Chapter Four
With a gut-wrenching snap the universe twisted back upon itself, and spat the Messiah back into realspace at the zenith jump point in the St. John system. Millions of kilometers away the distant target of the Angels shone brightly, reflecting the light from its nearby sun. The bridge crew jumped back to work. One of the sensor operators reached for a bag and emptied his stomach into it, heaving until there was nothing left due to the disorientation of a jump. The captain of the Messiah, Jaleel Horne, spared a glance for his ill crewman before barking a request for information.
"Well, people, what's out there?" The other sensor operator sang out first, giving her comrade a moment to recover.
"Nothing on scopes, sir. A few orbiting satellites, but no ships on passive."
The ill operator coughed, cleared his throat, and in an unsteady voice declared the active sensors clear as well.
Horne grunted.
"All clear, people." Heading to the comm panel and pressing a button, he opened a ship-wide frequency. "Left and Right, you are cleared to disembark." After shutting off the comm and a short pause, he added, "Bosich, you all right?"
"Roger that, Messiah, Left is breaking free." Captain Brown made a quick hand gesture to one of her bridge crew and a massive shudder shook the Overlord as the Messiah released the towering ship from its docking collar. The egg-shaped vessel floated slowly away from the jumpship, then its maneuvering thrusters engaged, driving it further and rotating it to point the nose of the vessel at St. John. "Sensors, crank up the passives and let me know what's out there. Helm, engage at one gravity steady acceleration and give me an ETA."
"Seventy-seven hours, twenty-one minutes till we hit atmosphere at one G, Captain." Brown nodded approval. Just over three days until the Angels descended on their new post. Gravity returned as the huge main fusion engines of the Left engaged, accelerating the massive ship towards St. John. No longer needing to grip the rail surrounding the bridge to avoid floating free, she let go and walked over to the comm station. Years in space left not a tremor in her walk, even after more than a week in null-gravity and a hyperspace jump.
Picking up the mike and opening a ship-wide frequency, Kerry announced the successful arrival at their destination system and the estimated time of arrival on St. John, ending it with a request for the Colonel to join her on the bridge.
Bryan headed up the stairway, so steep it may as well have been a ladder, and cranked the handle of the heavy door that sealed the passageway from the bridge. It turned easily, quietly, and he shoved the door open to reveal a bridge crew busily going about their work. Looking at a viewscreen in one bank of sensors, he could see the Angel's jumpship.
The Messiah, Bryan knew, would already be unfurling its solar sail, the two kilometer-wide black web that collected solar energy from the system's sun and stored it in the jumpship's batteries for later use. The sun in the St. John system would charge the Messiah's batteries in about six days, which meant that the Angels were stuck here at least that long.
"Not that I planned on leaving so soon anyway," he muttered under his breath, once again shaking off the chill that Perry Quince had instilled in him.
"What was that, Sir?"
Taken from his reverie by the familiar voice, Cochren stepped fully onto the bridge and closed the bulkhead door behind him. "Nothing, Captain. I'm assuming you called me so that we can announce our arrival?" Brown nodded an affirmative, following it up with a hand swept toward an open seat at the communications console.
"Just press 'send' when you're done. The time delay means it'll be at least a half hour before we get a response, since St. John doesn't have a laser comm facility." Using radio signals was still the most reliable and widespread form of long-range communication, but it wasn't without its drawbacks, chief of which was its speed. Over long distances such as the millions of kilometers the Left had to cover, it took radio signals several minutes to reach their destination. Using lasers to beam communications back and forth was both much quicker and more secure, but the Left didn't carry the equipment necessary to transmit that far, nor was St. John capable of receiving them. The Messiah did, however, and normally the communications would be routed through it.
Flashing a grin at the big woman, Cochren turned to the console. "I have done this before, you know." She shrugged.
"Groundpounders tend to forget the more intricate things in life when they're not busy blowing them up. Sir." Bryan laughed, then hit the record button on the console after pulling the microphone towards him.
"Administrator Harper Meryl and members of St. John's Senate, this is Colonel Bryan Cochren of the Angels mercenary regiment. According to a contract agreed to by my staff and duly appointed representatives of the Free Rasalhague Republic, ratified by the Mercenary Review and Bonding Commission, we are your garrison force for the next six months. We request permission to land and will break atmosphere in seventy-seven hours. Please acknowledge." Releasing the record button, the Colonel pressed send and leaned back a bit.
