Chapter 30

May 21th, 3025

Aboard Dropship Akemi Ayame (Bright Iris)

South of Paphos Planetary Preserve

Alshayra Continent

Oka Kuri felt the otherworldly tremble of his Overlord engaging the braking thrusters to turn an otherwise world-changing catastrophic event into a much more tolerable landing. Such a feat was often compared in difficulty to landing with a parachute on a mountain top.

He would feel more existential if the blood in his body wasn't trying to leave through his ears. He was aboard his Cyclops, named Queen Bee, and couldn't go anywhere, completely at the mercy of the pilot of the Akemi Ayame. The captain was courteous enough to send the video feeds from various landing-angle cameras straight to his 'mech, so he had a better understanding of what was beneath him.

Right now, the only thing between him and a cataclysmic death were the fires of several small suns, as well as the occasional flare of even smaller suns while maneuvering thrusters periodically corrected their descent.

Despite the bright blooms below him, he could see so much from up here. One of the perks of command he had never been able to put into words until recently, was the privilege of seeing the planet from so high up, in all its glory, during a combat landing. The curvature of the planet was far more pronounced here, and mountain peaks of Gimli to the south were barely visible on the horizon. And the horizon from so high up had a lot more black than he was ever used to. Everyone else had to settle with staring at the inside of the 'mech bay, or the 'mechs across from them currently secured to their gantries, wondering when it would end.

If it weren't for the bone-shaking vibrations coupled with negative g's that allowed him to remember the last three meals he had, he might have even taken a picture.

The shaking continued for several more minutes as the planet grew in size on his screen to the point where it looked like it swallowed them whole. The plains south of Paphos forest grew in size, various squares and circles of farmland to the west leaving his field of vision.

"Attention Battle Rats." He tried to keep his voice steady the best he could with the edges of his vision losing their redness as the dropship began to lose its velocity, as if a giant metal asteroid had second thoughts about wiping out life on the planet as they know it.

"In fifty-five seconds, we will finally arrive on Suk II. We have had minimal resistance from RoughRiders due to our aerospace superiority. The plan remains the same. Secure the LZ, move north, take the capitol. Then the spaceport."

He took his eyes off the screen and stared at the 'mech bays stretched out around him. Other 'mechs of his command lance stood across from him, still secured during the landing.

"Secure the landing zone, and use any additional space to disperse northward as well as westward. Advance by teams. Everyone knows the disembark order. Stick with that. If and when we make contact, do not attempt to leave your dropship in a hurry. Advance by company, beginning with companies Foxtrot, Hotel, and Golf. Again, Foxtrot, Hotel, Golf. Acknowledge and good hunting. For the Dragon!"

About a dozen male voices came back affirmative, and the universe started to seem slightly more normal as all his blood returned to the rest of his body in places where it should be. His legs had become cold for a moment as only his cooling vest, shorts, and boots were all he wore. He was itching to go, to move a little bit more since being in his cockpit for the last few hours doing nothing but talking. Talking and thinking. Talking and thinking. Getting reports from the commander of the Vengence running aerospace cover for the last two days of the journey with its complement of fighters. And then more thinking.

I might take up the aide's offer of something in my tea to relax me a little bit more.

Over two years of preparation for this moment and his heart began to race when he realized how close he was. The dropship had stopped entirely, no doubt sending enough dust and minerals towards the rest of the world to build a small moon, or a space station. As everyone felt themselves bounce in their seat against their harness while the dropship touched down, the vibrations and ambient noise of the thrusters began to die down.

The six 'mech-sized doors all around the Overlord raised up. Within moments over his nerohelmet he heard "Touchdown complete. You may disembark now, Sho-Sho. May this fight be swift."

He thanked his dropship captain and watched as the clamps holding every 'mech in place on the gigantic ship release in a resounding clunk that echoed into his external microphones.

"Black Actual, Red Actual. Perimeter set. No resistance, over."

"Roger Red. Expand perimeter two clicks."

"Roger."

Finally giving himself clearance as one of the last to leave the dropship, he filed into line, ready to sprint out. If there was ever a more terrifying place for a 'mech pilot to ever be than in the doorway of a dropship, Kuri didn't know about it. He had trained his men with competitions to see who could get out the fastest with his own Cyclops.

