Dawnblitz
It was two hours before dawn. Upon a harsh savanna, a Regiment of Mechs hid within a small forest. Powered down, but not unmanned. They silently waited.
At an unseeable signal, the heart of their engines roared. Thousands of tons of the Inner Sphere's most venerable war machines came to life again. Out of the forest, they lumbered with the ponderous grace only a machine could achieve.
The extra instruments inside Senior Colonel Yuko Gonzales' Mech made the pilot's seat ever so slightly cramped. The wires to his modded headset clinked ever so lightly against the extra computers whenever his Victor's foot fell. It wasn't enough to actually affect him physically, but combined with the embrace of heavy metal and armor glass, there was the slight press of claustrophobia on the walls of his psyche.
A crackle on the comms signalled his second's coming report.
"We're all formed up, sir," said Colonel Tivadar. "We'll be leaving the Line of Departure within 2 minutes." As his second in command, it was Tivadar's duty to track the details while shadowing him. It was the traditional way of training subordinates to higher commands. And if nothing else, Gonzales appreciated tradition, especially if it was effective.
His eyes flicked to the TacMap to make sure that was the case. As communicated, his expanded regiment was in their assault column. Light Mechs formed the skirmish line at the tip, fanned out in a large V. Blocks of Medium Mechs in companies trailed just far enough behind to obscure via distance, but close enough to run in and support the skirmish line. And the precious rare Assault Mechs rested in the center in a single armored fist.
As far a regiment scale maneuvers went, this was an Inner Sphere standard.
For the first time in a long time, regiments were being put to use as a tactical unit in a much bigger game.
His fingers tapped impatiently, lightly against his controls. And his eyes continued to flick towards his TacMap. Normally, any Colonel would be overjoyed to have his Mech regiment expanded. 'More metal; more good!' As the saying went. But his tongue was heavy and his spirit dour thinking about the new additions.
Two extra battalions formed the rear guard.
Vehicles. Heavy and lightly armed compared to Mechs. On average, they moved slower than the rest of his regiment. So they formed the rear guard not because it was befitting of their competence, but because they were literally too slow as a unit to put in the battle line.
In good hands, their weaknesses were deftly handled. But these weren't the experienced hands he was used to. They were new recruits. Green and wet behind the ears.
"We are now past the Line of Departure, our operation has officially begun," said Tivadar.
He keyed his own comms and sent a general message to the regiment. "Keep the formation tight, citizens. Remember, we're up against Terrans, our armor and our firepower is our primary advantage. So stick to your units, like white on rice. And if we're lucky, we just might pull off a small victory."
And with those words, the newly christened 4th Experimental Regiment plunged into the Pho valley. The valley sides towered and obscured the horizon. But the dead riverbed that dominated the valley's center was blessedly flat.
They kept like that for an hour, travelling down towards their target. A spur of land jutted into his regiment's path, providing a relatively gentle slope to climb out.
As the first of his Light Mechs started to climb, weighty thuds echoed out. And the regiment slowed as they paid witness to the oft silent Lord of War. The speakers of his Mech translated perfectly those distant sounds.
"Our heavy artillery barrage has begun, do not tarry," Gonzales commanded, urging his regiment forward again. "Our window of opportunity is brief. We must NOT be late."
As the regiment climbed the slope, the vehicles struggled to keep pace. The once perfect column stretched into an ungainly string. The regiment had to briefly stop for the last of their heavy vehicles to clear the top.
Taking a deep breath in, he let loose a heavy sigh. He would keep his peace, for nothing he could say would remedy the situation. It was not the vehicle commanders' fault their warmachine was inhuman, and thus imperfect. Vehicles would naturally struggle where the legs of Mechs wouldn't. This was a lesson he would be sure to remind his peers.
Once reformed, his regiment recommenced their march.
With all the experience he had, he spoke with the full force of his authority. "We are five minutes from the estimated contact line. Steel your hearts. For the Confederation! For the Chancellor!"
As one, the regiment replied. As one, they shouted. As one, they heard each other's affirmations.
A rally and a warcry in a facsimile of ancient Terrans from the Age of Iron.
Within a heartbeat, the vehicle battalion's two commanders cried out in warning. "Enemy air squadron. Two o'clock. 4 Degrees up. 100 clicks out. Approaching rapidly!"
