TIBSHELF

GILLINGHAM

FEDERATED SUNS

07:06, 09 JUNE 3044

Elise’s sensors went wild, for a brief moment overwhelmed by the flash of an energy signature coming from the north, beyond the edge of town. A quick glance and she could see a plume of smoke rising from that direction, thick and dirty-grey. Even from this distance she could see the shape of the pirates’ Union, listing and broken like a dropped egg, and for a single precious second she wondered what Everett and his mob had gotten up to.

Resisting the urge to check in on the command channel, she snapped her focus back to the fight at hand.

She and Hornbuckle were hounding the Banshee, his heavier ‘Mech trying to draw the monster’s attention while she fought to get around to its unprotected rear. Despite being an inexperienced militia pilot from a backwater like Gillingham, the Lieutenant knew how to handle himself in a fight and had proven himself able to work in a team quite effectively.

‘Despite’, she mused, grimacing as she was forced to avoid a cross-body shot from her opponent’s arm-mounted PPC. This is the planet that spawned Ronnie Bowman; they know how to grow MechWarriors here.

She wondered where the younger woman had gotten to. Since disappearing into the town she had gone comms dark, leaving everyone none the wiser about her current state.

Elise hoped she was alright, not least because they would need all the help they could get. Ronnie had become a good friend in the months since the invasion, filling a space that had been occupied by one of her younger siblings… before the pressures of the house of Durand-Géroux had turned them all into overly-ambitious, maladjusted automata.

But, they definitely did need help.

Since Snap went down – a breached fusion engine it seemed – and Walters’ armour was stuck in a tanker’s worst nightmare of urban combat, it was up to her and Hornbuckle to get this bastard.

A daunting prospect at the best of times.

Swearing violently, she kept moving as she ended up on the wrong side of the enemy ‘Mech, taking a flurry of SRMs from the Banshee’s shoulder mount. She could tell the pilot was experienced, apparently cycling through his weapons to keep on top of his heat curve – supposedly a notorious problem in a ‘Mech like that – without any signs of slowing down. She wouldn’t have been surprised if there were a couple of extra heat sinks crammed in there too.

Either way, he was proving to be a formidable opponent, keeping at bay two enemy ‘Mechs while able to reposition at will and multitask like an expert. He had drawn them away from their original position, to the further edge of town where the Militia compound — where all of this started for Elise — lay in ruins, also drawing them away from reinforcements in the process. The gigantic building fully blocked line of sight from one direction, meaning the only way to get into the Banshee’s rear was to do so when he was distracted by firing at the other one.

It was a momentary vulnerability that was not to be easily exploited.

“Rocky, stop being a priss and take some damage!” she grated over comms, leaping back and nearly clipping a rooftop in the process. “I need to get him in the undermeats!”

“You be the distraction!” Hornbuckle snapped back, his Grasshopper staggering as half a tonne of armour was flensed from its shoulder by the lightning lash of a PPC. “What you have left will barely break the skin!”

Elise growled, knowing he was right. Even on the rear, assault-weight ‘Mechs had a decent amount of armour, and now her autocannon was dry she only had her lasers left to play with. Not enough to force through the plating and do crippling damage.

She needed to get the Banshee’s attention without opening herself up to a withering counterattack.

“Give it up, you tremulous quim!” she said, speaking into the channel on which the pirate leader had spoken to her before. “Your forces are crushed and your DropShips belong to us!”

Elise had no idea if the last point was true or not. It was the plan and she put her trust in the infantry to get the job done. Her old self would have been aghast, having only seen footsoldiers as good for standing around and pretending to guard things. Change is a process.

The Banshee hesitated for a brief moment, almost glancing in her direction as it fended off another attempt from Hornbuckle.

“I admit you have surprised me with your tenacity,” that cultured New Avalonion accent replied, satisfying Elise with a hint of irritation.

“Ah! Arrogant as well as stupid!” she goaded. “Surrender now and I might consider not punching you in the face when I hand you over to the provost marshal.”

Snap, an offhand shot from its PPC came her way, ripping through an abandoned storefront as she kept on moving. It had been quite a nice greengrocers once upon a time.

She pushed that thought away.

“You have no idea what you have here,” the pirate hissed, his composure fully broken. “The significance of what you useless backwater mouthbreathers uncovered with your incessant grubbing and mindless ignorance!”

