Base Menzies

South of Darwin, Northern Territory, Commonwealth of Australia

4 February 2016 S.E.C.

24 November 3058 I.S.C.

 

 

     Chris Farrell hated his 'Mech.

     The Zeus was a tall and powerful Assault 'Mech, no doubt as to that, but the heat it generated and the heat of the Australian North's savannah were not a good mix.  Even with the cooling vest draped over his chest and back the heat made Farrell miserable.  Sweat was dripping down his face inside the neurohelmet and coated his bare neck and arms, interfering with his vision as he kept his eyes on the targeting systems.  "God damn it's hot as hell in here," he muttered.

     "Do not gripe," Farrell heard the bass tone of Manihera grumble over the comm system.  "Your machine does possess more heat sink equipment than this one."  On the left side of the Zeus a smaller Firestarter walked up.  The Maori MechWarrior brought the light anti-infantry 'Mech to a stop.  "We are on the last leg of the patrol, we are supposed to sprint back this time."

     "Oh, that's going to be bleedin' fun."  Farrell drew in a breath.  "Oh hell, last one to base has to buy the drinks this weekend."  Farrell pushed the Zeus into a run.  The Assault 'Mech picked up speed while Farrell felt the 'Mech's gyro transmit "resistance" to his mind, making him feel the 80-ton frame of the BattleMech struggle to maintain the sprint.  He began sweating profusely and his heart's beat increased, as if he were sprinting himself instead of the 'Mech.  The base loomed ahead of him, five kilometers out, which looked like forever even at the eight-five plus kilometers per hour his Zeus was making.

     By benefit of his Firestarter's lightness Manihera ran past him easily, going over 100 kilometers per hour in an open sprint toward the base.  "I hate this bloody thing," Farrell growled angrily.

     Even at his high speed Farrell was still three minutes out from the end of the patrol.  The sweat on his face made Farrell's vision blurry and clouded the view of the savannah and the distant base.  "Fucker won't move, dammit!"

     The three minutes seemed like thirty in the heat.  When those three minutes were over Farrell was 800 meters away, with Manihera almost there.  Farrell didn't think the Maori the type to gloat, but didn't like the blow to his wallet that buying twelve drinks would inflict.  Next time, Chris, keep your damned mouth shut!

    At thirty meters away, Manihera's Firestarter tripped at it's high speed.  The light 'Mech fell over and landed on the ground, creating a small cloud of dirt from the impact.  "Shit!  Pao!"  Farrell kept his sprint up to get up to his fallen comrade.  "Pao!"

     A growl in the Maori language replied at first, then Manihera stated, "I am okay.  My 'Mech is unhurt aside from a little skinning of the knee and chest armor."

     "Hey, I'll tell ya what."  Farrell kept his pace up and began to gasp a little between words.  "Why don't we call it a draw and both of us pay for the drinks?"

     Before replying to Farrell's offer Manihera stood his 'Mech up and began walking toward the base's southern entry gate.  "Why should I do that when I will win?"  Manihera flipped unto the open military frequency and stated, "Trainee A-9 on approach.  Patrol run completed."

     An Australian with a definitive Sydney accent replied, "Roger that, Trainee A-9, you're clear to enter.  You took a nasty spill out there, the techies'll want to look your machine over."

     "Roger that, over."

     Manihera promptly marched past the gate.  "Looks like you're going to be buying drinks this weekend, Captain," he said wickedly.

     Farrell responded by shouting, "Oh fucking hell!" before switching to the open frequency.  "This is Trainee A-1 on approach.  Patrol run completed."

     "Roger that, Trainee A-1, you're clear to enter after Trainee A-9."  The male comm officer chuckled.  "Remember not to make bets with guys piloting walkers less than half the weight of your's, Captain Farrell."

     "You don't have to bloody remind me."  Farrell slowed the Zeus down as he got within a hundred meters, panting.  "God dammit, I feel like I've sprinted a mile and my legs haven't moved one bit," he grumbled.  "Damn idiots, couldn't they design these things with good ol' fashioned throttles like a tank?  Moving at flank speed's gonna be such a pain in the arse!"

     "The ComStar types heard you, Captain," the comm officer stated.

     "Ah fuck it!"

 

 

     The mess hall was a cavernous room, built to accomodate a sizable portion of Base Menzies' population and staff.  Ten long white-top plastic tables were placed along the length of the room, each about twenty meters long and with three meters seperating the tables.  At the northern half of the middle seat, Farrell and Manihera were seated across from each other, eating a standard meal of green peas, mashed potatoes, and a small slice of beef.  "Hmm, beef," Farrell mumbled while chewing it.  "Luscious, tasty, juicy meat."

     "They must have something special planned for us."  Manihera pushed his spoon into some of the potatoes.  "This is more beef than they've ever given us before."

     "I don't like the sound of that, Pao."  Farrell swallowed and pushed his fork into another piece of beef.  "You don't suppose we'll be doing that surprise march they promised, do ya?"

     "Perhaps, or perhaps not.  We are still only getting used to using our BattleMechs properly, it will be a while before they put us into an endurance run with them."

     "Oh, so that's why patrols only last three hours," Farrell grumbled before putting a piece of meat in his mouth.

     "Considering the time that we spent on maneuvers in the 1st Armored, you seem unreasonably annoyed by this."

     Farrell swallowed before continuing.  "Yes, Pao, but keep in mind that we didn't have to wear those bloody neurohelmets and cooling vests in the tanks, which didn't get that hot!  It's hard as hell to fight when you've got every limb cooking and worms crawlin' on your chest and back!"

     "It is a mere distraction," Manihera retorted.  "I trust we will learn to ignore it."

     "And if we don't?"

     "Then we will most likely die."

     "Oh, you're a regular optimist."  Farrell looked over to see another member of the company approaching to sit down.  "Ah, it's our flyboy, whaddya know?"

     "And the canman," the Sydneyite Gerard Wang retorted.  He took a seat beside Manihera.  Wang was of Chinese descent, with the normal facial features, gray eyes, and tightly combed black hair on his scalp.  He was small, standing at five foot eight, and was somewhat lanky even compared to Farrell.  Wang was a former fighter pilot, having flown F/A-18s for the Australian Royal Air Force since 2012.  In that time he had remained at the rank of Flying Officer, which had translated into Lieutenant now that he had been transferred to the Army for BattleMech training.  "I saw you out there today, struggling to move around in your lumbering giant."

     "Oh, did you?"  Farrell snorted.  "Probably better than your Chicken 'Mech."

     Wang frowned.  The Viper he had been assigned was a Clan second-line BattleMech, a heavy 75 ton machine with good weapons loadout, protection, and speed, but the Clan design appeared like a jet on legs, a design requirement for it's jump jets.  It's shape and the somewhat flimsy appearance of it's legs relative to the size of the rest of the 'Mech had brought Wang many taunts and teases by his comrades.  "Oh, ha ha ha," Wang muttered.  "I can't wait for another sim fight with you, I'm going to take that 'Chicken 'Mech' and use it to kick your fuckin' arse."

     "Any time, flyboy, any time."

     "Anyway," Wang looked over at his roommate Manihera.  "I hear we're going to be doin' a night march this time."

     "Oh bloody hell, I knew it," Farrell groaned.  "They're feedin' us good so they can run us ragged again."

     "It's the price of duty," Manihera reminded him.

     "This is gettin' fuckin' ridiculous," Farrell continued.  "By the time we get ready for real duty they'll have run us into the ground, they'll have to give us a fuckin' leave!"

     "They probably will."  Manihera calmly put his spoon into the pile of peas on his tray.  "It gives you time to spend with your ComStar sweetheart."

     Wang looked quizzingly between Farrell and Manihera while the former blushed a little.  "What sweetheart?"

     "It's nothing serious," Farrell countered, "just had lunch a couple of times.  Laura's not even around for lunch in the days anymore, they've got her running night patrols up near Darwin and she's sleepin' right now."

     "Poor you."  Wang took a bite of the potatoes.  "It's strange, though, that they didn't pair us up by roommate for these things."

     "Who'd you get?"

     "Corporal O'Keefe."

     Farrell nodded.  John O'Keefe was an Adelaide native that Farrell had met before, a solidly-built six foot male who was a year older than Farrell.  Before enlisting O'Keefe had been a computer whiz for some company in Adelaide, with a wife and son still living there and living off his military pay and a generous pension his company had given him during his leave.  Farrell knew O'Keefe as a good and decent man, and open to advising the company's younger members.  "I'm thinking they probably should have bunked him with Leeson or Hendricks," Farrell said in a low tone.  "I mean, they're the youngest and all."

     "And they have not spent very long in uniform," Manihera pointed out.  "They need some more discipline."

     "I thought that was what basic was supposed to teach?"  Wang put a bite of peas into his mouth and began chewing them, obviously not liking the taste very much as his facial muscles curled up.

     "I think Pao means that you need a few years in service to really get disciplined, elite style stuff, y'know?  Leeson only had eight weeks of trainin' so they could get him here, he's just now getting enough time to finish his rifle qualifications."  Farrell took his last bite of beef.

     "Everyone here is of decent experience save those two and the football star," Manihera stated.  "At least Bennington was placed with the Papuan woman.  Mukuka is a former guerrila fighter, so she should be able to help Bennington improve herself as a soldier."

     "More to life than fighting, Paora," Wang reminded him.

     "Such as?"

     "Well, there's fun, and living, normal every day work and stuff..."

     "Flyboy's goin' to add women and booze next," Farrell interrupted, just as Wang was about to say those two things.

     "The canman got it in two," Wang agreed.

     Farrell finished swallowing some potatoes and looked farther on, where O'Keefe was standing beside Lieutenant Israel Arks, an infantry commander turned MechWarrior.  Arks was a Queenslander from Brisbane, not very dominating physically with a height of only six foot one inch and a medium build, but he possessed a quick and disciplined mind.  Dark brown eyes looked back at Farrell, barely registering Farrell's gaze, and went on in scanning the mess area.  Arks was very much the platoon commander in his stance, showing confidence and acceptance of leadership in the straightness of his spine, and it occurred to Farrell that Arks' commission was likely the result of field service and not officer training.  A man of some religious conviction, Arks was another older member of the company, one of the oldest next to the aboriginal scout Marika and the Papuan Mukuka.

     "So, Paora," Farrell heard Wang continue as he continued eating, "do you have any sweethearts back in Kiwiland?  Or family?"

     Manihera turned his head and faced his smaller roommate.  "There is a woman that has interested me, yes.  As for my family, I have my parents that still live on the South Island, my brothers are all in service."

     "I've never seen you write to them."

     "That is because I write very sparingly."  Manihera pushed his spoon back into the pile of peas.  "I was never close to my family, you see.  My family is traditional in the way it sees the world, I feel no such bounds to the Maori culture or language."

     "I take it they don't approve?"

     "Not exactly."  Manihera took another spoonful of peas and chewed them up within three seconds before swallowing them.  "But I care little for their approval.  I am my own person, I don't need anything more than what it takes for me to survive."

     "And your woman?"