He watched every 'mech move with the same urgency he would have himself, one after another practically sprinting out of all of the six doors. It only took about forty-five seconds for thirty-six 'mechs of mostly medium and heavy size to get clear of the giant target of the doorways.

Overhead, several aerospace in a V formation screamed overhead. Several other squadrons were at varying altitudes circled or passed by much higher, waiting for someone to pop their heads up so they could fire the first shot of this war.

Kuri had no desire to fire a single missile or shell if he didn't have to, but he would enjoy firing the first one as much as anyone.

"Contact, bearing zero-two-two. Fire Javelin. Is he…

Another voice. "Hai. He's waving at us. Over two clicks north, not in range."

Kuri had no time for this, but the company commander in charge spoke up first. "Don't let him bait you. Stay in formation and advance. What unit are they with?"

"Mercenary. No Militia or RoughRider insignia."

The rolling fields of green all around them started to show younger saplings and trees only a few years old, getting larger as they went north.

He changed channels to his aerospace commander. "Gold actual, Black actual. We have light 'mech contacts at grid kilo-alpha-juliet, one-five-five. Requesting recon further north around Paphos."

"Gold actual, acknowledged. Zero resistance in the air, will recon edges of forest but be advised trees are too thick to provide fire support."

"Black acknowledges."

The forest spanned an east-west area of almost five hundred kilometers and was at least a hundred kilometers from north to south. No going around at this point. We're committed, but it let us have a safe landing zone. A risk I'm willing to take.

His Cyclops thundered along the plains, turning fallen branches into smashed wooden fibres and small rocks into dust. To either side of him, 'mechs cruised along slightly ahead, rolling over the hills with ease. Footprints the size of most small cars made the trail behind them look like a herd of metal dinosaurs had just come through. The tiniest of prints from a Locust stuck out from the edge of a Marauder's footprint, as if the smaller bird-like creature was captured in the hypothetical jaws of a much larger bird-like creature on the food chain.

The treeline, approximately fifteen kilometers in front of them, was gradually getting bigger. Nobody in his battalion, designated as Black, was up in front of the pack. Red, the designation for his second battalion, combined the two colors in the Combine crest, was in charge of forward recon and handling the flanks. Their 'mechs were lighter, faster, more agile for that sort of work. His black battalion was for the decisive engagements. For when you absolutely, positively, wanted to hold a patch of land and what was inside it.

His red battalion was in front and on either side of him forming a tentative wedge. When push came to shove, they simply got out of the way for the men with the bigger toys. Though he begrudgingly had more respect for lighter 'mech pilots. It took a crazy or dedicated pilot to be able to move at such breakneck speeds while constantly being tossed around in your seat like a bull trying to buck off a particularly annoying mosquito. While the insect was also giving commands to the bull.

And being able to land their shots when it counted while doing all that, too. He truly believed the real skill was in light 'mech piloting, only losing slightly to aerospace pilots.

His Cyclops had more sophisticated electronics, and made for an excellent C&C 'mech. Due to the declining nature of combat tech over the last few hundred years, this was only beaten by actually sitting in a dedicated command vehicle, with practically no protection. A dangerous endeavor, and not a worthy tradeoff to a Cyclops in Kuri's opinion.

So he lumbered on, over two stories above the ground while his 'mechs continuously relayed new information. The Fire Javelin reappearing with another wave, this time in mid-jump. Like a bullfighter brandishing his muleta, inviting the charge. Several of his own command company were irritated to hear this, even second-hand, without being in range to fire a shot themselves.

A minute later, a Firebee appearing five kilometers to the west and running at near top-speed over the grassy knolls back to the forest, almost implying "hey, wait for meeee" to his comrades. A few missiles came from a from a Valkyrie, poorly aimed out of range, not even able to start a brush fire.

The distance on his range counter to the most unimaginative waypoint "one" was ticking down steadily, now under five clicks. 2nd battalion should be—

"Multiple power-up contacts. Another lance, makes two now. Stand by for 'mechs." His speakers were picking up the increasing noise of some of his own fighters getting much closer."

"Black actual, gold actual."

"Go, gold." Keep it short, people. Don't get hung up on protocol right now.

