"This is Vanguard Janet speaking. All lancemates report status."
"Storm six, standing by."
"Storm eight, standing by."
"Storm nine, ready and waiting."
An odd sight might befall anyone not used to seeing it. A pack of four battlemechs, flanked by two lances of tanks, moved in an inward wedge formation through lush, wet fields of grass and foliage. Four awkward, graceful, alien-looking contraptions mixed in with nondescript military vehicles. Their hips and legs moved in a very precise motion as to give the pilot maximum stability while running or maneuvering, and their arms and torso had several sophisticated joints to give near perfect flexibility and reaction time.
A battlemech was an expensive bulwark of steel and glass. It had a near infinite combat advantage over a tank due to its tall, thin silhouette, and the fact that a pilot could react quickly enough to throw off most shots, whether being led on or not. If a tank targeted a battlemech and fired, the chances of it getting badly hit were slim. And unlike tanks, whose interiors were connected in a way that one good internal hit could destroy it, battlemechs kept all of their weapons, systems and equipment in separate compartments so that if an arm were blown off or a torso knocked out, it could usually still fight. Even if its height and slim build made it more fragile and limited the effectiveness of certain weapons, a mech would almost always prevail over a tank of equal or similar tonnage.
I've gone off rambling again, I really should give you some leeway on what's going on. I am Janis Osiers of the Storm Vanguards. I've been in service with them for five years now, and have long grown tough as nails, both morally and ethically. It is thanks to my adaptation that I've risen to the rank of kernel, so I can enjoy spearheading the deadly forces at my sides. It was my skills and natural abilities as a battlemech pilot which made Mikhail, my tactical superior, grant me such.
I was more or less a suburban-born piece of trash when I gave myself to what my family saw as the wrong people. I had nothing else aside from the ruthless incentive to do whatever told to me, and the ability to control the 30-foot-tall armatures of power at my disposal. But I must say that even through the rush of watching molten fireworks of burnt steel, I have my personal limits. And thanks to Mikhail's generous leadership and forgiving standards, I've never been pushed too close to them. I do nothing much worse than maraud. Not saying too much, I'm afraid.
"We're closing in on Belsen. Go passive sensors only, recon squad spotted a communications relay toward the center earlier. Slow down to 40kph and stay low in the trees."
Wind whistled past my 45-ton Shadow Cat as I strode through scraping leaves and reaching branches. I could mark my lancemates a bit ahead of me, their battlemechs leaving narrow trails of flattened trees. The tanks stayed ahead.
"We're nearing the end of the field, coming out to the rocks. Armor units stop your advance. We can't let them see us just yet."
The Com Guards had established the fortress that lay ahead. It was a large, foreboding structure that stood high in a pit of gravel and concrete, dug in about 20 feet down on all sides. Turrets were barely visible in silhouette whenever the thunder struck. It was the sole source of Belsen's arsenal. Once the filthy control freaks were taken out, the city would fall like a fly.
I stopped my Shadow Cat completely, then rose up to its full height. The cockpit, which jutted foreword in a small square canopy, was just above the highest branches of the green saplings. I drew up the targeting reticule, then armed my battlemechs main weapon, a powerful magnetic rail gun. I zoomed in until I could clearly mark the outline of a satellite dish pointing into the clouds. I triggered the button on my firing joystick. It fired the rail gun, whose projectile was so fast that it could not be seen-it would only leave a mild distortion from the air vacuum. Almost as soon as it was fired, the tower was struck, and a gray explosion of rubble and dust obscured the impact point. The shock wave of the projectile has surely shattered the dish to pieces.
"Communications relay is destroyed. Advance, armor group. Storms, stand by with me, follow behind their formation."
I waited a few seconds, then gunned foreword slowly. The trees cleared, and I could see the fortress plainly. According to my infrared detectors, none of the turrets were active yet. No vehicles or infantry had been deployed for defense. I armed my rail gun (called a Gauss Rifle) just in case. Then, I heard a crackle on my own frequency.
"Kernel Janis, this is Vole. We've spotted an armored column moving outward from the other side of the fortress. They were prepared. Make best speed around the eastern side to flank them. Vole over."
