DC Heroes: MechWarrior I
By: Christopher W. Blaine
e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com
DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.
Chapter 8 Romanus (Thanagarian Sector) Solaris Gotham Commonwealth January 23, 3032It doesn't smell the same.
Bruce adjusted the fusion engine throttle to a low idle and started running through a standard systems check. It wasn't really necessary, considering who his tech was. Plas had gone over every inch of the Batman at least twice in the past twenty-four hours. The BattleMech was as ready as it ever would be. Bruce just wondered if he was ready.
Several things were going through his mind, his main thought being the last time he had sat in the cockpit of a Batman. He nearly died then and though this was a "sporting" event, there was always the chance of a fatal encounter. His weapons systems read okay, his load out was standard, nothing fancy for the upcoming fight. Of course, his father had used a standard weapons array as well…
Bruce had at least one advantage over his father and that was his armor. Plas had inspected every piece to ensure they were of acceptable quality and gauge. Bruce did not relish the idea of walking his 'mech out into the arena only to have his legs shot out from the first volley.
A voice came over his headset. "My father and I wish you luck, courage and victory, Matches Malone," Talia said. Her voice made gooseflesh spring up on Bruce's neck. "We have considerable sums riding on you this day."
He switched to his façade voice. "I aim to satisfy in everything I do."
"I am quite sure you do, Mr. Malone, but that is not a conversation for now," she said. She ended the transmission, leaving just a hint of what could be in the static.
Bruce suppressed a large smile and instead went through the mental exercises that Lady Shiva had taught him. A warrior had to be focused on the battle. A warrior had to put all other thoughts aside because those thoughts were superfluous. If the warrior died in battle, then other concerns became moot.
"Respect your enemy, for they may be the one that sends you to your death and such an accomplishment is worthy of praise if you are truly a warrior," she had said.
Bruce engaged the engine, mashed the foot pedals and increased the throttle. The newly-painted black Batman stepped out of the Lazarus Pit bay and into the massive tunnel that led into the arena. His footsteps echoed, creating a tempo of war. His breathing began to match the footsteps and his head became clear.
The Batman stepped into the lights and the crowds cheered. He was receiving a standing ovation, but it was no wonder. Assault-class 'mech battles were the favorites of the crowds because it meant more bang for the buck.
Bruce's opponent the stepped into the arena and received a similar greeting. The Cyclops was painted white and red and Bruce noted the red/black dragon emblem on the left thigh. On the right was a sword radiating light. The opposing 'mech was from the Sword of Light, Takashi Kurita's stable.
Bruce was well aware of Takashi Kurita, the Minister of Honor for the Thanagarian Combine. He was the one of Katar Hol's most ardent supporters in matters concerning the destruction of the Gotham Commonwealth and the Metropolitan Suns. The Sword of Light was a gaming stable, but Oracle knew that it was also where the samurai bodyguards of House Kurita were trained.
The Cyclops moved towards the center of the arena. The combat area set up was pure gladiator. No terrain or obstacles, just an open pit where two 'mechs would slug it out. It was really a waste, but all entertainment was a waste when you thought about it.
The two machines stopped to face each other as the clear blast shield raised up to protect the crowd. It wouldn't stop concentrated fire, but MechWarriors weren't supposed to fire at the crowds either. When the shield was finally in place, it cut the sound off from where the 'mechs stood.
"I am Matches Malone, warrior of the Lazarus Pit, and I challenge you to honorable combat for the respect of our peers," Bruce called out over his loudspeaker.
There was some slight hesitation, but then the Cyclops seemed to bow slightly. "I am Reginald Harikasawa, unworthy warrior in the service of the Dragon that is Takashi Kurita. In the name of my master, I accept your challenge in the hopes of bringing honor to him and him alone."
Bruce frowned. A warrior should never fight for someone else's honor. "I look forward to matching your skill to mine."
"I will write a poem of your death," was the response.
The Cyclops brought up both arms and crimson lances of light bored into the Batman. One struck the left shoulder, melting armor like butter and causing to run like blood. The second strike hit just below the cockpit and the heat immediately spiked around Bruce's command chair. His cooling vest kicked in, trying to keep him from passing out as he backed his Batman up to get some distance.
To provide some covering fire, Bruce switched to his flamer, sending a streak of flame out like an orange/red tongue. The Cyclops shrugged off the attack, but Bruce could imagine the Swordsman cursing the heat build-up. Switching to his SRM-2 launcher with Inferno rounds, Bruce decided to turn up the heat.
The Batman increased it's backward pace, and the Cyclops began to follow suit as well, trying to increase the distance between them. The missiles did not find their target, but instead exploded in the ground that the other 'mech had been occupying. Flames roared up, momentarily blocking the Cyclops from Bruce's view.
