Chapter Two
Major Charles Pinter sat in the cockpit of his customized Wolfhound and listened to the radio chatter from the pilot. "Excalibur Omega. We are away. Alright. Omega Battalion, we are performing a hard burn to the surface of Epsilon Eridanus II, known locally as 'Reach,' where we will be facing unknown infantry with armor support."
"Ah, we won't get to have fun," a junior Mechwarrior named Lieutenant Ormson whined from the cockpit of her Warthog LAM.
"Mavericks deploy! We have fighters inbound."
"Ooh! Yay! Mavericks, assemble at the bay door."
A minute later, the Mavericks, Righteous Ascent's LAM lance composed of three older Phoenix Hawk LAMs and Ormson's Warthog LAM, were assembled at and waiting for the 'Mech bay door to open. Ormson looked down and out the right side of her cockpit and examined the multi-barreled cannon. The Mydron Tornado RAC-5 was one of the most effective autocannons available, spitting out thousands of 75-millimeter rounds per minute. She looked out the other side and smiled. Clan tech was hard to come by, but she had issued a Trial of Possession to get Clan tech replacements for her damaged ER Medium Lasers after the Liberation of Terra. And she had won, gaining twenty of the one-ton lasers; enough to complete her 'Mech ten times over. This would be her first time using the heavy lasers, and she was eager to see their effect.
The opening of the bay doors snapped her out of her reverie. "Alright, Mavericks, let's go kill us some fighters," she whopped as she engaged her LAM's thrusters and shot out into space. Immediately, the computer began trying and failing to identify targets. "Commodore, can we get some targeting data on the Covenant fighters? I wanna know how much we have to pound them until they blow."
"Understood. Data packets inbound."
A few seconds later, the fighters were identified as "Seraphs." "Energy shielding, huh? Let's see it block this!" Ormson said as she spitted one Seraph in her crosshairs, squeezed the arm laser's trigger, and pressed the firing stud for the torso laser. The first beam caressed the shield, which flared for a second before bursting. The second beam drilled a neat forty-centimeter-diameter hole through the center of the fighter. With the power plant thus damaged, the Seraph tumbled for a second before detonating. "Fighters? More like armed life boats." Ormson keyed a broadband transmission. "Oh, come on. Give me a challenge!"
Two larger ships accelerated toward her. "Phantom dropships, gunboat variants. That's more like it." She engaged her LAM's afterburners and tried to "pounce" onto the nearer Phantom. However, almost half of her frontal armor plates crumpled as they impacted on the gunboat's shield. "Right. Impenetrable frontal shield," Ormson muttered as she carefully maneuvered around the shield and grabbed on to the frontal, oddly exposed, plasma torpedo tube. She then changed her LAM to 'Mech mode and slammed its fist into the belly of the dropship, tearing through the thin armor and grabbing hold of some of the internal structure. She then began to pull. The metal groaned as it tried to resist, and then it screeched as it gave and about half of the belly armor was torn away. She punched and ripped away another layer of armor, revealing the small vessel's power plant. She switched which hand her 'Mech held onto the dropship and pointed her 'Mech's left fist at the reactor. "Knock, knock," she said as she transformed the LAM back to fighter mode and pulled the left trigger, sending a single heavy laser beam directly into the power core. She catapulted away from the stricken ship and began rocketing to the second Phantom as the first exploded in a silent, tiny nova. A swarm of smaller ultra-light point-defense fighters, designated "Banshees," came to the Phantom's aid. The lieutenant cackled as the Mydron Tornado went to work, living up to its name, creating a cyclone of tracer shells and destruction. By the time she blew past the Banshee blockade, the 75-millimeter, depleted-uranium-tipped shells had hewn them all into scrap metal.
She kicked in the afterburners again and shot around to the dropship's six o'clock, minding the forward shield, in less than a second. "Sayonara, bastards," she growled as she triggered all of her weapons. The heavy lasers carved a figure eight in the rear armor of the gunboat. The RAC drilled well over a dozen shells into the softened armor; then came the one sound any Mechwarrior who operated a RAC didn't want to hear: the metallic *whunk* that signaled that the autocannon had jammed. Cursing, she began rapping her 'Mech's hand on the cannon's shell ejection port to unjam the gun. Her 'Mech shuddered under several impacts, and she remembered the remaining Seraphs. Alarms told her that her rear armor had nearly been breached. She spun the 'Mech, bumping the RAC against the hull of the dropship, unjamming the cannon, and speared the two Seraphs that had fired on her with her heavy lasers, draining their shields. The RAC chaser she delivered tore through both cockpits, sending the fighters drifting through space until they crashed into the remains of the first Phantom.
Ormson spun her craft and unloaded into the rear of the remaining Covenant dropship. This time, the 75-millimeter cannon did not jam. Shell after shell punched into the molten section of the armor. The first few shells detonated right as they contacted the superheated metal, which flew away with each explosion, and they opened the door for the rest of the shells to wreak havoc with the ship's internals. Her thermal sensor detected a sudden spike from the reactor. She jumped off and blasted away as the Phantom exploded. "Mavericks. Status," she gasped as the heat began to build from the immense, continuous power draw from the Warthog's fusion engine, making the air temperature in the cockpit rise from "no problem" to "sweating buckets."
"Maverick 2. Done dropped twenty of their bit fighters, them 'Seraphs.'"
"Maverick 4. I went after the big fish, one of their Corvettes and tore it apart from the inside."
There were two calls of "Show-off!" on the comm-line, but there was one pilot who failed to report in. "Maverick 3. Sound off."