Vole was my faithful reconnaissance squad, which hovered miles over the battlefield silently and furtively in their Kestrel scout helicopter. Heeding their warning, I immediately jumped into full gear, but decided not to activate my MASC (Myomer Accelerator Single Circuitry). My battlemech broke ahead of my lancemates, who had moved up accordingly. It was time to deploy my diversion, two lances of four battle tanks each, which would hold up the column in front while my lance snuck in from behind. Two of these were Brutus assault tanks, which were equipped with powerful lasers and missiles of all ranges for any type of combat. They were state-of-the-art vehicles that were more effective deployed in penny packets than in groups. Four more were the nondescript Vedette medium tanks, cheap, sturdy vehicles carrying only a fast-firing but unreliable 80mm cannon. The last two were Condor hovertanks, which had similar guns along with a smallish missile array.
"Armor units, break off and meet the enemy. Shoot for the heaviest. Storm group, we're going around behind. Keep sensors passive, and don't fire until we're inside the ditch. We should avoid the harder stuff and only have to deal with point defense."
And just at that, with all of us expecting a shred of luck, my sensors indicated that the turrets on the upper and lower decks of the building were buzzing to life. They looked like little boxes with unrecognizable guns poking out of thick, callused armor. I pointed my gauss rifle reticule over one. My frequency crackled again.
"Janis, be careful. Those turrets in the ditch are loaded with what look like large caliber guns, possibly lasers. The upper ones are long-range missile batteries, but it looks like you're well within their range already. Suggest avoiding them."
Instinctively, I fired my gauss rifle. The shell struck the turret before it could swing in my direction. It was too dark to see the blast, but I prepared anyway for the twenty-foot drop into the ditch.
"Get ready to fall. Try to take out some of those turrets, if possible."
My Shadow Cat ran straight into nothing, then hit the ground, letting its complicated battlemech gyro computer stabilize it without losing too much speed. At point blank range, the turrets would be less likely to hit us. I heard my lancemates follow suit, and I looked over my shoulder into the rearview camera to see one of them tip over and fall. It probably wouldn't hurt her too much. Not to be distracted, I narrowly swerved to avoid stepping on another turret, and heard the swoosh of short-range missiles firing, followed by a faint explosion.
I was now certain that the fortress was between the enemy tanks and us. I faced the building, then fired a point blank gauss rifle shell into it. As dust and debris obscured my vision, I fired the Shadow Cat's two only other weapons, a pair of medium-sized lasers, which flashed a green color and struck the battered wall. I eased my mech back.
"Storms, assist. We need to crack this thing open and force everyone out. Target my breach and fire."
As usual, the Storms were quick to respond. They pounded away with their lasers and short-range missiles. We eventually made a large enough hole for a large tank to fit through. Stunned personnel began to pour from it, as well as descend from higher levels via ropes. This gave me another opportunity to talk to Vole.
"Kernel Janis. Vole, how are things going down there with the tanks? Have ours drawn theirs off?"
"This is Vole. Good job Janis, you took them by surprise. The Storms are winning. It seems the barricades are restricting the Com Guard tank's movement. They're getting pretty beat up."
"Can you give me their exact numbers?"
"I spot four PO-class heavy tanks and six Bulldog heavies. Two of them appear to be destroyed, and one's stuck halfway in the ditch. The Storm Vanguard tanks are moving around for another flank."
"All right, thanks." I switched frequencies back to my lance. "Okay, we're headin back out there to cut off the Com Guard tanks. Let's hit 'em from behind."
As rounded the fortress, we rose until the top halves of our battlemechs were well out of the ditch. It was a turkey shoot. I trained my gauss rifle on the rear armor of a Bulldog tank and fired. The shell broke right through and destroyed the turret, leaving the body to slow to a stop. I spotted a group on ground infantry running off in the Storm tank's direction. A laser shot scattered them.
I had overlooked a couple of PO heavy tanks, which had turned back toward us. I waited for my gauss rifle to reload, but it usually took twelve to fifteen seconds. Both tanks fired, and struck my mech in the arm and fuselage. One shot smashed the battle fist to pieces. The other penetrated the armor, but was thankfully too wide a shot to damage the engine. It caused the shoulder hinge to hang by a few sinewy metal wires. I ducked my mech and let the arm touch the ground. My right wing, a Commando, fired its two volleys of short-range missiles, while to my left, two Wolfhounds unleashed the full extent of their fury with powerful energy beams.
Upon raising my mech, I saw that one of the tanks had been penetrated through the front, and the other was leading off to the left, its turret in ruin. I breathed a sigh of relief before I saw something that made my blood turn to ice. Two battlemechs, illuminated by the light emanating from the fortress, began to stride toward us. They had sturdy legs, and very large, sawed-off looking weapons mounted on their right shoulders. The boxy cockpit and cylindrical torsos threw off all of my suspicion that they were Hunchbacks, which were large, well-armored battlemechs that were used for short-range combat. Their cannons were immensely powerful, but wouldn't hit anything more than 500 meters away. And here we were, trapped in a trench and unable to move very fast.
