurt!" the vehicle engineer reported. he was vindicated after a few moments, though not by the field gun, the first hit was from the roof of the strip mall by someone firing off an ATGM at the vehicle column. Iron Horse 3 took the hit on the side, but the video feed remained running after the fact. After the missile struck, the field gun fired but missed low even at the absurdly short range.
"We've had worse," the TC reported after the vehicle stopped shaking from the hit. "Command, India 3 reporting, we've encountered dug in troops with field guns at a strip mall southeast of the Juliet rendezvous location."
"India 3, Command, confirmed. Unload your chalk at this AO and proceed to capture these buildings highlighted on your tactical panels. Remainder India Binary is to continue the push northwest for the primary objective. How copy?" The entire strip mall / doctor's office had been highlighted for capture.
"Solid copy, Command. Honey Badger, Black Stallion, requesting fire support while I unload," the TC requested as the vehicle rolled up onto a grass embankment that divided the driveways into the strip mall. The gunner had taken some time to put downrange a pair of what appeared to be machine gun bursts, but they fired far faster than any machine gun in the Earth Alliance inventory.
"Honey Badger is out of position, Black Stallion, can Bart-Man do the job?" the TC for Honey Badger asked.
"I have a good angle, stand by," the view changed over to a different unit, this one behind and to the left of Iron Horse 3 (Black Stallion). The long gunbarrel of the platform's main weapon traversed down, angled to where the field gun was, and lased for range (115 meters). "This is inside the gun's minimum range, I'm going to take the shot but I can't guarantee it will do the job," the TC for Bart-Man declared.
"Do what you can, India 5," the Star Captain ordered. Before he fired, though, the AMS system on the front of the vehicle (something different from Iron Horse 3) fired up and shredded four enemy missiles lofted at it. What remained of the tracers from the AMS barrage headed off into the distance at a significant angle.
"Firing!" What resulted wasn't a cannon shot, but what sounded like a very large, four-second static discharge as the muzzle of the gun was haloed by what appeared to be dozens of little red-orange flashes and bounced all over the place. Whatever kind of gun it was, it kicked up a lot of concrete spall and dust from the road, but they could still see the target area… what was left of it. The Stanlas Assault Vehicle (callsign Bart-Man) main gun in question had cut a rough hole through the building where the field gun had been, leaving only part of the gun's muzzle brake still visible in the rubble, and from the point of view of the camera, any viewers could see through to dwindling daylight on the far side of the building.
"Holy shit, dude, that was insane!" Danny half-shouted.
"There you have it, ladies and gentlemen in the viewing audience," one of the commentators said. "Stanlas Assault Vehicle, 65 tons wheeled tank, main gun is an Emgen Weapons Hyper Assault Gauss Rifle Model 3A. It fires 30 small, 8.33 kilogram slugs accurately out to about 2400 meters, though the TTS has trouble hitting targets closer than 200 meters as you saw here. They got the field gun, but they also cut out a good large swath of the building as well. It's roughly the same as getting shot by 30 of the older 105mm APFSDS slugs from old chemical cannons. It'll ruin anyone's day pretty quickly."
"Correct, Tom, and the Stanlas also carries two Holy Magic Tech ER Medium Lasers and two Delta Dart CT LRM 5 launchers, giving it a good array of weapons to use primary at long and medium ranges. You saw earlier when the front-mounted AMS system engaged and shot down several man-portable ATGMs, so it is well protected in interdicting just about anything they want to throw at it," a commentator named Bob continued where Tom left off.
"Can't be their real names," Jeane noted. "I'd bet hard cash to that."
"Watch, infantry unloading," Katie cautioned as the load ramp on the back of the Iron Horse hit the ground.
"Now we have boots on the ground, so we're going to switch over to one of the Point Commanders of the Armored Infantry." The viewpoint changed to someone a bit closer to the ground, bringing up the rear of other Armored Infantry that were loaded heavy.
"Does that Iron Horse have a snowplow on the front?" Daniel asked.
Almost as if on cue: "For those of you who are wondering, the Iron Horse has two bulldozer blade options: a flat bulldozer blade, usually used for trenching and debris clearing, and a wedge bulldozer blade, usually used for obstacle clearing and snow removal," Tom said. "More than once in the past, Iron Horse drivers have been known to drive longways through an occupied building with the bulldozer blade down, and will literally bulldoze through enemy infantry from end to end."