Elise snapped off a shot with her lasers, scoring a glancing blow across one stout leg.

“Please, darling, in my case it’s ‘competent core world mouthbreather’; I do have a degree you know,” she wheedled, trying not to sound as out of breath, in pain, and everything else that she was. This was one of her mother’s lessons in play for once: no matter what you do, do it with confidence. “Why don’t you tell me what we have?”

As Hornbuckle was in the air, the resultant leap from avoiding an attack, the Banshee turned its torso fully towards Elise, locking her with that baleful gaze. With a thrill of anticipation and no small amount of fear, she knew she had its full attention. Five lasers, two PPCs, and a missile launcher were about to unleash her way.

She might manage to avoid any damage.

Somehow.

But with the state her armour was in, even the barest whisper of a graze would bite into her structure and probably break something important.

Hornbuckle landed, planted his feet, and Elise could almost imagine the glow as his lasers began to fire

She tensed, readying for the attack that was coming her way.

Then, with seemingly-impossible dexterity for a ‘Mech of that size, the Banshee span on the ball of one foot, turning its torso as it went, until everything was suddenly pointed at the now-motionless Hornbuckle.

And fired.

At this range, in this quantity, the Clint’s sensors were temporarily blinded by the sheer amount of energy being unleashed by the pirate. 

The Grasshopper seemed to weather it for a split second until the barrage ceased, revealing a mess of scorched armour crumbling away like ash on a burned-out log, revealing structure that was warped and broken, myomer torn and frayed.

With the inevitability of a felled tree, the Grasshopper toppled backwards and out of sight.

Before it had even begun to move, before the Banshee had finished firing, Elise had snapped through her horror, instinct taking her over and driving her forwards toward the inviting target of the assault’s broad back.

She landed in the square, skidding slightly on the snow-covered concrete, blasting out with bright lasers that burned severely, right between what would have been the shoulder blades on a human.

Crowing triumphantly, she moved in closer for a follow-up shot, consolidating on her victory as the Banshee seemed to sag…

Only for her thoughts to become overwhelmed by panic as the Banshee surged to close the gap at the last minute, driving its fist right into her abdomen with a vicious underarm punch.

Elise staggered, winded and shocked, warnings flashing in her vision. She took a step backwards and reeled as her vision swam and everything seemed to twist and slide. Another step and she tottered drunkenly, feeling the bile rising in her throat. Gravity seemed wrong, her balance overwhelmed, and she fell backwards, landing with a thudding impact right on the Clint’s backside. 

It might have been the barest bit of damage, but it had been enough to land the final blow on her ‘Mech’s already-misaligned gyro.

Swaying gently in place as her senses tried to reassert themselves, she heard a grating sound from behind and realised she had come to rest with her back against a building.

The Banshee, the air still rippling around it as overtaxed heat sinks continued to dump thermal load, began to make its way towards her.

Not far from this spot, she had watched that same fist cave in the skull of a Militia Urbanmech, killing the pilot outright.

“In our pasts we see our futures…” she muttered, unable to remember who she was quoting, or even if she had just made it up in a useless piece of near-death inspiration.

“Even the mighty can be brought low in time,” the pirate rasped over comms. While sounding smug, he was also panting, like every breath was a labour. He must really have been risking an ammo explosion. “And you are not as thus.”

Elise made a chittering, mocking imitation of his words under her breath. It was immature, petty, and unbecoming, but it also made her feel a bit better about the situation as she reached for the ejection cord.

She and Hornbuckle had failed in the task they had given but… she did not feel as awful as she expected. The Banshee was damaged, most of its cohorts were destroyed, and the pirates had no way off the planet.

The Militia had won, it was now just a matter of time.

And if she lived to see it or not. At this point it wasn’t a fear of dying that drove her, rather than a fear of not seeing Anne again. Strange how much a difference it made, having something to live for.

Hands grasping the cord, a flash of movement caught her eye and she hesitated, even as the Banshee drew back its fist to land the killing blow.

Moving at ludicrous speeds, a Locust shot from a side-street, pelting past without slowing down and landing a swift kick to Banshee’s ankle as it did so, catching it square in the actuator and forcing it onto one knee lest it be brought down entirely.

