The Battle of Arthenis III
A young pilot has been retired from the field for a few years after experiencing moral qualms with his line of work. One day he receives an offer for a risky mission requiring an exceptionally skilled pilot to infiltrate a lethal installation. He accepts, and soon finds himself returned to the field, and in way over his head. With the help of a skilled and secretive operative and the stolen floor plans for his target, he is able to find the blueprints for a powerful new weapon and present them to his client, while discovering that his job and his conscience don't have to be at odds with each other.
1 At the time, Omarus thought it was quite an aberration-a departure from the normal course of commercial operations that he had never seen before. It had been six years since he retired, and was now living the easy life back on Earth, so that all of the contracts were handled through the secretaries, and the missions given to his underlings. In truth, it really wasn't as strange as he had first thought, because they had to get a message to him somehow. In fact, his behavior that prompted their request was probably much stranger. After all, who ever heard of a mech pilot retiring at the age of 26-at the prime of his career, when practically all of the corporations and governments were trying to hire him? But you might have retired too, if you noticed your hair had already started graying at such a young age. That's when he realized that something was wrong, and decided that it was probably his career. A lot of people were disappointed when Omarus Aldan retired from mercenary work; of course, others hoped that his retirement signaled the end of the Hell Striders' influence in the mercenary market. Still, many continued sending contracts to Omarus even after his formal announcement to leave the field, although that died down after a couple years. It had been two years since the last of those attempts to hire him had been made. For a while, Omarus had planned on returning to the battlefield; but the contracts had ceased coming to him, and he looked around the field at the other warriors-like Jason Carberg and his 115 tonner with an assortment of gauss and heavy PPC's, and Carrie Grearson and her 60-ton medium with its super refractive armor that nullified any laser hits-and Omarus's confidence in his abilities and the 100-ton Hell Strider mech he had piloted were disappearing, and he wondered if his time had passed. It was at that time, when Omarus was just beginning to give up on the idea of any return to the field, that he received a message. And who can really blame them? After all, Omarus had told the secretary to send any message that said Contract Offer, or anything similar, to one of the other commanders, until he felt he was ready to return. So when the message arrived on his desk with the heading Personal Message, there was no reason for him not to open it.
PERSONAL MEMO FROM: Ronald Herman, Allied Armaments Technological Research and Acquisition Department TO: Omarus Aldan
Let me begin by saying that I understand that you have been retired years now. I apologize for sending you this offer in the form of a personal message, but once you understand the nature of the matter you may agree that it is of pressing urgency.
There is a company called Turbine Pascal operating within the Inner Sphere. Perhaps you have heard of it. They manufacture and sell some of the Inner Sphere's top line weaponry-wares that even the old Star League would have to gawk over. To be more specific, they do business in energy weaponry-though not lasers, mind you. With a range of a kilometer, damage greater than a PPC, and a mass about four times a standard Extended Range medium laser, Turbine Pascal's PBC 250 particle beam cannon has been noted by warriors everywhere among the more powerful energy weapons built for mechs. They were introduced to the market in 3079, and since then they've been exploited by some of the bigger organizations in the IS.
Although experts have agreed for years that Turbine Pascal offers some of the most powerful weaponry in existence, there is one problem: the company has complete control over the sale of that weaponry, and consequently the PBC's are priced higher than some mechs on the market today.
To come to the point, fourteen years ago I came under the employment of the company Allied Armaments, which is one of the larger manufacturers of long-range energy weapons in the Inner Sphere. I have been assigned with the task of acquiring the technology for producing the PBC's. Most IS governments agree that Pascal's control over the market must end, and so Allied has been enlisted as the official means by which to end that domination. The bottom line is, I just want to arrange a meeting so that we may discuss this matter further.
On one final note: this is also a personal message to you. Many people have told me that you have run your course and that your nerves are shot such that you'll never pilot another mech. However, far more others tell me that you remain the best of the best-maybe even the very best mech pilot ever to live. They think you're just cooling off for a while, and I agree. I've kept track of your career, and I believe in your abilities as a mechwarrior. You're just waiting for the right time to return to battle, and I believe now is it. And if it's not enough to know that I and many others believe in you, I can guarantee that your reward for undertaking this contract will be no less than Herculean.
Please think it over.
Ronald Herman
The contract could hardly have been better timed. One journalist had speculated with the famous headline: "Has Hell Strider's Omarus Hiked to Greener Pastures?" People all around, including Omarus, were wondering if he had dried up. Now, in Herman's letter, Omarus suddenly found a new sense of value, and his blood began to flow again after years. That very day he called on Chester (Chester Taikushu, who watched over the unit in Omarus's absence) to power up his trademark Hell Strider mech that hadn't been used in six years. Omarus strapped himself into the cockpit, took a deep breath, and over the next eight hours found that, in fact, he had not lost his edge. By the time he returned that evening from a day of blasting boulders in the desert, he would have agreed to take on a lance of assaults while piloting a Firefly, with a Hornet as a mate. He contacted Mr. Herman and told him he accepted his contract without another thought.
A week later Omarus was bound on his dropship toward the planet Arthenis III with Herman, 50 crew, 8 pilots, and 12 mechs aboard, including Omarus's Strider, an Atlas, and several medium and heavy chassis. Omarus was so caught up with all the excitement of returning to the field that it was only on the second day, after all the systems checks were done and he had become more comfortable with piloting again, that he sat down with Herman and the crew to discuss the specifics of the contract.
"You said that Turbine Pascal has a monopoly on those particle cannons. These guys are pretty much a bunch of wimps, eh?"
"Well, I wouldn't say that. In 2611 the freighter Milk Maid was transporting a cargo of food and weaponry to planet Cryton, in Epilanus Major. They were attacked by pirates and crash-landed on planet Arthenis III, in the Gabuy Hydrini system. Arthenis is simply a terrible planet. Its atmosphere is constantly charged and heated by the planet's close proximity to the star Gabuy Hydrini. The average surface temperature is 322 C(, and the radiation and ions in the atmosphere render radio inoperable. Radar and other standard detection systems are also inoperable, and the surface is constantly covered by a huge ion and dust storm, such that visibility is typically no more than 500 meters. It's the perfect place to hide all the manufacturing for PBCs."
Omarus's mouth hung open for few seconds while Herman's words sunk in, until he noticed drool falling on the metal table beneath him.
"And this is the planet you want me to fight on? No radio, no radar, low visibility and high heat? Could it get any worse?" Herman continued without addressing Omarus's worries.
"When the Milk Maid crashed, most of the crew managed to survive inside the ship's hull for quite some time. The League had no knowledge of what had happened to the Milk Maid, because though they had destroyed the pirates that attacked them, their comm. systems were knocked out in the attack. The freighter, of course, had food and a hydroponics lab, so they were able survive on the planet. In the 500 years since they've made a lot of progress. They used the freighter's hull as a kind of headquarters from which to add on many modules. Today there are some 1,000,000 residents on the planet distributed across twenty enclosed cities.
