GOODWIN MANOR

BLUE MOUNTAINS

GILLINGHAM

FEDERATED SUNS

07:01, 18 April 3044

Everyone was gathered in the living room, except for Walters’ tankers, who had spent the last few hours on alternating shifts of watch and sleep, and Elise watched with mild befuddlement through a haze of fatigue as Montgomery pottered around the sitting room with a tray of tea. For an old man who had likely been waited on hand and foot all his life, he was doing a remarkably good job of looking after himself.

Oh, she thought. It was like she was finding echoes of herself everywhere.

Walters had put a battered and scratched noteputer down on a lacquered coffee table and brought up a topographical map of the area, zoomed out enough so that Tibshelf and Goodwin Manor were on the same little screen.

“Right,” they said. “We need to work out a plan of attack.”

In the light of day, Elise could see their dark hair was cut to perfect military regulation without even a hint of shadow on their jaw. Regardless of Montgomery’s offer, they still wore their tanker’s uniform with some effort taken to smooth out the creases and clean away anything that wasn’t fully-ingrained. This was the kind of person who took their service very seriously in order to make up for some perceived deficiency, whether by themselves or others.

A plan of attack was not what Elise wanted to hear. She wanted them to figure out a way to even the odds somehow, to not blunder blindly into a direct assault, maybe even just retreat. She was tired, everything hurt – especially her leg – and she was in no mood to let some militia fool throw their lives away on an exercise in stupidity.

“With all due respec-” she began, interrupted by the young captain.

“Can you stop saying that!” they snapped, hitting the table with enough force to make their tea spill over. “I can tell you have no respect for me or my authority! I don’t know who the hell you are or where you came from but if you don’t explain immediately why you think you can can come here with that attitude, you can get out of this house and leave that ‘Mech behind!”

You could have cut the tension with a knife. Elise’s hackles raised and her jaw clenched.

The others were still as startled rabbits, Anne’s expression frozen and Montgomery frowning at the table where Walters had just hit it.

Elise held up a finger.

“District City Military School, Kathil, class of 3030 valedictorian,” she said tightly, uncurling another digit. “NAIS College of Military Science officer track, first class honours.” A third digit. “AFFS commission, two tours of duty.” A fourth digit. “Basic Powerman certification.”

Walters maintained their glare.

“I can tell you’re used to a certain standard,” they began, voice low. “But we just don’t have that here. We don’t get the latest technology or a robust supply chain. We don’t get to go to military academies or the NAIS. There may be a flag flying over Arrow Town county hall but the Federated Suns only gives a shit about us enough to collect some taxes; we have to scrape by with the bare minimum because that is all they give us!” They rubbed their face, frustration evident in their expression. “We have no reinforcements. We have no supply chain. There is only us and no help will be coming from anywhere else.”

The silenced stretched out for a few seconds, interrupted by the clonk of Montgomery setting down his tray. Elise was breathing steadily through her nose, not daring to open her mouth until the unwise retorts moved away from the tip of her tongue, clamping her hands together in her lap to hide the shaking.

“I…” she began, frowning, stopping for a moment then starting again. “You are… right. I let my preconceptions get the better of me. You are making the best with what you have.”

Walters grunted then sighed.

“You may be more experienced, you may have better training, but I…” they jabbed a thumb into their chest, “Am the captain here and I need you to actually respect the chain of command even if you disagree with some of my opinions.”

A moment of hesitation then a curt nod from Elise. She didn’t have to like Walters but she could work with them.

“Good,” Walters echoed the nod. “Then I will give you ‘all due respect’ and actually make use of your skills; I would be a bad commander if I didn’t.” They then turned to Montgomery, looking a little ashamed. “My apologies for the table, sir, I… uh… it’s been a trying few hours…”

“For all of us,” Anne stepped in smoothly. “She might not be from here but she lived in Tibshelf for years – that’s her home that was destroyed last night. Mine too, if we’re keeping score.”

Walters looked from her to Elise then up at Montgomery, who was still standing patiently by.

