Castle Brian,
Dry Lake, High Desert,
Southern Continent, The Rack,
The Periphery
Demi-Precentor de Chastelaine shielded her eyes with one hand and squinted as the Karnov took off in a cloud of dust, ferrying the last of the survivors to the Guards' landing zone on the Dead Sea Plains. The little girl, whose name turned out to be Rebecca, was with them. At first, she hadn't wanted to leave the Coalition officer's side, but when Robyn had offered to let her ride in her mech's jump seat, she'd cowered at the sight of the 70-ton Taurus Prime and had eventually agreed to ride in the transport VTOL with the others.
Looking across the compound to where the remaining captive pirates were being held, she felt her stomach twist with revulsion and hatred. She'd had half a mind to make them do a forced march back to the landing site, but they didn't have the time to spare and so Iversen's troops would stand guard over them until the VTOLs returned for them.
In the gathering dusk, the fortress loomed ominously behind her. Although eager to be leaving, she felt a pang of sadness. There was still much to discover about this remote outpost and now that the pirate threat had been dealt with, a research and recovery mission would be sent here at some future date. Now, it appeared they had a much deadlier threat to face. Demi-Precentor O'Reilly had relayed the full text of the HPG transmission, ordering the Guards' immediate recall, less than an hour ago. The thought of Coalition worlds under attack from unidentified forces, who seemed able to brush aside their defences with ease, terrified her, yet made her more determined to face them and conquer them. The news that it would take over a month to reach Coalition space, even using the Indy's lithium fusion batteries to make consecutive jumps, only added to her feelings of helplessness and frustration. She prayed fervently that they would return in time to make a difference.
She walked slowly across the large open space in front of the fortress, that at one time might have served as a parade ground, to where she and her command unit had parked their mechs. Her fellow mechwarriors walked with her in a loose group, each lost in their own thoughts, as they prepared for the journey back. In the semi-darkness, The Rack's stark desert landscape took on a strange kind of beauty, enhanced by the purple twilight sky, with just a thin band of orange on the horizon. A small yellow moon glowed faintly in the darkening sky and a sprinkling of stars completed the effect, looking like strands of fairy lights wound carelessly on a Christmas tree. The cool breeze, which caressed her face and neck, ruffling her long chestnut hair, intensified slightly as she climbed the rope ladder that hung from her Taurus' cockpit.
She paused as she reached the cockpit, both to savour the cool evening air just a little longer and to take one last look around. The place was largely empty now, as soldiers, mechwarriors, medics and engineers alike, headed back to the dropships. Once the Karnovs returned to collect the remaining prisoners, this outpost would be left alone with its ghosts. She shivered as she remembered the rows of graves in that secluded, sandy plot of land on the opposite side of the island.
Somewhat reluctantly, she climbed into the cockpit, reeling in the rope ladder and closing the canopy. She retrieved her neurohelmet from the shelf above the command couch, pushing her hair back, before settling it on her head. Strapping herself in with the 5-point harness, she then attached the bio-med sensor pads to her upper arms and thighs and plugged her neurohelmet's cables into their respective sockets. Finally, she attached the coolant hose to the port on her cooling vest, before hitting the master control button that brought the mech's fusion reactor online and booted the main computer.
"Pattern check, Robyn de Chastelaine", she said, once her primary display told her the boot-up sequence was complete.
"Voice pattern match confirmed, proceed with initiation sequence", came the electronic voice of the computer after a few moments.
"Coeur, honneur et noblesse", she replied, speaking in the native tongue of her ancestors. Her family still spoke French, but usually only at private family occasions. The words required careful pronunciation and if not voiced correctly, the computer would lock the machine down.
"Authorisation confirmed, all systems released to your control", responded the computer. "Welcome aboard Robyn, lets go kick some ass".
By way of visual confirmation, the battle computer hummed into life. Additional graphics on her HUD and lights on the control console lit up, telling her the mech's weapon systems were now on-line.
As always, the greeting her tech had programmed into the computer brought a small smile to her face.
"Not this time, old girl...this time, we're going home", she murmured to herself.
With the reactor's low hum just audible through her neurohelmet, her instrument panels confirming all systems nominal and sensors registering a clear field, she slowly pushed the throttle forward, instinctively bracing her body as the 70-ton Taurus began to move. She paused as she made her way out of the compound, to let some vehicles pass. The faint sound of rotors and blinking lights in the darkening sky, told her the VTOLs were returning for the last of the prisoners.