"Armor support, Storm tanks, attack those Hunchbacks!" I yelled, already dreading what POW to the Com Guards was like.
The Hunchbacks moved closer, clearly mocking us. A thundering round was fired. It hit one of my Wolfhounds in the right side of the chest. That portion of the battlemechs upper body split off, taking the arm mounting its largest laser. A second round from the other Hunchback doubled on the mech, and hit it square in the center of the chest. The mech seemed to disappear in a cloud of dust, but I noticed the streak of light shooting up just after the impact. The pilot had ejected. This smart decision would spare him his life. But what remained of his fighting machine would now do nothing more than stand lifelessly until it was torn apart for scrap metal.
Blessedly, a shower of small orange streaks collided with one of the Hunchback's sides. It was of a Brutus assault tank. It followed up with its two powerful lasers, and fired its other, non-guided missiles. All shots seemed to connect, one after another, until a bright blue flash indicated the battlemechs reactor going critical. He too ejected, leaking a twisted hulk of dead machine. This turned the tide of the battle, and so I decided to close it. I contacted his frequency.
"This is Kernel Janis of the Storm Vanguards. I order you to power down your mech this instant!"
"This is Kelly Montpelier of the Com Guards. I've received your order, and will power down immediately."
"Of what rank are you?"
"I'm currently an Adept. Why do you ask?"
"Contact your superior and tell him to surrender. Tell him he's outnumbered, and that if he doesn't, we'll trap him in the fortress until he starves."
"Will do. Powering down."
The Hunchback sank, its knees bent, and the pilot lights went out. After a few moments, the few remaining tanks had stopped firing. The fortress was given up. I decided to give word to Vole.
"Attention, vole. Tell Mikhail I'm done, and get troop support in here. The fortress is ours. Bring the salvage and reprogramming squads in here. Repeat, mission complete."
This little sortie has me reminded that every time I strove for greatness in the Storm Vanguard name, I risk my life.
I should probably tell you that I do not get very close to my comrades, which is why I cannot bother to remember their names. I rarely get stuck with the same unit for too long.
"Storm six, standing by."
"Storm eight, standing by."
"Storm nine, ready and waiting."
An odd sight might befall anyone not used to seeing it. A pack of four battlemechs, flanked by two lances of tanks, moved in an inward wedge formation through lush, wet fields of grass and foliage. Four awkward, graceful, alien-looking contraptions mixed in with nondescript military vehicles. Their hips and legs moved in a very precise motion as to give the pilot maximum stability while running or maneuvering, and their arms and torso had several sophisticated joints to give near perfect flexibility and reaction time.
A battlemech was an expensive bulwark of steel and glass. It had a near infinite combat advantage over a tank due to its tall, thin silhouette, and the fact that a pilot could react quickly enough to throw off most shots, whether being led on or not. If a tank targeted a battlemech and fired, the chances of it getting badly hit were slim. And unlike tanks, whose interiors were connected in a way that one good internal hit could destroy it, battlemechs kept all of their weapons, systems and equipment in separate compartments so that if an arm were blown off or a torso knocked out, it could usually still fight. Even if its height and slim build made it more fragile and limited the effectiveness of certain weapons, a mech would almost always prevail over a tank of equal or similar tonnage.
I've gone off rambling again, I really should give you some leeway on what's going on. I am Janis Osiers of the Storm Vanguards. I've been in service with them for five years now, and have long grown tough as nails, both morally and ethically. It is thanks to my adaptation that I've risen to the rank of kernel, so I can enjoy spearheading the deadly forces at my sides. It was my skills and natural abilities as a battlemech pilot which made Mikhail, my tactical superior, grant me such.
I was more or less a suburban-born piece of trash when I gave myself to what my family saw as the wrong people. I had nothing else aside from the ruthless incentive to do whatever told to me, and the ability to control the 30-foot-tall armatures of power at my disposal. But I must say that even through the rush of watching molten fireworks of burnt steel, I have my personal limits. And thanks to Mikhail's generous leadership and forgiving standards, I've never been pushed too close to them. I do nothing much worse than maraud. Not saying too much, I'm afraid.
"We're closing in on Belsen. Go passive sensors only, recon squad spotted a communications relay toward the center earlier. Slow down to 40kph and stay low in the trees."