"What lent to the survival of the crew of the Milk Maid was a discovery they made early on. There is a special metal they named unildanium present on the planet, and due to the planet's hot, irradiated conditions, the metal is extremely lightweight, heat resistant, and resilient. After about a century pirates in the region began to notice the Arthenians on the planet's surface and began raiding. The Arthenians were forced to innovate and improvise much in the way of weapons technology. Standard lasers and missiles heated up the mechs too quickly, so they built the PBC 250 from IS designs and it became the standard weapon for their mechs. The PBC 250 has about twice the power of a PPC, except it's a lot cooler, and by using unildanium in its construction it's also very light. Today the PBC 250 is the Arthenian's weapon workhorse. Every one of their mechs has at least four of them. It's not as powerful or as ranged as the PBC 2000, but then again, on a planet where you can only see a few hundred meters, range isn't very important.
"You'll be up against the PBC 250's, but what we want you to do is go down to Arthenis and retrieve schematics on how to build the PBC 2000."
"Wait-hold on a minute," Omarus interrupted. "You want me to go down to a planet where I can't use my radio or radar, my mech will overheat if I fire any weapons, and the Arthenians already have the advantage because they have lightweight PPC's that can destroy me before I even spot them?"
"Oh, no, it gets worse. You see, the Arthenians had to build their weaponry and mechs because of the necessity of keeping the pirates at bay. Eventually, however, the pirates were driven out of this area by the IS, and so the Arthenians didn't have to worry about them anymore. But, in the time they had fought the pirates, they were able to develop radar that could pierce through the planet's ionized atmosphere. Their mechs have a sporadic radar range of about 500 meters, and radio range of about twenty kilometers."
"This is crazy! It sounds like you'd need an army to get what you want!"
"Well, we actually tried that. Fifteen years ago Allied decided that Pascal's monopoly had to end and brought fifteen dropships and a hundred mechs to Arthenis. The Arthenians had already prepared for an invasion, and they shot the mechs from extreme range with heavy Arrow IV style missiles and PBC 5000's, even more powerful and better ranged than the 2000's. They detected us making the drop and cut the army to ribbons."
"You're telling me an entire army was destroyed by these guys, and you want a single lance to go down there and take care of them?"
"All you need to do is get the blueprints. And, it was more than one army, actually. Other weapon companies have found out about the Arthenians and attacked, before discovering just how powerful they were and giving up. And besides, it won't be your whole lance. We only want you to go down."
"Just me alone?! Are you out of your mind?! It's a suicide mission!"
"Well, you won't be alone. Another person will come on your mech-a spy named Kain Ikuru. And it so happens that there is one advantage we have."
"And what's that?"
"After Allied's army was wiped out by the Arthenians, Allied wasn't willing to tolerate another failure that massive. They wanted a cheaper way to get the technology, so they replaced the head of the Technological Acquisition and Research Department with me. A couple years ago Drenkins Huchev, who was living on Arthenis, defected and came to see us. He had decided that Turbine Pascal was corrupt and didn't deserve its iron grip on the PBC market. What he suggested was a stealthy operation to grab the plans for the PBC 2000.
"Since then, we've put eight satellites in orbit, so you'll be able to have a top-down view of your mech, and be able to see anything within about 600 meters from it."
"That's the advantage that I have? I can see a little farther than they can? Tell me this: why don't you just try to dissect their PBC 250's to find out how to build them?"
"The 250's aren't the same as the 2000's. As I said, the PBC 2000 isn't even finished yet. Allied has already sold weapons to compete with the 250, but once they begin selling the PBC 2000, it will devastate us, and any other competitors." "But why?" Herman looked out the window of the dropship into space. Finally he turned to Omarus and spoke with the earnestness of a man whose career was about to be washed away. "Because the 2000 is going to blow away everything that's on the market once it's released. Its heat and weight are about the same as the 250. It's a bit more powerful, but the killer is that it has a range of ten kilometers. Once Turbine Pascal blew Allied out of the water in the shorter-ranged, mech-based weaponry, Allied turned almost solely to larger weapons-weapons for hitting dropships in orbit and destroying mechs from five, ten, fifteen kilometers away. The PBC 2000 can be put on any mech and do good damage from ten kilometers, and produce minimal heat in the process. It will put Allied out of business, unless we can get some decent resistance against it."
"How expensive is it?"
"It's not released yet, remember? But Huchev said it's likely to have a price tag of about 3.5 million for one unit."
"Less than the 250? You said the 250 costs more than some mechs on the market."
"I was talking about the 2000."
"But you said the 250."
"I'm not going to argue with you. The bottom line is that there isn't a single arms dealer in the Inner Sphere that can compete with the 2000 once it's released. Even with such a huge price, it's far less than any weapon with a range of 10 kilometers, I can tell you." "But isn't there any other way to get the 2000? They must have a ship or something that delivers the PBC's. Why don't you just capture it and get onto the surface that way?"
"We've thought of that too. The Arthenians tell their client company when and where to await the next drop of PBC's. We have been able to track their transport ship a couple times while it was going to and leaving Turbine Pascal, but it has always cloaked before we were able to capture it. We decided instead to take on the spacedock where the ship launches from . . . but that's as heavily guarded as their cities. They have PBC 10000's. Even a battleship couldn't take on their dock."
"This is crazy! How do you expect me to do this?"
"Well, we have a very reliable way steal the plans-once you get in the city."
"Do you have a plan to get me into the city? And tell me: what do you have in mind as pay for this suicide mission?"
"Well, uh, as I told you earlier, funds have been rather limited. After the army was destroyed, Allied made me promise I wouldn't use that much money on something so risky again. Five years ago we only had two of the satellites left to build, and so I went shopping for a good mercenary, hoping it'd be only a year or so until the last satellites were done. But they took longer than I expected, and besides, I couldn't find a mercenary who I thought was good enough to get the job done. Everyone I talked to told me that you were the best around, but you had already retired. When the satellites finished a couple months ago I went shopping for another mercenary, but I concluded that there probably wasn't anyone else around who'd take this job, except you."
"How much money," Omarus said, growling.
"Well, as I said, our budget has been quite limited lately, but I can guarantee you that once profits begin to come in from selling the PBC's, you'll begin to see some real money."
"How much!"
"Uh, 2,000,000, at least for now."
"Two million! Two million C-bills! Are you kidding me?" Herman said no word.