"That is fucking sick," Jeane said, considering that being bulldozed by a rampaging 65-ton IFV was not high on her list of pleasant ways to die.
"Think different, fight different," Bob the commentator noted. "And I'd like to take a few moments to give a shout out to the 630 connected viewers on this network stream, we expect we'll see a lot more people watching here in the next hour or so. If anyone sees any technical issues with the feed, or if you just want to fire off a question in our general direction, just hit the glowing 'contact commentators' button below. This service provided free by the Protectorate of Mendel, because you deserve to see what is happening to the Blue Cosmos terrorists."
"And, for general consumption, the music this point is listening to is the Duke Nukem original theme, credit to Megadeth for playing and writing it, and they're banging it out on their external speakers," Tom the Commentator reported.
"Duke Nukem theme? Never heard of it," Danny said. The two girls in the room shrugged their shoulders just the same. For sure, the music playing over the external speakers, as someone in one of the doctor's office was headbanging to it while the Armored Infantry marched by.
"Armored infantry! Over here!" a lady down a side hallway to their march axis waved them over. "AFO sleeper cell, pass-code is Silent Night," the lady said after the Armored Infantry approached her.
"What do you have, operator?" the Point Commander asked.
"The double doors down this hall lead to the physical therapy center. I saw ten or twelve BC troopers hike in there about the time you tore a huge hole in the building."
"Got it," the Point Commander said. "Rizzo, station right, rest of team go left and through the doors. Hit 'em fast and mow through!"
"On it," 'Rizzo' answered immediately.
Two of the Armored Infantry went left, one went right, the other two (including the viewpoint) went left.
"Wait, Katie, was that your mom?" Jeane asked after a moment.
"It was?" Katie wound the presentation back a few moments. There was only a brief point where the viewpoint camera could see the AFO operator, but it did indeed match her mom — and the voice was slightly distorted by the microphone but it was close enough. The video continued to where the team breached the physical therapy room, and immediately came under fire from the residents and Blue Cosmos.
The viewpoint trooper fired her double-barreled semi-auto shotgun to empty, then dropped it aside as a resident tried slamming her in the head with a weight plate. One blow contacted the helmet, a second did not before the trooper reached out and caught it with the left hand free of the shield. Belying the strength of the armor and the trooper within, the resident lifted the tango off the ground by the weight plate and more toward the trooper's centerline, put her fist to the lady's chest, and let loose with a ten-round burst of sub-machinegun that was mounted underslung her right forearm. After the lady hit the ground, the Point Commander transferred the weight plate to her right hand and threw it at some guy in a white labcoat that had thrown a small barbell at the Point's heavy weapons operator. Both weights had contacted their targets, but the 20 kilogram air-mail from the Point Commander did a helluva lot more damage on contact with the therapist's head.
What little gun action remained was a few Blue Cosmos operators hopelessly outclassed by the Armored Infantry. The Point Commander had one more kill to her name, a BC trooper that took several rounds in the chest.
"Dude, my mom is doing force direction for the Magi?" Katie asked after the AFO operator (her mom, assuredly) came in with a note-puter that had a list of targets — known Blue Cosmos rally points.
"Black Stallion, this is Point One Lead, I have a list of Blue Cosmos rally points to forward to command. Reading in now," the trooper connected the USB connection port on the bottom of the tablet to his left gauntlet, which cross-decked the list to his armor and then into the comm terminal on their Iron Horse IFV.
"Black Stallion Chalk One, this is Command, I have good copy your list of targets. Make sure that AFO operator stays alive for her service to the Protectorate."
"Ten-four, Command. My point, escort this operator back to the Black Stallion! This building is cleared, second point will wrap up with the other part of the complex!" Other AFO Operators had come out of other rooms, some in worse shape than others, and all well-armed with captured Earth Alliance weapons.
"Your mom is calling targets for the Atlantic Freedom Organization? That is badass!" Jeane said.
"I'll raise a toast to that," Daniel commented with a smile. Again, the beer bottles clinked in response to a good event.