Wind whistled past my 45-ton Shadow Cat as I strode through scraping leaves and reaching branches. I could mark my lancemates a bit ahead of me, their battlemechs leaving narrow trails of flattened trees. The tanks stayed ahead.
"We're nearing the end of the field, coming out to the rocks. Armor units stop your advance. We can't let them see us just yet."
The Com Guards had established the fortress that lay ahead. It was a large, foreboding structure that stood high in a pit of gravel and concrete, dug in about 20 feet down on all sides. Turrets were barely visible in silhouette whenever the thunder struck. It was the sole source of Belsen's arsenal. Once the filthy control freaks were taken out, the city would fall like a fly.
I stopped my Shadow Cat completely, then rose up to its full height. The cockpit, which jutted foreword in a small square canopy, was just above the highest branches of the green saplings. I drew up the targeting reticule, then armed my battlemechs main weapon, a powerful magnetic rail gun. I zoomed in until I could clearly mark the outline of a satellite dish pointing into the clouds. I triggered the button on my firing joystick. It fired the rail gun, whose projectile was so fast that it could not be seen-it would only leave a mild distortion from the air vacuum. Almost as soon as it was fired, the tower was struck, and a gray explosion of rubble and dust obscured the impact point. The shock wave of the projectile has surely shattered the dish to pieces.
"Communications relay is destroyed. Advance, armor group. Storms, stand by with me, follow behind their formation."
I waited a few seconds, then gunned foreword slowly. The trees cleared, and I could see the fortress plainly. According to my infrared detectors, none of the turrets were active yet. No vehicles or infantry had been deployed for defense. I armed my rail gun (called a Gauss Rifle) just in case. Then, I heard a crackle on my own frequency.
"Kernel Janis, this is Vole. We've spotted an armored column moving outward from the other side of the fortress. They were prepared. Make best speed around the eastern side to flank them. Vole over."
Vole was my faithful reconnaissance squad, which hovered miles over the battlefield silently and furtively in their Kestrel scout helicopter. Heeding their warning, I immediately jumped into full gear, but decided not to activate my MASC (Myomer Accelerator Single Circuitry). My battlemech broke ahead of my lancemates, who had moved up accordingly. It was time to deploy my diversion, two lances of four battle tanks each, which would hold up the column in front while my lance snuck in from behind. Two of these were Brutus assault tanks, which were equipped with powerful lasers and missiles of all ranges for any type of combat. They were state-of-the-art vehicles that were more effective deployed in penny packets than in groups. Four more were the nondescript Vedette medium tanks, cheap, sturdy vehicles carrying only a fast-firing but unreliable 80mm cannon. The last two were Condor hovertanks, which had similar guns along with a smallish missile array.
"Armor units, break off and meet the enemy. Shoot for the heaviest. Storm group, we're going around behind. Keep sensors passive, and don't fire until we're inside the ditch. We should avoid the harder stuff and only have to deal with point defense."
And just at that, with all of us expecting a shred of luck, my sensors indicated that the turrets on the upper and lower decks of the building were buzzing to life. They looked like little boxes with unrecognizable guns poking out of thick, callused armor. I pointed my gauss rifle reticule over one. My frequency crackled again.
"Janis, be careful. Those turrets in the ditch are loaded with what look like large caliber guns, possibly lasers. The upper ones are long-range missile batteries, but it looks like you're well within their range already. Suggest avoiding them."
Instinctively, I fired my gauss rifle. The shell struck the turret before it could swing in my direction. It was too dark to see the blast, but I prepared anyway for the twenty-foot drop into the ditch.
"Get ready to fall. Try to take out some of those turrets, if possible."
My Shadow Cat ran straight into nothing, then hit the ground, letting its complicated battlemech gyro computer stabilize it without losing too much speed. At point blank range, the turrets would be less likely to hit us. I heard my lancemates follow suit, and I looked over my shoulder into the rearview camera to see one of them tip over and fall. It probably wouldn't hurt her too much. Not to be distracted, I narrowly swerved to avoid stepping on another turret, and heard the swoosh of short-range missiles firing, followed by a faint explosion.
I was now certain that the fortress was between the enemy tanks and us. I faced the building, then fired a point blank gauss rifle shell into it. As dust and debris obscured my vision, I fired the Shadow Cat's two only other weapons, a pair of medium-sized lasers, which flashed a green color and struck the battered wall. I eased my mech back.
"Storms, assist. We need to crack this thing open and force everyone out. Target my breach and fire."