"Two million is barely enough to cover our expenses-maintenance, ammunition, repairs. Look at those mechs out there," Omarus pointed to the cargo bay. "Those things have to be maintained, and that costs money," he said, slamming his fist on the table they were sitting at. "I have to pay the mech pilots, and this dropship's pilot, and everyone else who we have to bring along. That's fifty people who have to get paid. Two million C- bills just barely pays for the expenses of a mission like this, taking my own dropship out. And for this mission-from which there's barely a chance of returning? How can you possibly expect me to do this? What's to keep me from turning this ship around right now and dropping you back off at Allied?"
"Everyone I've talked to told me you were the best, Omarus," Herman said with his head lowered. "If anyone can handle this, I know it's you. Once the money begins rolling in, you'll be able to collect-maybe 100,000,000. Allied Armaments really needs this, Omarus. After the army we sent against them got wiped out, it put us in a pretty bad place. The company's betting on this mission working now. If you don't succeed . . . Allied will go under."
Omarus glanced back into the bay where the workers were sending sparks flying, and securing all the bolts on the mechs. The last preparations were being made to his mech, with the satellite radio/radar being installed. But his mind was on what Herman was asking him to do. For anyone this was a bad deal, and it definitely wasn't what he had in mind for his return to mercenary work. It wasn't that he hadn't been in bad situations before, but this was out of the question. But, as he contemplated rejecting the contract he'd already accepted, an idea came to his mind. "All right, I'll do it, but you have to agree to my conditions. First of all, whether or not the mission is successful, and whether or not I die, and whether or not you get your guns, we get the two mil."
Herman was uncomfortable with the idea, but he agreed.
"Second, if I am successful, I want total media exposure. I want," he counted on his fingers, "everyone to know that it was Omarus of the Hell Striders that pulled this off, that it was a total success, and that Omarus is finally back in the business of being a mercenary."
"I can probably arrange that," Herman said scanning his mind for how it might be done.
"Third-you tell me that you can't pay me right away-that it's going to take years. Two million is probably fine for pay. But I want two percent of Allied's annual income from selling the guns, until Allied goes under or we do, and a 20% discount on all Allied armaments for the next eight years."
Herman fidgeted, and squirmed, and shifted in his chair, and did the math in his head. Finally he answered, "All right then. It's a deal."
"I wasn't done yet," Omarus said. "One more thing. When I do succeed and we take control of the Arthenian's weapon stocks, I want to be guaranteed my choice of 50 of their guns, ten mechs, and rights to salvage and whatever other technology they have-like how to build the PBC's." "You must be more crazy than I am," Herman said, stunned at his latest set of demands. "There isn't going to be anything to salvage. All you're doing is getting the schematics. For that, we're sending Kain Ikiru in with you. He's a thief-highly trained, the best in the business. All you need to do is get him into Graedis, and he'll do the rest. And get him out, of course." "Is that so? You're saying there isn't going to be any salvage?"
"Well, I wouldn't necessarily say that."
"What would you say?"
"Well, there might be a little equipment salvaged."
"Very well. I want any and all salvage we might find. You can have the blueprints, but I want any and all salvage."
"That's fine by my, but I doubt there'll much salvage."
"I guess that depends on just what your plan is, exactly." "Well, we're not sure of all the details yet, but the plan is to basically steal one of the Arthenian mechs, get in, steal the blueprints, and get back out." "All with the same mech?' "As I said, we haven't figured all the details out yet." "Hmm. You wouldn't mind if I help plan this thing too, would you?" "Not at all. I was counting on it. We have detailed maps we've developed of the populated areas of Arthenis. From what Huchev told us, their city of Graedis has the least firepower protecting it. We're going to land near there, and then you can proceed into Graedis. I'll have the maps sent to you. A month should probably be fine."
The next day, the Hell Strider dropship Canopus arrived in orbit around Arthenis and landed in the desert, near Graedis. For the next month, Omarus coordinated the plans on how to infiltrate the base. Every patrol route, every pilot, and every mech-everything they could find out- they did. At any time, fifteen pilots circled around the city, patrolling the reaching and stopping only to change shift. A few days before Omarus headed out, Herman told him something he had forgotten earlier. "I've managed to acquire a few weapons for you to use out there." "What weapons?" "Three HPEB's, a small gauss rifle, and an autocannon. I also found some heat sinks for you." "HPEB's? Do you mean, those weapons that came out back fifteen or twenty years ago? The ones that failed miserably?"
Herman put his hand up to his forehead, perhaps trying to nurse a headache through administering pressure. "Yes, the worst failure of Allied Armament's existence, Omarus. It was the funereal attempt of Allied Armament's Mech-based Weapon Division to compete with the PBC 250. So laugh while you can, Omarus. It's heavy and hotter and shorter ranged than the PBC 250, but at least the damage is a bit higher. It was also six times more expensive. If it hadn't been for the 250, it probably would have sold fine, but it didn't. So now, Allied has about fifty of the things left in stock that still haven't sold. And they're yours, free of charge, for your service to Allied."
"I'm honored."
Almost four weeks after the landing, Omarus met Herman in the mech bay where the Strider was kept and prepared to embark. Despite Herman's questioning, Omarus remained elusive about just what he had planned, and why the day before he had mysteriously placed a few barrels of gas in the middle of the desert and detonated them.
With farewells to all present, Omarus took helmet in hand and climbed into the Strider. Far below Herman cried out "Good luck!" Omarus jeered at his weak attempt to ease the burden on his shoulders. For a moment, as Omarus sealed the big mech's cockpit, he wondered just how many seconds total it would take him to make mincemeat of that little bureaucrat in his suit and tie if he were ever put in one of these machines. Fifty? Thirty five? Ten? He'd probably be dead before he even figured out how to start the thing up. The power came on in the metal beast, and systems startup began. For any mech one hundred kph was a pretty good speed, but now, with most of the weaponry stripped away, Omarus had gotten it up to 113 kph. But good speed wasn't all that he would need. Heat sinks, a gauss rifle, the HPEB's from Allied, and a satellite uplink array completed the modifications to the machine. Soon, these systems would be submitted to their first battle.
Battle. Yes, Omarus's felt good returning to battle. Six years away from a mech had almost made him forget how it felt-the metal gauntlets attached to the ceiling that he used to manipulate the mech's arms; the layout of numerous buttons on the HUD, controlling everything from speed and weapons power to the electrical systems and pneumatics; the purr of the air conditioner and the hum of the heat sinks, working tirelessly to keep the mech cool. It was good to be back again. But by far, battle would be the best thing about coming back. Ten meters above the ground, Omarus once again dominated everything. He was supreme among the mechwarriors; and though he was outnumbered and outgunned, he was ready to take on whatever Arthenis might throw at him. Four meters from the inner doors Omarus's Strider stopped. The doors opened, the mech walked out, and the doors behind closed and a second set of doors opened, revealing the surface of Arthenis III.
