THE PROMENADE

HARLOW’S LANDING

GILLINGHAM

FEDERATED SUNS

19:54, 30 JUNE 3044

The three weeks since the last battle at Tibshelf had not been a time of rest. 

While the biggest threat had been eliminated, there still remained some pirates unaccounted for in the vast wilderness beyond the town, and the same terrain that had helped the defenders for months now hindered them as they sought to hunt down the last of the people who had despoiled their world.

But, unlike that long and difficult time, they now had help. A fresh lance of recon-role ‘Mechs from elsewhere on the planet had been dispatched, along with fresh vehicles and infantry, to join Ronnie – her Locust being the only of the defenders’ ‘Mechs left remaining in operable condition – in roaming the countryside. Militia Command had also dispatched a pair of Boomerang spotter planes to help in the effort and there wasn’t a time of day that at least one of them couldn’t be seen buzzing far overhead.

To coordinate the effort, their ad-hoc base had been moved from the hidden valley to Monty’s front yard, his grand overgrown gardens providing enough space for all of the tents and vehicles, his house somewhere warm for the injured to stay before they could be moved to Arrow Town, and his ‘Mech bay a welcome relief for ‘Techs to work on whichever machines could be moved into position. 

So far that had only been Hornbuckle’s Grasshopper, somehow able to move under its own power despite having no armour remaining anywhere on its front and its structure hanging by a thread in some places. The force of the blow had flung his ‘Mech back, knocking him out of both the fight and his consciousness. Only his stubbornness — and a forceful checking-over from Anne — had kept him in the field.

Most other ‘Mechs had been forced to remain in place, the deep snow stopping heavy recovery vehicles from getting to the town. Only Hernandez’ Commando had been light enough for the Karnovs to airlift out — along with its missing leg. Once the thaw came, the salvage effort would be enormous.

Sara the pirate had been immediately taken away in shackles once things had settled down, not even her assistance during the final weeks saving her, and only the good word of Jamie and Anne meaning her destination was prison rather than straight to the gallows.

While the militia had been conducting their hunt, using Monty’s drawing room as a command centre, Elise had been cast aside. With no ‘Mech and no official place in the command structure, she no longer had any purpose. Even Anne had little time for her, spending entire days in the MASH centre only to collapse into an exhausted sleep at night and repeat the process again in the morning. 

Elise now knew how Monty felt after Maximus had been felled: firmly an outsider. Sometimes Jamie would ask her advice on something, but most of her days were spent pottering about with the old man as they shared stories, family histories and the like. Even operating a Powerman in the clean-up effort had been denied to her, the contract being taken over by a company from Arrow Town and only currently employed members of Wyatt Haulage being brought in.

As always, her past found a way to bite her in the present.

Talking with Monty had been enlightening, discovering that Maximus had been of an age with her grandfather’s Victor, both gifts from the state to their ancestors for exceptional service during the Second Succession War, along with lands and — in her family’s case — a title. Goodwin Stellar Enterprises had practically owned the trade on this side of the Federated Suns once upon a time, but decline had happened everywhere and hit them particularly hard until only Monty was left on Gillingham. 

Though their conversations might not have been the most light-hearted in tone, they had firmly cemented a friendship between them.

So their days had been spent for weeks until news reached them from the wider planet. The press had gotten wind of their fight and, since those first survivors had reached Arrow Town, had been running rampant with speculation, having a field day when word of victory finally filtered through.

The militia found a new battle, keeping marauding reporters and nosy civilians out of what was still technically an active combat zone, ultimately losing when the planet’s Marquess, Stephen Harlow III, had seen it as a way to boost his reputation by association and come for a noble bluster, honour guard and pack of tricorder-wielding press in tow.

He didn’t stay for long, getting some compositionally-pleasing shots in front of less damaged pieces of equipment — and people — shaking the hands of bemused soldiers in full view of the recorders, and promising a ceremony in the capital with dinner, drink, and medals.

It was a transparent bout of ratings-grubbing, but a free meal is a free meal and so Elise and Anne later found themselves on the waterfront in Harlow’s Landing, leaning on a railing as they watched the sun set across the sea that the Marquess’ ancestor had allegedly crash-landed into four centuries ago. In the opposite hemisphere to Tibshelf, the climate was warm even at this time of day, and both women were clad in outfits bought specially for the occasion on Monty’s purse — and insistence.

A breeze ruffled the hem of Elise’s dress, tugging at stray strands of hair, bringing with it a smell of salt and stone. It had been years since she had worn a dress — let alone heels of all things — and while it felt nice to be dressed up the whole thing felt unearned.

