Comrades in Arms

Comrades in Arms

Chapter 7: A Change of Plans

Volgograd

January 21st, 2140

"Remind me again what the goddamn hell?"

The ghostly, life-sized, translucent blue hologram of Supreme Commander Arkadi Petrov sighed and sat down on an equally intangible chair as the flesh and blood figure opposite him sat with his feet up on the table.

"We've abandoned the Sidi Abdel Rahman campaign to concentrate our efforts on the European Theatre. That means you – specifically you, not the rest of your former crewmates – are being reassigned to Verdun," Petrov repeated.

"Verdun. Verdun. Need I remind you that nothing happens in Verdun, Sup-Com?" growled the man with his feet on the table, "Even a deadbeat mercenary like me knows that Verdun is just about ours."

"Yes, which leads me to my further explanation which I will give you in a minute. I'm not sending you to Verdun to fight, that's an ungodly waste of your talent. What I am doing is assigning you command of one of our retrofitted Titans and giving you a new contract to relocate post-haste to Verdun. From there, you will rendezvous with General Miyamoto Takiguchi and fly in formation with him as he repositions his fleet to Belgrade," Petrov explained.

The mercenary cocked an eyebrow and removed his feet from the table. "Belgrade. Might I inquire what the hell use Belgrade is for anything?"

"I'll have you know that Belgrade is a major European stronghold city. Taking it will give us control of factories, food production plants, and a major monorail hub. That should be incredibly useful for strategic transportation purposes, yes?"

The mercenary scoffed and shot back "So this is what it is. You're pulling me out of a nuclear power plant because you want a train set for Christmas?"

The irritated Supreme Commander rolled his eyes. "Yes, as you so elegantly put it, I want tactical control of this monorail hub."

"Fair enough. What about this Titan I'm getting my hands on?"

"She's docked at a hangar in Volgograd, as a matter of fact I've dispatched a few messengers to transport you there…"

No sooner had Petrov finished speaking than somebody knocked on the door of the mercenary's cabin. Standing up from the table, the grizzled man crossed over to the door and opened it, allowing the midday sunlight to stream in. Silhouetted against the bright background were two PAC soldiers in full combat dress.

"Supreme Commander Petrov sent us. I suppose you're the mercenary he was talking about?" the man closest to the door asked.

"I suppose so. Come in, have a drink, raid my fridge, and let me get some weaponry together," the mercenary replied.

The two soldiers walked into the cabin, saluting the still-present hologram of the Supreme Commander. After returning the salute, Petrov's avatar indicated that the two soldiers would answer any further questions the mercenary had, and vanished.

"Nice place," one of the soldiers commented.

The mercenary nodded, opened a trapdoor which led to an underground basement, and climbed down a ladder.

The two soldiers glanced at each other.

"He did say to raid his fridge," one of them pointed out, and both nodded in agreement.

In the subterranean chamber of the cabin, the mercenary flicked on a light switch. The electric lights flickered before emitting a steadily bright white glow. The underground room had plain, unpainted walls of concrete, from which shelves of ammunition and explosives jutted out. The largest wall was dominated by a weapons rack.

Smiling to himself, the mercenary unzipped a duffel bag and started selecting his tools.

The two soldiers were exchanging unimportant banter over a reheated roast chicken when the mercenary emerged from the trapdoor. Slung over his shoulder was a black duffel bag, and gripped in his right hand was his signature AK-47.

"You have a vehicle I can dump this in?" he asked the two soldiers.

"There's an Ocelot outside. Dump it in the trunk", one of them said, as they stood up to leave.

"Don't get up yet, I need to make a few more trips," the mercenary called as he headed out of the door. He returned a minute later without the bags and wordlessly climbed back down the ladder into the basement.

He emerged five minutes later with two identical rifles slung on his shoulders. Seeing what they were, the two soldiers gasped in shock.

"Is…is that what I think it is?" one of them stammered.

"Depends. What do you think it is?" the mercenary asked, perfectly unfazed.

"That's…that's a Krylov FA-26. The first production model, never entered service. They were all supposed to be destroyed when the later models were developed. That thing is an antique!"

"You think they were all destroyed, eh? Remind me what my job was before I landed a contract with you lot? Soldier for hire. Not all of that is blowing shit up. Sometimes we get to steal things too," the mercenary chuckled, as he patted the side of one of the rifles, "Very nice things."

The two soldiers were aghast. "And…you stole them…for who?"

"Can't tell you, that's private business. It's actually in the large print if you'll care to read the contract. My services are quite discreet, you understand…" the mercenary trailed off, leaving the two soldiers looking like fish out of water.

He made two more trips – both times having his gear hidden inside duffel bags – before he announced to the two soldiers that he was ready to leave. Silently, they stood up, finished their drinks, and stepped out of the cabin.

Outside was a parked UAZ-8 Ocelot FAV, the PAC equivalent of the EU MK-15 Bandit. This one had been modified as a sort of civilian model, lacking the topside machinegun turret, but incorporating space for five people including the driver. The back seats had been loaded with various bags of gear which the mercenary now shoved aside to make room for him to sit. The two soldiers climbed into the front passenger and driver seats, and started the car.

The drive was uneventful, and before long they had found themselves parked inside a large complex surrounded by a chain-link fence. A tall tower rose high above their heads, topped with radio communications equipment, while several lower-rise buildings dominated much of the space. A long strip of tarmac served as a runway for non-VTOL aircraft. The three men climbed out of the Ocelot, the mercenary making sure to grab his duffel bags.

"So, where's my Titan?" the mercenary asked, looking around at the various hangars.