There wasn't much to see, though. As Herman said, visibility was poor. The planet's atmosphere was filled with heavy radiation and dirt kicked up by solar winds. Landforms changed and disappeared and reformed elsewhere within a millennia on Arthenis III, not tens of thousands or millions of years like on habitable worlds. Omarus hit the throttle and the second set of doors closed as the mech moved away from the dropship. Beneath its feet the ground was tan brown, a layer of scorched dust cooked by the system's sun; around the mech sandy wind blew in swirling eddies. The mech stopped again after about two hundred meters and Omarus turned around, coming to a rest facing directly toward the dropship. It was a dark mass before him, obscured slightly by the dust.
"Base, this is Omarus. Do you read?" A second went by, and then the response came.
"Roger, Omarus, this is Base. What's your status?"
"Oh, just checking out the radio. I guess transmitting via satellite does work."
"That's affirmative, though I think we've already fairly proved that with the scouting and the barrels and all. Expect static on the comm., though. We'll send you anything the scouts pick up. Base out."
The mech faced back into the torrent of sand and wind, and Omarus started off at full speed. The dropship was stationed a full 130k from the Arthenian city of Graedis, to prevent patrols from accidentally finding it, so it would mean traveling 66k to rendezvous with Eagle Scout and the Crystal Dragon, the smaller dropship that had come on the Canopus-an hour journey that was bleak, uneventful, and without note, save occasional boulders on the way, a couple sand dunes, and a short ridge he bypassed.
The trip to Sniper Stone, dubbed by the dropship crew for what was soon to take place there, took just under an hour. Omarus stopped the mech on the southeast side of the boulder in a small cave and settled the mech into a crouching position, and then used the satellite uplink to determine the location of Eagle Scout. Omarus held vigil in the hollow of that rock, and watched the minutes tick by while fiddling with his instruments. When Peter Strauss and his Eagle mech were 32 kilometers off, or about twenty minutes away, Base finally contacted Omarus.
"Everything all right out there, Omarus?"
"Roger. I'm AOK. I've settled in at Sniper Stone, and Eagle Scout is at 31 clicks and closing."
"Acknowledged. So, are you going to stick to plan-hit him from behind?"
"Don't worry about me-I'll get my job done. Just make sure everything else is ready."
The minutes slowly passed by. The red box on the HUD, indicating the Eagle's approximate position, neared slowly as Strauss approached on his long patrol. Each day for nine years Peter Strauss had been restricted to the same eight hour, 443-kilometer long path that his mech had walked in search of enemies. But soon, that would be over, and Peter Strauss would make an unexpected deviation from his patrol. At eight kilometers, Omarus signaled the dropship again.
"Base, this is my last communication before radio silence. Eagle is just a few minutes away. I'll start charging my weapons in three minutes. Over and out."
Omarus zoomed the satellite map in on the Eagle, which hurried forward, unaware of the surprise waiting for it. If all went well, the battle would practically be over before Strauss knew Omarus existed. Omarus's target would be the comm. array on the Eagle's back. It was a pretty small target, and he would probably only have one shot at it, but if he could take the radio out right away-if he could keep Strauss from contacting Graedis and going on alert-everything would be so much easier.
Two kilometers. Omarus started powering the weapons, and the mech came alive. He strapped himself into the chair and prepared for battle.
One and a half clicks. Omarus went over his weapons. There were only four of them: the three HPEB's, original conceptions of Allied Armaments, built in hopes of combating Turbine Pascal PBC 250 in the marketplace. They still didn't match the power, range, energy usage, or heat dissipation of their Pascal counterparts, but they were a lot better than lasers. At that moment it was great consolation to Omarus to know that his team of engineers had spent two weeks subjecting these guns to extensive testing, such that their reliability was no longer in doubt.
And then there was the other weapon Allied had recently devised. The heavy gauss cannon wasn't nearly as powerful as even a light gauss, but it had two features that far set it apart from conventional gausses. First of all, it could fire rapidly, launching three projectiles a second, each with about a fourth the power of a light gauss shell. And second, it had a wonderful aiming system. He could simply lock it onto any body part of a mech and fire, and let the rifle track the target. Some said it was actually more of an autocannon. Perhaps that was true, since the range was only three hundred meters maximum. But, autocannon or heavy gauss, it was enough for what Omarus needed.
Seven hundred fifty meters. In a second, the Strider would be visible on the satellite display, once the Eagle was in range. Omarus took one last look around. The sea of surging dust had darkened. The sun had set while Omarus waited for the Eagle. But it didn't matter much anyway. Sun or not, visibility was bad, and it wasn't going to get better.
The Strider appeared on the satellite radar, and the Eagle closed in rapidly. His path would bring him within about 250 meters from the cave Omarus was stationed inside, but with his radar only working on line of sight, he wouldn't know that until it was too late, for the cave was very much in the way of his radar.
The mech stood up again, and Omarus put his hands in the weapon gloves. Through the dark rock in front of him, Omarus looked at the red box outlining the 60 tons of metal lumbering through the darkness. And then he passed the perpendicular, the minimum distance from Omarus that his patrol would bring him. Omarus looked down at the weapons readout and spotted a minor problem. Better change that. HPEB's to beam fire. Pulse fire just wouldn't cut it-the mech, that is. Omarus's only other worry was the heat sinks; but, with the onset of night, they would be able to handle the heat.
Eagle was now almost 300 meters away and getting farther. But the rock wasn't out of the way yet. He needed more time. At last his range reached 400 meters away as he came out from behind the rock. Omarus laid the crosshairs on the Eagle's right shoulder and pulled the triggers, without a moment's hesitation. Into the darkness the HPEB blasts shot. He held the triggers down for three seconds more, and let go. Then, the Eagle fell over, maybe slipping on the sand. On the satmap Omarus could see metal lying next to the Eagle, and the Eagle's back was burning, or smoking, but even at maximum zoom, the map's clarity was quite poor.
But it didn't matter. Either way, Omarus needed to act soon. He hit the throttle and zoomed forward, staying just outside the Eagle's detection range until coming to stop on Strauss's right side. Strauss got back up a second later and, just as Omarus was ready to fire, Strauss turned around, perhaps looking to see if he could find the perpetrator of his misfortunate.
Omarus looked at the map again, hoping to see if the guns had done their job, but the image still wasn't clear enough, owing to the saturated atmosphere on Arthenis. But now, that didn't matter. Eagle Scout turned again, almost facing Omarus's direction. For a moment, Omarus hesitated. A thought flashed through his mind, and he wondered if somehow, this didn't have to happen. But it was now or never, and there seemed no avoiding it. So, from a point in the darkness undetected by his radarscope, the pilot of the Eagle watched the flare of machine gauss impact on his windshield.