“Guess we finally got that meal,” she commented awkwardly, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Anne looked at her sideways.

“This doesn’t count,” she replied. “You need to buy it, and, more importantly… it needs to just be the two of us.”

Elise snorted. “Yeah, okay, fine.”

“You better,” Anne threatened. They lapsed into silence again as the orange disc finally slipped below the horizon, until Anne said, “You know, I’ve never been here… Never imagined it was so big.”

Harlow’s Landing had a population of quarter of a million, tiny for most cities on worlds closer to New Avalon, especially a planetary capital, but after Tibshelf it felt like a bustling megalopolis.

“Came once only when I first arrived on-world,” Elise told her.

“Then you picked the most remote town you could find?” Anne asked, teasingly.

“Basically, yes.”

The other woman grinned a moment then sighed, turning introspective. “Never imagined I’d be here, either… Or any of the last few months for that matter. The pirates, the attention, and… all of that.”

“It’s been something, certainly,” Elise understated.

“You got a medal out of it,” Anne pointed out.

Elise grimaced. “The Marquess said we’re getting medals out of it.” In a fit of generosity he had announced a Federated Suns Star for everyone involved in the final fight, including Anne and Monty though neither of them — or Elise for that matter — technically qualify as not being military. In any case he needed to petition PDZ Command on Broken Wheel for the privilege, which might take months.

“Still, I suppose it’s nice to be recognised for what you do,” Anne commented distantly. The military got medals, parades, and hours of news coverage. The myriad healthcare professionals that kept the Suns living got… paid. If they were lucky.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Elise agreed.

“Also, there’s been a silver lining that’s come out of this whole debacle,” Anne began.

“Oh?” Elise shifted slightly, trying not to sound too eager.

“I wouldn’t have met Ronnie, Monty, or Jamie otherwise,” Anne told her, managing to keep her face straight long enough to see the affronted look on Elise’s face before bursting with laughter. “I suppose you too.”

“Bloody right!” Elise scoffed. “I’m a Goddamn treat!”

Anne laughed some more, then turned towards her, “That you are.”

She put her hands on Elise’s waist and pulled her closer and into a deep, wonderful kiss, broken only when they were interrupted by a purposeful throat-clearing from nearby.

Armed with a glare, Elise saw Ronnie standing nearby. In flat shoes the young woman seemed even smaller by comparison, countering Elise’s assault with an expression that she could only describe as “smug” and filing away what she had seen for later teasing.

“The Marquess is ready to give some big blowhard speech, so you ought to come back inside and make him look good some more,” she told them. “That is, if you’re quite done.”

“I’ll come when I’ve done pulling my foot out your arse,” Elise snapped, her annoyance only prompting amused guffaws from Ronnie. 

Anne laughed too, “We’ll be there in a minute.”

Sniggering some more, Ronnie retreated back into the big event hall behind them on the waterfront, waving a hand.

“Ooh, we should get a picture of the five of us,” Anne pointed out.

“Good idea, I can see if Aiden will do it,” Elise agreed. In his magnanimity, the Marquess had allowed guests, so much of the crowd was filled with familiar faces, even if some were missing. Word of what Everett had done had quickly filtered around the defenders and later the press. Words like “heroic sacrifice” were being bandied about but none of it meant anything to the five people from his platoon who had survived that mess, or the many more from Espinosa’s, who had been markedly more lucky and felt guilty for the privilege.

It was a common feeling, and Elise herself had for years wondered why she was still around when most of her old company from the 3rd RCT wasn’t. She still had that message at the back of her mind… an invitation back to honour and glory.

A real second chance.

“We should probably get back to it…” she said distractedly.

“In a minute,” Anne replied, brushing hair out of Elise’s face and coming in for another, gladly-received kiss.

 

 

MILITIA COMMAND

HARLOW’S LANDING

GILLINGHAM

FEDERATED SUNS

12:07, 21 July 3044

After the ceremony, the daily routine had turned into more of the previous, that is until, three months to the day since Tibshelf burned, the Broken Wheel Crucis March Militia finally arrived. They locked down the area — especially the Star League facility — and made it very clear that the “real” soldiers had arrived and everyone else needed to firmly bugger off.

At least they had the politeness to bring real support equipment with them, allowing the beginning of a salvage effort of easier-to-reach machines even with the snow still as thick as ever.

