Chapter Five

            Cochren spent another hour or so in the communications room with Mellert and Jordan, making sure he had all the frequencies memorized and listening to Graham ooh and ahh every time he found some new capability of the system.  Bryan just had to smile and shake his head, he truly had assembled an eccentric team of officers.  Perry was definitely the straight shooter of the bunch.  He'd probably lump his wife in there as well, though he knew better than to tell her that.  When late afternoon arrived he announced that it was time for Jordan to get everyone back into the barn so that the officers could get ready for their meeting with St. John's Council.  That being done, he meandered back to the stateroom he and Nichole occupied and pulled out his dress uniform.

            The uniforms were relatively new, Bryan having had them created only a couple years ago when the Angels were first listed as a regiment with the Mercenary Review and Bonding Commission.  Pure white, they gleamed in any light.  Golden piping rode the shoulders and down to the cuffs of the jacket, as well as down the outside of the pants.  The Angels' insignia sat high on the left breast, and below that rode the uniform owner's rank and name.  The higher the rank, the broader the flames spread out from the archangel's sword in the insignia.  Bryan's flames covered the majority of the jacket, leaving only the hem and right arm from the elbow down still the original white.  His right arm was decorated with patches from unit actions he'd taken part in, starting with the kanji character for 'ronin' and with a stylized '39' near the elbow.  He had just finished lacing up his polished dress boots when the door opened and his wife strode in.  She paused after closing the door and gave him a once over, smiling.

            "You know, you clean up pretty nice when you try."

            "Keep laughing, and the woman's dress uniform will be a short skirt, blazer, and a tie."

            Now she laughed, then walked over and gave him a kiss.  Stepping back, she smoothed imagined wrinkles from his jacket.  "You look wonderful, dear."

            "As will you, so go get changed.  We need to get over there soon and you know Patsy will be late, she always is."

            "Yes, Bryan, us women always holding up the pack.  Go get everyone rounded up, I'll meet you at the front doors of the office section.  Graham's said that the Council's got a limo waiting for us there already."

            "Alright."  He leaned forward and gave her a kiss.  "I love you, Nichole.  Hurry up, and make sure you drag Patsy out of her room in time for us to get there.  I want at least one non-'Mech officer present, and Shrike and the Old Man flat out refuse to be drug to any 'pampered politician' gatherings."  He turned and strode out of the room to gather his XO, communications officer, and company commanders.  After several minutes of searching turned up only Quix, apparently wandering aimlessly and plucking at his dress jacket in an annoyed fashion, the pair went out to where the limousine was waiting and found everyone else assembled there already.

            "I'm going to make us late, sir?" Patsy asked with a raised eyebrow.

            "Shush, Bee, just get in."  Everyone chuckled.

            The trip from the barracks took about twenty minutes, as the limo wound it's way back into the city and then through the tail end of rush hour traffic.  Nichole and Patsy whiled away their time straightening the men's jackets and pleats.  Quince endured it stoically, as he had the least amount of prepping to be done, while Mellert and Neal shot Cochren vicious glances over the women's shoulders as they were prodded and admonished for non-existent wrinkles in their uniforms.  Graham just laughed as the diminutive Richards tugged at his.  The limo pulled up in front of the Senate Building and the seven Angels stepped out and into the waning sunlight of evening time.  Once reassembled, they mounted the steps of the building, Cochren in the lead, with Mellert at his right and Jordan to his left.  Perry and Quix came next, followed by Nichole and Patsy.  They made quite a fashionable entourage, with flames covering their torsos and gleaming white pants.  Most of them had been with the Angels since the beginning, with only Graham Jordan not having fought on St. John in the Ronin Wars.  When they reached the top, the door swung open and a young, suit-clad official addressed them.

            "Colonel Cochren?"  Bryan nodded.  "You and your officers are expected.  Please come in, then follow me."  From the stiff, formal speech and the way the young man's brown eyes narrowed as he looked them over, Bryan guessed that this guy was one of the populace none too pleased with his unit's return.  The man held the door for the mercenaries, then let it close before heading down a corridor to the left.  The Angels followed in silence until the fellow stopped in front of a double set of large, wooden doors.  "Wait here a moment while I announce you."

            "Thank you."  The young man's lip twitched, then he went into the closed room.  A few moments later he emerged.