     Manihera looked up at Farrell, who finished gulping down the last of his potatoes.  In his cold brown eyes Farrell thought he could see some internal turmoil.  "I do not wish to speak of that."

     Wang opened his mouth to ask a question, and promptly closed it when Farrell wagged his finger.  Farrell had learned that Manihera did not like being pressed about his past, he was still very secretive about it.  "Yeah, we've all had problems with women," Farrell stated.  "I had a girlfriend once, went for a bleedin' Scotsman just because she thought he had a sexy accent."

     "What is it with you and 'bleeding'?"  Wang shook his head.  "I mean, that's crazy, I've never heard someone from Oz speak like that."

     "Practice, Gerry, I'm practicin' because the American babes love the Paul Hogan act, even if it's a pile of shit."

     "Oh, I see.  Well, look who's here."  Wang smiled widely at Christine Bennington, who sat at the table behind him with an Australian brunette from another company.  "Say, Christine, what's up?"

     Christine looked back at him.  Like the rest of them she was in her duty uniform, a green buttoned shirt with her name tag and a handful of ribbons over the left breast.  "Enjoying lunch, what about you?"

     "Hey, doing fine."

     Before further conversation could be continued, Brigadier Brown's voice boomed over the loudspeaker.  "Attention all MechWarrior trainees," the general spoke, "consider yourselves at rest until seventeen hundred hours, when you will report to the briefing room for a battalion-wide march.  I recommend you get a nap in, we will probably not be returning until the early morning, and you will be expected to be up tomorrow at the usual time."

     Farrell groaned loudly.  "Fuck!"

     "Ooh..."  Christine groaned as well before she slammed her left palm on the table.  "This isn't fair dammit, they're working us like mad."

     "They're probably feeling the heat," the brunette Christine was sitting across from stated.  "I heard the Clans took out the last pockets on Timor and are advancing toward Port Moresby."

     "It seems the war isn't going so well," Wang said with a worried expression.

     "Yes.  So we should heed the advice of the Brigadier."  Manihera stood up despite his uncompleted meal.  "I shall be getting some sleep."

     "I second that," Christine said, chewing on a piece of beef.  "I'm going to finish this and go to bed myself."

     Farrell looked at Manihera's back as the Maori stepped into the small crowd leaving the mess hall, and then reached his fork into Manihera's tray and picked up the slab of beef that Manihera had not yet eaten.  Wang gave Farrell a bewildered look.  "What the hell are you doing?"

     "Hey, he doesn't want it."  Farrell took a bite out of the slab before setting it on his tray into the small pool of juice his own beef had left.  "It's a shame to let such good beef go to waste."

     Wang rolled his eyes.

 

 

     Over two weeks of intense training and exercises had left Phillip Leeson fatigued and tired, and thus the ability to rest after only seven hours of training and lunch was welcomed by Leeson.  His body refused to sleep, but it did not prevent Leeson from closing his eyes and enjoying the questionable comfort of the bed.  While his heart ached for home, Leeson's mind remained on one single subject, one that had consumed him for two weeks.

     Across from him, in the other bed, Tracey Hendricks was laid out much like him, with her arms under her head, and wearing only a bra and panties that were both the same color as Leeson's briefs.  Unlike Leeson the exhausted Hendricks had quickly fallen to sleep, worn out by the 'Mech sprinting exercises and the obligatory thirty minute running around the base, used to keep the trainees in shape.  Sweat still glistened on her bare skin, making her seem to shine a little from the ceiling light.  Leeson swallowed hard, in two weeks together his desires had only grown stronger.  A night did not pass that he did not consider Hendricks in his dreams.

     They had gotten to know each other, and Leeson had found her to be as fun-loving and laid back as he was, and he respected Hendricks as a woman and a friend.  She returned that respect, and moreso kept the relationship platonic and professionally respectful, aiding in this by never taking off her clothes in front of him or sleeping in the nude.  If anything, the fact that fraternization regs technically forbid Leeson from doing anything about his attraction for Hendricks enhanced his lustful feelings, the time-proven human desire to possess that which cannot be possessed having gripped Leeson.

     In fact, Leeson had come to think that maybe he had fallen in love with Hendricks.

     It was entirely possible.  He desired her strongly, and he respected her.  And if anything, Leeson wanted to keep her safe.  Hendricks was kind-hearted and friendly.  Leeson wanted to see her live through the war and have the kindness and friendly attitude she showed returned to her by someone else, even if it were not him.  These three things combined and made Leeson feel as if he had truly fallen in love with the brown-haired beauty.

     Thinking of Hendricks, Leeson fell into a light slumber.  Time compressed and the hours that passed felt like minutes as Leeson dreamed of the future centered around Hendricks.  His desires manifested into sexual fantasy and tantalized him.  He could envision Hendricks' flat stomach, the feeling of her breasts gripped in his hands, the warmth of her lips and the vigor of a kiss, the rhythm and warmth of their bodies pressing against each other and locked in sexual intercourse.  It was the same dream, over and over, always playing and tormenting him by giving him an unfulfilled promise of passion with Hendricks.

     "Phil.  Phil, wake up."

     A hand touched Leeson on the left shoulder, Hendricks' voice tearing him from his dreams and preventing the loop from continuing.  "Phil, we've only got thirty minutes to get to the briefing room," she said, "and you still have to take a shower."

     Leeson opened his eyes and looked up at her.  Hendricks had put on a green halter top and shorts.  Leeson grinned at the sight of her twinkling eyes and mumbled, "You can't help but be gorgeous, can you Trace?"

     "If you say so," Hendricks replied.

     "And I do.  You are the sexiest, most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

     Hendricks blinked and the hints of a blush appeared on her cheeks.  "Has the heat fried your brain, Phil?  That's the first time you've ever said something like that to me."

     Leeson swallowed and began to re-assemble his inhibitions.  "I'm sorry if I upset you."

     "No, no, that's okay, it's very sweet of you to say that to me."  Hendricks fought the temptation to openly laugh at Leeson's clumsy compliments.  He was nice enough to deserve better despite his obvious desire to bed her.  "Come on, you need to get up and go take that shower, then get in your work clothes."  Hendricks stepped backwards toward the door, motioning in her direction with her right index finger.  "We've got a long night ahead of us."

     "Ah, yeah, I know."  Leeson groaned and sat up.

 

 

     Christine looked up at her light Raptor OmniMech, configured in the Alpha configuration.  The light twenty-five ton machine could run at just over 118kmph and the cruise walk alone was 75kmph.  This configuration had a pair of large lasers and a trio of smalls for weaponry, but she had only fired them a handful of times.

     At the Raptor's side was the Cougar of Israel Arks, configured as a Prime and with deadly Clan technology.  Christine watched Arks, clad in cooling vest, grab the rope ladder leading from his cockpit and begin to climb up.  Her own Raptor, only about three and a half times her height, had it's own rope ladder hanging out of the hatch on the side of the cockpit.  Christine sighed and shook her head to get some of the lingering sleep out of her system before grabbing the ladder and beginning to climb up.  Once in the cockpit Christine found the small red-handled start bar and pulled it, bringing the reactor to life and creating a low rumble beneath her within the Raptor's chest, where the 'Mech's engine plant had started.  As was her custom, Christine took her team captain's lapel pin from her sports days and placed it on the Raptor's canopy window for good luck since she could not wear it on the cooling vest.  The dark blue colors of the New Zealand flag, which was the dominant portion of the pen, clashed with the gunmetal gray surface of the canopy surface.  Christine looked at it for a moment before reaching for her cooling vest's connectors and hooking them into the 'Mech's coolant supply.  She took the neurohelmet and medical sensors out of their storage locker in the cockpit and put them on her chest, arms, and neck, where they would keep track of her neural, heart, and lung activity to make sure she was still alive.  Christine pulled the cumbersome neurohelmet over her head and made sure it was firmly in place, the sensors within pushing directly against her scalp where they would be privy to her brain's functions via surface connections and neural scanners.  "This is Bennington, Christine, Private," she spoke to the computer.

     "Please state voiceprint checkphrase."

     "All for one and one for all," Christine replied succinctly, the famous Musketeers' phrase having been the battle cry for her primary school football team.

     "Checkphrase confirmed, welcome back, Private Bennington."

     "Thank you very much."  Christine reached over to her comm system and switched to the open frequency with the rest of the battalion and the control center.  "This is Trainee A-10, I'm ready for launch."

     "We read you Trainee A-10.  You are clear to follow Trainee A-2."

     Christine watched Arks' Cougar step out in front of her and continue on to the end of the hanger, where it got behind Mukuka's Wolfhound.  She carefully took her own steps to move out of her bay, taking care to make each one precise in the narrow confines of the hanger.  Across from her, Chris Farrell was climbing up into his Zeus.  The older man saw her through her cockpit and winked at her as he entered the hatch for his own 'Mech's cockpit, prompting Christine to wave briefly before moving on behind Arks.  They stepped out of the hanger and faced the tropical summer sun, still high in the sky despite the time of 17:40 that was flashing on Christine's chronometer.  She felt the strange "cold crawling worm" sensation of coolant running over the fabric of her halter top and the skin of her abdominal-level torso.  The heat in the Raptor's cockpit was a managable eighty degrees Fahrenheit, but would not remain that way when Christine put the reactor to it's limits in open sprints and weapons fire.  That latter part scared her the most, Christine had never been in combat before, and in the briefing Brown had stated that if a UN or Clan raiding force appeared they would engage them despite their trainee status.  There had been no raids near Darwin so far, but Christine had heard that a Clan Star had engaged the Kell Hound company assigned in Perth to protect the Spaceport being put together there, and Perth was farther from UN territory than Darwin, so it remained to be seen whether the Clans would leave them alone or not.

     The patrol was arranged into lance and pair levels.  The lance commanders were Captain Farrell and Lieutenants Arks and Radick, and Christine was responsible for watching Arks' back.  Mukuka's Wolfhound and Leeson's Wolfhound made up the other pair in their lance.  Their lance was responsible for the southern third of A Company's patrol zone, which was a slice of territory south of Base Menzies.  Their patrol zone would extend as far west and south as the Victoria River and the outer edge of the Tanami Desert.  At no time would any pair be more than three to five kilometers from the other, to facilitate quick regrouping, nor would the lances be more than twenty kilometers apart.

     Christine stood to the left and back of Arks' Cougar before keying their lance-specific channel.  "Lieutenant, I'm in position."

     "Roger, Private Bennington.  You're going to be our point woman, keep an eye out on your sensor systems and if you see anything suspicious report it back to me.  Got it?"

     "Roger that, Lieutenant."  Christine swallowed hard.  Okay Chrissy, let's not get too nervous out here, you've got a long night ahead of you and it's just begun.  Just keep one eye on the ground and one eye on the readout, and hope that there aren't any bad guys out there tonight.

 

 

     Farrell was regretting devouring Manihera's steak.

     His clock read 21:34, and after four hours of patrolling in his cumbersome Zeus Farrell could feel his rectum cramp.  "Oh God," he muttered, "I need to take a shit and take one now."