"New lance powering up, plus possible armor contacts within tree line. Unknown numbers, confirmed four LTV-4's. Visibility almost zero after two clicks into forest. Will advise."

"Roger gold. Stay on station and strafe at will. Out."

More missiles arced from the base of the forest towards them. Several hit one of his Dragons ahead and to his left. Since it was the only visible explosion, even the smallest booms can have a more dramatic effect. Tiny specs of metal flung out from the crater in its shoulder, but kept lumbering on, albeit adding some more zig and zag to its speed.

Since he wasn't tied directly into each lance and company's own communications, for his own sake of not having his ears bleed from overlapping voices, he wasn't able to hear everyone report every missile lock and sensor trace. No doubt his pilot had a brief moment of panic followed by a wake-up call from taking the first hit of the battle.

"Black actual, red actual."

"Go red."

"Two light lances all with camouflage netting draped over the shoulders like ponchos. Reporting sensor locks of five seconds or less before they get out of range again. Red is entering forest now."

"Roger red. Advise all of red to hold formations and focus on snap shots with their biggest direct-fire weapon. Give them fewer things to focus on."

Several rhythmic vibrations and dust clouds emerged from just inside the heavy tree line.

"Minefield!" A young voice breaking protocol at the shock of what they just ran into. Likely someone up in front, accidentally hitting all-comms. "Shit, sorry! All battle rats, minefield just inside the treeline! Unknown size." Nothing like doubling-down if you've already made a mistake. At least that was relevant intel that everyone needed to know immediately.

One of his consoles allowed whatever preferences he wanted regarding comms. Any battalion-wide, command lance, or command company transmission would scroll to the info of the pilot, their 'mech, and callsign, which he all knew by heart at this point. "

"Cold ICE start! New contacts, bearing zero-two-zero. LTV-4's. One company." A voice breaking protocol. Followed by a bright flash just within the tree line as multiple PPC's fired simultaneously at one of the 'mechs in red battalion. It was too far away to see visually, but another console gave colored updates that scrolled similarly to his comm console.

As his curious eye was receiving an update on a Panther in red, a secondary flicker of blue and white light silhouetted the 'mech against the backdrop of the forest once more, and a large piece of the light 'mech went flying upwards. His readout updated again as the Panther's status went from a light yellow to black, indicating it was out of the fight, missing an arm. Several other 'mechs up in front reported minor or moderate damage from the barrage, but only one 'mech was out of the fight for now. Damn. First blood to the defenders.

His very angry red battalion answered back with a barrage of snap-shots that set the entrance of the nature preserve ablaze. A small explosion went off from deeper in the forest, highlighting many old, thick trees that seemed to twist in impossible directions. Waypoint one was now reaching the three kilometer mark, and the edge of the forest was getting very crowded with dozens of 'mechs, most of the ones in front at a full stop.

"Black actual, red actual. Minus one friendly Panther. It's Kinoko. Alive but unconscious. No fires detected. LTV alpha strike, milita tanks. Return fire confirmed one LTV kill, rest disengaging at flank speed, over."

"Black acknowledges. Advise using energy and small weapons fire to clear a path through the minefield until you reach the tracks of the enemy 'mechs and tanks. I'll get the medevac."

"Roger black, arigato. Out."

"Lavender actual, black actual." His logistics team, albeit much smaller, had one compact VTOL that had been transported out of the dropship and should be "unpacked" by now for medevac purposes.

"Go black."

"Requesting medevac at kilo alpha juliet, one-five-two. Downed Panther. Pilot unconscious, no internal fires. LZ will be hot but secured at arrival. Air cover on station."

"Roger black. Still unpacking, ETD two minutes, ETA four minutes, over."

"Roger Lavender, out."

"Black actual to all black units. Minefield approximately two point five clicks ahead of actual's position. Use energy weapons and machine guns to sweep directly ahead of you, then fall in behind red battalion's tracks until we find out how deep it goes. Alphas nine through twelve, you're covering the medevac for Hawkeye until it leaves, returning to LZ to reestablish perimeter. Sweep around his 'mech while he's unconscious. Company actuals acknowledge and everyone get moving."