            "You may go in, Colonel."  He held the door open and beckoned them in.  As they entered, the council chamber spread out before them, shaped like a piece of pie with the door at the narrow end.  The entire chamber was richly done with woods of different shades, and rows of empty seating lined the ever-widening room.  After the public seating stopped, there was a slightly raised dais with a podium and microphone attached to it.  At the far end was a semi-circular table, higher than the dais, with seven people seated at it.  In the middle, directly in front of the Angels, a man sat.  As they approached, he stood.  Bryan guessed his age to be roughly equal to his own.  His hair had grayed significantly since he'd last seen him, but Bryan could still recognize the rugged face of Harper Meryl, former freedom fighter and now Planetary Administrator of St. John.  He thought he recognized a few of the Senators to each side of him as well, but fifteen years was a long time for memory to get shady.

            "Please, Colonel Cochren, you and your officers may step up on the dais."  He waited a moment while they did so, Bryan taking the spot behind the podium and his officers arraying to each side, matching the Council.  Meryl sat back down.  "I am Planetary Administrator Harper Meryl.  These are Senators Koeling, Bjorn, Kyuss, Jameson, Jorgensson, and Staff."  He indicated each in turn, then eyed Cochren expectantly.

            Leaning slightly forward, Bryan spoke into the microphone.  "Good evening, Administrator, Senators."  He nodded at each.  "I present the ranking officers of the Angels.  Major David Mellert, my executive officer.  Captains Perry Quince, Quix Neal, and Nichole Cochren, my company commanders.  On the left is Patsy Richards, commander of our aerospace squadron, and finally Lieutenant Graham Jordan, my communications officer.  May I say that we're quite happy being able to return to St. John after all these years?"

            Meryl smiled.  "As you know, Colonel, this meeting is more of a formality than anything else.  It is more of a chance for us to get acquainted, or reacquainted, with you and your officers.  I see that the Angels have grown quite a bit since you last visited us."

            "You as well, Administrator."  He paused, considering just how to continue, then decided to plunge on in a familiar manner.  "The last time I remember seeing you, you were covered in mud, holding an autorifle, and cheering at retreating Kuritan dropships."

            "And your Lancelot was more holes than armor and missing its right arm, Colonel.  I cannot tell you how happy I was to hear that the mercenaries hired to garrison our world were the same that had once fought beside us.  Too many people in Rasalhague have forgotten that not all or even most mercenaries are morally inept and corrupted money-grubbers.  Why don't you give us a little information on your basic plans for our world and militia and we'll let you get back to base, eh?"

            Three weeks later, Kelly 'Old Man' Packard was standing in front of a group of what he could only describe to himself as children.  The St. John Militia 1st Infantry Regiment was really more of a hopeful wish at this point, even with news of the Angels being involved in the training upping the recruitment rates.  He stood on the edge of a fairly large clearing in the woods to the east of the city, with the sun at his back.  It really was a beautiful world this time of year.  Add to that his discovery that Ann Gregory did indeed still live in Port Lucent and was quite happy to see him, and life was good. 

Today was to be a practical demonstration.  He had asked that the entire infantry arm of the Militia be present for this, though in actuality he expected less than ten percent to be trained in what he was about to show them.  Arrayed before him were nearly two full battalions of troops, of which he hoped to cull two platoons worth for training in anti-mech tactics.  The Master Sergeant had never felt the need for a microphone to address troops before, and today was no exception.

"All right, listen up!" he bellowed in his best drill sergeant voice.  "Today you're going to get a little demonstration on what poor bloody infantry can do to a BattleMech when properly equipped, trained, and motivated!"  He spoke softly into a two-way comm. Unit clipped to his lapel.  An enormous crash from the woods behind him as a tree toppled out of the way of a Shadow Hawk painted in forest camouflage that had been kneeling, hidden, in the trees.  The fifty-five ton machine stepped from the forest, knocking aside a few more small trees on the way.  "That," he continued, rising his voice again, "should be all the motivation you need!"  He pointed at the mech, which was now slowly stalking towards the assemblage.  Packard gave them credit, they didn't break and run, even though a couple looked like they wanted to.  He clicked a button on the radio clipped to his belt, then spoke into his lapel again.  "Observe!" he said to the Militia.