She knew she ought to feel happy about a job well done, of her unit having completed their first ever deployment, performing above and beyond expectations, but the memory of those graves made the victory seem hollow and meaningless.
She shook her head and frowned. The main aim of this mission had been to eliminate the pirate threat that had been declared a clear and present danger to their allies, the Royalist Alliance. Which is what we've done…we can't save everyone, she told herself.
Pausing at the compound entrance, she thumbed the hat switch on her joystick, accessing the rearview camera, to check the others were following her, before activating her radio and selecting the pre-set channel for the mobile field base at the lake's edge, where the rest of III Gamma waited.
"Iceni Lead to Base, we are heading back. Break camp and prepare to return to the dropships. I want everyone ready to go by the time we get back".
"Three Gamma to prepare for immediate departure, aye ma'am", replied the radio operator.
Normally she could have simply used the unit's command channel, but since most of the pilots would be out of their mechs, save those on patrol, that wasn't an option.
Robyn smiled as she cut the link, imagining the frantic activity that would ensue.
Looking east towards the hastily repaired bridge, she decided not to risk crossing and instead began making her way down the island's steep, rocky sides, using her jump jets. The other three, whose mechs were not equipped with jump jets, followed more slowly.
The rest of the journey passed in something of a haze, the trek across the dry lake, the brief period of chaos as they rendezvoused with the rest of III Gamma, the long march through the mountains and across the Dead Sea Plains, all merged into a blurred daydream.
De Chastelaine was shaken from her reverie by the insistent beeping of her mech's sensor suite as, one by one, it picked up a host of friendly contacts. Gazing into the distance, she could pick out the cluster of lights that denoted the Guards' field base. Using her HUD's magnifier, she could make out the faint grey outlines of the Guards' three Overlord dropships, only just visible against the dark horizon.
A few hundred metres further on and they were greeted by almost-friendly challenges from the Cavaliers' patrol lance. After identifying herself and her unit, they were allowed to pass, with the mercenary mechs forming up behind them, maintaining a discreet distance.
BCS Indefatigable,
Geosynchronous Orbit,
The Rack,
The Periphery
"Sir! Incoming transmission from the OCS Odin" the Indy's communications officer called across the bridge.
Precentor Arden looked up with a start, having been lost in contemplation of the news from home. "Audio or visual?" she asked, slightly surprised. Evidently the Coalition weren't the only ones to favour installing HPGs on their warships.
"Visual, sir. Sending the file across to your station now".
An icon lit up on one of the displays on her console, indicating a message was ready to be viewed. Arden tapped a key and a window opened up on the screen. The face of Captain Elizabeth Gideon, the Odin's commander filled the window.
"Greetings, Precentor Arden. I hope this communication finds you well. By the time this reaches you, we will have left the Pain system. I would have liked to meet up again, so we could say farewell in person, but Commodore Ross has ordered us to investigate some unusual activity on one of our major shipping routes to Hunter's Paradise. I wanted to inform you our fighter patrols located three jumpships, used by the Predators, recharging their KF drives around Pain's sun. Since we used a pirate jump point to make our insertion, we didn't pick them up on our arrival. If you haven't already, I would suggest you have your fighters recon your system's star. Ours put up quite a fight and we ended up destroying one before the other two surrendered. I hope you received a copy of our after-action report…perhaps we'll be able to compare notes sometime. It was a pleasure working with you. Good luck and clear skies…Gideon, out".
The screen went blank momentarily, before being replaced with the insignia of the Outer Colonies' navy.
Arden turned to her comms officer. "Contact Demi-Precentor Powell. I want a flight of fighters to recon the star's zenith and nadir jump points. They're looking for jumpships but warn them they may be heavily armed".
"Aye, sir".
Corsair CSR-V12,
On approach to FV class star,
Pain System,
The Periphery
"Contacts, bearing Two Eight One, Two Niner Eight and Zero One Seven, distance nine thousand, thirteen thousand and seventeen thousand kilometres!" called Acolyte Saunders, pilot of the lead fighter in the formation.
"I see 'em", responded Acolyte Ayres, holding station a hundred metres off Saunders' port wing in Alpha Two. "Computer ID's them as two Merchant class and one Tramp class jumpship".
"Heat signatures on all three increasing – looks like they've spotted us and are trying to do a runner".
