CHAPTER 19
BURNING HEART
Review Corner
The Colonel: Laeta would say, "The heart swells with such notion. See it done absent delay!"
jdoug4118: Read along my man
Ulquiorra9000: Everybody hates rich, arrogant athletes who look down on anybody. Not to mention cheaters (*cough*deflategate*cough*)
Laserclasm Arena, Solaris VII,
Freedom Theater, Lyran Alliance,
March 3, 3065
It had been more than a year since Trystan piloted a battlemech, and he felt like he was starting all over again. The neurohelmet didn't fit right, and every attempt to make adjustment ended up in worse position than before. The Thunderbolt's offset cockpit gave him a headache. He remembered that he adjusted well to the offset cockpit, but his absence threw his adjustment off. And it took him a while to locate the functions in his console: radar, communication, weapons, heat management, power distribution, ammunition, navigation, targeting system…
And those were only the least of his problem. His reflex was benumbed by inactivity, so much he didn't know what to do anymore. He spent hours and hours trying to revive the feel of battlemech combat but his muscle memory was gone. His mind was not coordinated with his hands anymore. Without an available simulator, he couldn't make proper preparation, and was forced to go to the arena like a child sitting in the driver's seat for the first time.
And in front of him Mac Storm made his smug entrance, mismatching his 75-ton Black Knight against Trystan's 65-ton Thunderbolt. Trystan let out an exasperating puff as he awkwardly brought his Thunderbolt to take position in the arena.
"I promised the Bertoli family a good show, but it seems I'll have to disappoint them," Mac sniggered on the comlink. "You've gotta be the most retarded opponent I ever fight, so much you can't even get your mech straight. This is going to be a massacre on all account."
"Do what you want, but let the others go," Trystan said, half pleading.
"They are not my concern," Mac replied as he raised both arms. "Now fight as if your life depends on it!"
Without warning, Mac fired his weapons at point blank range. PPC bolts and Gauss slug exploded in the Thunderbolt's chest. Trystan had forgotten the sting of feedback signal in the neurohelmet. Nothing prepared him for the throbbing pain in his head as the Thunderbolt lurched backward. His brain was debilitated for a moment, allowing his mech to crash like a log.
"Then again, your life does depend on it," Mac chuckled as he circled the Thunderbolt. "But looks like you don't have much respect for it in the first place."
Mac's comment reminded Trystan that he wasn't just fighting for his life, but for the lives of his crews. Fighting back the throbbing in his head, Trystan pulled the joystick backward to get his mech to its feet, but Mac slammed home another salvo, same place, same weapons, with more devastating effect. Half a dozen warning signs erupted in Trystan's ear. His radar went dark, being hit twice by PPC. Smoke billowed from a hideous crater on the Thunderbolt center torso.
Trystan knew he couldn't sustain one more shot to the torso, and he knew that was what Mac would do as soon as his weapons were ready. He pulled his mech back up, but he realized he would just give Mac time to recycle and take a good aim at him. He had to return fire. He raised the Thunderbolt's right arm and, while sitting, blasted his pulse laser without targeting. A couple of bolts slapped the Black Knight on the face, stunning Mac.
"Lucky shot, asshole!" Mac blabbered as he recalibrated his weapons. "Not gonna happen twice!"
The brief pause gave Trystan enough time to pull his mech up. Mac lined up his weapons but Trystan fired his autocannon, followed by his medium laser trio. The laser bored into the Black Knight's shoulder shield, turning it into a mangled piece of metal. The autocannon shells flew high, but knowing that the Black Knight had been hit twice in the head, Mac didn't want to risk it. He brought the mech down, half squatting, avoiding a wild shot that was off the mark anyway.
Trystan noted the hole in Mac's defense, but he figured that at this time Mac was ready to fire. He had his own defense hole, and he knew Mac was looking forward to the killing blow. Not knowing what else to do, he desperately torso-twisted right, exposing his left arm at Mac's weapons, then braced for impact. Mac's PPC bolts slammed into his shoulder guard, turning it into useless scrap metal. Half the myomer on his left arm was singed, unmistakable by the distinct stench that reeked into the cockpit. Mac's Gauss slug, however, missed the mark and hammered the wall behind him. Had it connected, Trystan's left arm would've been flying halfway across the arena.
Getting his mech on proper footing, Trystan launched a laser volley fire, as if trying to snipe Mac's head. Mac ducked again, locking his legs in the process. Trystan then fired his autocannon, followed by his pulse laser, peppering his right torso which housed one of his PPC. Molten shards sprayed in the air, and the Black Knight staggered from the loss of weight.