The people now in charge of the effort had demanded a debrief of all involved, no matter how civilian they were, or peripheral their contributions may have been. Everyone had been moved en masse back to Harlow’s Landing, this time in the dated buildings of the militia headquarters instead of a fancy hotel. For three days now, some officers from Broken Wheel had been working their way from the bottom up, getting written reports, then taking some people away for interviews.

A silver lining of the whole process was that Anne and Elise actually had some time to spend together, talking about their pasts, their feelings, and doing… other things.

By the time the interviews had got to Elise, she was thoroughly annoyed, only Anne’s presence preventing her from giving in to the temptation of noblesse indigné and kicking down some doors.

Both of them were sat in uncomfortable chairs in a slightly musty interview room, arms crossed and glowering as an officer in a neatly-pressed AFFS duty uniform walked in. He was likely in his forties, pale hair receding from his forehead, glasses perched on his nose, bringing with him a rather skittish aura. The yellow epaulettes told he was a bureaucrat rather than a fighter, though the two broad white bands of colonel gave Elise pause.

“Umm, my name is Malcolm Ballard, pleased to meet you, Miss Lyons and Miss Durand-Géroux,” he explained, sitting opposite them and setting up a military-issue noteputer.

“Lady Durand-Géroux,” Elise corrected sternly. Anne looked at her, expression unreadable. He was giving the impression of a provincial officer with an ingrained deference to nobility that she could twist to her advantage. Points to him, however… he had pronounced her name correctly.

“Quite, my apologies,” he replied quickly, dipping his head deferentially.

“What is this about?” Elise asked before he could say anything else.

“Well, ah, ahem,” Ballard became flustered, scrolling through his noteputer. “You know the, ah, issue with the pirates created a surprising amount of salvage, most of which is common enough to be actually returned to operational status if we order in parts from Broken Wheel, Adelsen, Filtvelt or wherever.”

He glanced up at Elise, who only returned his gaze stonily. Anne just watched patiently, politely curious at the proceedings.

“I, uh, yes,” he continued. “So as this world is in the Broken Wheel PDZ we would expect the salvage to go to the CMM, but—.”

Elise snorted.

“But, your friend Mister Goodwin, who is surprisingly well-versed in federal salvage law…” Ballard rubbed the bridge of his nose, like the very thought of Monty’s exacting and detailed explanations caused him physical pain. Elise almost smiled. Almost. “…Reminded me that, ah, planetary militias have full salvage rights to offset any losses and procurement costs.”

Elise’s eyebrows twitched upwards. It was a new piece of information to her, but it made sense.

“So, um, with the frankly absurd amount of salvage that has been… generated by the Gillingham Militia during this operation,” Ballard continued. “And taking into account salvage law and the near-threats of mutiny from the Marquess Harlow over this… along with, uh… opinions from Broken Wheel… The decision was made to split the difference and use much of this salvage to form a new military unit based on Gillingham but with a focus on combating pirate activity in this and neighbouring PDZs… Pending approval — and budget — from OA Command in Minette of course.”

Now Elise was surprised, and a little impressed by the initiative shown by this armchair colonel.

“This is… good news for the region, and the planet,” Elise replied honestly, “But I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

Ballard smiled ingratiatingly. “Considering your exemplary service record, we would of course like you to command the unit… We don’t have full specifications yet but we’re looking at a Lieutenant Colonel for the size we envision… something like a square battalion including support elements.”

Elise’s eyes fully widened and Anne let out a little gasp.

This was more than she could have imagined.

More than what Levine was offering her back on Sarna.

This was her way back in. Her own command. Not only that, her own unit.

Honour.

Glory.

Prestige.

She would be a fool to refuse.

“No,” she said.

“What?” Anne whispered.

Ballard looked surprised, but pleasantly so, a curious twitch at the corner of his mouth that suggested something had gone against his expectations though in a positive direction. “Might I ask your reasoning?”

“Jamie Walters was the commander who brought us through all of this,” Elise said firmly. “Their guidance and strategic oversight is incredible for someone previously so untested and if, if, I am to be in this unit then it will be under their command or not at all. They have more than earned the position.”

Ballard looked at her appraisingly for a moment then, as if flipping a switch, his entire demeanour changed. His smile widened, he sat up straighter, and his gaze was more direct, filled with a calculating sharpness that had not been visible before. Elise couldn’t shake the feeling she had just passed some sort of test.

“We have already spoken to Captain Walters,” he replied, calmer and infinitely more self-assured. “They spoke very highly of you, in a manner quite at odds with my own personal experiences of someone of your… pedigree.”

Fighting down the urge to bristle at the comment, Elise frowned instead. It wasn’t an unfair assessment, after all, when aimed at the daughter of a baronet.