Four missile contrails spiraled towards Bruce and he moved his machine to the left to avoid the projectiles and walked into a line of fire from an AC20 autocannon. The Batman rocked as the right arm was thrown back and around. Bruce fought for control as his 'mech stumbled under the attack. Alarms were going off, a chorus of doom and destruction, and he saw that his own autocannon was off-line. The depleted uranium tipped rounds has mangled his arm, and all because he had not taken the time to evaluate the danger being posed to him. Four SRM's were nothing compared to an autocannon burst.
The crowds were on there feet, many waving flags with dragons on them and Bruce imagined that odds on him winning were going up in all of the gambling houses. That was good, because it meant when he won, Ra's Al Ghul would rake it in big.
Bruce finally gained control and steadied his 'mech. The Batman's tracking system locked onto the Cyclops, which was making an attempt to flank Bruce. The range was enough for his LRM-15 launcher, but his PPC would work just fine. As soon as his HUD target went yellow, he pulled the trigger. Blue-white death raced across the distance between the 'mechs and struck the Cyclops in the torso. Bruce watched in satisfaction as slagged armor fell from the other 'mech, glowing a bright orange.
He wiggled his eyebrows, an odd habit that he didn't know quite where he had picked it up, and he switched to his large laser. Taking aim, he fired into the still smoldering wound that his PPC had left. Green heat sink coolant flashed into steam and rose in an ugly cloud. Bruce had hoped to strike the gyro, but he would take the damage he had caused.
The Cyclops pilot had to be roasting and a warm pilot was an angry one, Bruce knew this. Another autocannon burst tracked through the ground towards the Batman, sending up geysers of dirt and mud. The last two rounds burst the armor plating on the Batman's knee. The armor diagram on his control panel showed that the armor was weakened significantly and Bruce wondered if it was just a matter of design that his 'mech had bad legs.
The light turned green on his ready board and Bruce fired the large laser again, noting that his heat was getting out of control. The laser hit just above his last strike, opening a large hole in the torso of the Cyclops. Immediately, Bruce started moving in the opposite direction so he could take the time out to drop his heat level.
There was a noticeable limp in the way he moved and he knew that the Swordsman would notice it. Bruce had to turn to give his opponent a more armored target. The Cyclops took advantage of the profile Bruce offered and fired its twin medium lasers.
Bruce heard armor plating as it heated and warped and finally popped off, some even reverting to its liquid state, but the actual damage was minimal. He was surprised that the Sword of Light BattleMech had not fired its autocannon. He reached over and called up a schematic of a Cyclops of that particular model. His suspicions were confirmed when he looked at where the autocannon and its ammunition were placed in the 'mech. "Probably slagged the ammunition feeds," he said to himself. That meant no more autocannon rounds were going to be coming his way. That even up the playing field a bit.
When more laser strikes began ravaging his torso armor, Bruce countered with his own. For several minutes, the two 'mechs circled each other, the Cyclops beginning to close the gap between them. Bruce cursed his limping leg and wanted to use his jump jets to get some distance, only they were off-line. Because of the dome, jumping was prohibited.
The Cyclops was getting too close and his aim was getting better and better as Bruce noted the ever-changing display for armor integrity. He dared not turn around because that would offer his opponent his backside, where the armor was weakest.
A heat sink died in his leg and Bruce wished awful things on the head of the other pilot. The heat was infuriating and it was making his skin itch. He brought his 'mech to a halt and slowly started in the direction of the Cyclops. The Thanagarian 'mech released a salvo of four SRM's. This time, Bruce did not try to avoid them but instead walked into their path. Two found his left arm and two raced past him.
The crowd was now roaring, seeing Bruce going to meet his foe. He imagined that Plas was screaming for him to keep his distance, but Bruce knew better. Here he should apply the opposite strategy than he did in his first battle in the Firestorm. The Batman was not a long-range 'mech, it was a true scrapper. His father had designed it to brutalize other assault 'mechs if necessary.
For a moment, in the heat of battle, he had tried to fall into cadet mode, fighting the battle in accordance with published doctrine. Shiva had taught him differently and only in his ire did he start to fall back into his warrior mode. A warrior did not seek distance from battle, instead he rushed into it. The warrior desired nothing more than to test his mettle against that of a worthy opponent.
This Cyclops pilot was worthy; he possessed great skill in the way he took out Bruce's primary weapon at the beginning of the match. This was a warrior who craved battle as well. Not a battle to kill, but a battle to achieve victory. When two warriors clashed, it was not personal, it was simply machine and skill being matched to see who was better. The space between the two machines became smaller and Bruce let loose with both his PPC and SRM's. He couldn't have asked for a better hit as the Cyclops stumbled back under the assault.
The armor just under the cockpit was glowing red and Bruce saw the telltale slumping of the shoulders of the enemy 'mech. With the loss of the heat sink and Bruce savage strike, the 'mech had shutdown. His enemy was defenseless.