     "Your fault for eating the rest of my meal," he heard Manihera reply.

     Farrell didn't reply, he simply kept the Zeus going on a steady walk across the Australian grasslands and toward the Victoria River.  "Marika, Hendricks, how are things over by you."

     "Nothing so far, Captain."

     "Yep, I figured," Farrell grumbled.  He flipped over to to a wider band to speak with Radick and Arks.  "Lieutenant Arks, how goes Arrow Lance?"

     "Arks here, Captain.  Nothing to speak of, aside from a family vehicle heading home to Alice Springs.  Poor people were probably scared to death we were going to step on them."

     "I hear that," Farrell chuckled.  "Leave the civvies alone and keep lookin'."

     "Roger that, Captain.  Arks out."

     "Okay, Lieutenant Wang, what's up with Spear Lance?"

     "Nothing at all, Captain," Wang responded.  "Wang out."

     "Okay, keep your eyes peeled peeps."  Farrell's finger flipped his radio to the command frequency of Brigadier Brown.  "Sir, we're still all quiet in A Company's sector."

     "Understood, Captain.  Maintain your patrol."

     "Yes sir....  Wait."  Farrell noticed a small blip on the radar screen.  "Whaddya make of that?"

     "I am not sure," Manihera replied.  Farrell could see the Firestarter come to a stop in the grass on his magscan.  "It appears to have a very large radar cross section."

     "And it ain't movin' very fast."  Farrell keyed up Brown again.  "Brigadier, sir, we've got something out here, very big radar cross section and a nasty heat sig.  Anything going on out here we should know of?"

     "Nothing scheduled.  I'll crosscheck with Precentor Rios, but I want you to assume it as a potential hostile and call in your company.  I'm on my way."

     "Roger that."  Farrell keyed the company-wide frequency.  "Okay boys and girls, we've got an unknown bogey, near the edge of the Command and Arrow Lance patrol routes, about fifteen kilometers north-south-east from Patrol Point Twelve.  I want everyone there ASAP.  Farrell out."  He bit into his lip and turned the Zeus in the direction of the radar signature, where Manihera had already begun moving.  "Hey, make sure to let me keep up Pao," he stated over the radio before breaking out into a run.

 

 

     Hendricks swallowed hard and followed Marika's Clint toward the unknown reading, which her Nightsky's sensor suite had picked up just as Farrell had sent out his order.  She felt her stomach churn as the very real possibility of battle presented itself.  Death was staring her in the face, and so was her memory of Charles.  I'm going to do you proud, brother.  I promise.  "Sergeant, you think this is the enemy?", Hendricks asked nervously.

     "Kill the comm chatter, Private."  After a moment, Marika began speaking again in her customary soprano voice.  "I know you probably feel nervous.  It's normal when you're about to go into battle.  Just keep in mind what training you know and don't be afraid to retreat.  Australia needs living MechWarriors, not dead heroes.  So, I want you to breathe in and out slowly during our trip."

     Hendricks began doing so.  As she did she kept her 'Mech moving at a steady jog of about eighty kmph.  Her chest heaved up and down as she tried to calm her nerves.  Hendricks kept her pace alongside Marika's Clint as the minutes passed and the kilometers to target grew smaller.  All of her life had come down to this, and Hendricks did not want to die.  Not having only lived twenty short years.  Hendricks had lived only as well as she could during her school years, and yearned for the ability to find out just how far she could go in life, without being cut down by war.  Hendricks realized she didn't want to be here.  This wasn't what she wanted, she wasn't a soldier.  She hated the discipline, the sweat and toil of exercising, and it was obvious to her that she was not going to be happy in combat.  Hendricks had long realized just how much of an idiot she had been with her fantasies.

     "We're seven kilometers out, and getting visual on our holoviews."  Hendricks heard Marika speak and watched a distant object appear on the holotank display before her.  It was an oval-shaped craft that had landed on the grassland, with a prominent insignia on the side that Hendricks could not make out yet.  "Be careful," Marika said softly into the comm.  Hendricks heard a small sound in her neurohelmet that indicated Marika had switched off the frequencies Hendricks was monitoring at the moment.  Keeping in mind the pre-set command frequencies, Hendricks immediately keyed in the top priority one.  "....sighted," Marika's voice stated.  "We have a ship, oval-shaped, and it's on the ground.  Wait..."  Hendricks noticed at the same time as Marika that figures were emerging from the ship.  "We've got movement.  Looks like.... sweet Jesus they've got 'Mechs moving out."

     "I hear you, Sergeant," Brigadier Brown replied before Farrell could.  "Precentor Rios is scrambling his aerospace squadron, and 75 Squadron has vectored in their patrolling Hornets.  Expect air support in the next fifteen minutes.  In the meantime, do not make contact with them until reinforcements arrive."

     "Yes sir!"  Marika's voice sounded tense to Hendricks, but with no hint of fear.  "Now, listen to me Private Hendricks, when the time comes, I want you to close the distance.  They're going to have Clan tech, so they've got better targeting control than we do.  Get in close to nullify that."

     "Yes Sergeant."  Hendricks gripped the right joystick to control her 'Mech's medium pulse lasers and waited.  "Shouldn't we get closer, make a visual ID?"

     "No, we shouldn't.  Let's wait for the others to get here.  Captain Farrell should be moving into position soon."  The Clint moved forward a step.  "And Arrow Lance won't be far behind."

     Hendricks nodded and swallowed again.

 

 

     Christine felt her heart pound in rhythm with her Raptor's stride as it stomped across the tropical savannah.  Farrell's orders still echoed in her ears and brought a strange mixture of fear and anticipation to Christine.  The thought of fighting the mysterious Clans exhilirated her even as the very real threat of death terrified her.

     Considering the speed of her Raptor, Christine had already far outpaced the others, save for Leeson, who was apparently in good enough cardiovascular shape that he could keep his Wolfhound sprinting up on her right side to the speed Christine had her Raptor running at.

     Despite the darkness Christine's Raptor was not blind; infrared and magscan were both functioning perfectly and usable on her Raptor's cockpit holoview.  The infrared had a LOS range, although at about ten kilometers it became distorted, and it was the IR's heat component that flared white as Christine entered range.  Smaller blips of heat appeared and made Christine swallow hard.  "Enemy BattleMechs," she stated.  Without pausing Christine keyed the comm freqiency to Arks.  "Lieutenant, positive contact, multiple enemy units and a ship."

     "Any sign of Command Team 2?"

     "Negative, Lieutenant.  They must be on the opposite side.  Stay in your position, 75 Squadron's got a flight coming overhead now."

     "Okay.  I..."

     Christine noticed a streak overhead, and a bright green energy beam left the nose of the ship.  A bright explosion appeared in the skies overhead.  "Oh my God," Christine gasped at the sight of the fireball before it winked out of existance on the darkened sky.  A small streak appeared in the sky and hurled itself toward the ship in the distance.  A flower of white appeared on the holotank to signify the missile's explosion on the hull of the Clan DropShip.  In retaliation another green lance struck through the sky.  This time there was no explosion, and Christine's heart lifted at seeing that her counterpart in the sky had veered off to safety.

     The conventional radar-based sensor display added two friendly contacts entering range about one kilometer behind her.  "Lieutenant?  Did you see..."

     "I saw, Private, I saw."

     "Did the pilot make it out of that first one."

     "No.  Not from what I've been told."

     Christine sighed and gave a quick moment of silence to the fallen pilot before blinking.  "Sir, should I switch to active radar?"

     "No.  No, I don't want you to.  They apparently haven't picked up..."  Another plume of heat lit up the screen.  "Oh Christ, they're firing at Command Team 2," Arks muttered.  "Okay, change of plan, Private.  I want you and Private Leeson to get within optimum range and give them what hell you can."

     With her heart threatening to leap out of her throat Christine replied crisply with, "Yes, Lieutenant."  She looked over at Leeson and said, "Ready, Phil?"

     "As ready as I can ever be."  There was a short pause before Leeson admitted, "Chrissy, I'm scared."

     "Me too, but let's go get this done."  Christine began to jog briskly toward the enemy, swallowing hard to keep her nerve.  "Just, stay alive."

     "I'll try, believe me, I will."

     Christine could hear the fear in Leeson's voice, and it equaled her own.  Terror gripped her heart and restricted it's beat as the kilometers between the two light BattleMechs and the ten-strong enemy dropped.  Marika's soprano echoed in Christine's ear.  "This is Command Team 2, we're under fire, repeat, we're under fire!  Enemy contacts are one Puma Alpha, one Puma Delta, and one Shadow Cat Alpha.  Seven more enemy contacts present, makes and configurations unidentified."

     "This is Arrow Lance," Arks replied quickly, "we're moving into position to aid you, Sergeant.  Fall back if you need to."

     "Roger that Lieutenant."

     Behind her, Christine knew Arks and Mukuka were running to join the fight, but it was little comfort as she drew within five kilometers and saw the contacts clarify one after another.  One contact returned the name Baboon on her targeting computer.  Christine had not heard the name before as it had not been covered in their reviews of Clan BattleMech designs.  "I'll take the Baboon," she said to Leeson.  "Got any contacts?"

     "Yeah.  Uller Bravo."

     "Bravo... Bravo..."  Christine remembered the designation from the briefings.  "Oh hell, that thing's got a 10 centimeter autocannon on it, Phil.  Watch your arse!"

     "I'll get him, don't worry."  Leeson kept his pace up, and Christine knew his own heart was pounding like mad from the fear and the possible awakening of human bloodlust within him.  Christine felt her own rage at Giuseppe grow in anticipation of battle.  This was her chance to strike a blow for other pacifists, even those who refused to fight, a blow to avenge the sullying of their cause by the tyrannical madman.

     Seconds turned into minutes for Christine as she willed her Raptor on toward her prey, the light Clan Baboon and it's primate shape that had undoubtedly given it the name it held.  At two kilometers she saw that the Baboon had reacted to her presence.  So, too, had the other four 'Mechs with it, a Black Lanner Charlie, Vulture Alpha, Uller Alpha and...

     "Oh shit!", Christine shouted.  "Masakari!  They've got an Assault 'Mech!"

     The massive Masakari Prime turned and faced her small Raptor, and even from the distance Christine felt her stomach twist painfully in dread.  The massive eighty-five ton OmniMech was bristling with deadly firepower, it's four extended range Particle Projection Cannons and ten missile shot battery vastly outgunning her dual large lasers and triple small lasers on the Raptor.  Each PPC alone could core her light 'Mech, and Christine could imagine the effect that it would have on her if one achieved a headshot.  Her life gone in an instant, burnt to ash by the excited particles.

     Christine swallowed hard and slowed her run.  As she did so the Baboon and two Ullers began advancing toward the Raptor and Wolfhound.  "Private, don't engage that Masakari," Arks ordered her.

     "Didn't plan on it sir."

     "Bypass them, go help Command Team 2."