"Not something I was expecting to see so quickly into this campaign, but certainly not unwelcomed," Tom the Commentator said.
"The Atlantic Freedom Organization is vying with the Watchmen Group to be the biggest of the Coordinator Protection and Anti-Blue Cosmos operations in the Atlantic Federation," Bob The Commentator said with a hint of pride to voice. "Lord Djibril, take note: when your resistance parties are rat-racing to see who can be the bigger and nastier pain in the ass to your terrorist state, you may be a douchebag."
"Eh, give it about twelve hours or so, I think the Watchmen will up the ante by hitting some BC Ops or EA units outside the invasion corridor," Tom guessed. He would be right on the principle, but wrong on the location and the timing.
The Point of troops had escorted the AFO Operator back to the Iron Horse IFV, and the first in the door was Katie's mom.
"AFO? Welcome aboard the Black Stallion," the tank commander said. "Star Commander Emeril Brown, Mendel Protectorate. I hear you are the lady we have to thank for the Blue Cosmos rally points?"
"Yes, sir, I'm it. What are your guys doing about it?"
"I could tell you, but easier to show it." He flipped down a fairly large monitor from the roof and rotated it to where she could see it. The Point Commander watched it as well, so the whole viewing public saw it as well.
"Spade 7 reporting, rolling in on target package 3-2-2 Bravo, standby," the flight HUD in question changed over a few selections until it arrived at AGM Maverick IIM Block 9. Immediately, the target facility was highlighted on the HUD, and after two seconds went solid green. "Good lock, Fox three!" The missile streaked forward of the plane, dived down, flew straight for roughly two seconds, then hammered into the building and exploded. The combat camera caught pieces of the building flying in a multitude of directions, spread around the residential block it was situated in. "Command, Spade 7 reporting frag op completed on my end. I think I even cooked the cockroaches on that last one."
"Spade 7, confirmed, resume target of opportunity patrol south of the Stevenson Expressway."
The Tank Commander flipped the screen back up to the roof. "Hit or miss, a strike like that will brown the pants of Blue Cosmos operators all over the country. We get actionable intelligence, we service that target in less than five minutes or the next delivery is free."
"This is nuts," Katie's mom said. "I mean, I've always understood Mendel thinks and acts different, but it's like you guys are on a whole different level here. I gave him the target list less than three minutes ago, and you've already blown them all?"
"Last one just cratered out five seconds ago, ma'am," the Tank Engineer said, pointing to an IVIS (2) panel next to the gunner's station, where a red box winked out on the panel.
"Dude, Blue Cosmos would take hours to coordinate a strike like that, but you just did it in seconds! Un-freaking-real!"
"Yo, boss, the Point Commander's feed is being used for the network yuk-yuk show," the gunner said, looking at a monitor of the Point Commander looking at him.
"Oh really?" the Point Commander said, then looked back to Katie's mom. "So, milady, do you have anything to say to the viewing public?"
"Yes, actually, I do. To my daughter, Katie, and her friends that are probably hanging with her, watching this broadcast: I am sorry for deceiving you for this long. I had to go full retard Blue Cosmos to get in so I could feed intelligence to the AFO. I had to act, think, talk like the enemy to break them. I know it looked like I was pissing on your father's grave, but in one target list I probably just killed 200 of the Blue Cosmos sycophants and denied several hundred more their weapons and gear. I won't ask you to forgive me, that's up to you. All I want is for Blue Cosmos to suffer for the loss of the Mandelbrot (3) and my husband on that ship. We'll talk about this when I get home. For now, I'm going to work with Mendel to hit more Blue Cosmos targets in the city and reduce their capabilities. Stay safe, Katie."
"Dude, your mom is excessively badass, going deep undercover to fuck with Blue Cosmos," Jeane said to Katie.
Katie did not respond, she simply raised her beer bottle in salute to the television. Jeane could easily recognize the glint of teardrops down her cheeks.
"Where's the nearest AFO recruiting station?" Danny asked after a few moments.
-x-x-x-
(16 April CE 73, 0000 Hours Lima (Local) time)
(Runway 9-Left, O'Hare International Airport, Chicago, Illinois, Atlantic Federation Territory)
Airports are interesting places of being, states of being. Even in the case of operating well before 'the butt-crack of dawn' in the parlance of an Aircraft Loader, the environment is almost always very well lit up to the point of being able to see most activity around the airport without the need for floodlights or flashlights.