Bruce brought his 'mech to a halt several meters from his enemy and waited. Many members of the crowd hissed and cursed him, but he refused to be budged. He would not strike a defenseless enemy. If his opponent wished to surrender, then Bruce would accept it and allow his worthy adversary to retain his honor. If he chose to fight once his 'mech started up, then so be it.
After several minutes, the Cyclops began to move again, but sluggishly. Bruce suspected that the gyro had been damaged and that the pilot was having a hard time maintaining balance. Again the medium lasers reached out to touch Bruce and he was surprised that another heat sink had been penetrated. His heat was too high now and Bruce immediately slapped the override switch for the shutdown. It was a gamble, but if it paid off, he wouldn't generate very much heat with his next attack.
Moving forward, slowly because the myomer muscle was being taxed by the high temperatures being generated in the giant war machine, Bruce brought his Batman within physical attack range. Pulling his good arm back, he punched into the crated his weapons had left in the torso of the Cyclops.
Through the arm and into the cockpit, he could feel the vibrations as his 'mech's fist destroyed the gyro of the Cyclops. Pulling, back he saw the other 'mech start to wobble and then it fired another salvo of SRM's. They all hit and the cockpit glass of the Batman shattered from a glancing impact. The moist air of the arena flooded the cockpit and Bruce knew that any other attacks would mean his death.
Stepping back another step as the Cyclops started to rock forward, Bruce spun his 'mech around, bringing his good arm up. The spinning punch he landed bashed in the side of the Cyclops's head and sent it falling ever more quickly. The crowd went wild with the move, the first of its kind one of the announcers was shouting. The Cyclops hit with a thunderous noise that was drowned out by the screaming of the fans. Bruce had no idea his move was so innovative; he had only wanted to knock the other 'mech out of the way so it couldn't shoot again.
A voice came in over his receiver. "Holy freakin' Hannah, Matches; what the hell was that?" Plas screamed. There was absolute joy in his voice. "Nobody does that kind of thing with an assault 'mech, especially in a match! Hell yeah! Give the people what they want!"
Bruce heard the crowds as they began to chant the name of Matches Malone. He had instantly become a hero to them, an icon of the arena. He felt warm with pride as he shut down his Batman and removed the neurohelmet. Kicking out a large section of cockpit glass that had refused to fall out, he stuck his head out and then waved. The spectators went into a frenzy of cheers.
Bruce beamed in the glory. That is what the warrior craved, the admiration of the people and his peers. Though he kept smiling, he did begin to wonder if the other 'mec pilots were as impressed.
"Another round, and keep 'em coming!" Plas bellowed to the bartender. Bruce readily accepted another cold Thanagarian ale, bitter and strong, but with twice the alcohol, nobody seemed to care. Several of the warriors from the Lazarus Pit were drinking to Bruce's success.
Warriors was a bar in the heart of the Thangarian Sector and frequented mostly by mercenaries. Because it had the best beer in Romanus, however, Plas had moved Bruce's victory celebration here. Several members of the Sword of Light stable had come by as well, offering Bruce a handshake and respectful bow for his victory. It seemed strange to him and he wondered what the Thanagarian warriors would think of they knew his real identity. No doubt they would all commit seppuku immediately.
The bartender and owner, an older man with a widow's peak of black hair, hurriedly served up the drinks and then went back to serving his regular customers. Some of the mercenaries even joined in the celebration and Bruce received two offers of employment. He had no desire to become a mercenary and even during the revelry surrounding his first win, he kept his mission in the forefront of his thoughts.
With his reputation established somewhat, he figured that now maybe the older warriors would talk to him and perhaps provide him with information regarding any top-notch assault 'mech pilots that had worked for Lew Moxon.
Bruce had considered going straight to Moxon, but figured it would not do any good. Though he was a coward, he was a smart one and if anyone could figure out Bruce's secret, it would be him he supposed. Bruce felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned from the conversation he was having with a mercenary whose name he couldn't recall to see the bartender with an outstretched hand. Bruce took it. "That was some good piloting, kid," the bartender offered as a congratulations.
"Thanks…name's Matches Malone," Bruce said. Bartenders were always good sources of information.
"Chill, Joseph Chill, used to be a MechWarrior myself until I retired and bought this bar," the man offered. He had a warm smile, but Bruce noted that there seemed to be a permanent look of sadness to the man's eyes.
He was about to continue the conversation when he got another tap, a stronger one, on his shoulder again. Bruce held a finger up indicating to wait a moment and he turned again. A man of strong Asian features in a white and black jumpsuit stood in front of him. On his chest was the famous "L" patch of the Legion.
Val moved his head slightly, making his neck pop. "You. You believe you are a warrior. I say you are not."
"Who cares what the hell you think, merc?" Bruce replied, trying to match Val's sneer.
"Perhaps we should discuss this outside?" Val said, indicating the door with a sweep of his hand.
All of the conversations stopped as if someone had turned off a switch. Bruce downed his beer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "After you, little girl."