“You’re right of course,” they conceded. “I meant what I said, though maybe the tone was a little unprofessional – and sorry again about the table, sir.”

Montgomery settled in his comfortable chair and waved a magnanimous hand. “Oh don’t worry, it’s just some old thing anyway, no real value to anyone. I’m no soldier, so can’t imagine the kind of stress you’re under.”

“Didn’t you say your family was sworn to protect this valley?” Walters pointed out.

The old man shifted uncomfortably. “Sure, sure, that’s what my father always told me anyway, that we had to use our power and influence for good… But no amount of simulation or romping through the woods can compare to real experience; I have a ‘Mech but I’m not a MechWarrior...”

“You showed more courage last night than some I’ve known,” Elise told him. “Taking on and destroying a ‘Mech near your own weight in your first real fight is no small feat.”

Montgomery smiled, a little bashfully, and nodded his thanks.

“What was your name again, lass?” he asked.

“Elise.”

His smile grew wider and somewhat wistful, “Ah, like the music – it was my wife’s favourite composition.”

“My mother’s too,” Elise replied with a bitter smile. “Hence why I’m called it.”

“What?” Walters looked confused. “What compostition? I thought your name was Ellie?”

“It’s Beethoven, l- captain!” Elise couldn’t tell if Montgomery was genuinely shocked or not.

“Happens all the time,” she turned her forced smile towards the young captain.

They shook their head and tapped the map on their noteputer. “Right, whatever, back to business. To sum up what we know: we know nothing. We have no idea about their exact numbers or capabilities or even their objectives. Correction, we do know a couple of things: that we won’t be getting any help in this venture and that we can’t leave whilst there are still survivors in that town.”

A pang of guilt flashed over Elise. She had been so fixated on getting away and the probability that her friends were all dead that she hadn’t considered they might not be, and hadn’t thought about everyone else’s friends, their families, that might still be trapped in that hellhole.

“In a situation like this,” she began. “People do two things: hunker down and hope for the best or flee.”

Walters looked at her patiently, their expression betraying how obvious they thought the statement was.

“If we send out a message on the militia channel we can gather the diaspora here, give them shelter, food, whatever, and use it as a staging post onto Arrow,” she explained. “With your permission of course, Montgomery.”

“You could do that, yes, Lord knows I have the space,” the old man agreed. “But wouldn’t that draw in the pirates too?”

“Maybe,” Walters chipped in. “We can just give the name of the place without grid coordinates or postal address; make it more difficult to find if they’re not from here.”

Elise nodded slowly. “Okay, right, good idea, and we can prepare for the worst and bug out in case the pirates do come.”

“Agreed,” Walters nodded. “Montgomery, can we count you and you ‘Mech as part of this venture?”

The old man frowned quietly for a moment before he spoke.

“Back in the day my family had a bit of money,” he began. “And in two eight hundred and… something, old Alexia Goodwin had the bright idea to buy a DropShip and start renting it out. One became two, two became three, until my family had a fleet of the things. Goodwin Stellar Enterprises it was called and it made my family a frankly obscene amount of money. They settled here, built this place, bought that ‘Mech you saw outside, and set my family as the premier one on Gillingham.”

He sighed. “But then the Third Succession War happened… then the Fourth, and suddenly my family had no dropships any more. There was no income, only outgoings, which for an affluent family in denial added to a lot. We managed for a while, sure, and I used some of that to send my kids to good universities far away from here. Eventually that amount became less and less until it’s... just me, Maximus, and my memories. I want to have some purpose before I leave this world, do some good, so in, ah, short, you can count me in.”

“Glad to have you, really,” Walters said with apparently genuine sincerity after sitting through the old man’s story with a very impressive poker face. Elise thought Montgomery had just needed someone to talk to and hoped he would prove to be an asset rather than a liability. Maybe, if she could teach him to manage his heat curve better, he would.

“Suppose I speak for us all when I say I’d rather not need to be here,” he replied. “What do we think the devils are after, anyway?”

To Elise’s surprise, Walters looked to her.

“The tungsten, maybe?” they suggested.