     "Yes sir."  Christine took note of the approximate position difference and promptly turned to her left, to run a circutious route around the enemy landing zone.  The Baboon and Ullers were following their route, moving to intercept them from behind.  Christine kept her eye on them as the kilometers between her 'Mech and the other two closed.  At 2 kilometers Christine began fighting with her targeting system to lock onto the Shadow Cat Alpha.  "Hold still... hold still..."  Keeping her Raptor in it's stride and trying to target were nearly impossible for Christine.  She finally pulled back on her right hand trigger and fired an emerald beam toward the Shadow Cat's back.  The beam passed by it by about sixty meters and hit dead air, while the Raptor's heat sinks began dumping the excess heat created by the laser's discharge.  Christine cursed her luck and kept her pace up, aware that she'd be in their effective range before getting into her own.

     "Christine!  Behind you!"

     Christine whirled her 'Mech to the right to turn around just in time for a flight of LRMs from the Baboon to zoom by her.  One missile tagged her on the upper left torso, chipping off a portion of her Raptor's armor and damaging some of her skeleton.  The Baboon had closed to within a kilometer, and with a clearer shot Christine squeezed the other trigger for her right torso large laser.  The emerald lance that resulted missed her intended target, the torso, but struck the Baboon's left hip, melting right through the portion of armor present and damaging some of the muscle fibers within it.  Satisfied with her partially successfull shot Christine changed her focus to the Baboon, since she had managed to draw a better hit than her opponent had.  As she began to center her targeting reticle for the small lasers on it's central torso, Christine stepped to the left of the Baboon, enough to see Leeson dart past in his Wolfhound in a full sprint.  Not worried at the moment about what he was running for, Christine waited a moment for her heat sinks to push her heat back down to the green indicator before she triggered her small lasers.  One grazed the Baboon's right side, the other two were more successfull, cutting away at the thin left torso armor of the light Clan 'Mech.

     Her heat spiked into the danger yellow zone, Christine began moving to her right as another LRM salvo came from the Baboon.  Three of the missiles missed, but two struck home.  One took some armor off her right arm, threatening the small laser and heat sinks installed in the appendage.  The second hit her directly in the cockpit.  Christine yelped in terror at the explosion, fearing it would break through and consume her, but her canopy's armor held firm against the attack.  The resulting neurohelmet feedback from the impacts made Christine's head ache horribly, causing her to groan.  Quickly she pushed the agony out of her mind and kept moving, just in time for her heat to drop to acceptable levels again.

     A penetrator round from the Uller Alpha's Gauss Rifle zoomed just over her Raptor's head, prompting Christine to swallow hard; if that had hit her canopy she'd have been torn apart by the impact.  She decided the Uller was not worth trying to engage at the moment, and the Baboon was her important target.  Christine's sweat dripped into her eyes as the light amplification gear displayed the Baboon closehand.  It was painted in a light blue and white color scheme, and to her surprise, Christine saw the crossed swords and globe emblem of the UN on the Baboon's left breast, and the shield and sword insignia of the dreaded Die Verteidiger der Ordnung on the right breast, symmetrical to the Giuseppian crest.  "These aren't Clanners," she said on the open frequency.  "They're Giuseppe's private army!"  A ruby beam reached out from the Uller Alpha just as Christine pulled her small lasers trigger again, this time cutting up the Baboon's central chest with all three of the sapphire beams.  She had little time to delight in the flaying of the Baboon as the ruby beam of the Uller's arm-mounted medium laser cut into her right shoulder.  Coolant from the destroyed double heat sink began leaking, as if it were the Raptor's blood, and the entire limb went red on her damage indicator.  Christine screamed in agony at the feedback created by the damage to the right shoulder.  My right shoulder feels like it's been stabbed!  When her body's physical nerves fought back and overruled the gyro feedback, Christine felt the agony disappear.

     This was just in time for the Baboon to strike her with two of it's LRM batteries.  Christine leaned the Raptor back and to the left to try and avoid them, but seven missiles out of ten struck her right and central torso.  One of the missiles broke through and knocked out one of her large lasers, the others tore off some of her chest armor.  One missile hit the New Zealand flag painted on her Raptor and blew off the armor it had been painted on, removing the insignia.  Christine reeled from the blow while centering her large laser reticle on the Baboon, which was finally within effective range.  "Son of a bitch, I'm not dying without giving you a fight!"  Christine's fingers pulled the triggers for her last three lasers.

     In her desperation Christine's strike proved fatal to the Baboon's pilot.  The twin sapphire and larger emerald beam speared the Baboon's head, cutting right through the armor and cockpit and killing the MechWarrior inside.  The decapitated light 'Mech fell on it's chest, dead.  Christine shouted, "Enemy Baboon down!", with immense glee at her first kill.

     Christine turned her attention back to the Ullers just in time for her chest to be savagely ripped up by the autocannon of the Uller Bravo she had spotted before.  The Uller Alpha's medium lasers cut into her right hip while it's Gauss Rifle tore off her left leg.  The rounds of the Uller Bravo tore right into her torso and struck the gyro.  The resulting neurofeedback besieged Christine's mind with agonizing fire.  A bloodcurdling scream erupted from her lungs as her Raptor went down.

     I don't want to die! was the last thing Christine Bennington thought as blackness consumed her.

 

 

     Hendricks dashed her Nightsky to the right and felt the impact of half a dozen missiles on her left arm, the missiles' strikes tearing through armor and skeleton alike from the hard impact.  Marika's Clint side-stepped a green laser beam from the Shadow Cat Alpha.  Darts of ruby-colored light emerged from the Clint's chest.  The streams they formed struck at the Shadow Cat.  One missed completely, continuing off into the distance, and the other found the Shadow Cat's right hip, chewing away armor plating.  The Shadow Cat's lasers retorted, one of the beams scourging Marika's Clint in the left shoulder and the other beam flying wide to the right.  Hendricks twisted her torso to her left and spotted the offending Puma that had hit her with it's missile battery.  The Puma was now acquiring Marika while it's cousin, another Puma in Delta configuration, seemed to be tracking Hendricks.  She looked between the two and decided that the Puma Alpha posed the greater threat with it's twin LRM batteries.  Maintaining her pace Hendricks pulled her joystick to move the targeting reticle on her holotank view over the Puma, causing the reticle to pulse gold even as it continued moving.  To try and balance her shot Hendricks fought to hold her left arm steady, pointing it forward while holding the joystick to keep it the reticle on the target even as her arm movement affected the targeting system adversely.  She pulled back on the trigger and fired her large pulse laser just as the reticle began moving off the Puma.  The resulting stream of emerald needles coming from the muzzle over the Nightsky's left hand carved away at the right side of the Puma, the latter portion of the stream hitting the empty space between the side and the LRM battery that acted as a right arm.  Unphased by the damage taken to the side, the Puma's missile battery opened up again, this time aimed at Marika.  "Close the distance!", Marika shouted as her Clint leaned to it's right.  The large salvo of twenty missiles used what slight avionic maneuverability they had to follow the Clint.  Half of the salvo connected with Marika, blowing away portions of her right arm's armor.  One of the missiles connected with the elbow acuator and damaged it critically.  The Clint's right arm was no longer movable at the elbow, stuck in a forty-degree angle bend.  Marika's curse echoed in the comms when her ER PPC fired.  The resulting bolt of azure plasma missed her intended target, the Shadow Cat, by over 100 meters.

     Hendricks felt an impact on her 'Mech's chest from the 60mm autocannon mounted on the Puma Delta.  The impact failed to penetrate her armor and created minor tremors in the 50-ton war machine.  Hendricks gritted her teeth and broke out into a run toward the Puma Alpha, which was still aiming at Marika.  An emerald beam flashed across her view, having been fired from the Puma Delta and having missed her by about ten meters.  Hendricks blinked from the green light before resuming her stare at her quarry.  She fired her Nightsky's jump jets and threw her 'Mech into the air.  Remembering the instructions from her first few tries at using the Nightsky's jump jets, Hendricks guided the 'Mech down to the ground within optimum range for her recharged large pulse laser.  The heat from the jump jet usage and her previous firing had lowered back into the upper blue when Hendricks centered the reticle on the right side of the Puma.  Without waiting for her heat to decrease Hendricks lifted her left arm and triggered the large pulse laser.  Green darts of light emerged from the muzzle and struck the Puma's right torso in the same spot as before.  The armor melted away and the last half second of laser fire found soft endo-steel to chew up.  The pulse laser finished firing and prompted the Puma pilot to face her directly.  Hendricks thought she could see an angry glare from the wounded hunchbacked 'Mech as she drew nearer.  LRMs emerged from the Puma's left arm and struck out at her.  Hendricks responded by leaping the Nightsky back into the air with it's jump jets.  At the range she had closed at the LRMs failed to acquire Hendricks, all twenty missiles flying on and having missed their target.

     When Hendricks landed again her heat was climbing into the yellow, the cockpit slowly warming up, and the feeling from the coolant circulating through her cooling vest increasing.  Hendricks took a moment to keep her balance before putting the targeting reticle back on the part she had wounded earlier.  Her fingers tensed over the twin medium pulse laser triggers; ruby energy erupted from two locations on the Nightsky's torso and struck at the Puma.  One missed the torso, boring away armor on the right arm and exposing some of the skeleton of the shoulder just above the LRM battery.  The other struck above where she had wanted, where some armor still remained, and bored into the ferro-fibrous armor.  The armor plate held under the attack, melting away partially and widening the hole a bit.  Hendricks cursed her aim and kept moving closer, trying to close the distance and apply the hatchet built into the Nightsky's right arm.

     As she approached the Puma Hendricks noticed a flight of LRMs slam into it at high speed.  Part of the fifteen missile salvo missed, having been a tad high, but six connected, tearing into the Puma's damaged shoulder and striking the actuator, rendering the limb useless.  On the omni-directional radar screen Hendricks made out another friendly contact, and knew it was Captain Farrell.  "Captain!"

     "Keep on your targets, I've got this damned bugger."  Farrell's voice sounded angry and tense in addition to the exhaustion she could detect.  "Come here you little son of a bitch, let's see you try and take me on!"

     Snickering at the thought of what was going through the Shadow Cat pilot's mind at seeing the angry Farrell's eighty-ton Zeus stomp into range, Hendricks continued her own approach.  At two hundred meters she fired the small pulse laser on her Nightsky's head.  To her surprise, despite the tremoring of her reticle the sapphire needles crashed into the damaged side, melting away armor and striking the heat shielding and coolant system for the Puma's engine.  Blue liquid began leaking from the Puma while the light 'Mech's heat signature begin to climb on her IR scanners.  Hendricks grinned ferally and raised her right arm, charging in and intending to whack off the light 'Mech's limbs one at a time.  Twin streaks of sapphire pulses struck out at the Nightsky from the Puma.  They failed to strike any of the previously-damaged armor and were ignored by Hendricks.  Hendricks moved into point blank range and fired one of her medium pulse lasers, raising her heat back into the upper green.  The ruby pulses played over the central torso of the Puma, striking the flamer's muzzle and melting it partially closed.  With all the anticipation of a hunter bringing her axe down upon a fallen prey, Hendricks swung downward with her right arm.  The sharpened blade of the Nightsky's hatchet, made from material beyond the capabilities of 21st Century metallurgy, plunged into the ferrofibered surface of the Puma's left shoulder armor, descending into the diamond-coated alloy armor beneath the protective ferrofibers and tearing through it.  The hatchet cut cleanly through the torso, leaving a long gash in the Puma's left chest armor that ended near the cockpit.  Hendricks raised the right arm again, this time away from the Puma and to her left, intending to chop through it's damaged and inoperative right shoulder and remove that limb.