Dropships also tended to include a lot of their own lighting for loading and unloading, just the same. While aircraft had mobility options and could approach fairly close to a lit loading terminal, most Dropships did not, thus necessitating on-site visibility solutions.
"Anaheim Electronics, that's different. Who are they?" the Tower Supervisor asked after a few moments of staring at the last Dropship for the night.
"Anaheim? They're the top dog in Mobile Suit, Gundam, and Mobile Armor manufacture. They also do a lot of systems research, maintenance, and upgrade for just about everyone, and their consumer electronics consistently rate in the upper fifth percentile," Star Colonel Gandalf Fletcher answered the standing question matter-of-factly. "Supposedly, the powers-that-be had offered them some real-estate in some unused factory buildings down here, so they're probably here to set up shop."
"Profit in war?" the Supervisor asked.
The Star Colonel snorted at the actual implied question posed by his short question. "Nothing will change unless someone pays a steep price for this mess. The LOGOS group pays by way of the destruction or capture of their businesses — for a merchant, the greatest loss is a loss to their business and by extension to themselves. Among Blue Cosmos, the losses has to be to their lives and freedoms; they would deny the right to live to an uninvolved party, they shall see what such a policy looks like applied to themselves."
"And the Earth Alliance?" the Supervisor asked.
"The Earth Alliance is a political entity; their fate is to be stripped of their political power, and those who were engineers in this Charlie Foxtrot shall be ejected along with the remainder of BC that decides to jump ship."
"Sounds like you're going to have all the fun in coming weeks," the tower Supervisor groused.
"And you guys get a front-row seat to most of it. Chicago is going to be the hotbed for the coming shitstorm, and this airport will be heavily contested. Thankfully, with groups like…" Star Colonel Fletcher was waving a finger at the Anaheim dropship, but that ended abruptly when a goodly portion of what would be the bottom two decks opened up to reveal some pretty massive hardware. "Whoa, holy shit."
"What the fuck is that thing supposed to be?" the Tower Supervisor asked after the first of two visible machines began driving down the ramps.
"That is some kind of ground-mobile structure, but what exactly it is for...whoa," he said as the front end of the ground-mobile structure came into view. "Those are some serious turret assemblies."
"That's some serious shit they're driving. Someone got some binoculars?" the Tower supervisor asked.
"Here, boss," one of the Tower Controllers passed off a set of ancient Zeiss binoculars to the supervisor.
"Anaheim Mobile ADATS Battery," Lenny, the tower Supervisor, read off the side of the mobile structure.
"What the hell is ADATS?" the Tower Scheduler asked.
"Air Defense / Anti-Tank System," Gandalf Fletcher said with a smile. "Anaheim has been trying for decades to perfect a missile geometry that recaptures the effectiveness of older SAM systems against more modern armored Aerofighters. I heard they finally got it right, and accidentally found out that the missiles were also hellishly effective against ground armor just the same. Thus, the concept of dual-use heavy missiles is now in play: the missile will rip the wing clean off most light and medium fighters, it will blow an arm off even the heaviest assault 'mechs, and the missile can turn 'n' burn at something like 19 Gs cross-range maneuver, which is helluva more turn than any MS or aerofighter can manage."
"Fuck, so, which ones are those missiles?" the Supervisor asked.
"My guess, the 9-silo boxes on the outsides of the corner turrets." The structure itself was assembled in a hexagon shape with an inward slant to the walls, and the two slab-sides running the length of the structure were almost double the length of the entire front of the structure. The four corners not counting the front or the back of the building had the major turret assemblies, but front and back turrets with more traditional guns provided secondary direct-fire anti aircraft weapons and major firepower against ground targets. Only after it began the slow descent down the loading ramp of the AE Dropship did it becomes obvious there were six secondary turrets — one front and one back, two to each side. "Even has three cruise missile launchers in the center of the structure in VLS silos. Someone is playing for keeps with that thing."
"That's a piece of mobile artwork. I'd've loved to have something like that anchor my flank while I was working on the USSA forces," Lenny said with some satisfaction to voice.