“Maybe…” Elise frowned. “Though I can’t see why, thinking about it…”

“How so?”

“For starters, if it is a Union they have then there isn’t going to be much cargo capacity on the thing,” she explained. “Especially if it’s been converted to carry infantry as well as ‘Mechs.”

“Could they be after the pick-up ‘Ship?” Anne asked. Being from Tibshelf she would know the semi-regular visits as well as anyone else; it was a local event.

“Could be, but even then… what are they going to do with a few thousand tonnes of unrefined tungsten?”

“Sell it?”

“But where?”

“Somewhere out in the Periphery?” Walters suggested like the Outback wasn’t basically thus anyway.

“Maybe…” Elise wondered. “But even then it seems like a lot of effort to go for. I admit I have no idea what the black market rates for tungsten are, though I doubt it’s worth risking a company of BattleMechs…”

“Could be the DropShip itself?” Montgomery suggested. “Mule can still fetch hundred and fifty millions used.”

Considering his family history, he would know.

“Possible,” Elise considered, “Though that’s still a month out, and if they knew about the ‘Ship, then they’d know that too; why hang around for a few weeks and put yourself at risk of counterattack?”

“They’re not smart?” Anne chimed in.

Elise grunted, though she was not convinced.

“I don’t think we’re going to work it out like this,” Walters sighed. “We need to focus on our next steps.”

“If I may, uh, captain?” Elise said.

Walters cocked an eyebrow but gestured for her to continue.

“Assaulting the town is suicide, I… strongly counsel against that option.”

The young captain frowned and nodded slowly. “Then what do you suggest?”

“I would much rather we withdraw, but…” She held up a hand to stop them when they opened their mouth to argue. “But if we do then it’ll leave the pirates open to raid further afield without impunity. I suggest we go guerilla, use our knowledge of the area to our advantage – it’ll keep them tied down while we figure out what they’re up to. Might even be enough for someone in Harlows to get reinforcements out to us.”

Walters mulled it over then nodded. Somehow Elise had found herself back at war and part of her quailed at the prospect, of loss and destruction, but she knew she could not abandon these people if it meant she could do something to help.

“Okay, that’s what we’ll do,” Walters said decisively. “Now to iron out the details…”

 

09:30

It had been much easier for Elise to get back in the cockpit this time and she wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. She felt more focused than she had in years, the path set out before her and her feet firmly on it. The only destinations were success or ruin – both places she knew well – and only time would tell which it would be. Five years ago she would have only believed in the former but now she knew all too well how easy it was for everything to be snatched away in a terrible instant.

Her ‘Mech – her borrowed ‘Mech – was in desperate need of some maintenance and repair but while she had enough theory to usually know what broke when something went wrong, she lacked any of the practical knowledge to fix it. There had always been ‘Techs around for that and like many other parts of her life she resolved to learn how to do it herself. The only qualified MechTech in the district was old Abe, occasionally helped out by bright-eyed apprentices or the folks who worked on AgroMechs in the lowlands.

Maybe if she learned, it would take a bit of pressure off of him. Maybe she could be useful again, once this was all over – she couldn’t see them letting her keep the Clint. As it was, she had settled with doing a systems check and figuring out which of the dozen or so warning could be ignored. The ‘Mech was in a bad shape.

It had been nearly an hour since Walters had sent out the transmission and for that entire time they had been mounted up, ready for whatever was going to come up that forest road. If hostile, they would probably need to bug out right away, bullying their way through the forest paths and deeper into the mountains to figure it out from there. Their cockpits – and the Manticore’s external stowage – were loaded with camping supplies, clothes, and spare food from Montgomery’s house. Elise would have thought the old man be sad to leave his generational family home but instead he seemed galvanised by this, almost excited even.

“Oh bloody hell, I am so bored! How long has it been now?”

Speaking of cockpit stowage… Elise mused, rolling her eyes. Despite an offer to ride in the roomier cockpit of Montgomery’s Thunderbolt, Anne had chosen to go back to the cramped confines of the battered Clint, citing it being “able to escape faster”. Whatever the reason, Elise had been glad for the company, even if the nurse tended to annoy her with the incessant complaining. Apparently she didn’t do very well with inaction.