"Brace!" Gonzales shouted. "Brace for bombing run!"
Every Mech and vehicle that could, pointed their guns and racks to the sky. For all the complexity of modern weaponry, there was a simple beauty in their design. Even the most specialized weapon possessed a level of flexibility unimagined by their ancestors. So any Mech or vehicle, with a medium ranged weapon or better, was theoretically capable of some level of anti-air work.
Tracers streaked across the skies, some blossoming into clouds of shrapnel. The breathy fwish of missiles punctuated the constant drone of autocannon fire. But the fighters were too fast and too high. Like lighting, they flashed by.
In the wake of their afterburner came the thunder.
Six lines of bombs clawed their way through his regiment. Despite being in the safety of his cockpit, the sheer force and chaos reached through and rocked his world.
Long honed skills kicked in even during his disorientation. "Sitrep. NOW!" He screamed.
And the discipline of his unit held.
"1st Battalion all green."
"2nd Battalion reporting damage suffered. 7% total armor gone."
"3rd Battalion reporting 3% total armor gone."
"4th Battalion reporting, I have a lance of Bulldogs mission killed. Their motive systems are gone."
"5th Battalion reporting, we have sustained heavy damage but no mission kills. Our motive systems are at reduced capacity."
"Shit." In the heat of the moment, he'd almost forgotten about the vehicle battalions. As the rear guard, they were spread out in large rows to better cover the column's rear. The 5th Battalion was at the very end of the column. In hindsight, it was a miracle the 4th wasn't in a similar state.
Checking the StratMap he made his decision. "We will maintain formation. Reduce speed by ten clicks," he ordered.
"Sir, is that wise?" Tivadar privately questioned him. "At such reduced speed, we will likely be unable to exploit our heavy artillery's impact."
"Wise?" he asked rhetorically. "No. It absolutely isn't."
A soft exhalation of surprise was Tivadar's reply.
"But, it's making the best of a bad hand. Sometimes there aren't any good choices, only bad ones. So you pick the least bad option and hope you get through the day," he lectured mildly. "In this instance, I believe having an isolated unit of vehicles would be worse for us than failing to maintain our timetable and take advantage of the heavy artillery. Alone and unsupported, they would be easily slaughtered."
"Ah. I understand."
"In any case," he continued. "We do have two lances of artillery with the vehicle battalions. We'll just lean on them more than anticipated to make good our tardiness."
Within two hours, they made contact with the Terran battleline. The Terrans greeted them with a surprise. Siege Tank fire knocked down and mission killed two Lights instantly. In return, the regiment's artillery began counter battery fire. Eight guns of Thumpers rapidly punched out round after round.
The Light Mechs halted their advance, and the Medium Mechs bounded forwards in three lines. Beneath the whistling of the shells, the regiment advanced across the open into the Terran trench lines.
Like a dog biting a hedgehog, it was a painful experience.
The Terrans had universally equipped their army with anti mech grade weaponry. Every single infantryman in the trenches, in the bunkers, in the open, or hiding behind rubble chewed into the armor plating of his Mechs, rapidly degrading the first wave.
Before the first three companies could lose 20% of their armor, Gonzales barked out a quick order to the TacComms. "I need smoke cover. Now!"
LRM Carriers fanned their missiles across the sky, and plummeted them down between the Terrans and his soldiers. While it didn't stop the Terrans from continuing to chew through their armor, it reduced the efficacy of their fire.
"First wave cycle out. Second wave begin," he barked another quick order.
"But, sir—" someone protested.
"I was exceedingly clear, citizen," he spat. "First wave cycle out. Second wave begin."
And the first three companies slowed down enough that the second wave of Mech companies overtook them. Smashing through the smoke, the second wave of Mech companies crashed into the trench lines and began a brutal melee.
Mechs were in their natural element in close quarters. It was here that the perfection of the machine-made-human form made itself apparent on the battlefield, and the inadequacies of everything else, anything less, became apparent.
It wasn't just the fists and the legs that the Mechs could make use of. It was the micro twitches, the flinches, and subtle sway-dodges that gave the Mechs their edge. Micro advantages compounding upon each other until surety of superiority. Things that are impossible in any other form except the Mech.