Two other voices roger'ed up, as well as his command company's 3rd lance. The multitude of larger 'mechs began to dissapear behind several twisting columns as they entered the forest. He had seen trees like this before on other planets, but the lighter gravity on Suk II made for some interesting, almost vine-like twisting of these trees imported from Terran seeds that sometimes even went horizontal. Several small whumps preceded large clouds of dust as some of the larger obstructions were cut down and then fell on a random mine.

Their progress at this point was becoming painstakingly slow, but it was a big forest and they couldn't have mined the entire perimeter of the capitol and the spaceport once they realized the Legion wouldn't be landing there.

Kuri made a quick change over to his 2nd batt comms for a moment, just to get another quick snap shot of what's going on in front of him without bothering with lengthy protocol. A commander's time was precious, and any time he could save could save lives, including perhaps his own.

"—tact, bearing three-four-zero. Catapult. Target Hotel. Most missiles hit the trees."

The forest technically began several kilometers behind him, but the real tree growth was a mere few hundred meters in front of him now. Several more fires started in front of him just to his left as the Cat's mostly missed LRM's began to burn the twisted vision before Kuri.

"New power up contact, bearing zero-five—He's jumping!"

A very large yellow flash erupted several kilometers ahead of him. In the distance, an Urbanmech had immediately powered up, jumped, and was launched backwards by an incredible amount of force. Multiple 'mechs in front of it were hit by the blast, though nobody was really sure how it happened.

The thirty-ton garbage can with legs performed an acrobatic feat no 'mech of its size had ever done. Or would ever do again unless the tactic was duplicated. It did a partial somersault while also moving backwards. And bending backwards. Whatever was mounted to the entire 'mech's exterior had pushed the legs backwards, and the Urbie did a full-on faceplant directly into the dirt. The back edge of the hole it jumped out of caved beneath it, and it slid partially head-first back in. The legs came down with a pair of thumps, and nothing moved after that.

"There's no one inside it!"

A trap. A suicide mission for a 'mech with no pilot.

Red batt comms went haywire for a few seconds as everyone started to grasp what just happened. Several of his 'mechs took a little damage, and one of his Shadow Hawks was limping. Maybe took taken one in the knee. He checked the list. One of his newer pilots, callsign Scroll. Fortunately, nobody was knocked out from that little ploy. He chimed in. "All Red pilots, this is raven actual. Slow your advance to fifteen KPH and cease all pursuit. Stay together. This probably isn't their only trick. Make sure Scroll gets out. Drag him if you have to. Out."

The initial surprise of realizing their regimental CO was listening in on all that washed away some of the initial shock of the trap, and everyone slowed down to a more cautious pace. The lights knew those orders didn't really apply to them—they needed to keep moving and observing as much as they could while avoiding the actual fighting.

"Black actual, red actual." He wasted no time waiting for a response, seeming rather nervous himself. "Vanguard scouts report another minefield directly ahead of us."

Within seconds, flames began to spread rapidly in an arc encircling the entire edge of the forest behind them. "Raven actual, this is Black bravo seven."

He eased up on his own foot pedals slightly, bringing his Cyclops more in line with the rest of his Regiment's overall speed, though that didn't take much at this point.

"Go seven."

"Repeating message on most general channels."

"Copy."

He changed channels and heard an old song. He recognized it instantly, but he couldn't remember the name of the title. His Cyclops' modest computer AI played the details of it in a small scrolling ticker across one of his screens. He recognized the title now. It was infamous.

A Night on Bald Mountain.

His computer chimed in. The female voice was overly calm. "Forest fire detected, bearing one-four-zero."

Seconds later, "one-six-zero."

And again. "One-eight-zero."

The mercs must have lit it. They're trying to close the door behind us.

"New power-up contacts! Bearing three-five-zero through zero-one-five! Over a dozen of them!"

Oh hell no. "All battle rats, listen up. This is raven actual. Withdraw, immediately, bearing due south. Get out of this forest before the entire thing goes up in flames around us and we run into more traps. Get out. Now."

Responding to the order, his men seemed disappointed, but justifiably relieved. The fire only had one way to burn. Directly into his 'mechs. It would be pushing their heat sinks to levels that would make it difficult to fire consistently, even with his modifications in transit. Their sensors wouldn't be as good, either, and they were only going deeper into the forest. Let the fire take their sweet nature preserve and remove their cover. And their mines.