As the Black Knight realigned its weapons, Trystan shifted out of Mac's line of fire. Mac turned and unleashed a barrage of bolts, but Trystan was so far outside his firing arc, his PPC blasted the wall in spectacular, but useless, fashion. Consecutive PPC shots brought the Black Knight to critical heat. He held his Gauss, waiting for a hard lock on Trystan's battered chest, but Trystan kept moving.
Trystan noticed Mac's lethargic movement, and suddenly found confidence he thought he lost long time ago. He kept moving in circle, positioning himself out of Mac's firing arc while stabbing the Black Knight with his lasers. The Black Knight twisted and turned erratically as Mac cursed and taunted Trystan, goading him to a brawl. But Trystan knew better. Soon Mac's right torso was left a smoking mess, dripping oil and molten armor, as Trystan continued his assault.
In the hangar, Saskia watched the duel with the head of the Bertoli family. The rest of the crews were allowed to watch but a few gunmen held them at gunpoint. The match, who everybody believed to be an easy victory for Mac, dragged on into a battle of wit, and at this point it was clear that Trystan was gaining ground.
"It appears we have underestimated your man," the old man said. "He started off clumsy and unrefined, but years of training start to make its way out."
"Facts known to the simplest of minds," Saskia replied halfheartedly. "Trystan is but a virgin in the arena, yet hands are wet with blood and grit from battlefields. The truest test of men."
"Then why not wager more?"
"To what end? Leaving Solaris is all I desire."
"Word of advice, young lady. The sky is only your limit. Always aim high. You see an opportunity, take it. Grab it before somebody else does, and makes a fool out of you."
Saskia sensed something wrong in the old man's counsel. He knew Mac was losing, yet he tried to goad her into wagering more, as if he had an ace up his sleeve. He didn't look too concerned over the course of the match, even though he was going to lose things within his grasps.
"What more do you offer?" she cautiously said.
"What more do you need?" the man shrugged. "Money, fame, career, pleasure…"
"To what exchange?"
"That if Mac wins, you submit yourselves to Bertoli family. We need talented people like you in our ranks. Especially you."
"These are Trystan's men. I cannot lend voice to their allegiance."
"The way you took control of the situation back at the dropship, I thought you were in charge."
"I am in charge of but my own."
"Shame," the old man sighed. "You could've gone farther than what you can dream of."
"I dream but one," Saskia replied. "Home, absent further entanglements."
The repeated shots at the Black Knight's right torso had taken its toll. Black smoke wafted, hinting critical damage. Sparks and embers dribbled from a massive gash on the front side. Power diminished with every passing minute, reducing the Black Knight almost to a complete stop.
Mac, however, was not done. He twisted as hard as he could and fired his Gauss rifle. The nickel-ferrous slug grazed Trystan's shoulder, shearing the ultra autocannon off. The multi-barreled weapon came off flying in the air before crashing onto the wall. Spark burst from the shoulder, and the Thunderbolt wobbled.
"You bastard!" Trystan growled and raised his right arm. A short burst of laser punished the Black Knight. The entire right torso exploded in brilliant color, throwing the Gauss-laden right arm spiraling in the air. The Black Knight staggered, standing fast despite the deteriorating body. But in the end it slumped forward, using its remaining arm to suspend itself.
Trystan moved forward to claim the victory he thought he deserved, until a dark shadow forced him to reverse direction. A Vindicator 5L, painted entirely in amber, entered the arena and took formation next to the failing Black Knight. The Chinese graffiti on its leg reminded him of Mac's escort, a redhead girl. The Vindicator raised its right arm, aiming its PPC at Trystan's midst, while holding its sword high like a wushi of the orient.
"Mac you lowly sonofabitch," Trystan grimaced.
"Do you think I will let you walk away, little pussy?" Mac's voice crackled as the Black Knight pulled itself up. "You're always hiding behind a woman. Nobody is gonna help you now!"
"You're the one that needs constant babysitting!" Trystan yelled. "Caelia would've killed you if your girlfriend didn't come to your aid! Now you are in the advent of defeat and you just have to bring her in to cover your back! Saskia was right. Your reputation is based on bullying instead of skill and sportsmanship!"
"Yap anyway you like, but in the end we are both the same," Mac croaked as he moved his mech forward. "Dreamers. Bullies. Liars."