“I wanted to see you for myself,” Ballard commented. “And make my own assessment before I take their recommendation and give you the position as their executive officer; I have high hopes for this unit and I do not want it to fail for reasons I can control.”

Elise blinked. This man had certainly earned his rank, if through meticulous and obsessive control of the procurement process rather than combat experience. Warriors won battles, logistics won wars.

“Is your answer still the same?” he asked wryly.

Mouth flapping for a single, embarrassing second, Elise finally gathered the mental wherewithal to reply. “Yes! I mean, no! I mean… I accept the position.”

“Wonderful,” Ballard replied. “You will also be in nominal command of any BattleMech forces in what will be a combined arms unit; on Walters’ recommendation we have already approached MechWarriors Bowman and Hornbuckle to lead lances and they have both accepted.”

Elise nodded dumbly, glad she would be working with those two again.

“However… It does seem we have an issue, putting a dispossessed MechWarrior in command of a unit,” Ballard continued, looking at her over his glasses. “But… I have managed to source an intact Clint gyro from an AFFS workshop on Waipahu. It may be the last one in the OA, so please don’t break this one.”

She let out a little laugh, half disbelieving at this sudden turn of events.

“This is incredible!” Anne finally spoke up, clasping Elise’s hands and giving them a congratulatory squeeze. She looked at Ballard. “Why am I here, though?”

The colonel smiled at her, more warmly than he ever had at Elise.

“Firstly, we were told Lady Durand-Géroux would be better behaved with you around,” he told her with an amused smirk. “Your contribution to the defence has not gone unnoticed, and we are offering you a commission at the head of the unit’s medical corps; this will be purely for organisational purposes and is separate to traditional medical hierarchies in appropriate situations, you understand?”

“Uh, yes, yes of course,” Anne nodded.

“Glad to hear it,” Ballard said blandly. “And considering your–” he glanced at their hands in each others’ “–association, will you have a problem operating under one another?”

Anne snorted and even as she opened her mouth to speak, Elise leapt in before something immature could leave it. “It won’t be a problem.”

She gave Anne a Look and the nurse just weathered it with the bright expression of someone who had much worse things to say and wanted you to know it.

“Good,” Ballard nodded, his expression politely neutral. “We should expect a response from Minette in a week or so and, given authorisation, I will organise the paperwork and specifics; I project a six month turnaround for gathering personnel and equipment to an operational level, and another six months for training and ironing out any issues before first deployment.”

Elise nodded slowly, reassured by the sensible timeframe. RCTs had been put together in less time.

“I have two, no, three questions, if you don’t mind,” Elise began. Ballard motioned for her to go ahead. “Firstly, as Gillingham doesn’t have a HPG, relying on couriers to and from nearby systems, how can this force deploy quickly enough to a different world?”

“We will provide a Black Box paired to one on Broken Wheel,” Ballard explained. “Should be faster than a HPG too… and more secure.”

Elise nodded, somewhat surprised the technology had proliferated enough to make it this far out.

“Black box?” asked Anne.

Elise glanced at Ballard, who only said, “I will explain it when you have clearance.”

The woman harrumphed slightly but left it alone.

“Secondly,” Elise interjected. “Do you know what the Star League facility was for?”

Leaning back, Ballard seemed to consider the question. “No,” he replied simply. “The best we can determine is that it was some kind of listening post. Beyond that we just don’t have the expertise, so we’ve reported it up the chain and if someone more important sends someone more knowledgeable then maybe we shall see.”

“Sub-question to that one; how will it be kept safe?”

“By building a military base on top of it,” Ballard smiled wryly. “Marquess Harlow is frothing at the mouth to invest in that town as part of his public relations campaign, and now the mine is a civil forfeiture, a home for this new unit would be a good direction for that to be funnelled.”

And save the AFFS budget some C-bills, I’m sure, Elise thought.

“Last question: what will that unit be called?” she asked.

Ballard sat back a bit more, his smile turning into one of a man asked to indulge one of his favourite hobbies.

“This has been a pet project of mine for some years now, but with neither the impetus or budget to make it happen, so I have had some time to think on it,” he explained. “How does the ‘First Outback Rangers’ sound?”

Elise smiled. “It’ll do.”

 

HARLOW’S LANDING DROPPORT

GILLINGHAM

FEDERATED SUNS

17:23, 21 July 3044

“I can’t believe you’re leaving us!” Ronnie pouted, looking less like a grown woman than ever.

Monty, walking next to her with his arms clasped behind his back like an old man on a summer evening’s amble, took it in good humour.