"That's enough, let the 4th Battalion clear the remnants. Per the original plan, third wave cycle in. Smoke on the nomans. And, Lt. Colonel Peng, if you please."
Two blinks on the TacComms wordlessly signalled that Lt. Colonel Peng received his orders and was executing them.
The Thumpers that were previously playing a deadly game of cat and mouse ceased, and turned their attention to their new targets. Five rounds rapid. Fired for effect onto the second Terran trench line. The line where their Siege Tanks dug in 'assault mode'.
Just like before, the 4th Experimental bit into the hedgehog.
"All Mech companies of the third wave are reporting they are down to half their armor factor, Colonel." Tivadar reported. "They are all dangerously close to combat loss groupings."
"I see that," he grunted while ineffectually returning long range fire with his AC/20 into the third trench line.
The problem was that the trench lines had fields of fire that allowed one line to fire into the other, even while that one was getting mauled. The towering height of mechs meant they were prime targets. Normally it wasn't a problem. Normally, there wouldn't be a trench line or siege works.
"We're changing plans. The first wave will cycle in, but they will not assault the third trench line, they are there to support the assault. The honor of which shall go to the 4th Battalion. The 5th shall hold the first trench line." he relayed calmly. A quick flick of his hands, and the light touch of a few buttons, relayed the new battle plan instantly across the TacComm.
The regiment reoriented itself near instantly. The companies of the first wave sprinted forward under the cover of smoke and artillery fire. And the 4th Battalion of vehicles raced across the no man's land to crash into enemy lines.
Gonzales observed a curious thing about vehicle crews. They don't stop firing. Ever. A competent MechWarrior only ever shoots when they're properly braced for it, but seamlessly interweaves bracing with walking, so as to shoot while moving. This is because getting hit while unbraced and shooting stresses the gyros something fierce, and could potentially tip over a particularly top-heavy mech.
Vehicle crews don't stop firing. Not while they're moving. Not while they're getting pummeled. Not while they're moving and getting pummeled. They possessed a raw, single-minded aggression.
It certainly helped once they were in the thick of things. Infantry organic to the vehicle battalions dismounted and heroically fought power armored marines to protect their charges. They weren't alone, however, as the first wave of mechs lumbered forward and raked the battlefield for any non Capellan.
Still, it was a gruesome toll.
80% casualties. The entire infantry complement was no longer a factor.
With the whole regiment hovering at just over 75% of their total armor, they would have just enough fight left in them for the main base.
"Sir, I'm picking up movement across our far right flank." Lt. Colonel Stimson nervously reported. "I have no idea what they are, but they aren't Sneakies, that's for sure." Sneakies was the nickname for the stealthed nightmares the Terrans call ASF and VTOLs.
Gonzales flicked his eyes to the StratMap and tuned into StratComm, the operational layer of the Command Net. The other three regiments involved were all similarly mauled, if not worse off than his own. None of them had it in them to even support the 4th in their push to knock out the main base. The reason was rather apparent from its absence.
"Tivadar, you heard him. I want a reserve formed with the first battalion. Put them with us, in the second trench line. Thumper lances, I want all the mines we have dumped between us and the main base." Switching comm channels, he addressed the rest of his command. "Everyone dig in. Their RRF will be hitting us soon."
"Is this another bad hand, Colonel?" asked Tivadar, again on a private channel.
The attack on the main base was almost certainly called off. But the rest of the regiments couldn't possibly disengage with the Terran RRF intact and free to maneuver. If anything, the Confederation could seriously be looking at totally losing three entire regiments worth of officers and more importantly, metal if the 4th were to retreat now.
"We do what we must for the Confederation and its citizens, my disciple."
Heartbreakingly, Siege Tank fire rained down upon them not long after. In the initial bombardment, the eight Thumpers were destroyed from sheer volume of fire carpeting the battlefield. Not long after, Diamond backs and assault mode Siege Tanks led a spearhead against the combined might of the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Battalions.
Unlike the Capellans no special munitions obscured the battlefield. Just pure armor and firepower rolling across the charred and broken savanna. Sometimes setting off a landmine, only to ignore it and press on.