"I figured you for an old hand," Gandalf commented dryly.
"Was. Before you ask, no, I am not an EA sycophant. I hated the command structure and culture back when I was armor before the First Bloody Valentine, I hate it more even now. You kill 'em all, I'll help you count the bodies."
"Got it," SC Fletcher said.
"Mobile gun battery, mobile SAM system, mobile cruise missile platform, and those bay doors look like they'd be perfect for Mobile Suits or Gundams. You've got a fortress on treads there, sir."
"Not my toy, but certainly happy to have it along."
"Tower, Anaheim, I show four craft incoming vector 0-9-5, FL 20. Are there any more flights incoming?" the Dropship captain asked.
"Negative, Anaheim, if they're not yours, they're bogus contacts."
"Anaheim, this is Star Colonel Fletcher, if they don't respond to IFF, hose 'em."
"Ten-four, Fletcher. Firing in five seconds, target range now 5-2 kilometers." After a brief countdown, the first missile jumped out of the silo box on the southeast corner of the ADATS platform and leapt into history. The First Battle of Chicago was now officially underway.
Author's Chapter Afterword:
First chapter, first round!
First off, this chapter is just setting the pace of the battle action. Alternating between the Earth Alliance, Civilian, and Mendel viewpoints is what I strive for, to show the personal and professional aspects of a campaign like this. I am not out to deliberately make this as anvilicious against warfare as Gundam tries to do (and occasionally succeeds at), but it may come off like that. For sure, this story will be a helluva lot more grim about warfare than Gundam Wing or Gundam SEED. And, yea though there shall be units from Gundam Wing involved, there shall be no instance of Gundam Wing Syndrome involved (4).
Second, no major names in this chapter so far, but keep some of these names in mind — you will be seeing or hearing from these persons again. Especially the Mendel operators, they will be back for more, but also the higher-ups from the Earth Alliance will make their noise.
Third, this was a late-afternoon hot-drop blitz operation. So far, the Chicago populous has been caught off-guard, but by the time something might happen, Mendel should have more of its forces on ground. The true test comes in the next chapter or two, where the Chicago civilians begin reacting to the new management over Chicago, and when the Earth ALliance beings steppin' on the invaders.
Other than that, I have only one point of clarification I need to make. There is a Dropship featured in this chapter, called the Splatterpope, which I named deliberately as a joke callback to a lesser-played PC game. In the PC game Postal 2, there are advertisements for a comic series in the local newspaper called 'Splatterpope and Postal Grrl', with the Slpatterpope being a midget guy wearing a Jason mask and a miter hat. The kicker, the ad pictures he is in, the Splatterpope is holding a molotov cocktail, which is one of the preferred weapons of the game. Just something I decided to toss in :)
That's it for my notes for the chapter.
NEXT UP: While Mendel drops in their remaining forces and begins consolidating, the Earth Alliance rushes their forces forward to meet the invasion points in Chicago, St. Louis, and Indianapolis.
Review Replies: No reviews thus far, so I will drop the reviews from the last chapter of The Inferno That Is Chicago (the original version of this story) and my replies here.
Frasermage: Slight nit pick... Oceania Air Force not Equatorial Air Force.
Other then that... Holy Hell!
That was carnage of the highest degree by a Fighter I have EVER seen.
REPLY: Not going to make that mistake again on Vhen's home state, but thanks for the props on the air battle. I am going to have a crap-ton of fun rehashing it this time around :)
Mr. Emperor: Wonderful chapter. I regret that I have not reviewed before, but I was in a hurry the last couple of times. I really appreciated the detail in the air sortie this time around.
Keep up the good work!
REPLY: This story runs on the detail work, which is why I went as far as I did in the last one. Stay tuned for more!
GUEST: I wish that u didnot have show that rape in that last in the last chapt it showed that the rocket ended his life and his crews when he was pulling as such it was obvious that he didn't get to rape why did u still write that she was violated.I am wholly against rapists and hate them with all my heart.
REPLY: I was illustrating a point about the psychology of the Earth Alliance / Blue Cosmos ethos, which itself is not far removed from the ethos of Nazi Germany. I do not think that scene will play out the same in this go-around, but it may have similar scenes elsewhere in the story.