     As she did so the left arm LRM battery fired.  Twenty missiles left in rapid succession, and at point-blank range and her prone position, all struck her in various areas.  The impact began to knock Hendricks off balance as the missiles created more than a dozen small explosions on her right side, tearing up armor from her right shoulder to near the right foot.  Hendricks fought to maintain her balance at having lost over a ton of armor at the right side.  Without hesitating she brought her right arm back down, cleaving off the Puma's right arm and missile battery, the limb falling useless to the ground.  The edge of the hatchet blade cut into the Puma's upper hood and down into the side, where it made nicks into the holed armor.  "Die you bastard!"  Hendricks pulled back her right arm and pushed her left forward.  Not to punch the Puma, but to get optimum aim with her left arm.  The small pulse lasers on the lighter 'Mech fired again, chewing into her central torso with twin streaks of blue.  Hendricks pulled back on her large pulse laser's trigger.  Emerald energy erupted from the muzzle and went straight into the Puma's holed torso as the lighter 'Mech tried to back off.  With no armor to stop them the pulses melted into the engine, striking more of it's coolant lines and heat-shielding.  One pulse struck the small pulse laser and turned it into slag.

     Hendricks turned her attention to the remaining left arm.  She walked up on the lighter 'Mech with an angry glare in her eyes, now feeling some pain in her mind from gyro feedback, the Puma's last strike having damaged her gyro partially.  Hendricks didn't bother trying to cut the left arm off, instead she centered the target reticle on the Puma's head and fired a medium pulse laser.  The one on the right side of her chest spat red energy at the Puma.  Most of the shots in the burst missed the head, but one made full contact, melting the armor protecting the canopy sufficiently for Hendricks.  She stormed up to it and a gutteral war cry erupted from her lungs, her mind consumed by the passions of battle.  When she was within ten meters Hendricks plunged her left fist into the cockpit of the Puma.  She imagined her victim screaming as the 'Mech's fist crushed him or her into the command couch and the back of the Puma's cockpit.  When she pulled her fist back out Hendricks noted that there was blood on it, likely from the violent impact the fist had made against the human body within.

     Hendricks made a complete turnaround.  A moment before battlelust had consumed her, now immense guilt swarmed her.  Oh my God, I just KILLED SOMEONE!  Her heart was filled with terrible ache as it fully dawned on her that she had killed, murdered, another human being, and had done so gleefully.  She cried out in anger at herself.  I had to, she thought.  It was kill or be killed, this is battle, I can't let...  oh God I did it without thinking, I just killed...

     An impact rocked the Nightsky and sent it tumbling down onto it's back.  Hendricks noticed the crack in her cockpit canopy just as the other Puma stepped up.  It pointed it's left arm at her, allowing Hendricks to stare into the large laser muzzle.  Terror gripped her heart and stopped it's beat as Hendricks realized she was about to die because of that fateful pause.

     The Puma was knocked to her left by an unseen force.  Hendricks looked up and her eyes widened when she saw a Wolfhound with the Australian flag colored over it's "heart".  The ID number on the left shoulder, which was visible in the light, read "A12", telling her it was Leeson.  She tried to stand up and watched the Wolfhound's left arm clench into a fist and punch the Puma.  The punch hit the hunch above the heat, and with the Puma's pilot already struggling to regain his stance it was enough to knock him over.  Leeson's right foot lowered on the torso of the Puma to hold it down.  The lasers on the Wolfhound's chest fired.  The trio of red beams struck the head and chest, cutting straight into the head and partially vaporizing the pilot inside.

     Hendricks tried to stand her Nightsky up, a difficult task with the gyro damage she had sustained.  Leeson came back to her and extended the Wolfhound's left hand.  Hendricks raised her left hand and gripped his, then felt strain as Leeson pulled back and helped her to her feet.  "Phil... thank you."

     "Any time, Trace.  I... like you too well to let you die."

     Hendricks nodded.  She could hear the true meaning in Leeson's voice, and it made her heart pound.  "You saved my life, Phil.  I can't thank you eno..."

     "Let's continue this talk later."  Leeson looked over at the raging battle.  "It's time to get back to work."

 

 

     Mukuka's heart pounded with the ferocity of a piston and pumped adrenaline into her body, brought on by the sight of carnage and the knowledge that she was again stepping into battle, this time not with an AK-74 over her shoulder like it had been on New Guinea but in control of her thirty-five ton Wolfhound BattleMech.  The Uller Bravo that had downed Christine's Raptor was in her sights and she felt anger in her heart at seeing her young charge fall.  No, you cannot die Christine, you are far too young to perish this quickly.  Mukuka knew the lie that her words were, she had seen boys and girls half her age killed fighting in the guerrila campaign against the UN on New Guinea, forced to fight to defend their homeland from the foreign aggressor.  It pained her to think that another young life had been snuffed out so easily.

     The chance that Christine was still alive prompted Mukuka to fire the large laser built into the Wolfhound's right arm when she saw the Uller's left arm hover over the Raptor's cockpit, the pilots' murderous intentions evident.  The emerald beam grazed the surface armor of the Uller's arm, creating a small niche on the top of the arm.  The Uller's pilot torso-twisted toward her and fired his autocannon at the Wolfhound.  Mukuka forced the Wolfhound to the right and accidentally lost her balance when a pair of 100mm rounds struck her left shoulder, tearing into the armor and failing to penetrate.  The Wolfhound fell on it's right side, causing Mukuka be tugged to the right in the cockpit and throwing off her concentration.  Her bare right shoulder banged up against the metal corner just behind the command couch in the close confines of the Wolfhound's cockpit, skinning the surface of her skin and bruising her shoulder.  Mukuka felt her right arm throb with pain and could feel some blood go down her right arm from the wound.  Mukuka used her 'Mech's right arm to push herself onto her knees, ignoring the wounded shoulder and lifting the Wolfhound's right arm while putting the left foot forward.  The Uller had already re-directed it's attentions toward her.  As she stood to her feet Mukuka watched a ruby beam of light eminate from the arm of the Uller, spearing her left leg and cutting through the armor.  A sharp pain briefly pierced her left leg until protective systems in the gyro cut off the nerve connections between her brain and the Wolfhound's wounded myomer in that limb.  As Mukuka got on her feet and took a step forward she could feel the Wolfhound begin to limp from it's leg wound.  She used her left joystick to center her reticle on the Uller's torso.  Mukuka pulled back on two of the triggers and sent a pair of ruby beams from her Wolfhound's chest into the Uller's body just below the cockpit.  The weak armor plate of the Uller melted away at the fury of Mukuka's medium lasers.  The Clan OmniMech seemed to stumble a bit, indicating that Mukuka had struck the gyro within.  Mukuka limped toward the OmniMech and fired her third medium laser when she saw her heat had diminished sufficiently.  Her aiming had been bad and the medium laser skirted the right shoulder of the Uller, doing nothing more than superficial armor damage.

     A pair of azure bolts barely missed Mukuka's right shoulder.  "Sergeant, that Vulture is behind you!", she heard Arks shout.

     Mukuka turned for a moment, and just in time to see the Vulture Alpha's ER PPC strike the right side of her Wolfhound.  The armor melted away under the impact of the plasma bolt, which went on to weaken some of her right side's armor.  Mukuka grimaced as the entire section turned red on her scanner.  A tone warned her of a missile lock and she turned just in time to see the Uller Bravo's SRM6 battery open fire.  Mukuka tried to dodge to the left, and managed to avoid the first three missiles, the second three curved in mid-flight to follow her movement and crashed into her right arm.  "Lieutenant?!  Where the hell is Leeson?!"

     "He's helping Command Team 2!  It's you and me, Abby."  Mukuka could detect the apprehension in the stoic Arks' voice, he knew they were vastly outgunned and just asking to die in this straight up combat.  "Lieutenant Radick's lance is in range, but they're on the other side of that bloody DropShip.  Just try and stay out of trouble as long as you can!"

     Mukuka nodded and triggered her large laser again, which completely missed the Uller Bravo.  She growled angrily at her bad aim and re-acquired with her trio of frontal medium lasers.  She yanked back on the right joystick and created a secondary targeting reticle, which she brought onto the portion of the holoview behind her 'Mech to target the Vulture.  Without regarding her heat buildup Mukuka fired all four of her medium lasers at once.  The rear one missed the Vulture completely, much to her chagrin.  Mukuka's frontal aim was better, with two out of three of the medium lasers striking the Uller's torso armor.  One laser went into the previously damaged section, and the resulting eruption of chemicals detected by the IR scanners told Mukuka that she had struck a heat sink.

     The Uller replied with it's lasers.  A sapphire beam cut away a bit of the armor on her left arm while the more dangerous ruby beam caught her left hip, melting away armor previously-damaged by the conductive qualities of the Wolfhound's armor.  The blast did not penetrate but the loss of armor did slightly unbalance the Wolfhound, which Mukuka fought to regain control of.

     From her right, Mukuka thought she saw a flash of blue.  Cerulean energy washed over the rear of the Uller.  A following beam of emerald energy pushed through it completely, emerging from the other side and nearly hitting Mukuka.  "There go you, Sergeant," Mukuka heard Farrell speak as she watched the Uller crumble with a destroyed gyro.  "Cover our fallen football girl, will you?  I'm going to have a man-to-man chat with our friend in the Assault 'Mech."

     "Yes sir!"  Mukuka limped the Wolfhound over to the Raptor, noticing that Arks' Cougar was getting the better of the other Uller, while the Black Lanner had moved to engage Radick's incoming lance.

     When a cluster round tore away at some of the left torso armor remaining on her Wolfhound, Mukuka looked back at the Vulture and realized her battle was not yet over.

 

 

     Farrell growled with anger as two out of three azure bolts fired from the Masakari mauled his Zeus's torso, melting off nearly two tons of armor.  "God damn sonovabitch, Radick, get your fucking arse over here!  I've got a problem!"

     "Flyboy to the rescue, as usual," Farrell heard Wang snicker.  The Viper Wang piloted leapt over the DropShip that the battle was centered around and landed behind the Masakari.  Two streams of emerald darts struck out at the Masakari, boring into the Assault 'Mech's thin rear armor and damaging it's skeleton with partial penetration.  Before Wang could finish up on his strike the Vulture Alpha torso-twisted away from Mukuka's mauled Wolfhound and fired one of it's triple SRM-6 batteries.  Eighteen deadly SRMs streaked toward the Viper.  Wang ducked to his right to try and avoid some, but his Viper's ungaily and wide body was incapable of doing so effectively.  Ten of the missiles struck home, chipping off armor on his torso and right arm.  "Damn, one of my smalls is out!"