From cover to the troops' right burst two figures, wearing fatigues and carrying a small satchel perhaps a foot square and a few inches thick and an odd pole of some sort about a meter long.  The pair ran for all they were worth, coming in from the Shadow Hawk's left side.  They crossed the twenty meters to the Shadow Hawk quickly, and the MechWarrior didn't notice them until the last second.  The duo came within a few meters of the mech's massive legs, then planted the end of the rod they carried.  Two muffled whumps sounded as the small adhesive-covered ball in the tube fired, hitting the mech in the chest and left hip.  Immediately the lines began to retract, dragging the two infantrymen up the mech.  The Shadow Hawk swatted at them with its arms, succeeding in connecting with one's line and sending the PBI flying before hitting the ground, rolling, and taking off for the cover of the trees again.

His compatriot was luckier, ascending the line just high enough to shove the satchel she carried into the space between the Shadow Hawk's armored knee plate and the knee actuator itself.  Leaping off, she tugged the ripcord free, setting a four second fuse on the explosive package and ran for the trees herself.  The blast was nothing special, most of it expending its energy into the Shadow Hawk's joint, destroying the actuator there.  When it tried to take a step toward the retreating woman, the joint bent the wrong way when the left foot was planted.  The scream of tortured metal sounded across the clearing and the mech toppled onto its left side.  The Militia suddenly wondered just how staged this demonstration was, and immediately five more infantrymen popped up from around the edge of the clearing.  Four smoke contrails of shoulder-mounted SRMs and the glaring artificial lightning of a man-pack PPC stabbed into the downed mech's head, followed by flashy explosions.

Suddenly laughter boomed over the mech's external speakers.  "Kelly, am I dead yet?"

"Yes, Quix, you are, so sit tight and be quiet."  A ripple of laughter wound through the Militia.

"You didn't tell me you were going to use a real satchel charge.  I can't believe God let you do that to my baby!"

"Just be happy the PPC and SRMs were training rounds."

"Jackass."  Now the infantry roared with delight.  Packard turned back to the assembled PBIs.

"What you just witnessed is not a stroke of luck or something that can only nail inexperienced MechJocks.  Captain Neal over there," he gestured at the Shadow Hawk, which had rolled onto its back and sat up, "in his broken tin man, happens to be a company commander."  The Shadow Hawk made a somewhat slow but obscene gesture at him, eliciting more laughter.  "One thing you need is equipment.  The ascension rods you saw are available at virtually any well-stocked sporting goods store.  They're used by rock climbers, and are good for thirty meters of line, more that enough to scale even the biggest mech.  The satchel charges are a little bit harder to come by, but we're working on that.  I mentioned that the sight of a mech should supply all the motivation you need.  What's lacking is training.  Over the next couple weeks I'll be pulling those of you that I think have got what it takes and forming a couple platoons of anti-mech infantry.  Don't think that they get to have all the fun though, the rest of you will get other forms of specialized training.  When we're done with you, every single one of you will have a job to do, one that you're proud of, and one that benefits the team – the infantry is NOT a collection of one-man armies.  Now, who wants to volunteer for anti-mech duty?"

Kelly smiled at the sea of hands.

            The next day Patsy "Bumblebee" Richards was standing at the front of the pilot ready room.  The one thing that had irked her about the barracks that were provided for the Angels was that the runway and hanger for her fighters was nearly two kilometers from the barracks in which she slept.  Her wingman, Paul Johnston, callsign "Loco", lounged against the wall to her left.  He was the newest addition to the Angel's Wings, and his nickname came about both for his bizarre personality and extreme pleasure at being assigned a Lucifer, a maligned fighter design if there ever was one.  His broad-rim hat was pulled low over his eyes, long bland hair spilled out underneath it, and somewhere he had picked up a stalk of grass that was hanging from his lips.  He eyed the rest of the room's occupants with amused interest.

            Patsy cleared her throat before addressing the three militia pilots.  The rest of the Angels' pilots were seated in the rear of the room.  "I'm Captain Patsy Richards.  You can all call me Bumblebee.  This here is Loco – you'll find out why.  I'll ask you all to ignore anything he tells you because it will most likely get you killed, albeit in a flashy manner."

            "Hey, now…"

"Back there are Raptor, Air Raid, Lightshow, and Stoop.  We'll all get to know each other real well over the next few months, so for now callsigns will do.  Since this is the first time we've all met, I'll ask each one of you to introduce yourselves, give your callsign, and any experience you have."  She pointed at the nearest pilot, a young woman in her late twenties with long brown hair, who stood and snapped a smart salute. 