"And now we wait. I'll be in the wardroom, Kerry." Captain Brown nodded absently, absorbed in some readout or another, then turned to snap a quick salute at his back as Bryan left.
Cochren found Quince, Neal, and Mellert all sitting at a table in the wardroom, which pulled double duty as the officer's mess in the cramped confines of a space-going vessel. Walking over to the coffee maker, he pulled away the velcro strap that held down the carafe in zero-g. Grabbing a zero-g liquid pack, he depressed the plunger and filled up on the steaming coffee. With the Left under thrust, there was gravity for the crew to walk around and pour coffee, but not having open containers kept messes down should the dropship lose power.
Neal looked up from his own vessel of coffee. "Damn, sir, but it'll be nice to actually do something again. We sat on Outreach for a sight too long in my book." Quince nodded absently, still with the look of someone who expected the worst.
"No doubt," Mellert said. "And to go back to St. John for our return to active duty is quite the treat. From the manifest that Leslie gave me on the indig military forces, it sounds like they're on their way to having a well-equipped fighting force." He paused and sucked a mouthful of coffee from the bag he held. "Once properly trained, of course."
Raising one eyebrow slightly, Cochren eyed his XO. "You do have your training schedule worked out, yes?" Mellert would be handling the combined arms operations between St. John's two mech lances and their company of mixed armor. The bigger man nodded.
"Of course, sir. Major Shrike and I will have them whipped into shape in no time. Patsy's going to begin working with us 'mudbugs' about a month into her own training schedule to get the tankers and Mechjocks used to working with air cover as well - not that a triplet of Seydlitz's are going to do much good."
Sitting down at the table with his three officers, the Colonel sighed. "Oh, I'm sure Bumblebee'll come up with some use for them. She's got quite a noggin for tactics." Leaning back, he sucked down some of the steaming liquid and almost gagged. "Damn it, Dave, I've told you you're not allowed to make the coffee anymore how many times? I wouldn't need the bag even in zero-g, this sludge is so thick."
Major Mellert winked. "Just making sure you're awake, Colonel, sir." Bryan hit him in the face with a crumpled up napkin.
Three days later, everyone sat strapped into jumpseats or cockpits as the pair of dropships hit St. John's atmosphere. The response from Meryl and the Senate had been polite, and carefully enthusiastic. The Free Rasalhague Republic as a whole wasn't too keen on mercenaries, but St. John's people knew very well who the Angel's were, and there was no place outside of Outreach to turn in order to find veteran warriors to train a defense force. The Angels were given their clearance to land at the spaceport in Kittridge, the capital city of St. John and seat of its government, as well as directions to the barracks they would occupy during their stay, which were a couple kilometers outside the city proper. Later that evening he and his officers were to attend a dinner with the Council. Bumblebee and her squadron were out and about, escorting the dropships into their landing zone.
Captains Brown and Griegorovich landed the Left and Right in perfect harmony, the massive fusion engines of the Overlord-class ships blackening the tarmac underneath them and the huge landing legs of the egg-shaped vessels flexing and thousands of tons settled onto them. The engines shut off, and the loudest of the noises the dropships made stopped.
Snugged into his Victor's cockpit, Colonel Cochren could still hear the various pings and snaps as the Left's systems shut down. Flipping on his radio, he first asked Kerry to open the huge mechbay doors to allow the Angel's mechs to exit the belly of the ship.
"Alright Angels," he said into the regimental frequency, "welcome to your new home. Remember to clean up after yourselves and never, ever leave the toilet seat up. Debark order is Command Lance first, then in company order. Infantry next, then armor. Full parade mode, Angels, as we head to the barracks. Mellert, make sure I don't get lost on the way." The Angels had been given directions to their new home via radio broadcasts as they neared the planet. Bryan was pleased to note that everyone on the Council of St. John seemed genuinely happy to have them there.
"No problem, sir."