     "So much for your rescue," Farrell groaned.  "Get the Vulture, I'll dance with this guy."  Farrell centered his reticle on the Masakari.  "Eat some of this shithead!"  Farrell keyed his energy weapons.  His left arm's ER PPC struck the right side of the Masakari's "hood", boring through the ferro-fibers into the alloy armor but failing to achieve a full armor breakthrough.  The Large Laser mounted on his torso grazed the armor, achieving some armor damage but nothing substantial.  The darts of the medium pulse laser surprisingly did the hardest hit, grazing the cockpit canopy before doing surface damage on the Masakari's tough hide.  "God damn bastard, you're tough!"  Farrell bit into his lower lip and felt his cockpit cook from the heat buildup from his strike.  His computer warned of a shutdown in ten seconds if the heat didn't sink to acceptable levels, and it would only take about fifteen seconds of this intense heat to cause his LRM ammo to explode, something he did not need.  Farrell triggered his LRM battery on the Zeus's left arm just as his opponent's right shoulder battery fired, and got the worst of the exchange as the inferior avionics of the Inner Sphere-built LRMs failed to track the Masakari's close-range movements as well as the Clan LRMs did his.  Eight LRMs crashed into his torso as opposed to the three that did light damage to the left arm of the Masakari.  One LRM penetrated his left torso and critically damaged a heat sink, causing blue coolant to spew from the wound.    Farrell noticed his damage display update the armor breakthrough and assign reddish-yellow color coding to his left torso to signify the severe armor loss it had suffered from the Clan Assault 'Mech.  "Fuck!  This God damned tincan can't stand up to that thing!"  Farrell noticed his ER PPC had recharged.  "I don't give a damn if I cook, I've got to kill this mother fucker!"  He pulled the trigger on his left joystick to fire the weapon, and the movement his left arm made was immediately mimicked by the Zeus's left arm, resulting in the ER PPC missing completely and striking the DropShip in the distance.  "Oh fuck!"  Farrell's rage was spurred by his fear as the forboding Clan OmniMech closed, and his heat spiked close to the red.

     The pilot inside the Masakari brought the right arm up and fired another pair of ER PPC blasts.  One of the cerulean plasma streams cut into Farrell's left shoulder, blowing away large portions of the armor and just barely failing to penetrate.  The other cut into the left torso and it's previously-damaged region.  More coolant spewed forth as another heat sink died, and the ER Large Laser indicator on his weapons display promptly faded out, indicating it had suffered critical damage and could no longer be used.  Panicking, Farrell stumbled backward, trying to get some distance to restore usefulness to his LRMs.  His medium pulse laser fired again, but he failed to hit the cockpit canopy, instead doing more surface damage on the central torso.  The Masakari's LRM battery fired again, and nothing Farrell could do prevented them from closing the 180 meter distance quickly and tearing through his left shoulder.  The limb went dead and became unmovable, limiting Farrell's use of the ER PPC mounted on the left arm.  "Um, guys, this thing's a fucking handful, I could use a little help!"

     In response, a single penetrator round slammed into the Masakari's left arm, tearing through and jamming the elbow actuator.  Farrell realized he had not seen the Nightstar of Brigadier Brown enter range, and at two kilometers away the older man had squeezed off what had to be a pretty good shot.  A second penetrator round from one of the Nightstar's twin Gauss Rifles was not quite so lucky, going wide right of the Masakari, while a bolt of cerulean fury from the Nightstar's ER PPC cut into some of the armor that the medium pulse laser on Farrell's 'Mech had already struck.  The Masakari's pilot stopped advancing on the Zeus as he realized he was faced by a greater threat.  "Oh yes, I'm here you son of a bitch," Farrell heard Brown announce on what was a known open frequency.  "And I've come to kick you and your kind out of Oz and straight to Hell!"

     "Go get 'em sir!"  Farrell felt a grin come on and turned away from the Masakari.  As he did so Radick's Goshawk landed gracefully behind the Vulture as it traded it's SRMs with Wang's large pulse lasers.  The Streak SRM launchers on the Goshawk's shoulders launched a pair of SRMs apiece.  Emerald pulses emerged from the right arm of the Goshawk and ate away at the rear armor of the Vulture.  The SRMs plowed into the rear of the Vulture, blowing away some of the armor protecting the rear portion of it's SRM batteries.  The Vulture's pilot seemed torn between his two enemies, unable to call on help with the Uller fighting it out against Arks and O'Keefe and the Black Lanner exchanging shots with Tucker's Flashman.  Farrell twisted his torso toward the Vulture and lifted his right arm.  Fifteen LRMs emerged from the individual slots on the arm's dome-like stump.  Unable to see the shots coming until it was too late, the Vulture failed to avoid them.  Four of the missiles failed to acquire properly and did not arm their warheads, only causing thump impacts against the Vulture's left arm before falling to the ground impotently.  The other eleven did their jobs, exploding and tearing off chunks of armor on the left leg and arm of the Vulture.  Farrell twisted his torso and centered his targeting reticle on the Vulture again, fighting the effects of heat that were partially scrambling his targeting sensors, and pulled on the trigger again.  Plasma erupted from his left arm's muzzle, cutting through the left arm of the Vulture.  An explosion engulfed the limb, the result of hitting the autocannon rounds contained within, and when the fireball disappeared only smoke remained.  The loss of armor and limb unbalanced the Vulture, and the pilot within failed to right the heavy Clan OmniMech, causing it to fall onto it's right side.  Wang's pulse lasers fired again at the fallen Vulture, removing some of it's frontal armor.  Farrell turned away and while waiting for his heat to die down he quickly surveyed the situation.

     Although still engaged against the Shadow Cat Alpha, Hendricks' Nightsky and Marika's Clint were degraded in combat capability due to battle damage, and Leeson's Wolfhound had suffered some degree of damage in it's exchange of shots with the Uller Alpha and the Puma Delta.  Christine's Raptor was down and guarded by the brutally damaged Wolfhound of Sergeant Mukuka.  His own Zeus had suffered severe damage at the hands of the Masakari, which was exchanging extreme range shots with Brown's Nightstar.  The Vulture was going to die pretty quickly under attack from Wang, while Radick was helping his fiancée Tucker with the Black Lanner, which had managed a lucky gyro hit on Tucker's Flashman.  Arks and the Uller Alpha were exchanging shots, the Uller's inferior armor unable to take the pounding of the heavier and more powerful Cougar.  Already the Uller and Black Lanner were falling back to the DropShip, the Shadow Cat was trying but had suffered leg damage and was limping.  The Masakari's pilot was deadset on Brown, and the two Assault 'Mechs exchanged bad shots that missed each other.  Farrell grimaced, wondering if he should risk the Masakari's wrath in trying to engage it from behind.

     Reaching over to his comm system, Farrell switched over to an short-wave frequency pre-arranged with his partner.  "Pao, she's all your's," he said into his microphone.

 

 

     Manihera's Firestarter was prone, crawling along the grasslands to keep it's targeting profile down.  The position was very awkward for Manihera, who was forced to rely on the Firestarter's instrumentation for guidance.  Ahead of him, at about 500 meters, lay the DropShip that had landed the enemy 'Mechs on Australian territory.  Manihera's magscan sensors detected the door to the primary 'Mech hanger, which was opposite from the side facing the raging battle.  The door began opening just as an Uller passed around the oval DropShip.

     Seizing his chance Manihera stood the Firestarter up and sprinted toward the opening.  The Uller spotted him coming right away and turned.  Red energy lashed out at Manihera and struck the Firestarter in the chest.  The armor glowed red as the material redistributed the heat from the laser to nearby material, preventing the hit location from yielding to the strike.  Manihera did not retort, concentrating on the single door and willing the light 'Mech faster.  When his range-finding equipment placed the distance at 150 meters Manihera leapt forward with the Firestarter's jump jets, just in time to avoid a penetrator from the Uller's arm-mounted Gauss Rifle.  The Firestarter flew forward through the air and toward the DropShip.  The Uller stepped back toward the launch ramp, it's pilot believing Manihera was trying to cut off the UN unit's retreat.

     Manihera proved them wrong when he landed just behind the Uller and sprinted into the 'Mech bay.  He turned back partially and raised his left arm while placing his targeting reticle over the Uller.  As the lighter 'Mech began to turn Manihera's finger yanked back on the trigger.  He had overestimated the shot and the resulting ruby spear missed the Uller, striking the interior of the 'Mech bay.  Manihera growled at his miss and made the turn complete.  Manihera kicked out and struck the Uller in the knee, causing the MechWarrior inside to fall on the ground.  Manihera regained his balance and stepped down on the Uller's head.  When the armor proved strong enough to immediately resist the pressure of his foot Manihera put more of the Firestarter's weight onto the right foot.  Ferroaluminum shattered and revealed the canopy to the open air.  Seeing this Manihera withdrew his foot and pointed his left arm down at the cockpit.  He triggered the flame-thrower built into the limb and created a flaming tongue that reached into the cockpit.  His external speakers were off and prevented Manihera from hearing his victim scream as flames engulfed him or her.  No moral qualms struck him at the thought of his victim flailing about in the command chair, burning alive, for this was not the first time Manihera had killed in this war, and would definitely not be the last.

     The Uller down permanently, Manihera turned his attention to the internals of the 'Mech bay.  Technicians were scrambling about, and some of the crew were moving what appeared to be a high-calibur machine gun into position.  Manihera raised his right arm and fired it's flamer, bathing the technicians in fire.  Their work clothes were flame-resistant for the most part, but their skin was not, and neither were the shirts and other garments they wore under their work jerkins.  Those all caught fire and the trio that had been putting the gun together began to scream as they were set aflame.  The fire touched the machine gun ammo and blew it up, killing two of the would-be soldiers with the resulting spray of shrapnel and debris.

     Manihera stopped his weapons for a moment and stood still, feeling his 'Mech's heat rise well into the yellow and near the red.  He was already sweating from tension, and now his skin felt sticky from the heat and sweat, while his torso was kept at a safe temperature by the coolant circulating through his cooling vest.  The systems computer began shutdown procedures and nearly completed them before Manihera finished inputting the proper sequance on his control keyboard and overrode them.

     The bay was not like the one he had seen in a ComStar Union-class DropShip, it was larger and possessing of an extra two berths.  Manihera looked around and tried to find an ammo magazine, or something related to his plan with Farrell.  He spotted a line of LRM racks near two of the berths and grinned as he thought of the destruction they would wreak.  Manihera backed up to the rear of the bay before he triggered his flamers.  Three distinct streams of fire erupted from the Firestarter's arms and chest and engulfed the LRM ammo.  Manihera stretched out his left arm and set aflame a few containers closer to the door before he fired his jump jets.  As he flew backward he watched the Black Lanner storm up the ramp, several armor holes having been created from where it had suffered damage.  The medium 'Mech ignored him and entered the 'Mech Bay, just to be caught up in the fireball that erupted from the detonation of the ammo containers Manihera had struck.  The Black Lanner was thrown backwards and onto the ramp it had stepped up on, where it tumbled onto the grasslands.