After interviews with Ballard had concluded, the old man had invited the “core five” of the Tibshelf Defenders, as Elise saw them, to the city’s languid DropPort for cryptic reasons. When he gave them that news, she thought he was going to be boarding and leaving that very night. Instead he led them away from the main terminal, to the pads set aside for long-term berths.

“My children are scattered as far out  as New Avalon,” Monty explained. “I have grandchildren I’ve never seen and intend to at least once… going to take a while to get up to speed.”

“How long will you be gone for?” Jamie asked, looking around themselves at the different classes of DropShips.

“Oh at least two years.”

“Two years?!” Ronnie exclaimed, aghast.

“It takes up to six months to get to New Avalon from here,” Elise pointed out, arm in arm with Anne.

“WHAT?!” Ronnie’s jaw dropped. “That’s stupid!”

In no mood to explain the minutiae of interstellar travel, Elise just let her get on with being annoyed.

“What about your house?” Anne asked. “And Maximus?”

It was a fair question. Part of the recompense for Monty’s participation in the defence had been the recovery and repair costs of his family Thunderbolt covered by the AFFS. With him gone, the grand house would stand empty and the old ‘Mech would be gathering dust in its stable.

“Part of my discussion with Colonel Ballard was, shall we say, contract negotiation,” the old man replied, smiling mischievously. “I rather think he underestimated me as an opponent.”

“Oh spit it out you mad old coot,” Elise told him.

Monty grinned, dipping his head towards her. “I bartered a contract regarding my home that rents it out to the AFFS as accommodation and command centre for the Rangers’ officers while the town is still being rebuilt,” he explained. “Maximus will also be on contract, but to the Militia only for use in the defence of Tibshelf,” he pointed a finger at them, “He is not to be taken offworld, understand me?”

“Yessir!” the others responded, almost in unison. Ronnie even saluted.

“Good,” Monty nodded. “As for the final thing…”

He stopped walking and turned around, planting his hands on his hips and looking over at the nearest pad.

“Monty… is that what I think it is…?” Elise asked cautiously.

“Probably!” the old man half-laughed. “It’s the last one in GSE’s fleet, been sat there longer than you’ve been alive — any of you — and I was going to finally sell the damn thing and abandon the planet entirely but… Turns out it can do more good leased to the Rangers as their ride of choice; I know Espinosa got that Buccaneer but it’s hardly appropriate. Needs a few replacement parts, a coat of paint, and clearing out of bird nests but it’ll be good as new!”

Elise could only nod along, amazed, as she looked up at what was on the pad. It was showing its age, sure, but her experience told her they could do far worse than an intact and mostly functional Seeker-class DropShip.

 

22:35

That night, head swirling with thoughts, unable to sleep, Elise got out of bed — taking care not to wake Anne — and sat down to do something she had been putting off for months.

Taking out a pen and a scrap of paper from the hotel room pad, she began to write. It was a message that wouldn’t reach its destination for months, sent as a low-priority transmission out of mixed prudence and spite, but somehow the future seemed in her favour these days.

General Levine,

Thank you for the offer and the opportunity you have presented to me, however I must respectfully decline.

In the years since our last conversation, I have found on Gillingham not only a home, but kinship and purpose.

I wish you all the best in your future endeavours.

Yours in service,

Major Elise Durand-Géroux                      

1st Outback Rangers

 

(Not) The End

 

 

Author's Note

UNITED KINGDOM

TERRA

SOL SYSTEM

23 APRIL 2024

In two weeks (04 May) it will have been a year since I published the first chapters of Elise's journey and since then I have learned so much about writing, BattleTech, and all sorts of other things. It's had its ups, its downs, and at times I definitely neglected this project in favour of IRL stuff but every time I came crawling back and finally made it to this amazing milestone! 

I want to thank everyone who's been with me for this journey, whether it's from the start or relatively recent, I really couldn't have done this without you and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I particularly want to thank Jessica for her feedback and perpetual fangirling, it's been absolutely the boost I needed, and Jason for their kind words and ecouragement!

Now, the future: this particular tale might have finished but the story of the 1st Outback Rangers definitely has not! I'm going to continue writing and posting (probably here) but after a few short stories to establish the Rangers, the timeline is going to accellerate, with much shorter arcs taking place during significant times in the history of the setting (Clan Invasion, Civil War etc) and how the Rangers deal with that, interspersed with short stories if I think something of important happens to the unit (or the main characters) in between.

I hope you stick with me in the future, I'm excited to see where it leads!

Love ya~ <3

- Blundering Albatross