"I am not like you!" Trystan sneered as he backpedaled. He didn't know how the Vindicator fought, or if its presence made any difference. He had to assume the worst. He twisted slightly right, exposing his left arm as a sacrificial shield, while aiming his medium lasers at the Vindicator and keeping his pulse lasers on the Black Knight. His breaths got caught in his throat as he watched their guns, waiting for the blue flash to rain down on him anytime soon.
Saskia didn't see it coming. That was why the Bertoli old man wasn't even slightly worried about the match. He knew exactly what was going to happen. Mac was not going to fall. If Trystan was good enough to pull off a miracle out of this abomination, the Bertoli would just throw more thugs into the fight until he was overwhelmed.
"You… animal!" she lunged at the old man, but two thugs grabbed her and forced her to kneel. "You make offer, then produce cock to piss on it!"
"But why?" the old man replied calmly. "We never agreed on the number of combatants. You're welcome to bring in an entire lance against Mac. The fact that you didn't was not my problem."
"You know my meaning! This is not a duel!" Saskia blabbered in vain. "This is a mobbing!"
"You are good but you're naïve," the old man crouched to look at Saskia in the eye. "Join my family, and you can count yourself among the greats of things. I will personally mentor you in the art of negotiation. The guy with the afro shows promises in hand-to-hand combat. I have places where he can count himself useful. This is my final offer. Think before you open your mouth."
"I would not band with you!" Saskia hissed. "And the rest are of singular mind!"
"Very well," the old man rose to his feet. "Some Sheiks at Arkab would pay a fortune for a girl of your form. As for the rest, I don't have much use for them."
"No! No! No!" Saskia writhed as the thugs ushered Osiris, Valen, Dee Dee, Lei Fong and Ronan out of the hangar. "The match has not fallen to conclusion! Mac has yet to stand victor!"
"Do you really think your man can get out of this?" the old man snickered curtly. "You don't know who you're dealing with. We are the Bertoli family. We own this part of city. We are the sun and the moon, the governor and the rebels, the law and the crime! You should've accepted your fate the first time."
Saskia twisted and turned as hard as she could, but in the end she was overwhelmed. She fell on the floor with the men's knees upon her back. But just when she thought all hope was lost, a dozen more armed men barged into the hangar, pointing guns at the Bertoli thugs. Then somebody yelled, "Solaris City Police! Drop your guns!"
Then hell broke loose.
Trystan imagined he could sustain a couple shots from Mac and his girlfriend, then succumbed to damages. His Thunderbolt had no torso armor left. His best plan, barring miracle, was to fire everything at Mac, hoping to take him out before his girlfriend avenge the loss.
But in a miraculous twist, two more battlemechs entered the arena, basking in blinding light. His computer was fried but he recognized them as Guardian ultra-light battlemechs painted in typical black-and-white police cammo. The Guardians broke formation and sandwiched Mac and his girlfriend.
"This is Solaris City Police!" the little mechs blared. "Exit your mechs!"
Instead Mac twisted left and fired his remaining PPC at the Guardian closest to him. The poor cop exploded in an instance. The other Guardian opened fire at the Black Knight, but with only machine guns as its weapons, the cop couldn't do anything. The Vindicator turned and blasted its PPC, ripping the Guardian's leg apart. The police mech slumped like a log, destroying half of its armament under its own body weight.
As the police Guardians fell, two more arrived, followed by an Axman, swiveling its hatchet in a taunting fashion. The Guardians quickly ganged up on the Black Knight, peppering the much larger mech with armor-piercing bullets, while the Axman turned its attention toward the Vindicator. The Vindicator drew first blood with its lasers, cranking up the heat to bring its Triple Strength Myomer to play, but the Axman met the challenge with its own lasers, blow for blow. Globules of molten armor sprayed from both directions as the lasers turned protective armor to glowing smelters.
This went on until the Vindicator reached optimum heat. It took a short leap and thrust its sword at the Axman head. The Axman raised its hatchet and parried the assault. The two melee weapons clashed in a deafening thunder. Sparks exploded upon impact. The Vindicator twisted and launched another strike, but the Axman blocked it backhanded. The clash almost made the Vindicator lose its grip.