"All battle rats, raven actual. Regroup at kilo-alpha-juliet, one-five-three and reestablish a perimeter. Use the same paths we came in on." He punched in the coordinates to be broadcast to his entire regiment. "We'll go due east from there, around the forest. I want any lance going faster than seventy-five KPH moving all the way to highway K-5. Secure it immediately for northern motion. Move it!"

His regiment wasn't slowed down with infantry or heavy armor, so he relied on his pilot's mobility and the option to simply switch battlefields entirely if it suited him. Some called it cautious, some called it cowardly. He simply called it careful. The Dragon would not approve of his little operation if it also cost them dearly. And he still had the RoughRiders to contend with. He needed to be at full strength for that.

His 'mech sauntered through flamed thirty meters deep already, satisfied he made the right call.

Round one to you, my merc friend. Many rounds remain.

"Wow, they're actually going completely around. Awwwww…" Clothesline tried to sound disappointed, but relief coated his voice. "There goes our salvage."

"Can't say I ever saw that at the 'Ring. Way to go babe. Err, Major." Mother Hen sounded more embarrassed than anything.

Dirk laughed in her own helmet, snug in her Catapult with her hands on the sticks."You know we aren't getting any of that anyway, Clothesline. The farmers will probably get more than we ever will on this campaign. All Coyotes, turn off the music, and the reactors. Your days of digging were not in vain today. Mother Hen, ask the firefighters to come in and extinguish what they can. They can follow our tracks through the minefield.

"Good job, people. Everyone shift due east and we'll continue to shadow the big ones. Watch the pits. We probably bought the RoughRiders another three or four hours if they go all the way around the forest." The now-signature chorus of high-pitched howls responded, and her ego felt about as big as her Catapult.

"Was it good for you, Nymph?"

"The best sendoff I could ever hope for, Major." She could almost hear Ampliiaa grinning from half a kilometer away in her Mongoose as it turned to walk steadily eastward, probably still patting the jury-rigged "ConZole" his chief had stuck somewhere in her cockpit.

They never got to use the second part of their plan—the dozens of pitfalls of varying shapes and sizes, all made as close to invisible as they could manage.

The final part, the controlled forest fire, was started with some high-grade fuel that the captain of the Militia dropship was kind enough to loan them. She didn't really expect them to simply turn around and run, but forcing them to go around the forest entirely still helped buy the RoughRiders time, and was still considered a win.

The song idea was all Martin. Chief Zol supplied the program that allowed each 'mech to play it on a separate general channel, clogging nearly all of them. He figured a lot of locals would also be very confused for the duration of the loop, though she estimated they only got about ninety seconds into the classic song before they turned and ran. Good choice, Marty.

She considered herself lucky this was a primarily 'mech-based regiment, acting without heavy supporting forces on the ground like infantry, or that plan would have never worked. Of course, she'd have to pay for that later, but maybe she could negotiate some of that from the Panther they'd left behind.

There were no salvage trucks nearby on this particular mission, but since they held the field for the foreseeable future, someone might swing by and get it for them.

She also met with a lot of the local farmers with the spare days she had with a message: If they leave it behind, take anything you can. They were happy to oblige—'mech parts went for a good price on this planet, especially the easier-to-carry electronics. And most of them had the means to haul something of that size. Her dad was a farmer, and a farmer's truck was one of the most valuable—and most useful—things they owned.

It was how she walked in her first 'mech—pieced together from local farmers over the span of several wars. It was an abomination and she loved it. The Wrights had a knack for getting to battlefield salvage before the actual salvage vehicles arrived. She suspected they sold a lot of it and were able to use it send her to college instead of a poor farmer's wages.

She suspected that Panther would never walk again in this life. However it would live another life together with many other "souls" Martin usually joked about.

If that was true, she wondered if it would argue with itself a lot. Her family's 'mech, nicknamed Golem, certainly felt that way.

A picture of her and her parents standing in front of its leg was clipped to her Cat's cockpit. Pearl's gotta meet 'em. Wait, wait. Let's get through this war, then she can meet 'em.