A crackle on the comms broke news from the rear. "This is Stimson, I have made contact with the enemy at our rear. It's a light force of Siege Tanks, Vultures, and Hellions. We'll hold. Don't send reinforcements. I say again, do NOT send reinforcements."
"Vultures," hissed Gonzales. That meant retreat was now well and truly impossible for the 4th.
"They're breaking through!" Shouted someone. "They're breaking through the center!"
"1st Battalion. Honored citizens of the Confederation, with me!" He rallied his soldiers and fired his jump jets. They charged out with him and met the armored spearhead in the no man's land between the second and third trench line.
Firing his Victor's AC/20 brought a grim satisfaction to Gonzales. The chunk-chunk booms of the massive gun killed everything it touched.
The 1st and his lance of Assault Mechs were relatively fresh from fighting. They could stop the armored push cold and give the rest of the battalions time to reform and reorient themselves. It wouldn't bring victory. Nothing would.
But it would buy time.
The other three regiments might still retreat intact, even with Spider Mines burrowed in their path. All they needed to succeed in that, was time. Time he would buy with the lives of the 4th.
As he destroyed a fourth vee his rear armor suddenly blew apart, turning from a healthy green to a dangerous red.
"Sneakies!" He screamed in alarm and threw his Mech around.
Too late though. Another salvo tore into his Mechs innards and obliterated the engine and gyro. The power cut, his Mech died around him, falling down face-first into the churned up ground.
In an air-conditioned office, Gonzales sipped on oolong tea with his peers. The collective after action briefing for their little wargame was going overly long, and his butt was going numb from sitting.
On the board were several lessons learned that he and his fellow Colonels contributed. Simple lessons like vehicles need careful consideration when ordering to perform maneuvers; to more complex ones like inter service cooperation was severely lacking.
But in big red letters and several circles was a single lesson all Colonels collectively agreed upon:
Not enough air support/anti-air
The 4th apparently got off lucky. The single squadron that raked his regiment was all that was spared against him. All the other regiments got to enjoy entire wings attacking them on the march and during their assaults. Terran Dropships, confident in their air supremacy, freely maneuvered the RRF and other elements wherever they pleased.
The other three Capellan regiments couldn't hope to handle the orchestra of combined arms, severely degrading them long before they could hope to assault the main base.
Those three Colonels got a slight reprimand for not acting realistically in the wargames, trying to push their regiments to accomplish as much as possible to burnish their credentials.
As for him, he received modest praise from his seniors for 'sound decision-making under pressure'.
"Is there anything else, any of you would like to add. Not just lessons learned, but anything you've observed." Asked the lead, Shang.
Gonzales raised his hand. "During my 4th's defense, when we were assaulted by the RRF there was a distinct lack of infantry as a follow-up for the armored spearhead. That is incongruous to what we've observed of the Terrans in their skirmishes. They're usually found with or near the armored forces. Sometimes sprinting at 30 clicks an hour."
"Noted, Colonel Gonzales. We'll change the wargame to reflect that."
"Additionally," he added. "A single Colonel handling five maneuver elements is difficult." He finished with some hesitation. He took a long drag of oolong tea, drinking it down to its dregs before continuing. "Three maneuver elements is ideal. Four is doable. But five and whatever other elements that may be attached as the mission demands is too much."
A series of nods went around the room. It seemed his peers were in agreement.
There was a reason why commands traditionally had three maneuver elements. It was pushing how much a single officer could command while keeping track of the operational situation. It was, in short, good tradition.
Someone else's hand rose. "I would also like to add the vehicle crews performed well. The recruits acted with aggression and professionalism befitting a soldier and a citizen."
Gonzales nodded his head in agreement. It was true, and praise should be given to them especially for performing well in such unusual experimental formations.
"That shall be noted, Colonels." Shang stated after chewing his lips for a moment. "If that's all, I believe we can end the meeting here."
A/N: I was reading the Starcraft Tropes page, and came across the section about WoL end mission. How one specific choice created the hardest mission in the campaign. Of course I'm talking about prioritizing blowing up the Nydus Network and dealing with the intact Zerg airforce. I remembered originally taking out the airforce and dealing with the annoyance of Nydus spawns. The second playthrough was with the intact Zerg airforce. I played that. I hated it. Fucking air cancer.