A young pilot has been retired from the field for a few years after experiencing moral qualms with his line of work. One day he receives an offer for a risky mission requiring an exceptionally skilled pilot to infiltrate a lethal installation. He accepts, and soon finds himself returned to the field, and in way over his head. With the help of a skilled and secretive operative and the stolen floor plans for his target, he is able to find the blueprints for a powerful new weapon and present them to his client, while discovering that his job and his conscience don't have to be at odds with each other.
1 At the time, Omarus thought it was quite an aberration-a departure from the normal course of commercial operations that he had never seen before. It had been six years since he retired, and was now living the easy life back on Earth, so that all of the contracts were handled through the secretaries, and the missions given to his underlings. In truth, it really wasn't as strange as he had first thought, because they had to get a message to him somehow. In fact, his behavior that prompted their request was probably much stranger. After all, who ever heard of a mech pilot retiring at the age of 26-at the prime of his career, when practically all of the corporations and governments were trying to hire him? But you might have retired too, if you noticed your hair had already started graying at such a young age. That's when he realized that something was wrong, and decided that it was probably his career. A lot of people were disappointed when Omarus Aldan retired from mercenary work; of course, others hoped that his retirement signaled the end of the Hell Striders' influence in the mercenary market. Still, many continued sending contracts to Omarus even after his formal announcement to leave the field, although that died down after a couple years. It had been two years since the last of those attempts to hire him had been made. For a while, Omarus had planned on returning to the battlefield; but the contracts had ceased coming to him, and he looked around the field at the other warriors-like Jason Carberg and his 115 tonner with an assortment of gauss and heavy PPC's, and Carrie Grearson and her 60-ton medium with its super refractive armor that nullified any laser hits-and Omarus's confidence in his abilities and the 100-ton Hell Strider mech he had piloted were disappearing, and he wondered if his time had passed. It was at that time, when Omarus was just beginning to give up on the idea of any return to the field, that he received a message. And who can really blame them? After all, Omarus had told the secretary to send any message that said Contract Offer, or anything similar, to one of the other commanders, until he felt he was ready to return. So when the message arrived on his desk with the heading Personal Message, there was no reason for him not to open it.
PERSONAL MEMO FROM: Ronald Herman, Allied Armaments Technological Research and Acquisition Department TO: Omarus Aldan
Let me begin by saying that I understand that you have been retired years now. I apologize for sending you this offer in the form of a personal message, but once you understand the nature of the matter you may agree that it is of pressing urgency.
There is a company called Turbine Pascal operating within the Inner Sphere. Perhaps you have heard of it. They manufacture and sell some of the Inner Sphere's top line weaponry-wares that even the old Star League would have to gawk over. To be more specific, they do business in energy weaponry-though not lasers, mind you. With a range of a kilometer, damage greater than a PPC, and a mass about four times a standard Extended Range medium laser, Turbine Pascal's PBC 250 particle beam cannon has been noted by warriors everywhere among the more powerful energy weapons built for mechs. They were introduced to the market in 3079, and since then they've been exploited by some of the bigger organizations in the IS.
Although experts have agreed for years that Turbine Pascal offers some of the most powerful weaponry in existence, there is one problem: the company has complete control over the sale of that weaponry, and consequently the PBC's are priced higher than some mechs on the market today.
To come to the point, fourteen years ago I came under the employment of the company Allied Armaments, which is one of the larger manufacturers of long-range energy weapons in the Inner Sphere. I have been assigned with the task of acquiring the technology for producing the PBC's. Most IS governments agree that Pascal's control over the market must end, and so Allied has been enlisted as the official means by which to end that domination. The bottom line is, I just want to arrange a meeting so that we may discuss this matter further.
On one final note: this is also a personal message to you. Many people have told me that you have run your course and that your nerves are shot such that you'll never pilot another mech. However, far more others tell me that you remain the best of the best-maybe even the very best mech pilot ever to live. They think you're just cooling off for a while, and I agree. I've kept track of your career, and I believe in your abilities as a mechwarrior. You're just waiting for the right time to return to battle, and I believe now is it. And if it's not enough to know that I and many others believe in you, I can guarantee that your reward for undertaking this contract will be no less than Herculean.
Please think it over.
Ronald Herman
The contract could hardly have been better timed. One journalist had speculated with the famous headline: "Has Hell Strider's Omarus Hiked to Greener Pastures?" People all around, including Omarus, were wondering if he had dried up. Now, in Herman's letter, Omarus suddenly found a new sense of value, and his blood began to flow again after years. That very day he called on Chester (Chester Taikushu, who watched over the unit in Omarus's absence) to power up his trademark Hell Strider mech that hadn't been used in six years. Omarus strapped himself into the cockpit, took a deep breath, and over the next eight hours found that, in fact, he had not lost his edge. By the time he returned that evening from a day of blasting boulders in the desert, he would have agreed to take on a lance of assaults while piloting a Firefly, with a Hornet as a mate. He contacted Mr. Herman and told him he accepted his contract without another thought.
A week later Omarus was bound on his dropship toward the planet Arthenis III with Herman, 50 crew, 8 pilots, and 12 mechs aboard, including Omarus's Strider, an Atlas, and several medium and heavy chassis. Omarus was so caught up with all the excitement of returning to the field that it was only on the second day, after all the systems checks were done and he had become more comfortable with piloting again, that he sat down with Herman and the crew to discuss the specifics of the contract.
"You said that Turbine Pascal has a monopoly on those particle cannons. These guys are pretty much a bunch of wimps, eh?"
"Well, I wouldn't say that. In 2611 the freighter Milk Maid was transporting a cargo of food and weaponry to planet Cryton, in Epilanus Major. They were attacked by pirates and crash-landed on planet Arthenis III, in the Gabuy Hydrini system. Arthenis is simply a terrible planet. Its atmosphere is constantly charged and heated by the planet's close proximity to the star Gabuy Hydrini. The average surface temperature is 322 C(, and the radiation and ions in the atmosphere render radio inoperable. Radar and other standard detection systems are also inoperable, and the surface is constantly covered by a huge ion and dust storm, such that visibility is typically no more than 500 meters. It's the perfect place to hide all the manufacturing for PBCs."
Omarus's mouth hung open for few seconds while Herman's words sunk in, until he noticed drool falling on the metal table beneath him.
"And this is the planet you want me to fight on? No radio, no radar, low visibility and high heat? Could it get any worse?" Herman continued without addressing Omarus's worries.
"When the Milk Maid crashed, most of the crew managed to survive inside the ship's hull for quite some time. The League had no knowledge of what had happened to the Milk Maid, because though they had destroyed the pirates that attacked them, their comm. systems were knocked out in the attack. The freighter, of course, had food and a hydroponics lab, so they were able survive on the planet. In the 500 years since they've made a lot of progress. They used the freighter's hull as a kind of headquarters from which to add on many modules. Today there are some 1,000,000 residents on the planet distributed across twenty enclosed cities.