The Gripe Sheet:
No gripes so far. As always, much thanks to my eternally overworked and underpaid beta-readers, Sieben Nightwing, Takeshi Yamato, and Necroblade!
Footnotes:
(1): Ebon Jaguar is the proper name for what the Inner Sphere calls the Cauldron Born. Remember, for the Clan Omnimechs, the Magi use the original Clan designations, not the Inner Sphere names. A notable break from this rule is the Vulture II Hessian, which is not a Clan design and is manufactured using the Inner Sphere diminutive for the Mad Dog omnimech.
(2): Inter-Vehicle Information System, a commo panel that allows vehicles to share basic location and positioning intelligence with other units on the same network. This is not C3 or C3i and does not confer any targeting benefits, just positional intelligence, communications, and vehicle status.
(3): REMINDER: The Mandelbrot was a civilian ship that was intercepted and destroyed by the Earth Alliance prior to the Bloody Valentine incident. It was one ship in a convoy of relief supplies headed to the embargoed PLANTs, and the destruction of that convoy was called the Mandelbrot Incident, which served to heighten tensions between Earth and Space. It was also used as justification for the Earth Alliance to invade the United States of South America.
(4): Gundam Wing Syndrome: An irrational and rather disorienting state of being whereby a Mobile Suit or other Mobile Unit, with rare exception, will explode from even the most inconsequential damage to peripheral locations that should have no explosive components or ordinance whatsoever. This can be particularly jarring with a Mobile Suit takes hits to the shoulders or arms and detonates like the bullet struck a hundred-pound cratering charge.
Weapons Analysis:
(NOTE: The Weapons Analysis corner is dedicated to the breakdown, analysis, and rating of weapon systems encountered on both sides of the battlefield. This will also include conversion notes to use Earth Alliance (or other) weapon systems in Battletech campaigns. Analysis sections will be written from the perspective of a Magi warrior involved in using or fighting such hardware.)
(Earth Alliance Beam Rifle (Strike Dagger / Dagger L))
—Technical: Mass 2545 kilograms (Battlemech mounting), External Space: hand carried or carried on back when not in use, max range 3000m (in atmopsphere), max effective range 2000m, system heat is dissipated by internal systems.
—Frequency: Very High. This is the common Bream Rifle issued to Strike Dagger and Dagger L Mobile Suits, though it can be used by just about any Earth Alliance unit.
—Popularity: Moderate. Despite its frequency, this rifle is widely considered underpowered for fighting Mendel forces. The Windam Beam Rifle alleviates a lot of such problems, but cannot be used by the Dagger L or prior units.
—Expected effect (Current conflict): nearly 1 ton armor damage per shot against Mendel forces using R5 armor, possible internal damage.
—Analysis: When one starts at the bottom, so long as the purpose is not digging a trench under the bar, the only way you can go is up. Credit due where appropriate, for a second-model beam rifle in general use, the EA did everything properly but not spectacularly. Compared to later Earth Federal or Zeon Beam Rifles, it does the job but is definitely not in line for any awards. It will reliably punch holes in units that rely on Steel RHA or Titanium armor, and it will inflict some damage against units that have beam-resistant armor or multi-threat armor, but to stop anything in the Magi arsenal above 25 tons, it requires multiple shots into critical locations to achieve result — not an easy task for any pilot, much less a half-ass trained Earth Alliance operator. —Takeshi Yamato's Notes: Despite its limited effectiveness as a weapon, it can blow some decent holes in the ground - and as Maxim 44 states: If it will blow a hole in the ground, it can double as an entrenching tool.)
—BT Rules: 0.75x damage for R5 to R4 comparison (round up). Total damage 15 points per shot. Roll standard critical check only, no extra crit checks are required. Damage blows through targeted area, does not transfer inward per standard rules.
(Earth Alliance ES01 Beam Saber)
—Technical: Mass 760 kilograms (Battlemech mounting), External Space: hand carried or carried on recharge racks when not in use, max range 15m, max effective range 10m, system heat is dissipated by internal systems.
—Frequency: Very High. the ES01 is on use by most non-specialist Mobile Suits, making them easy to find and easy to wield.