As usual, the Storms were quick to respond. They pounded away with their lasers and short-range missiles. We eventually made a large enough hole for a large tank to fit through. Stunned personnel began to pour from it, as well as descend from higher levels via ropes. This gave me another opportunity to talk to Vole.
"Kernel Janis. Vole, how are things going down there with the tanks? Have ours drawn theirs off?"
"This is Vole. Good job Janis, you took them by surprise. The Storms are winning. It seems the barricades are restricting the Com Guard tank's movement. They're getting pretty beat up."
"Can you give me their exact numbers?"
"I spot four PO-class heavy tanks and six Bulldog heavies. Two of them appear to be destroyed, and one's stuck halfway in the ditch. The Storm Vanguard tanks are moving around for another flank."
"All right, thanks." I switched frequencies back to my lance. "Okay, we're headin back out there to cut off the Com Guard tanks. Let's hit 'em from behind."
As rounded the fortress, we rose until the top halves of our battlemechs were well out of the ditch. It was a turkey shoot. I trained my gauss rifle on the rear armor of a Bulldog tank and fired. The shell broke right through and destroyed the turret, leaving the body to slow to a stop. I spotted a group on ground infantry running off in the Storm tank's direction. A laser shot scattered them.
I had overlooked a couple of PO heavy tanks, which had turned back toward us. I waited for my gauss rifle to reload, but it usually took twelve to fifteen seconds. Both tanks fired, and struck my mech in the arm and fuselage. One shot smashed the battle fist to pieces. The other penetrated the armor, but was thankfully too wide a shot to damage the engine. It caused the shoulder hinge to hang by a few sinewy metal wires. I ducked my mech and let the arm touch the ground. My right wing, a Commando, fired its two volleys of short-range missiles, while to my left, two Wolfhounds unleashed the full extent of their fury with powerful energy beams.
Upon raising my mech, I saw that one of the tanks had been penetrated through the front, and the other was leading off to the left, its turret in ruin. I breathed a sigh of relief before I saw something that made my blood turn to ice. Two battlemechs, illuminated by the light emanating from the fortress, began to stride toward us. They had sturdy legs, and very large, sawed-off looking weapons mounted on their right shoulders. The boxy cockpit and cylindrical torsos threw off all of my suspicion that they were Hunchbacks, which were large, well-armored battlemechs that were used for short-range combat. Their cannons were immensely powerful, but wouldn't hit anything more than 500 meters away. And here we were, trapped in a trench and unable to move very fast.
"Armor support, Storm tanks, attack those Hunchbacks!" I yelled, already dreading what POW to the Com Guards was like.
The Hunchbacks moved closer, clearly mocking us. A thundering round was fired. It hit one of my Wolfhounds in the right side of the chest. That portion of the battlemechs upper body split off, taking the arm mounting its largest laser. A second round from the other Hunchback doubled on the mech, and hit it square in the center of the chest. The mech seemed to disappear in a cloud of dust, but I noticed the streak of light shooting up just after the impact. The pilot had ejected. This smart decision would spare him his life. But what remained of his fighting machine would now do nothing more than stand lifelessly until it was torn apart for scrap metal.
Blessedly, a shower of small orange streaks collided with one of the Hunchback's sides. It was of a Brutus assault tank. It followed up with its two powerful lasers, and fired its other, non-guided missiles. All shots seemed to connect, one after another, until a bright blue flash indicated the battlemechs reactor going critical. He too ejected, leaking a twisted hulk of dead machine. This turned the tide of the battle, and so I decided to close it. I contacted his frequency.
"This is Kernel Janis of the Storm Vanguards. I order you to power down your mech this instant!"
"This is Kelly Montpelier of the Com Guards. I've received your order, and will power down immediately."
"Of what rank are you?"
"I'm currently an Adept. Why do you ask?"
"Contact your superior and tell him to surrender. Tell him he's outnumbered, and that if he doesn't, we'll trap him in the fortress until he starves."
"Will do. Powering down."
The Hunchback sank, its knees bent, and the pilot lights went out. After a few moments, the few remaining tanks had stopped firing. The fortress was given up. I decided to give word to Vole.
"Attention, vole. Tell Mikhail I'm done, and get troop support in here. The fortress is ours. Bring the salvage and reprogramming squads in here. Repeat, mission complete."
This little sortie has me reminded that every time I strove for greatness in the Storm Vanguard name, I risk my life.
I should probably tell you that I do not get very close to my comrades, which is why I cannot bother to remember their names. I rarely get stuck with the same unit for too long.