     The DropShip's crew had obviously noticed the explosion, and without waiting fired their thrusters.  Manihera felt the Firestarter lurch off-balance from the power of the DropShip's engines, which burrowed into the Australian grassland as it gained enough thrust to lift off.  The Black Lanner that had fallen was consumed with the fire of the DropShip's wake, obscuring it from Manihera's view before he went facedown on the grassland to reduce the amount of thrust the light 'Mech would be hit with.

     When the DropShip reached an altitude of two hundred meters Manihera finally rolled his Firestarter onto it's back and looked up.  He immediately noticed a pair of emerald beams slice into the DropShip's nose, heralding the arrival of two ComStar Corsair fighters.  The DropShip returned fire at the Corsairs, which took the blows from it's large lasers much better than the Australian Hornet had earlier.  More emerald beams retaliated for the strike, the two fighters continuing to chase the DropShip, which began to disappear as it gained altitude.  Manihera stood the Firestarter and began walking toward the other gathered friendly 'Mechs.  The Black Lanner was still on the ground, it's armor stripped away partially by the thrust of the DropShip, which had blown in through the cockpit and killed the pilot.  Manihera leaned his 'Mech nearby and, just for a moment, looked inside the cockpit at the charred remains of what was once a living human being.  It would be expected that one would reflect upon the death of another human, he thought to himself.  And that one should be repulsed by it.  But I feel no repulsion.  This was my enemy, an enemy who would stop at nothing to kill me and my comrades.  There is nothing wrong with killing them first. 

     Manihera looked back up just in time to see a large fireball in the sky, signaling the death of the Clan DropShip.

 

 

     Farrell watched the DropShip explode in the sky and sighed with relief.  Around him lay the battered remains of both his company and the enemy, and the only enemies left were a limping Shadow Cat and the Masakari, which was still fighting things out with Brown.

     That is, until the DropShip obviously exploded.  The Masakari stopped in it's tracks, not moving.  "Hold back," Brown warned Farrell and the others.  "He might be up to somethin..."

     Without any warning, the Masakari tumbled onto it's back, still running but dereft of control, or so it appeared.  O'Keefe's Wolfhound stepped up tentatively, the right arm with the extended range laser at the ready.  The Wolfhound peered over the cockpit of the Masakari and it's chest headlight illuminated it.  "Pilot's dead," O'Keefe said.  "Blew 'er brains out."

     "She wasn't willing to be taken prisoner," Brown muttered.  "And the Shadow Cat?"

     Farrell had just noticed that the light Clan OmniMech had also tumbled over.  "Looks like the pilot's dead too."

     "Okay.  I'm going to get in contact with the Base and get salvage and medical teams out here.  Let's regroup and be ready for anything, the enemy might send another group with this one killed."

     "Yes sir."  Farrell looked over at Christine's fallen Raptor.  He walked the Zeus over and noticed Mukuka kneeling her Wolfhound as he got within forty meters.  "Private Bennington, this is Captain Farrell.  Please respond if you can hear us.  Christine?"  Fearing the worst, Farrell decided to check on Christine.  "I'm going to check on Private Bennington."  He straighted his Zeus's back before placing it on standby.  Without waiting Farrell pulled his helmet off and placed it in the storage locker.  The cooling vest was immediately flushed of all coolant while he removed the medical sensors, and then unstrapped the safety harness and the vest's linkage to the coolant system.  Farrell threw open the hatch and lowered a rope ladder.  The climb down was as quick as Farrell could make it, his concern for Christine paramount.  Once on the ground Farrell ran as quickly as he could to the side of the Raptor, having been beaten to the hatch by Mukuka.  The Papuan woman was hunched down on the chest just below the cockpit, unable to pull out the external emergency lever that would trigger the hatch to open.  Farrell climbed up on the Raptor's left thigh and then onto the torso.  He approached Mukuka from her right and noticed that her bare shoulder was bruised and bleeding.  "Sergeant," he began, before choosing informality, "Natalie, you're bleedin'."

     "It is nothing, I have had worst."  Mukuka hid her pain in her voice, the shoulder injury had removed some of the strength in her right arm, and even her concern for Christine was not powerful enough to overcome the injury's pain.

     "Here, lemme help."  Farrell stepped over her to her left and lowered his hands into the niche where the lever was kept, on the right of the hatch.  "Now pull."  He and Mukuka began pulling up the lever, which was unresponsive at first, a by-product of the air-tight environment inside the cockpit.  Farrell felt his arm muscles protest the resistance with agony and redoubled his efforts.  Both of them made low grunts from exertion before the lever finally popped up and the hatch slid open.  Farrell got in first, noting it was only a meter "deep" within the Raptor's body, with Mukuka jumping in behind him closer to what was ordinarily the floor..  Inside the chamber, at the deepest end below the cockpit, was a panel on what was normally the "ceiling" of the chamber.  Farrell kneeled and pulled it open, revealing the cockpit.  He clambered in legs first, wedging himself into the main cockpit with Mukuka's help and finding his footing on the back portion of the cockpit. He looked up and saw Christine laying back in the command couch, the neurohelmet still on her head and her arms dangling on either side.  While Mukuka fought her way in Farrell reached over and switched off the Raptor's fusion reactor, which had not shut off automatically yet.  This did not rob the cockpit of some of the heat it contained, which was an uncomfortable ninety degrees Fahrenheit, but it did remove the throbbing coming from below the cockpit.

     Farrell reached up and felt Christine's left wrist, and panicked when he didn't think he felt a pulse.  "Chrissy?!"  With fearful eyes Farrell looked over at Mukuka.  "I... I don't know if she has a pulse."  The responding look in Mukuka's eyes told Farrell of the concern the older woman had for her junior roommate.  He took out his army knife from the shorts pocket and used it to begin cutting away the harness.  Mukuka pulled herself in fully and reached up, grabbing the right side of the command couch.  With a cry of agony from her injured shoulder Mukuka lifted herself up and grabbed the attachment for the cooling vest, tearing it out.  When she got back on her feet Mukuka pulled the neurohelmet off and angrily discarded it.  Farrell finished cutting Christine free of the harness and helped Mukuka pull the young woman out of the chair and down with them.  Christine's eyes were closed.  Her pale face and clammy skin, still sticky with sweat, made Farrell realize she could be dead.  Tentatively, he placed his fingers against her carotid artery on her throat.  When he felt light vibrations on his fingertips Farrell sighed with relief and looked up at Mukuka.  "She's alive."  His discovery seemed less important when Farrell realized that Christine's chest was slowly heaving up and down, her lungs still intaking air.

     Mukuka nodded and went toward the hatch.  "I will tell the others."

     Farrell nodded and began to remove Christine's cooling vest and the sensors attached to her body.  "Good girl," he muttered.  "You can't die on me, I've had too many people die on me and you're not going to join them."

     With his left hand in Christine's fire-red hair, Farrell's mind went back to battles in the Indies and Phillippines.  Admittedly not very tank-friendly in terms of terrain, there were some regions sufficient for forms of tank combat, and Farrell had met the UN in battle in those regions, both as an infantryman and later as a tank gunner and commander.  He had lost friends and comrades, young people Christine's age killed in an instant, their entire lives burned away in the fires of war.  Farrell felt tears in his eyes at hard memories of death and blood.  He felt twice his age sometimes from the grief in his heart, the burden of meeting young people just joining the military and not knowing the hell they were about to be plunged into, the very real danger of a shell or bullet ending everything they were and wanted to be in the briefest of instants.

     Christine's eyes began to open a little.  The blue color in them appeared faded in the cockpit's emergency light.  She groaned and put a hand on her head.  "What.... what happened?"

     "Not sure yet," Farrell answered.  "But you look like you're going to be fine."

     "My mind, it felt like it was on fire," Christine mumbled.  "Ooooh... my head still hurts."

     "Close your eyes, rest.  You did as best as you could in this little thing."

     "The others?"

     "Alive, although we've got plenty of bad wounds on our machines.  Bad guys are gone.  We beat 'em."

     Christine managed a weak grin.  "Oh, thank God."  She blinked.  "Captain..."

     "Please call me Chris, Chrissy."

     "Okay, Chris.  What's it like...  Dying?"

     Farrell swallowed.  "Well, I haven't died yet, so I can't give you first-hand experience."

     "No, I mean, what does someone look like after they're dead?  I've never actually seen a dead person before."

     "Um..."  Farrell closed his eyes and felt tears roll down his face.  "Oh God, it's bad.  If there's a body left, and in my job that doesn't happen very often, you'll sometimes have a lot of blood.  For instance, this young guy from Perth I had in my platoon when I was still a grunt, he jumped on a grenade.  And... his entire chest had been ripped up, just a big mass of blood and organs, it was horrible.  The eyes of a dead person stare at nothing, just this long lifeless stare."  A hundred different faces crossed through Farrell's mind, his slain comrades haunting him and drawing more tears.  "Their lips turn blue and their skin cold.  Over time the body's muscles petrify and the limbs get stiff, but we manage to get most bodies out of the battle zone by then."

     There was a not from the young girl in his arms.  "I see," Christine said in a soft whisper.  "I'm... I'm scared of dying.  That's all I could think about when they took me down.  I don't want to die."

     "Nobody does.  Well, nobody human, who knows what goes through the minds of the Giuseppies sometimes."  Farrell recalled the suicides of the Shadow Cat and Masakari pilots, and remembered he had seen other VdO members do the same if captured.  "I mean, there's so much to look forward to in life."

     "Then why war?  I mean, why do we choose to fight wars?"

     "Well," Farrell sighed, "I'm not a philosopher or a shrink, don't ask me for a good answer.  I just think it's because we have our opinions and wants and if those conflict, some people don't want to discuss things calmly or arrange a compromise, so they use force to make people do what they want."

     "Which explains Giuseppe perfectly."

     Farrell nodded in agreement with Christine.  "Yep.  So here we are.  Think you can walk?"

     "Yeah."  Christine lowered her feet from Farrell's right knee and onto the ground.  She stood to her full height, seeming a little off balance but able to stand.  "One question, though."

     "Yeah?"

     Christine noticed her lapel pin, which had fallen when her Raptor fell.  She kneeled over and picked it up, holding it in her clenched fist as she stood again, fighting her nausea.  "Can I get a bigger 'Mech?"

     Farrell grinned at Christine's question, and pointed his finger at her.  "Well, there's a pretty nice-looking Shadow Cat out there, we'll see how salvagable she is.  Maybe I can get Brigadier Brown to give 'er to you."

     Christine's grin matched his.  "I'd like that, really."

 

 

     It was past midnight at Base Menzies and the facility was bustling with activity as the injured BattleMechs of A Company returned to their hanger facilities.  The other two companies were still out on patrol, a blessing for the A Company members, who were quickly able to unsuit and get in the showers to wash off their battle sweat and give a chance for their bodies to calm down from the frenzy of combat.