—Popularity: High. Despite the severe range limitation, the continual application of high heat can cause severe damage to even the heaviest of Magi armor. For that reason, the Earth Alliance is considering reviving the 'Banzai Charge' as a combat strategy.
—Expected effect (Current conflict): nearly 1 ton armor damage per direct strike against Magi armor.
—Analysis: Beam Sabers come in three sizes: "standard", "large", and "holy shit is that a weapon in your pocket or are you happy to see me" sizes. Even if the Earth Alliance likes to think it is big, these weapons do not fall into the second or third aforementioned categories. That said, a creative pilot can cause significant damage with some good beam saber work — if they are lucky enough to get close. Given that Magi battle strategy has always emphasized lethality at distance, expert target recognition at distance, and increasing firepower as targets approach friendly lines, that will be a major challenge for the Blue Cosmos pricks that are swinging in this general direction.
—Takeshi Yamato's Notes: Maxim 44 applies once again, only this case it's less 'blow a hole in the ground' and more 'cut a hole in the ground'.
—BT Rules: 0.75x damage for R5 to R4 comparison (round up). Total damage 15 points per valid strike. Roll standard critical check only, no extra crit checks are required. Damage chops through targeted area, does not transfer inward per standard rules.
(Clan-spec ER Medium Laser)
—Technical: Mass 1010 kilograms (Battlemech mounting), Internal Space: 1 unit, max range 2000m, max effective range 1500m, requires 5 heat sinks or equivalent to clear heat in 10 seconds
—Frequency: Very High. Clan ER Medium Lasers have supplanted the ubiquitous IS Medium Laser as a battlemech workhorse weapon among the Star Empires.
—Popularity: Very High. Clan-model ER Medium Lasers are small, readily-available, and punch well above their weight. They are considered a good option for rounding out a weapons load on Omnimech pods. Manufacture cost is minimal per laser.
—Expected effect (Current conflict): nearly 2 tons armor damage per shot (against EA standard-armor MS), possible internal damage.
—Analysis: Powerful for its size, the ER Medium Laser is venerated amongst all interstellar military forces for its price, payload, and hard-hitting damage-over-range profile. Not the most glamorous weapon to be fit to an Omnimech, but certainly nothing to be sneezed at, either. Commonly used as a midrange weapon or as a backup to larger guns, and some designs use these as a primary (Hello Nova Omnimech prime variant, with its 12 ER Medium Lasers (!) to use).
—BT Rules: 1.5x damage for R4 to R5 comparison (round up), 2x damage for EA standard armor penalty. Total damage 22 points per shot. Roll standard critical check if armor survives hit, roll two standard crit checks if armor fails. Damage blows through targeted area, does not transfer inward per standard rules.
(Silver Bullet Gauss (Mage Revision 1))
—Technical: Mass 11985 kilograms (Battlemech mounting) plus 1060 per ton of munitions (8 shots), Internal Space: 6 unit, max range 3600m, max effective range 2500m, requires 1 heat sinks or equivalent to clear heat in 10 seconds
—Frequency: Very Low. Silver Bullet Gauss Rifles are used in very few production battlemechs and are included in 'default' Omni pod configurations only very rarely. Still, some units and individual mechwarriors swear by the system for various reasons.
—Popularity: Very Low. Silver Bullet Gauss rifles are deprecated when compared to the cheaper and harder-hitting Gauss Rifle, but in certain applications the shotgun-like spread of the SBG is preferred to a single slug.
—Expected effect (Current conflict): assuming 9 of 15 slugs hit per shot, the damage expectation is roughly a ton of armor per salvo damaged or compromised. Due to the multiple hits inflicted per shot, these weapons are excellent at tearing up sensitive equipment across multiple locations on a targeted machine.
—Analysis: The Silver Bullet Gauss was something of a bastardized attempt by Magi scientists to turn a Gauss Rifle into a Gauss Shotgun, which oddly enough turned out to be duplicating effort of the Federated Suns NAIS of the 3050s. Unlike the NAIS versions which were prohibitive and somewhat dangerous to the machine thus equipped, the Magi version does not use exploding shells but rather a sabot with tungsten darts inside that acts closer to shotgun shells. The result, in effect, is not far removed from the LRM-15 launcher, which contributes to its lack of popularity. On the other hand, the SBG has better range, tighter mean dispersion over a given range, and is exemplary for anti-aircraft work.