            "Lojtnant Jamie Roulf, 'Gymnast'.  Forty-three hours logged in the Seydlitz, formerly an acrobatic pilot with the Stars Fantasy Fliers."  Patsy groaned inwardly.  The Lieutenant only has forty-three hours logged?  It also surprised her because she had thought that the commander of the three fighters would have been the older man at the opposite end.  On the outside, she smiled and indicated Gymnast to sit down, then gestured for the pilot next to her to stand up.

            "Korpral Tor Newmark, no callsign.  Umm…I have twenty-one hours in the Seydlitz and another forty-six in the simulator."  The young man looked barely old enough to shave, and he brushed his lanky hair out of his eyes several times just during his short speech.

            "Korpral Adam Michaelson, 'Beamer'.  The Seydlitz I pilot is mine.  I have eleven years in the cockpit, mostly with Crater's Cobras.  I came back home with the bird when my family told me that they were trying to get an honest to God militia started here.  I'm from St. John originally, though I was off planet for the past twelve years or so."  Bumblebee nodded.

            "Good, good.  Lojtnant, how much time have you logged in the air together so far?"

            "Well…Korpral Newmark and I have about ten hours of formation flying and basic maneuvers in, but we haven't flown with Korpral Michaelson yet, he just arrived on planet two months ago and his application to the Militia was only approved a few days ago."  Loco tugged his brim lower to hide the smirk on his face.

            Patsy hung her head for a moment, then straightened up.  "Well, that changes today.  By the end of the week we'll have doubled your cockpit times.  Raptor will be handling ground attack stratagems with the three of you, while I'll take care of air superiority and space combat – you do have at least some space time in, yes?"

            The older militiaman nodded, but the other two shook their heads.  "Only in the simulator, sir," Roulf replied.

            "Okay, we'll center on aerial maneuvers and ground attack for now then.  We'll do low-risk stuff in space in a couple weeks.  Are the three of you listed as a reinforced lance, or two?"

            "One lance, sir."

            "Good.  You may not like it, but given that you're inexperienced, you should be thankful to have someone with more time in the saddle like Korpral Michaelson to watch your backs.  Go get suited up, we're going to put you through basic paces today.  It may be a little weird to begin with having a third fighter attached to your lance, Lojtnant, so I suggest for now you concentrate on coordinating yourself and Mr. Newmark.  I'm sure Michaelson will be able to keep up with you as you break in."

            Snug in the cockpit of her Shilone aerospace fighter, Patsy truly felt alive.  Her squadron was flying level at angels twelve, the militia trio of light Seydlitz fighters were about two thousand feet below, practicing different formations.  Michaelson was doing a flawless job integrating himself into the various arrays, often lagging just behind and to the left of the Lojtnant, like a mother bird watching over her children's first flight.  A quick glance to her right showed her own wingman gleefully waving at her, flying perfectly level and perhaps ten scant meters off her right wing – upside down.

            "Loco, can we at least let them get a little experience before we teach them bad habits?"

            "Bee, y'all're no fun at all."

            "Loco, now."

            "Aww, fine…wooooooohoooooooooo!"  The Lucifer pulled up, paradoxically towards the ground, and Bee twisted to watch as Loco pulled a complete loop, lit the burners to catch up, and then flipped upright at the last second as he pulled alongside his wingman and captain.  Bee opened the communications line to the militia pilots.

            "Lojtnant, execute a scissors maneuver for me, you cross front, then Immelman to reverse.  Keep it as tight as you can."

            "Yes, Captain."  The leading pair of Seydlitzes broke away from each other and widened the gap to nearly a kilometer before reversing.  Roulf's fighter cut across the bow of Newmark's, who flashed by close enough to get jounced by his Lojtnant's jetwash.  Michaelson, however, pulled up, igniting the afterburners on his tiny fighter and climbing a comparable distance before inversing and diving back towards the pair, who had both corrected to come alongside one another before hauling back on the sticks and reversing direction, then flipping to level out again.  The third Seydlitz pulled up as well, but as he was already inverted he mimicked Loco's earlier move, then punched his burners again to catch up.

            "Excellent flying, all of you.  Now for something a little more fun.  Weve got another half hour or so of fuel before we have to head back for the barn.  Try to evade one of my lances and put yourselves on the attack.  No weapons, just flying skill.  Got it?"  A trio of affirmations responded.  "Good.  Lightshow, Stoop?  Get 'em."