"What lent to the survival of the crew of the Milk Maid was a discovery they made early on. There is a special metal they named unildanium present on the planet, and due to the planet's hot, irradiated conditions, the metal is extremely lightweight, heat resistant, and resilient. After about a century pirates in the region began to notice the Arthenians on the planet's surface and began raiding. The Arthenians were forced to innovate and improvise much in the way of weapons technology. Standard lasers and missiles heated up the mechs too quickly, so they built the PBC 250 from IS designs and it became the standard weapon for their mechs. The PBC 250 has about twice the power of a PPC, except it's a lot cooler, and by using unildanium in its construction it's also very light. Today the PBC 250 is the Arthenian's weapon workhorse. Every one of their mechs has at least four of them. It's not as powerful or as ranged as the PBC 2000, but then again, on a planet where you can only see a few hundred meters, range isn't very important.
"You'll be up against the PBC 250's, but what we want you to do is go down to Arthenis and retrieve schematics on how to build the PBC 2000."
"Wait-hold on a minute," Omarus interrupted. "You want me to go down to a planet where I can't use my radio or radar, my mech will overheat if I fire any weapons, and the Arthenians already have the advantage because they have lightweight PPC's that can destroy me before I even spot them?"
"Oh, no, it gets worse. You see, the Arthenians had to build their weaponry and mechs because of the necessity of keeping the pirates at bay. Eventually, however, the pirates were driven out of this area by the IS, and so the Arthenians didn't have to worry about them anymore. But, in the time they had fought the pirates, they were able to develop radar that could pierce through the planet's ionized atmosphere. Their mechs have a sporadic radar range of about 500 meters, and radio range of about twenty kilometers."
"This is crazy! It sounds like you'd need an army to get what you want!"
"Well, we actually tried that. Fifteen years ago Allied decided that Pascal's monopoly had to end and brought fifteen dropships and a hundred mechs to Arthenis. The Arthenians had already prepared for an invasion, and they shot the mechs from extreme range with heavy Arrow IV style missiles and PBC 5000's, even more powerful and better ranged than the 2000's. They detected us making the drop and cut the army to ribbons."
"You're telling me an entire army was destroyed by these guys, and you want a single lance to go down there and take care of them?"
"All you need to do is get the blueprints. And, it was more than one army, actually. Other weapon companies have found out about the Arthenians and attacked, before discovering just how powerful they were and giving up. And besides, it won't be your whole lance. We only want you to go down."
"Just me alone?! Are you out of your mind?! It's a suicide mission!"
"Well, you won't be alone. Another person will come on your mech-a spy named Kain Ikuru. And it so happens that there is one advantage we have."
"And what's that?"
"After Allied's army was wiped out by the Arthenians, Allied wasn't willing to tolerate another failure that massive. They wanted a cheaper way to get the technology, so they replaced the head of the Technological Acquisition and Research Department with me. A couple years ago Drenkins Huchev, who was living on Arthenis, defected and came to see us. He had decided that Turbine Pascal was corrupt and didn't deserve its iron grip on the PBC market. What he suggested was a stealthy operation to grab the plans for the PBC 2000.
"Since then, we've put eight satellites in orbit, so you'll be able to have a top-down view of your mech, and be able to see anything within about 600 meters from it."
"That's the advantage that I have? I can see a little farther than they can? Tell me this: why don't you just try to dissect their PBC 250's to find out how to build them?"
"The 250's aren't the same as the 2000's. As I said, the PBC 2000 isn't even finished yet. Allied has already sold weapons to compete with the 250, but once they begin selling the PBC 2000, it will devastate us, and any other competitors." "But why?" Herman looked out the window of the dropship into space. Finally he turned to Omarus and spoke with the earnestness of a man whose career was about to be washed away. "Because the 2000 is going to blow away everything that's on the market once it's released. Its heat and weight are about the same as the 250. It's a bit more powerful, but the killer is that it has a range of ten kilometers. Once Turbine Pascal blew Allied out of the water in the shorter-ranged, mech-based weaponry, Allied turned almost solely to larger weapons-weapons for hitting dropships in orbit and destroying mechs from five, ten, fifteen kilometers away. The PBC 2000 can be put on any mech and do good damage from ten kilometers, and produce minimal heat in the process. It will put Allied out of business, unless we can get some decent resistance against it."
"How expensive is it?"
"It's not released yet, remember? But Huchev said it's likely to have a price tag of about 3.5 million for one unit."
"Less than the 250? You said the 250 costs more than some mechs on the market."
"I was talking about the 2000."
"But you said the 250."
"I'm not going to argue with you. The bottom line is that there isn't a single arms dealer in the Inner Sphere that can compete with the 2000 once it's released. Even with such a huge price, it's far less than any weapon with a range of 10 kilometers, I can tell you." "But isn't there any other way to get the 2000? They must have a ship or something that delivers the PBC's. Why don't you just capture it and get onto the surface that way?"
"We've thought of that too. The Arthenians tell their client company when and where to await the next drop of PBC's. We have been able to track their transport ship a couple times while it was going to and leaving Turbine Pascal, but it has always cloaked before we were able to capture it. We decided instead to take on the spacedock where the ship launches from . . . but that's as heavily guarded as their cities. They have PBC 10000's. Even a battleship couldn't take on their dock."
"This is crazy! How do you expect me to do this?"
"Well, we have a very reliable way steal the plans-once you get in the city."
"Do you have a plan to get me into the city? And tell me: what do you have in mind as pay for this suicide mission?"
"Well, uh, as I told you earlier, funds have been rather limited. After the army was destroyed, Allied made me promise I wouldn't use that much money on something so risky again. Five years ago we only had two of the satellites left to build, and so I went shopping for a good mercenary, hoping it'd be only a year or so until the last satellites were done. But they took longer than I expected, and besides, I couldn't find a mercenary who I thought was good enough to get the job done. Everyone I talked to told me that you were the best around, but you had already retired. When the satellites finished a couple months ago I went shopping for another mercenary, but I concluded that there probably wasn't anyone else around who'd take this job, except you."
"How much money," Omarus said, growling.
"Well, as I said, our budget has been quite limited lately, but I can guarantee you that once profits begin to come in from selling the PBC's, you'll begin to see some real money."
"How much!"
"Uh, 2,000,000, at least for now."
"Two million! Two million C-bills! Are you kidding me?" Herman said no word.