—BT Rules: 1.5x damage for R4 to R5 comparison (round up), calculated per group of penetrators, not per single impact point. Thus, each cluster of five shards that hit counts as 7.5 damage (8 by rounding). This weapon will cause critical checks to damaged units when damage exceeds 50% of armor in a given area, but will not generate a second critical check when armor is completely breached.
(Clan-Spec Rotary AC/5 (THB))
—Technical: Mass 9975 kilograms (Battlemech mounting), Internal Space: 4 units, max range 3200m, max effective range 2400m, requires 6 heat sinks or equivalent to clear heat in 10 seconds at full fire rate
—Frequency: Moderate in use on aerospace and High on use for Dropships or Warships, where it is preferred as an anti-aircraft weapon. Low usage on ground units, where its high ammo requirements for sustained fire are often considered detrimental.
—Popularity: High. When used on ground units, it is exemplary for throwing up a solid wall of lead that can strip armor off a unit in seconds.
—Expected effect (Current conflict): Against EA standard-armor machines, each salvo that contacts with an enemy can be expected to remove half a ton of armor or equivalent internal damage. Up to 6 salvos may be fired in a 10-second fire group.
—Analysis: Though initially a multi-barrel upgrade to Ultra Autocannons for ground units, these weapons became their own little nasty beast when someone married the fire rate of older rotary-barrel cannon units to the larger calibers of Magi and Clan weapon systems. Perversely, these larger assemblies became less popular for ground units, as the size and munitions constraints for maintaining battlefield viability became excessively prohibitive. Initially consigned to obscurity and facing the prospect of decertification from battlefield use, these weapons were revived for use on Warships and Dropships as anti-fighter weapons, where they immediately became preferred for the task over standard autocannons. This, in turn, caused a surge of popularity for using these fast-firing guns on ground units, even if most commonly only in the C2 and C5 configurations (below 85mm caliber).
—BT Rules: 1.5x damage for R4 to R5 comparison (round up), so each 'shot' that lands on target would be 8 points of damage. Unlike the THB or TW rotary autocannons, the Magi versions (manufactured after E4500) are not subject to jamming checks at any fire rate. However, if a RAC takes a hit during the same turn that it fired at 4x, 5x, or 6x speeds, the cannon will inflict 2 points of internal damage to the same location it was struck in, due to the spinning barrels flying apart and slamming into other equipment inside the machine.
(Clan-spec Large Pulse Laser)
—Technical: Mass 6120 kilograms (Battlemech mounting), Internal Space: 2 units, max range 2800m, max effective range 2000m, requires 10 heat sinks or equivalent to clear heat in 10 seconds.
—Frequency: Significant. Most Omnimechs will mount these in at least one variant.
—Popularity: High. Combining good damage, good range, decent heat usage, and pulse technology (making it easier to hit a target), these weapons are a favorite whenever appropriate to the mission.
—Expected effect (Current conflict): Against EA standard-armor machines, each salvo that contacts with an enemy can be expected to burn through nearly two tons of standard armor and punch through to internal components in the process.
—Analysis: Though nowhere near as frequent as the ER Medium Laser or Medium Pulse Laser, the Clan-model Large Pulse Laser is still considered a mainstay weapon of the Magi for all weight classes. On lighter units, it makes a decent direct-fire primary without taxing their heat dissipation systems, on medium units it serves well as a primary when used in pairs, and on heavier units it is favored as a backup to larger guns. Due to the pulse configuration, this is also a crowd-favorite as an anti-aircraft weapon, as few aerospace frames are truly effective outside its range. Against mobile suits that lack energy-resistant armor, a pair of Large Pulse Lasers can be considered fatal wounds more often than not.
—BT Rules: 1.5x damage for R4 to R5 comparison (round up), 2x damage for EA standard armor penalty. Total damage 30 points per shot (standard armor), 15 points of damage (Laminated armor). Roll standard critical check if armor survives hit, roll two standard crit checks if armor fails. Damage blows through targeted area, does not transfer inward per standard rules.