“Even the mighty brought low!” she barked in savage laughter, triggering her lasers. Down at her level, they burned right into the chest of the Banshee, cutting away the last of the barbaric decorations that were there and creating a deep wound suppurating with a ragged edge of molten metal.

Eye to eye with the Banshee’s gold polarised viewscreen, above the red splash of its painted maw, she bared her teeth as the enemy machine didn’t bother trying to stand again, spitefully firing with all its torso weapons, as point blank as a ‘Mech fight could get.

Warnings screamed as lasers began to tear apart her ‘Mech, lessening to cautions as the damage was mitigated by the pirate lurching forwards from a blow to its back, emerald beams cutting all the way through her useless gyro and gouging deep into the concrete.

Elise had seldom seen the utter ineptitude at gunnery displayed by Ronnie Bowman, but in all her years she had never seen someone with the talent at keeping a ‘Mech upright that young woman displayed, no matter how complex the manoeuvres she pulled off.

Elise fired again, widening the hole she had created, burning deeper until she could see the shining silver viscera of the enemy ‘Mech. Something vital must have been hit because the Banshee now made a concerted effort to push itself to its feet, hobbling as it tried to put weight on the damaged ankle.

It took a few, faltering steps back into the square, desperately casting around for the Locust that had since disappeared back into the side streets that had spawned it, hunched and low as it kept beneath the roofline.

The towering monstrosity that was the Banshee had no such ability, and when it looked towards the south in its hunt for the marauding Locust, it was peppered with a brace of missiles before a crackling ‘shell’ of charged particles hit the wound she had created in an almost perfect bullseye.

In a single, tumultuous instant, the Banshee tore itself apart as one of its ammunition bins was set off by the impact, limbs scattering and pulverised structure and armour spreading around it like shrapnel from a bomb. 

Fire and smoke burst out and up, rising into the sky as a filthy death marker to the fallen pirate chief.

Elise stared, open-mouthed, scarcely daring to believe what she had just seen, closing it with a click when her comms lit up.

“Sound off,” Walters spoke. They sounded as exhausted as she felt. “Who’s still with us?”

“This is Nibs,” she croaked, slumping back into her chair. “Crippled but active.”

She waited, hearing the survivors sound off — Hornbuckle and Snap among them — then shut down her engine, unbuckled her restraints, took off her neurohelmet, and staggered towards the hatchway ladder.

Step after aching step she took, climbing the ladder, disengaging the hatch, and hauling herself into the bitter winter air.

Sweat dried on bare skin now covered in goosebumps but she didn’t mind. For once it felt invigorating, a reminder she was in fact alive. She shuffled over the cracked, pitted, and scored surface of her BattleMech — her borrowed BattleMech — and sat down on the head as the sun fully crested the tallest of the eastern peaks, bathing the valley in golden sunlight.

Things were almost peaceful now, only broken by the rattle of tanks making their way through the town, the shout and refrain of infantry, and the rhythmic stomp of a Locust that can never stay still — and in fact the only ‘Mech on their side left standing.

The sight triggered a memory of her very first deployment, ten calendar years and a few hundred light years away. That had been a desperate fight on the edge of dawn too and like then she felt an almost anticipatory restlessness at the promise of a future unrolling before her.

They had won. They had finally, really won.

If she had the energy, Elise might have smiled. She wasn’t even sure she was happy, after everything that had happened, but for the first time in years, she wasn’t afraid of what the future might hold for her.

 

 

TUNGSTEN MINES

TIBSHELF

GILLINGHAM

FEDERATED SUNS

09:49, 09 JUNE 3044

With a horrendous grinding noise, the doors slid open to either side, thrice as tall as Elise was again and wide enough to fit the Goblin they had commandeered to take them up to the mine. Only the careful splicing of a satchel battery by one of Abe’s more creative AsTechs had granted them entry.

After the battle had been officially declared over and a headcount had been done, the support elements had been moved up to do what they can to get mobile who and what they could, and take away the more pressing — and portable — cases.

Elise had been hoping that Anne would come to the front but, true to form, she stayed with their ad hoc MASH unit, talking to her over comms only long enough to confirm she was still alive and profess how glad she was of that fact.

So, with the pirate leader’s words still fresh in her mind, Elise had gotten in touch with Jamie about going into the mine to see for themselves what the fuss was about. If or when the AFFS got wind of what was under the mountain, they would have the place locked down tighter than Davion Palace at high tea. Might as well have a look while they still had the chance.