"Two million is barely enough to cover our expenses-maintenance, ammunition, repairs. Look at those mechs out there," Omarus pointed to the cargo bay. "Those things have to be maintained, and that costs money," he said, slamming his fist on the table they were sitting at. "I have to pay the mech pilots, and this dropship's pilot, and everyone else who we have to bring along. That's fifty people who have to get paid. Two million C- bills just barely pays for the expenses of a mission like this, taking my own dropship out. And for this mission-from which there's barely a chance of returning? How can you possibly expect me to do this? What's to keep me from turning this ship around right now and dropping you back off at Allied?"
"Everyone I've talked to told me you were the best, Omarus," Herman said with his head lowered. "If anyone can handle this, I know it's you. Once the money begins rolling in, you'll be able to collect-maybe 100,000,000. Allied Armaments really needs this, Omarus. After the army we sent against them got wiped out, it put us in a pretty bad place. The company's betting on this mission working now. If you don't succeed . . . Allied will go under."
Omarus glanced back into the bay where the workers were sending sparks flying, and securing all the bolts on the mechs. The last preparations were being made to his mech, with the satellite radio/radar being installed. But his mind was on what Herman was asking him to do. For anyone this was a bad deal, and it definitely wasn't what he had in mind for his return to mercenary work. It wasn't that he hadn't been in bad situations before, but this was out of the question. But, as he contemplated rejecting the contract he'd already accepted, an idea came to his mind. "All right, I'll do it, but you have to agree to my conditions. First of all, whether or not the mission is successful, and whether or not I die, and whether or not you get your guns, we get the two mil."
Herman was uncomfortable with the idea, but he agreed.
"Second, if I am successful, I want total media exposure. I want," he counted on his fingers, "everyone to know that it was Omarus of the Hell Striders that pulled this off, that it was a total success, and that Omarus is finally back in the business of being a mercenary."
"I can probably arrange that," Herman said scanning his mind for how it might be done.
"Third-you tell me that you can't pay me right away-that it's going to take years. Two million is probably fine for pay. But I want two percent of Allied's annual income from selling the guns, until Allied goes under or we do, and a 20% discount on all Allied armaments for the next eight years."
Herman fidgeted, and squirmed, and shifted in his chair, and did the math in his head. Finally he answered, "All right then. It's a deal."
"I wasn't done yet," Omarus said. "One more thing. When I do succeed and we take control of the Arthenian's weapon stocks, I want to be guaranteed my choice of 50 of their guns, ten mechs, and rights to salvage and whatever other technology they have-like how to build the PBC's." "You must be more crazy than I am," Herman said, stunned at his latest set of demands. "There isn't going to be anything to salvage. All you're doing is getting the schematics. For that, we're sending Kain Ikiru in with you. He's a thief-highly trained, the best in the business. All you need to do is get him into Graedis, and he'll do the rest. And get him out, of course." "Is that so? You're saying there isn't going to be any salvage?"
"Well, I wouldn't necessarily say that."
"What would you say?"
"Well, there might be a little equipment salvaged."
"Very well. I want any and all salvage we might find. You can have the blueprints, but I want any and all salvage."
"That's fine by my, but I doubt there'll much salvage."
"I guess that depends on just what your plan is, exactly." "Well, we're not sure of all the details yet, but the plan is to basically steal one of the Arthenian mechs, get in, steal the blueprints, and get back out." "All with the same mech?' "As I said, we haven't figured all the details out yet." "Hmm. You wouldn't mind if I help plan this thing too, would you?" "Not at all. I was counting on it. We have detailed maps we've developed of the populated areas of Arthenis. From what Huchev told us, their city of Graedis has the least firepower protecting it. We're going to land near there, and then you can proceed into Graedis. I'll have the maps sent to you. A month should probably be fine."
The next day, the Hell Strider dropship Canopus arrived in orbit around Arthenis and landed in the desert, near Graedis. For the next month, Omarus coordinated the plans on how to infiltrate the base. Every patrol route, every pilot, and every mech-everything they could find out- they did. At any time, fifteen pilots circled around the city, patrolling the reaching and stopping only to change shift. A few days before Omarus headed out, Herman told him something he had forgotten earlier. "I've managed to acquire a few weapons for you to use out there." "What weapons?" "Three HPEB's, a small gauss rifle, and an autocannon. I also found some heat sinks for you." "HPEB's? Do you mean, those weapons that came out back fifteen or twenty years ago? The ones that failed miserably?"
Herman put his hand up to his forehead, perhaps trying to nurse a headache through administering pressure. "Yes, the worst failure of Allied Armament's existence, Omarus. It was the funereal attempt of Allied Armament's Mech-based Weapon Division to compete with the PBC 250. So laugh while you can, Omarus. It's heavy and hotter and shorter ranged than the PBC 250, but at least the damage is a bit higher. It was also six times more expensive. If it hadn't been for the 250, it probably would have sold fine, but it didn't. So now, Allied has about fifty of the things left in stock that still haven't sold. And they're yours, free of charge, for your service to Allied."
"I'm honored."
Almost four weeks after the landing, Omarus met Herman in the mech bay where the Strider was kept and prepared to embark. Despite Herman's questioning, Omarus remained elusive about just what he had planned, and why the day before he had mysteriously placed a few barrels of gas in the middle of the desert and detonated them.
With farewells to all present, Omarus took helmet in hand and climbed into the Strider. Far below Herman cried out "Good luck!" Omarus jeered at his weak attempt to ease the burden on his shoulders. For a moment, as Omarus sealed the big mech's cockpit, he wondered just how many seconds total it would take him to make mincemeat of that little bureaucrat in his suit and tie if he were ever put in one of these machines. Fifty? Thirty five? Ten? He'd probably be dead before he even figured out how to start the thing up. The power came on in the metal beast, and systems startup began. For any mech one hundred kph was a pretty good speed, but now, with most of the weaponry stripped away, Omarus had gotten it up to 113 kph. But good speed wasn't all that he would need. Heat sinks, a gauss rifle, the HPEB's from Allied, and a satellite uplink array completed the modifications to the machine. Soon, these systems would be submitted to their first battle.
Battle. Yes, Omarus's felt good returning to battle. Six years away from a mech had almost made him forget how it felt-the metal gauntlets attached to the ceiling that he used to manipulate the mech's arms; the layout of numerous buttons on the HUD, controlling everything from speed and weapons power to the electrical systems and pneumatics; the purr of the air conditioner and the hum of the heat sinks, working tirelessly to keep the mech cool. It was good to be back again. But by far, battle would be the best thing about coming back. Ten meters above the ground, Omarus once again dominated everything. He was supreme among the mechwarriors; and though he was outnumbered and outgunned, he was ready to take on whatever Arthenis might throw at him. Four meters from the inner doors Omarus's Strider stopped. The doors opened, the mech walked out, and the doors behind closed and a second set of doors opened, revealing the surface of Arthenis III.