Adept Owen Reece, commander of Alpha Flight and holding position on the right side of the inverted V formation, activated his radio, selecting a wideband channel. "Pirate jumpships, this is Adept Reece of the Britannic Coalition warship Indefatigable. I am under orders to obtain your surrender by any means necessary. If our sensors detect you attempting to jump out of the system, we will open fire. Please acknowledge and state your compliance".
Several moments passed without response from any of the vessels. Using his HUD's zoom function, he zeroed in on the closest jumpship. Even at maximum magnification it still appeared as little more than a greyish-white cylinder. He could however, discern enough detail to make out that it's giant sail, used to collect energy radiated by the star, was slowly retracting into it's storage hold in the vessel's stern. The slender cables that attached it to the ship and carried the power to the jumpship's batteries were completely invisible at this range.
Saunders' voice came over his headset. "Looks like they're not going to play ball, sir".
"I wish I could say I was surprised. Okay Alpha Flight, throttles to maximum – we can't let these bastards give us the slip".
The six Corsair fighters accelerated towards the distant, still-stationary jumpships, closing the distance in a little over fifteen minutes. Reece repeated his message to stand down twice more, but was met each time with silence.
By the time they were in visual range, the nearest Merchant had completed the recovery of its sail and was using its manoeuvring thrusters to guide it into position to make a jump. The second Merchant and the Tramp had almost completed the recovery of their sails.
Reece activated his radio again. "Okay people, they're ignoring verbal warnings, lets see if a shot across their bows will grab their attention".
He called up the vessels' stats from the computer's database, for all the good that would do. There was no telling what kind of refitting the pirates might have done. According to their respective files, the Merchants were unarmed, save for a meteorite defence system, while the Tramp carried a number of extended range large and medium lasers.
"Alpha Lead to Three and Four, head for the nearest Merchant and let them know we mean business. They should have no major weaponry but be careful – the pirates may have made some modifications to them. Warning shots only unless you are fired upon. Five and Six, head for the second Merchant – same rules of engagement. Two – you're with me. We're taking on the Tramp".
Reece waited for the other four fighters to break formation and head to their respective targets, before speaking to his wingmate again. "She carries a number of extended range lasers, so don't get too cocky. If they decide to put up a fight, try to aim for the weapon ports. She'll be a sitting duck so it shouldn't be that hard".
Owen Reece's caution was well founded. As Alphas Three and Four approached the nearest jumpship, they were met with a flurry of laser fire. It was mostly inaccurate and those shots that did land, caused only superficial damage to the well-armoured Corsairs. However, it startled the pilots sufficiently that they instinctively returned fire. The second surprise came when the fighters' paired large lasers failed to burn straight through the jumpship's supposedly paper-thin armour.
Reece listened to the radio chatter and his pilots' repeated orders to the jumpship crew to stand down, with a sinking heart. In the end, even with its upgrades, the vessel was no match for two well-armed aerospace fighters. It was torn apart by internal explosions, as the Corsairs' lasers penetrated the fuel tanks for the ship's manoeuvring thrusters.
Fortunately, Alphas Five and Six met with total success. After witnessing the fate of their comrades on the other ship, the crew of the second Merchant surrendered unconditionally.
Returning to his own target, he saw the Tramp had finished recovering its sail. Its manoeuvring thrusters began firing to carry it away from the rapidly approaching fighters. Checking his weapons were online, he loosed off a volley from his fighter's nose-mounted large lasers, aiming just ahead of the jumpship's bow, hoping to make them stop.
The response was a haphazard volley of laser fire from the Tramp, with several shots hitting his Corsair's fuselage and wings. Reece braced himself and tightened his grip on the controls as his craft lurched and shuddered under the barrage.
His wingmate fired her weapons, destroying one of the jumpship's weapon ports. Slowing and accelerating, looping and weaving around the slow-moving jumpship, the fighters inflicted extensive but controlled damage on the Tramp, whilst giving the pirate gunners very few opportunities to hit back. It wasn't long before they realised the futility of their actions and ceased fire, cutting the thrusters and allowing the long, slender vessel to drift slowly.
Reece activated his radio, selecting the channel that put him in touch with the Indy's Flight Controller. "Alpha Lead to Control, we found three pirate jumpships in solar recharge orbit. They put up a fight and we lost one but the other two have surrendered. You are now clear to send shuttles over with salvage crews. We'll maintain station until the vessels are secured".
"Control to Alpha Lead, copy that. Shuttles en route".