Along with snagging what technical expertise they could find — and some winter wear for the MechWarriors — an invitation had been extended to Monty, acknowledging his part in everything, and an order had been given to bring that pirate woman, Sara, under guard for her part in everything, such as it was. Having her around made Elise feel deeply uncomfortable, a living trigger for the memories of that first night, but she had helped them, if under some duress, and Anne seemed to vouch for her.

On the drive up, Sara had professed to not actually know what was supposed to be in there, and gawped along with the rest of them as the door opened.

They were a kilometre into the mountain at this point, down a side-branch from the main mine. Thankfully, the pirates had done much of their work for them, setting up lights and circulating air, along with making sure the tunnels were properly shored up and the facility door was cleared of any debris.

As the Star League logo split and the doors opened, none of the party dared step forward, staring dumbly into the yawning dark portal before them.

“Well,” Monty cleared his throat. “Don’t know about you all, but I’m not getting any younger.”

Glancing at his companions, an amused smile on his face, he was the first to step forward. As if his words broke a spell that held them, the others followed him.

Elise looked around with wonder as she stepped beyond the threshold, shining her flashlight around a space that had all the indicators of a loading dock or some kind of motor pool.

“Wonder if this place can get power?” Jamie wondered aloud.

“Might have a fusion engine,” Elise suggested.

“But would it still work after all this time?” Ronnie asked, her voice hushed to the point of whisper. “Hasn’t it been like five hundred years since the Star League fell?”

“Two hundred and sixty… three,” Elise corrected her.

“Alright, Miss Formal Education.”

“That’s Lady Formal Education,” Elise replied distractedly, peering down a corridor that was labelled ‘BattleMech Bay’. Ronnie snorted.

“Are you sure you don’t know what this place is?” Jamie sternly asked Sara.

“Star League facility, that’s all the old boss said,” she insisted.

“He knew more about it than that,” Hornbuckle told her irritably. “I heard what he said to Els- Elise.”

“Look, I only know what he said to me, not what he knew but…” Sara insisted, but Elise wasn’t listening, the voices of the others fading into the distance as she walked cautiously down that corridor.

With all the metal and concrete it was easy to forget they were deep underground. Either side of the corridor, she passed a couple of doors sealed shut, something to do with maintenance and parts storage  judging by the labels, the doorway at the end an unoccupied archway that opened up into a vast echoing space.

Though hundreds of years apart, any MechWarrior with experience would recognise this as a ‘Mech Bay just from the feel of the air as they walked in. It was the way your footsteps became lost in the void, smothering your existence, giving you the distinct impression that you were in the presence of something greater than yourself. Elise had heard it likened to being in a cathedral, though she knew well that when the ‘Techs were in session there was much more noise and a lot more swearing.

This place was like a cathedral or… no, more like a mausoleum. The air was stale, shut inside a mountain for hundreds of years, the only occupants left were the corpses of four giants still slumped in their gantries. It was a space for just a lance, four bays and a giant door that led god knows where, and what was left in place was nothing to be sniffed at.

Her roving torchlight shone across the armoured greaves of an Awesome, then a Dervish in the adjacent bay, both of which were showing signs of their cannons being spiked, their chests burst outwards from scuttled fusion engines, and their cockpits ripped apart of anything that might have been useful. Whoever had run this facility, they had not been able to leave with their ‘Mechs, taking the time to make sure no-one else would be able to use them ever again. Across the way was a chassis thoroughly ruined, though Elise might have guessed it was once a Flashman based on the bulbous, headless torso.

When she moved to the last of this surprisingly remarkable lance, the breath caught in her throat. As her beam moved over, it took in lines and shapes that were as familiar to her as her own body, the ruined state of it bringing back memories that drove painfully into her brain like a hammered metal spike. 

The ‘Mech that lay ruined before her was a stock model Victor, the drab green of the SLDF looking very uncomfortably like the fighting livery of the 3rd FedCom RCT. It was like looking her own past in the face, confronting her own failures, a reminder of all that she had lost and left behind and all that she would lose now that her time at the helm of her Clint had come to an end, now that her purpose had finally been fulfilled.

She sank to her knees, tears beading in her eyes as she became overwhelmed by a plethora of different emotions at once.

No matter when she had gone in life, it always seemed to end – and to begin – with a Victor.