Smiling broadly, Cochren worked the controls of his eighty-ton metal monster and stepped from the shadows of the mechbay and into the light of the doorway before descending the ramp to the spaceport tarmac below. A crowd of citizens lined the streets to welcome the mercenaries, and the mechs were certainly a sigh to behold. The Colonel's Victor, first onto the ferrocrete, was painted a gleaming white with golden highlights, with the Angels insignia, a swooping archangel with a flaming broadsword in hand, painted on the left thigh. The name "Gabriel" was stenciled in underneath the insignia. Next came the beautiful Victor's antithesis, a polished black AS7-D Atlas with a human skeleton painted on it. Major Mellert's custom paint job was done in infrared-reflective paint, giving the menacing illusion of a massive walking skeleton under visual or IR scanners. The leering skull painted over its head twisted left and right, scanning the crowd. The assault mech was followed by a mech decorated in almost a bizarre fashion as the Major's machine. Graham Jordan's Cyclops followed, the single large 'eye' in its head painted to look just like a huge, bright blue woman's eye, complete with long lashes and makeup. Jordan had a weird sense of humor. Last out of the dropship came Sun Chin in his Grasshopper, a newfound spring in his step at being named to the Command Lance. His 'mech was easily the most inconspicuous of the four in standard forest camouflage.
The procession drug out nearly four kilometers, as forty mechs, over a battalion of armor, and platoon after platoon of infantry poured out of the huge ships. People lined almost the entire procession route, nearly eight clicks. Mothers and fathers held up their children as the BattleMechs walked by, giving them a better view. The variety of tanks and other vehicles after the mechs received almost as much admiration, and the booming passage of a half-dozen aerospace fighters streaking by overhead in perfect formation brought a cheer from the citizens before they circled again to land. Bryan couldn't help but smile ear to ear as he stalked along the pre-planned route. Not many of the roads in the city could take the hammering footfalls of a one hundred ton BattleMech, so they had been directed which turns to take.
After ten minutes he was outside the city proper and another five landed him at the front gates to the barracks. With mild surprise he noted a group of perhaps fifty protesters arrayed outside the fence. They weren't blocking the route in, nor did they appear to be violent or even particularly zealous, so he waited patiently for the gates to open before walking the mech inside. He radioed Mellert on the Command Lance frequency.
"Dave, make sure everyone gets set up in here all right, and I want a lance on guard at all times, so pick one and create a rotation."
"Got it," came his XO's reply as Cochren found a berth in the huge warehouse that would store the Angel's military vehicles while on planet. Cochren finished shutting down the fusion reactor in his behemoth and crawled from the cockpit before heading down the chain ladder to the ground. He was treated to the same sight that the people of St. John had been once on foot, watching the BattleMechs under his command file into the barracks. Seeing the huge skeleton-motif Atlas standing at the fifteen-meter tall doors directing traffic with sweeping arm gestures elicited a laugh from the Colonel, and he began walking back to the gates of the barracks. He was still a hundred meters or so from the gigantic doorway when he saw Delta Lance of Second Company break off and begin a patrol around the inside of the barrack grounds, each of the four mechs heading in different directions. By the time he made it to within shouting distance of the front gates, the Angel's armor assets were rolling through. Darting in between a Demolisher and Rommel tank that were near the end of the column, he crossed the gate and made his way over to the demonstrators.
Now that he paid a little more attention, he realized that the protesters were holding generic placards and not the more violent and personal ones he'd feared. Most of them bore writing such as "Mercenaries Go Home" and "We Don't Need Help" and things along those lines. They were well behaved, though, for which he was profoundly thankful. Crowd-control on the first day here would be a very bad public relations move. Only a few of them shouted anything, most were watching with interest and waving their banners at the passing column. A couple protesters near the front of the group noticed him coming and shushed their compatriots. He knew he wasn't exactly a presentable diplomat at the moment, still dressed only in his cooling vet and shorts, but he wanted to talk to these people.
He stepped within ten feet of the group and stopped before nodding. "Hello, I'm Bryan." He decided to omit his rank in hopes of keeping this at a familiar and thus more easygoing level. It worked. An older man, perhaps fifty, holding a sign proclaiming "St. John Can Defend Itself!" glanced around before stepping forward.
"The name's Reese, Mister. Jonathan Reese."
Cochren smiled. "Well, Mr. Reese, I was wondering if you'd tell me what this is all about."
"Pretty much what the signs say, merc -"
"You can call me Bryan, Mr. Reese."
"Bryan, then. Pretty much what the signs say. We don't need or want your mercenaries on the planet. We won our independence from the Draconis Combine and we can keep it."
"Are you aware what resources the Free Rasalhague Republic has allocated to your defense, Mr. Reese?"