"I'm here, Sir, but I couldn't answer just when you asked," came Maverick 3's thick Scots burr, revealing his New Caledonia ancestry. "Their 'Phantoms' are bluidy annoying. I've just finished destroying six of those sassanach ships and–" His message suddenly cut off.
"Celtic?" Ormson demanded, using his callsign. "Celtic, can you hear me? Mavericks, anyone got eyes on Celtic?"
"Negative, LT. He got tagged by some Covenant capital-class weapon. Advise we stay clear."
"Roger that, 4. What's your status, Excaliburs?" she asked. There would be time to mourn Celtic's death later.
"We're in atmosphere. Get your asses down here and find us an LZ."
"Understood. Maverick 2, Maverick 4, we've got a road to plow." As the two acknowledgements came in and the three Mechwarriors turned back to the planet's surface, Lieutenant Ormson wept for Celtic's death. Once they broke through the atmosphere's cloud cover and saw several of the Covenant shielded Spires that the Grafton had destroyed as its last military action, that mourning became anger. "Mavericks, form up on me," Ormson ordered, all emotion stripped from her voice, as she soared toward the nearest Spire. Once the two other LAMs were hovering within thirty meters of her, she continued, "On my mark, blast the shield with all of your lasers." Two acknowledgement lights winked green on her console. She trained both of her lasers onto one of the hexes of the shield and shouted, "Mark!" as she triggered the beams.
Eight separate beams, both emerald and scarlet, drilled into the shield. For a couple of seconds, it seemed as if the combined fire had had no effect. Then, a 180-meter-wide section of the shield failed. Moving quickly, Ormson shot through before the shield could redistribute power and close the hole. A quick glance at her radar screen told her that her lancemates had also gotten through. She turned the Battlemech around and brought her nose right alongside the nose of her number 2's Phoenix Hawk. The big man of African ancestry simply nodded, an unspoken, For Celtic.
The three LAMs then turned around and dived for the base of the Spire, beginning their strafing run to completely clear the zone. By the end of the run, over forty Covenant infantrymen, eight vehicles, and two Banshees lay in either blasted or burned heaps. "Mavericks, take aim on the Spire's supports." She paused as she oriented her LAM to face one of the supports. "Fire in three, two, one. Fire," she ordered as she cut loose with everything she had. The cannon jammed again, but the damage was done. The lasers from the three LAMs caressed three of the Spire's supports, and Ormson's cannon tore into the central of those three supports, blasting away about half of it. Unable to take the weight, the central support shattered, the two side supports that had taken the Phoenix Hawks' lasers bent and crumpled, and, as the Spire began to lean, the one undamaged support snapped. The combined effects sent the upper half of the Spire tumbling to the ground. "Well done—"
"Scatter!"
The three Mechwarriors immediately flew in three separate directions, avoiding the three comet-like plasma projectiles that had been aimed at them. Ormson watched the contrails the plasma torpedoes had left and backtracked the trajectory upward until she saw the ship that had fired them. "Blake's blood," she breathed, gaping upward at the large Covenant vessel that had literally just appeared above them. She then set a grimly determined demeanor over herself. "Mavericks, let's avenge Celtic. Follow me."
"Lieutenant! Those torpedoes are turning to track us!"
"How quickly?"
"Deflecting thirty degrees per second, sir."
Ormson smiled. "Good. Speed of those projectiles?"
"500 meters per second. They'll overtake us in about twelve seconds, counting the time they have to take to turn around."
"Plenty of time," she replied as she shot her 'Mech toward the cruiser. She disengaged her damage display and changed that monitor to show the area behind her. She began to track the torpedo that had been fired at her. "3…2…1," she muttered to herself. At the end of the count, she shouted, "Immelmanns, now!" as she pulled on her control stick and sent the LAM into a half-loop. At the end of the half-loop, she rolled to the left and then put the fighter-mode 'Mech into a station-keeping hover while she watched the results of the maneuver. The torpedoes, unable to turn as tightly as the LAMs, were unable to turn away from the cruiser and, thus, slammed into it with their full fury. The first two torpedoes struck the ship's shield and burned it away. The third cored through at least fourteen decks and opened a hole thirty meters across.
"Let's go in and wreak havoc, people," Ormson ordered as she kicked in the afterburners and shot her craft into the hole. "Party time. This is for you, Celtic," she cackled as she spun her 'Mech around, blazing away with all of her weapons without regard for her heat gauge.
Several dozen projectiles impacted her armor as Elites and Brutes armed with fuel rod guns combined fire with Hunters and riddled her 'Mech's legs, arms, and back with small impacts. As alarms wailed in her cockpit, she spun and used one of the war machine's arms to literally wipe the infantry off of the deck. Then more warnings blared, telling that her engine shielding had been breached by several of the Covenant's plasma grenades. One last grenade landed on the medial side of the exposed RAC ammo bin and detonated, peeling a meter-wide hole in the CASE unit. She spun again and washed the decks that were behind her with more RAC and laser fire. Then a last fuel rod smashed into the ammo bin and detonated the remaining ammo. The CASE had been built to shunt energy from the explosion out of the back of the 'Mech. With the unit breached, the explosion rippled through the LAM, and the 12.5 metric ton engine detonated as if it were a fusion bomb.
The two remaining Phoenix Hawks managed to fly out of the blast radius, but Ormson's ejection seat crushed her against the underside of the nearest undamaged deck. The Cruiser was torn apart as its own reactor detonated in sympathy with the Warthog LAM's engine.