"Right this way," one of the soldiers replied, tapping in a code on a keypad. A metallic clang was heard as a smaller door slowly slid open to reveal the interior of a spacious hangar room. The flat roof was supported by intricate metal cross-bracings which also served as hydraulics to open and close the roof for takeoffs. A number of heavy equipment trolleys bearing such things as refuelling pumps and welding torches lay neatly in a far corner.

Pride of place in the hangar was given to a relatively small air vehicle, and it was this vehicle that the three men now strode towards for a closer look.

"She doesn't look like a Standard-class to me…" the mercenary muttered, indicating the vehicle's small size and minimal armament.

"She isn't. This here is a Patrol/Reconnaissance-class Titan, still experimental. If all goes well we're planning to use these as part of Operation Thunder, during the assault on Berlin. Doesn't have much in the way of armament – there's two three-sixty-degree AA guns topside and some missile pods on the sides – but this thing can easily keep up with a Yastreb on full thrust. As a plus, you don't need a crew to run it – everything is controlled from the main Command Centre," one of the soldiers explained. As he spoke, he indicated several points of interest on the Titan's exterior.

"What's this assembly here for? Looks like a railgun," the mercenary asked, knocking his fist against a strange device on the Titan's underside. The contraption had the two long, sturdy rails of a Rorsch MK-S8 railgun turret, but also incorporated what appeared to be a small satellite dish.

"That there is one of our latest innovations. A vehicle-mounted EMP cannon. Similar to the ones you'd be used to calling in on a NetBat, but slightly more versatile. With this thing, you can do a surgical directed strike on a particular location – just like the NetBat version – or you can generate a radial EMP burst around the vehicle itself. That's actually a really useful thing, because this Titan's shields are pretty weak. Just from guessing I say it can take about ten, maybe fifteen BLOC-threes before the shield fizzes out," the same soldier answered. Then, climbing the ladder that led onto the aft deck, he continued "Come on, let me show you around the inside."

The three of them made their way up the ladder and into the interior of the Titan. What would have been the cargo bay of a Standard-class was instead an armoury of sorts, with weapon racks build into the walls, and crates of consumable combat supplies – such as grenades, ammunition and RDX – were pushed neatly against the ledge formed by the division between the lower and upper cargo bays.

"Only two Reactor Core Access Consoles, both on the upper interior. Unfortunately this thing still has the same weakness as the regular Titans. Blow the consoles, blow the core, and the whole thing drops," the soldier explained.

"And the core itself? Any different?" the mercenary questioned.

"Quite so. The main difference is that there are two cores. One powers the hover drives, the other feeds power to the ion thruster engines," the soldier said.

After examining the different aspects of the Titan's technical operation, the soldier directed the others towards the Command Centre. As expected, it was smaller than that of a Standard-class Titan, and more compacted in terms of its operation. There was only one chair, permanently bolted and welded to the floor, and only one screen from which everything was controlled. The station appeared to be a cross between a commander's console and the controls of a gunship, for in addition to the standard complement of keyboards and a control interface for the Titan's movement control, there was also a gunner's joystick and targeting computer for the missile pods. The only things not apparently controlled by the commander were the two guns which required real-time aiming: the topside anti-aircraft gun and the underside EMP cannon. Both had their own stations to the left and right of the main command station, so that a person entering the door of the Command Centre would have the EMP controls to their left, the AA to their right, and the commander would be sitting with his back to the door watching the main screen.

"This is pretty slick for a patrol vehicle. When do I get to take her up?" the mercenary asked, impressed by the new tools at his disposal.

"Supreme Commander Petrov wishes you to plot a course for Verdun with all haste. We can leave now if you're ready," the soldier replied.

"Great. Well, gentlemen, thank you very much. Pass my compliments on to the Sup-Com," the mercenary said, turning to sit down in the command chair.

"What? You thought we were leaving? Where do you think we're being deployed to?" one of the soldiers chuckled.

The mercenary spun to face them. "You mean-?"

"Yep. We're under your command, Cap'n," the soldier replied, velcroing a patch to his left shoulder for identification. The mercenary inspected it and saw that it depicted a forearm with a clenched fist crossed with a spear. A five-pointed star hung over the crossed elements. The design was red in colour, set against a black background.

"Iron Legion, hm? The Sup-Com must be serious about his train set," the mercenary smirked.

"Damn right he is. Alexei Vashkin, First Lieutenant Silver," said the soldier who had exposed the patch. The Iron Legion was the Coalition Army's equivalent of the EU Hell Brigade, the fiercest and deadliest infantry division short of Special Forces.

Behind him, his partner had done the same, and introduced himself as Grigori Sarov, Chief Petty Officer Gold.

"Well then. If you're going to be part of my little pirate ship, you'll need to be properly armed. Here, take these," the mercenary said. As he spoke, he knelt down, unzipped a duffel bag that he had brought with him, and tossed each man a Krylov FA-26. The rifles were heavier than their contemporary counterparts – the FA-37 – and were designed in a more blocky shape than the sleek FA-37. The carry handle and optic sight combination was missing, instead having a simple tombstone-shaped reflex sight. The stock was of a different design, similar to the type found on the EU Turcotte Rapid SMG, while the barrel section was designed with a more traditional under-mounted secondary munitions barrel, as opposed to the FA-37's design of placing the secondary barrel above the primary one. The muzzle end of the weapon resembled that of a Baur Heavy Assault Rifle, and it shared a similar trigger group with a full-hand guard.

The mercenary crossed over to the command chair, sat himself down, and initiated the engine start-up sequences. As the roof began to retract, allowing sunlight to stream into the hangar, the Titan began to rise into the air.

The two Iron Legion soldiers glanced at each other and then down at their new rifles. Lieutenant Vashkin grinned and muttered at his subordinate "I like this duty station already."

The Titan cleared the hangar and sped forwards into the sky with the speed of an air transport.