Acknowledging the Axman's brute strength, the Vindicator changed strategy. It attacked the Axman with an overhand slice. The Axman raised its arm to block the sword, leaving its torso open. The Vindicator shoved its right arm at the Axman's midsection and fired its PPC at point blank range. The Axman's front armor, severely weakened by the lasers, gave way to the particle bolt. Electric discharges flashed from the Axman's chest, along with jagged-edged shards. The front metal casing split in two, exposing the internal structure for subsequent attack.
But before the Vindicator could follow up its assault, the Axman returned fire. Its LB-20X roared with murderous intent, spitting hundreds of submunitions in less than 20 meters away. They assaulted the Vindicator's chest like a tidal wave, ripping armor as if it was made of paper. The yellow Capellan mech was swept off its feet, landing on its butt, looking up at the Axman as it lunged with hatchet high above its head.
The Black Knight had finished another Guardian, but the Vindicator's failing degraded its confidence. The Black Knight turned back and ran toward another hangar. The Guardian gave a daring chase but the Black Knight shot a coolant tank with its PPC, setting up a massive firestorm in the hangar. The police mech was forced to turn around.
Watching the Black Knight leaving, the Vindicator blasted all jets to propel itself hundreds of meters into the air, then cleared the arena wall and landed outside. The Axman tried to shoot it down, but the Vindicator soon went out of reach.
Trystan watched everything in awe, wondering what was happening. He knew the Guardian mechs were cops, which was a good thing, but he didn't know the Axman. It was too dark to make out the Axman's paint scheme. He kept his mech steady as the Axman, backed up by the police Guardian, turned toward him with its hatchet high above its head and its autocannon muzzle square against his cockpit.
"Don't shoot don't shoot don't shoot!" Trystan said through his external speaker. "My name is Trystan Vandenberg. I have nothing to do with those guys!"
The Axman lowered its hatchet but kept the autocannon muzzle on the Thunderbolt. "Captain Kyle Garret, 160 Davion Guards. Exit your mech."
The hangar was an open area without places to take cover, so it was hard to see who was shooting at whom. Anyone with a gun on his hand just squeezed the trigger and let bullets fly. Muzzle flashes lit up the hangar like strobe lights at a discotheque. Mortal screams echoed from all directions, followed by thudding bodies. Crackling sound from machine guns blended with yells and curses. The only thing Saskia could do was to lie down on the floor with hands on her head.
As Valen, Dee Dee, Lei Fong, and Ronan followed Saskia's maneuver, Osiris perked his head up to locate the gunman that stole his kukri. Once he found the man, he lunged at him, ignoring the firefight, and grabbed the kukri from his belt. The gunman could only look into Osiris' eyes as the Clan infantryman stabbed his abs, burying the blade to the hilt.
"This is mine, Freebirth!" Osiris growled, then pulled out the kukri. He tackled the gunman and pinned him on the floor, then stabbed his chest repeatedly in rapid succession. The gunman gurgled in his death throes as blood spurted from every orifice. His torso turned into gory mess under Osiris' relentless attack.
As Osiris manhandled the gunman, the police squad overwhelmed the Bertoli thugs. A few cops surrounded Osiris, yelling at him to drop his weapon. But Osiris ritualistically held his blood-soaked kukri in front of his face, wiped it clean on the gunman's clothes, then sheathed it into the scabbard on his belt.
"Drop the blade Hendrix, or we'll shoot!" one of the cops cocked his weapon.
"No no no, don't shoot! He's not with the Bertolis!" Saskia screamed before Osiris did another stupid stunt that would cost him his life. "He's with me! A few of us, fallen to Bertoli's underhand schemes!"
Another man with a long trench coat, clearly a higher-ranking officer, came to help Saskia to her feet. "Captain Morton, SCPD," he said. "Who are you? How many of you are here?"
"We are mere passerby's, set to layover for recruits and supplies. My name is Saskia. Valen, Dee Dee, Lei Fong, and Osiris are all in the same league. There is another, Trystan Vandenberg, forced to take position against two Bertoli battlemechs."
"Vandenberg?" Captain Morton cringed. He drew his personal comset and established comlink. "Kyle, this is Morton. Hangar is secured, but the bastard old man escaped."
"Arena is secured," the answer came loud and clear. "Two Bertoli battlemechs fled. I can't get them. The last one claimed to be a victim of Bertoli tomfooleries."
"Vandenberg?"
"Positive. You know him?"
"Possibly. I worked on a Vandenberg case two years ago. Bring him down. We'll see what he has to say about this mess."
"Ten-four. Garret out."
Captain Morton turned off his comset and helped the rest of the team. "We'll get you out of here."