There wasn't much to see, though. As Herman said, visibility was poor. The planet's atmosphere was filled with heavy radiation and dirt kicked up by solar winds. Landforms changed and disappeared and reformed elsewhere within a millennia on Arthenis III, not tens of thousands or millions of years like on habitable worlds. Omarus hit the throttle and the second set of doors closed as the mech moved away from the dropship. Beneath its feet the ground was tan brown, a layer of scorched dust cooked by the system's sun; around the mech sandy wind blew in swirling eddies. The mech stopped again after about two hundred meters and Omarus turned around, coming to a rest facing directly toward the dropship. It was a dark mass before him, obscured slightly by the dust.
"Base, this is Omarus. Do you read?" A second went by, and then the response came.
"Roger, Omarus, this is Base. What's your status?"
"Oh, just checking out the radio. I guess transmitting via satellite does work."
"That's affirmative, though I think we've already fairly proved that with the scouting and the barrels and all. Expect static on the comm., though. We'll send you anything the scouts pick up. Base out."
The mech faced back into the torrent of sand and wind, and Omarus started off at full speed. The dropship was stationed a full 130k from the Arthenian city of Graedis, to prevent patrols from accidentally finding it, so it would mean traveling 66k to rendezvous with Eagle Scout and the Crystal Dragon, the smaller dropship that had come on the Canopus-an hour journey that was bleak, uneventful, and without note, save occasional boulders on the way, a couple sand dunes, and a short ridge he bypassed.
The trip to Sniper Stone, dubbed by the dropship crew for what was soon to take place there, took just under an hour. Omarus stopped the mech on the southeast side of the boulder in a small cave and settled the mech into a crouching position, and then used the satellite uplink to determine the location of Eagle Scout. Omarus held vigil in the hollow of that rock, and watched the minutes tick by while fiddling with his instruments. When Peter Strauss and his Eagle mech were 32 kilometers off, or about twenty minutes away, Base finally contacted Omarus.
"Everything all right out there, Omarus?"
"Roger. I'm AOK. I've settled in at Sniper Stone, and Eagle Scout is at 31 clicks and closing."
"Acknowledged. So, are you going to stick to plan-hit him from behind?"
"Don't worry about me-I'll get my job done. Just make sure everything else is ready."
The minutes slowly passed by. The red box on the HUD, indicating the Eagle's approximate position, neared slowly as Strauss approached on his long patrol. Each day for nine years Peter Strauss had been restricted to the same eight hour, 443-kilometer long path that his mech had walked in search of enemies. But soon, that would be over, and Peter Strauss would make an unexpected deviation from his patrol. At eight kilometers, Omarus signaled the dropship again.
"Base, this is my last communication before radio silence. Eagle is just a few minutes away. I'll start charging my weapons in three minutes. Over and out."
Omarus zoomed the satellite map in on the Eagle, which hurried forward, unaware of the surprise waiting for it. If all went well, the battle would practically be over before Strauss knew Omarus existed. Omarus's target would be the comm. array on the Eagle's back. It was a pretty small target, and he would probably only have one shot at it, but if he could take the radio out right away-if he could keep Strauss from contacting Graedis and going on alert-everything would be so much easier.
Two kilometers. Omarus started powering the weapons, and the mech came alive. He strapped himself into the chair and prepared for battle.
One and a half clicks. Omarus went over his weapons. There were only four of them: the three HPEB's, original conceptions of Allied Armaments, built in hopes of combating Turbine Pascal PBC 250 in the marketplace. They still didn't match the power, range, energy usage, or heat dissipation of their Pascal counterparts, but they were a lot better than lasers. At that moment it was great consolation to Omarus to know that his team of engineers had spent two weeks subjecting these guns to extensive testing, such that their reliability was no longer in doubt.
And then there was the other weapon Allied had recently devised. The heavy gauss cannon wasn't nearly as powerful as even a light gauss, but it had two features that far set it apart from conventional gausses. First of all, it could fire rapidly, launching three projectiles a second, each with about a fourth the power of a light gauss shell. And second, it had a wonderful aiming system. He could simply lock it onto any body part of a mech and fire, and let the rifle track the target. Some said it was actually more of an autocannon. Perhaps that was true, since the range was only three hundred meters maximum. But, autocannon or heavy gauss, it was enough for what Omarus needed.
Seven hundred fifty meters. In a second, the Strider would be visible on the satellite display, once the Eagle was in range. Omarus took one last look around. The sea of surging dust had darkened. The sun had set while Omarus waited for the Eagle. But it didn't matter much anyway. Sun or not, visibility was bad, and it wasn't going to get better.
The Strider appeared on the satellite radar, and the Eagle closed in rapidly. His path would bring him within about 250 meters from the cave Omarus was stationed inside, but with his radar only working on line of sight, he wouldn't know that until it was too late, for the cave was very much in the way of his radar.
The mech stood up again, and Omarus put his hands in the weapon gloves. Through the dark rock in front of him, Omarus looked at the red box outlining the 60 tons of metal lumbering through the darkness. And then he passed the perpendicular, the minimum distance from Omarus that his patrol would bring him. Omarus looked down at the weapons readout and spotted a minor problem. Better change that. HPEB's to beam fire. Pulse fire just wouldn't cut it-the mech, that is. Omarus's only other worry was the heat sinks; but, with the onset of night, they would be able to handle the heat.
Eagle was now almost 300 meters away and getting farther. But the rock wasn't out of the way yet. He needed more time. At last his range reached 400 meters away as he came out from behind the rock. Omarus laid the crosshairs on the Eagle's right shoulder and pulled the triggers, without a moment's hesitation. Into the darkness the HPEB blasts shot. He held the triggers down for three seconds more, and let go. Then, the Eagle fell over, maybe slipping on the sand. On the satmap Omarus could see metal lying next to the Eagle, and the Eagle's back was burning, or smoking, but even at maximum zoom, the map's clarity was quite poor.
But it didn't matter. Either way, Omarus needed to act soon. He hit the throttle and zoomed forward, staying just outside the Eagle's detection range until coming to stop on Strauss's right side. Strauss got back up a second later and, just as Omarus was ready to fire, Strauss turned around, perhaps looking to see if he could find the perpetrator of his misfortunate.
Omarus looked at the map again, hoping to see if the guns had done their job, but the image still wasn't clear enough, owing to the saturated atmosphere on Arthenis. But now, that didn't matter. Eagle Scout turned again, almost facing Omarus's direction. For a moment, Omarus hesitated. A thought flashed through his mind, and he wondered if somehow, this didn't have to happen. But it was now or never, and there seemed no avoiding it. So, from a point in the darkness undetected by his radarscope, the pilot of the Eagle watched the flare of machine gauss impact on his windshield.