     The company had assembled in the briefing room with Precentor Rios and Brigadier Brown, who was still sweaty and in his cooling vest and shorts, having been too busy speaking with Rios to wash off.  The older man looked lethargic and a bit tired, which was an entirely new sight for Farrell and the others.  "You twelve did well," Brown began.  "I'm proud of you all."

     "Brigadier, do we know what they were doing?"

     Rios answered Radick's question before Brown could.  "We had picked up the Clan DropShip on it's approach, but it was lost in a storm over the Sea of Timor and we assumed it was heading toward Timor.  By appearances they were a UN VdO training unit, perhaps sent to test the extent of our training or to inflict losses on the battalion.  The level of ability they showed indicated they were likely ready for frontline service."  A small grin appeared on the Precentor's face.  "Your performance should do much to dissuade further attacks.  And the loss of a DropShip will hinder the Clans' operations."  Rios looked at Manihera and Farrell.  "That was a very gutsy move you two took."

     "It was all Pao," Farrell insisted.

     "Even considering that the DropShip was not protecting itself as it should have been, such an achievement is very good, Corporal, you deserve a medal."  Rios drew in a breath.  "I trust this will show the Clans that you are not going to be the walkovers they no doubt expect."

     "I hope so," Leeson muttered.

     "And, I am aware that history was made tonight by you, Private Bennington."  Rios looked down at Christine, who was seated near the front row in a white tank top and shorts.  "The first MechWarrior from this planet to kill a Clan BattleMech, even if it was one piloted by your terrestrial enemies and not a Clan MechWarrior.  My congratulations."

     "Thank you, sir."

     Brown looked over at Rios before speaking.  "Your performances tonight will be evaluated by your instructors and notes given out tomorrow afternoon.  Precentor Rios and I have agreed that this event has been a very profound learning experience for you all, enough to equal two days worth of training.  As a result we have decided to give the company this weekend off, including one day in which you may be off base."  Brown waited for their cheering to end before continuing.  "Starting Saturday morning you can leave, and must return by mid-day Sunday to prepare for a resumption of training Monday, and hopefully by then the ComStar Techs should have your 'Mechs back in shape.  But, you must still report tomorrow at ten hundred hours for simulator exercises and review with your instructors, as well as the other obligations you have on your schedule.  You are dismissed."

     Moods were still light as the company filtered out.  When they were gone Rios turned to Brown with a grave expression.  "I thought our intentions were to train them as quickly as possible?"

     "They are.  But they've trained good, they've all trained good, and their 'Mechs are in need of repairs anyway."  Brown sighed and leaned against the wall.  "Its been years since I felt like that."

     "Yes?"

     "Twenty-four years ago I served in Somalia as a Lieutenant," Brown explained.  "And later in peacekeeping missions in East Timor and Afghanistan, although by then I was getting up to staff level.  But in Somalia I ended up in a fire-fight, nothing major, we pounded the Somalis, but the adrenaline rush was still there.  Haven't had it since, until tonight."  Brown grinned a little.  "Felt good."

     "The Masakari is salvagable, I've been told," Rios informed Brown.  "I was thinking of letting you have it."

     "No."  Brown pointed a finger and cut off Rios' protest quickly.  "You bullied me into that Nightstar, and I'm keeping it.  I like it anyway.  But I'm giving the Masakari to Captain Farrell, he's earned it."

     Rios bit on his lip and nodded.  "Very well."

     "Now, if you will excuse me Precentor," Brown's right hand fingers felt the edges of his goatee, "I think I am in need of a good washing."

 

 

     Farrell rubbed his hands together gleefully as he walked tall through the barracks area, heading toward Company A's building.  Finally some time off!  Even if it's just a day, it's damned worth it!  Farrell was alone in the hall for the ComStar quarters when he noticed Laura Pollard leaving her room in a white halter top and the standard white silk trousers and gold boots.  In her left hand Pollard held the white and light blue cooling vest, much like the lightweight one Farrell and the others had been issued.  She seemed very attractive, in a cute way, with her brown hair combed to the sides of her head and her tight and athletic stomach, her body kept in shape by the mandated exercise regimen of the Com Guards.  Her baby blue eyes twinkled when she saw him.  Farrell knew he probably appeared as gleeful as a schoolboy on the first day of summer break.  "Hey Laura!"

     She saw him and grinned.  "Hello Christopher," Pollard said, her expression sweet and lovely in Farrell's eyes.  "I am happy to see you are okay."

     Farrell looked over her girlish figure and chuckled at the way her small breasts were emphasized by the halter top.  "You going out?"

     "Yes.  I am to escort the salvage vehicles coming in."  Pollard looked up at him.  "I... am pleased to see you survived, Christopher."

     "Why, thank you Laura.  Any special reason?"  Farrell immediately chided himself for his question, it seemed... rude.

     Pollard, however, didn't seem to mind.  "Because you are a good man.  You deserve life.  And because I consider you a good friend."

     Farrell nodded at Pollard's answer, and didn't know whether to feel disappointed or relieved that it was not a more intimate reason.  As he had often told Manihera and the others, he thought Pollard was a nice-looking woman and certainly someone he wouldn't mind bedding, but Farrell wasn't looking for romance, and preferred his relationship with her to be friendly.  "It sounded stupid of me to ask, I know," he admitted.  "I'm sorry I was rude."

     "It was a good question, considering the type of attachment you and I are trying to avoid."  Pollard's response relieved Farrell further.  She stepped beside him and down the hall toward the 'Mech bay.  "I really must be going now."

     "Laura, we're going to be free this Saturday.  Still want to look at Casuarina Beach?"

     Pollard turned back.  "I'm not sure the Precentor will approve."

     "Oh, come on, it's one day, and he's got other MechWarriors to take up the slack for him.  Surely you can ask him.  I mean, you ComStar people have to get breaks too."

     She seemed to consider Farrell's words for a moment.  "I shall ask him, then.  And hope he lets me go."

     "That's the spirit."  Farrell winked at her.  "Good night Laura."

     "Good night."  Pollard nodded at Farrell and turned away to continue walking down the hall.  Farrell watched her go for a moment before walking on toward his quarters.

 

 

     Leeson wanted to be tired when he stepped into his room and began removing his shirt, but he still felt active.  His body had gained it's "second-wind" and the combat buzz was still in him.  Leeson played the battle over and over again in his mind, every missed shot, every sluggish response, he realized just how much better he'd need to get.  We were lucky that it was a bunch of trainees like us, instead of the real thing, or we'd probably be dead, he mused.

     Inside the room Hendricks was sitting on the bed, down to her undergarments.  She looked up at him and grinned.  "Hi Phil," she said meekly.  Leeson could see that in her eyes Hendricks was troubled in some way.  He walked up to her, unintentionally prompting her to get to her feet and put her arms around him.  "Thank you for saving me, Phil.  Oh God, I was so certain I was going to die."

     "I'm not going to let anything happen to you if I can help it," Leeson promised her.

     "How did you feel?"  She looked up at him with pain in her brown eyes.  "How did you feel when you killed that pilot?"

     Leeson sighed and considered his response.  "I felt angry," he finally answered.  "I felt angry that he was going to kill you.  When he went down, I knew I'd have to kill him to make sure you were safe.  And I did it, and I'd do it again."

     "But why me?"  Hendricks put a hand on his cheek.  "What did I do that makes you want to kill to protect me?"

     "You've been such a good friend."  Leeson swallowed, not wanting to add that he was dreaming about her every time he closed his eyes.  "You're a nice girl, or woman, Tracey.  I couldn't let you die.  I'd kill myself if I ever stood by and let that happen to you."

     Hendricks shook her head.  "No!  No, I wouldn't ask you to do that over me!  You're too nice for that to happen, Phil!"

     "I.... Tracey, I really like you."  Leeson's heart began racing as he felt restraint grip his throat, preventing him from using the "l" word he was really thinking about.  "I..."  Leeson put her arms around her sides and pressed them against her back, the most intimate touch he had ever given her.

     In her eyes Leeson could see Hendricks' fear and self-doubt.  "I hesitated, Phil.  I hesitated because I killed another person.  And... it nearly got me killed."

     "I don't blame you for hesitating.  I know I would have, if it hadn't been to protect you."  Leeson felt his blood grow hot as Hendricks' hand ran around his neck and onto his shoulder.  "You mean so much to me, Tracey.  As a friend, and...  as a woman... I... I..."  Hesitation and fear kept him from blurting the "love" word out.

     Hendricks put her finger on his mouth.  "Phil, don't."  She smiled sheepishly.  "As much as I've gotten to like you, I'm not ready for what I think you're about to say, and this isn't the right place for it anyway.  You'"

 

 

     In the darkness and silence of her room, Mukuka could only hear her heart beat slowly and the breathing of herself and Christine.  Her younger roommate had fallen asleep quickly after stripping down to her undergarments, and now Christine was curled in a fetal position under her covers, sleeping peacefully.  Mukuka looked over at Christine's young face and the faces of other women and girls she had known passed through her mind, all belonging to someone who had died in Mukuka's presence.  Mukuka had been a jungle fighter before New Guinea itself experienced UN invasion, having served in the Oceanic Corps founded by Australia during the Phillippines and Indonesian campaigns.  While on New Guinea she had spent over a year behind enemy lines, helping disparate groups of her people and the others on New Guinea fight their merciless enemy.  Mukuka looked down at her bare chest, uncovered by a sheet, and noticed the knife scar between her breasts, dealt by a UN soldier during a melee fight in the Phillippines.  That soldier's face still appeared in Mukuka's dreams, her inhuman gaze, the Indian nature of her complexion, and Mukuka could remember the warmth of her blood and the Indian woman's blood in her hands.  The wound had pained Mukuka when it was delivered, in what seemed to have been an eternity before, just as Mukuka's own knife blow had severed the other woman's carotid artery and killed her.

     That scar was merely the visible one.  Bullet scars were present on each of Mukuka's thighs and on her belly, as were uncountable locations where she had scraped herself against a tree limb or the ground or whatever had happened to make contact with her during Mukuka's time in the jungles.  The darkness reminded her of many a night trying to sleep and yet stay awake, not knowing if a jungle predator or a UN infantry patrol would stumble upon them.

     Some of those memories brought Mukuka back to Christine.  Even though only about seven years seperated them in age, Mukuka felt protective of the young woman, somewhat like an older sister protecting her younger sister but also with some elements of a mother and daughter.  After all, Mukuka had faced over three years of combat, time in which she had aged faster in her mind and soul than in body, and she very much felt like a forty year old woman.  And with such feeling it was easy to see the young and pretty Christine as a surrogate daughter, of sorts.  The daughter Natalie Mukuka had never had.

     It was not that Mukuka was incapable of childbirth.  She was twenty-eight, still fertile, and not unattractive according to her comrades.  But Mukuka had never been a romantic woman, nor one who particularly cared for love or sex.  Only now, in her late twenties, did Mukuka's instincts begin lamenting not having borne a child.  Mukuka could not bring herself to do such a thing now, however.  It would be criminal to bear a child into the world of darkness that she existed in now.

     Mukuka closed her eyes and hoped she could finally get a measure of sleep.  If only the faces would leave her memory long enough to let it come....