"We have mechs." A chorus of cheers and agreements from the crowd behind him forced Cochren to wait for silence again.
"More precisely, Mr. Reese, you have eight BattleMechs, ranging in size from a twenty-ton Locust to a ninety-five ton Banshee. However, you have only one pilot for these eight machines that has any experience at all. In addition to that, you have three light aerospace fighters and a couple companies of older model armor. Not exactly a potent fighting force." A rising tide of disgruntled disagreement began to flow from the protesters. Cochren held up his hand. "The FRR recognizes that and is interested in making them a potent fighting force, which is exactly why my men and women are here. Allow me to formally introduce myself. Colonel Bryan Cochren of the Angels mercenary regiment. I don't know if any of you were there, but we fought the Draconis Combine to liberate this world not too long ago, and it's a pleasure to be back."
He stepped forward and held out his hand. Reese, looking slightly taken aback, took it and shook his hand. "Now, obviously we're just moving in, but why don't we go rustle up some coffee and talk things over a little bit so you don't get the wrong idea about why we're here."
Several hours later, Cochren was wandering around the Angel's new home, still getting a feel for where everything was located. After the powwow with the protesters, he had commandeered a hoverjeep and toured the outer grounds. The barracks were laid out in a logical and easily defensible manner, something the tactician in him appreciated. Being outside his mech, he had no way to communicate with the rest of his staff, but he knew his XO to be a capable commander in his absence. No doubt Dave had already set up the guard rotation and begun assigning berths to everyone, perhaps even picked out where the wardroom would be…which quite possibly was the very room he'd invited Mr. Reese and some of his compatriots into for a chat. While he didn't particularly care for diplomacy, the Colonel was pretty good at it and their chat had gone quite well. He had explained the purpose for the Angel's visit here and even engaged in a round of "Do you know…" and "Do you remember…" with them, winning their respect. They still weren't completely comfortable with a force the size of the Angels being on planet, at least one not part of the Royal Kungesarme.
Turning a corner in the office portion of the main barracks building, he almost ran straight into his wife and Bumblebee.
"Where have you been?" his wife asked. Patsy at least saluted first before nodding in agreement to the question.
"Nice to see you, too, Nichole. I had a little meeting with the protesters from out front. Wanted to clear the air and make sure we only have bad blood coming from across the border, not across the fence."
"That was you, sir? They were taking odds on whether or not you made the new guy, Chin, go talk to them."
"He's Capellan, Bee, not a Drac. Chinese versus Japanese. He's just as much an outsider as you or I here." She just nodded, grinning. "Anyways, where is everyone? Did Dave pick out quarters for the officers and a wardroom, etc., yet?"
"Yes, dear. We've just been trying to find you for the past hour to show you. One of the armor jockeys reported you taking a jeep, then Quix said he thought he saw you running around the grounds in one while he was stumping around in his Enforcer, but no one was sure. Come on, we'll show you."
"Lead on, my lovely ladies, lead on."
The trio completed a tour of the office portion of the barracks. Bryan was surprised to find an even larger room than the one he'd used that Mellert had commandeered as the officer's mess and wardroom. His wife and aerospace commander led him to hallway lined with small private apartments for the officers, including a reasonably sized room for him and Nichole. He found Dave and Jordan in the communications room, buried underground in the middle of the facility for security reasons. The pair glanced up, then straightened and saluted.
"Sir," Jordan said. "This gear's actually pretty good. No laser comm here, but they've got good encryption routines and a filter that can ta -" Cochren held up a hand.
"Jordan, you know I don't care how you alert the troops, just that you do. You start that technobabble with me again and I'll just get lost as usual. Is there anything that's not here that you think we need?"
"I'll dive in a little deeper as the day goes on, sir, and get back to you. Right now the Major and I were just getting all the regimental frequencies and encryption codes progra -"
"Jordan, what did I just tell you?"
"Yes, sir." He turned back to the computer console, trying hard not to smile. In his Cyclops or out, Jordan was a technophile through and through.
"Stop smirking, Major."
"Yes, sir," his XO replied, but he didn't stop grinning ear to ear. He enjoyed ribbing his colonel about his lack of interest and expertise in mundane technical matters. Bryan sighed in exasperation.
"I don't know why I put up with this crap."
"Because God is love, sir, and He forgives if we only repent of ou -"
"Shut up, Dave."