“It’s been… fifty-eight minutes,” Elise replied. “So four minutes since the last time you asked.”

Anne sighed melodramatically.

Dressed in suitable clothing, the experience was a lot more comfortable this time, and she had even found a pilot’s gloves and other accessories in amongst the stuff of Montgomery’s eldest daughter. He had apparently once tried to teach her to pilot Maximus – the Thunderbolt – though she had shown little interest.

Her passenger quiet again, Elise turned her attention back out the front. They and Montgomery were knelt in the treelines on opposite sides of the house, facing the ornate gate at the other end of the long drive, with the Manticore hidden in the oversized barn. The intention was to use surprise to their advantage. It was the only one they had.

A sudden bleeping broke her from her musing as the proximity alarm began warning of an incoming vehicle. Swept up in panic, Elise gripped the controls and tracked left in time for a ‘Mech to come flying past her in a shower of leaves and displaced branches. Whatever it was it was going recklessly fast for how dense the trees were, weaving between trunks like a slalom skier, and only increased in pace when it burst out into the clearing faster than she could finish her surprised swearing.

It looked like a Locust, though something about the profile was off and as it sprinted through across the lawn and round the back of the grand house, a shocked Elise could only look on as it leaned into a turn at an angle she was sure would end up with it on its side, coming out of sight then back around faster than she would have ever thought possible. The ‘Mech came storming back towards Elise and skidded – skidded! – to a halt in front of her. The entire display had only taken a matter of seconds.

Just about level with the head of the little machine – painted blue with a militia logo on the snout – Elise could see right into the Locust’s cockpit wherein the pilot raised a hand in a gesture, the index and little fingers out like horns with the others curled inwards, and wave it.

“Good grief,” Anne commented.

Elise was still too stunned to reply and was still staring, slack-jawed at the other ‘Mech that she nearly missed Walters’ transmission across the general channel.

“Militia ‘Mech, please identify yourself,” they said tightly.

The Locust pilot leaned forwards as if trying to get a better look into the Clint’s cockpit then Elise flinched as the channel was overwhelmed by extremely loud music, a cacophony of heavy drums, thrumming riffs, and guttural vocals.

“-an- -n,” came the garbled response before the noise mercifully cut out. “Whoops, sorry! You in the tank or the Thunderbolt?”

It was a young woman’s voice and Elise was quietly impressed that they had managed to notice and identify all threats in the area and keep their ‘Mech under control at breakneck speeds.

“This is Captain Walters of the Gillingham Militia, in the Manticore,” Walters replied rather more sternly.

“Wild! Ronnie Bowman, Tibshelf Garrison,” The newcomer spoke with a restless energy, like she needed to get the words out as quick as legibly possible and get a response right that second. Even her ‘Mech seemed fidgety, shifting its weight from foot to foot, “Who’s the broad in Colby’s ‘Mech?”

“Elise Durand-Géroux,” Elise replied tersely, finally realising what was wrong with the Locust. “Where’s your arms, Bowman?”

The Locust moved, pivoting on its hip and leg joints as if it was striking a pose.

“Stripped ‘em,” Bowman replied with a touch of pride. “M.G.s are next to useless in a fight and a quarter the weight of those stubby arms anyway so I ripped it all out along with the ammo bin and this baby can hit one-sixty kph on the flat now!”

Elise was aghast. The amount of workarounds it would take for a ‘Mech to be happy with no arms – assuming it had them in the first place – was no small thing and this was definitely not a standard variant. Someone must have sanctioned it, though, because the holes where the shoulder actuators would have been were properly covered by armour and painted.

“Private Bowman!” Walters snapped. “Do you have anything to report?”

“Oh right, yeah, be right back!” Bowman started, her ‘Mech suddenly heel-turning, sprinting across the overgrown lawns, and disappearing down the forest road before anyone could say anything else, leaving them in a sort of stunned silence.

“She seems… nice,” Montgomery eventually commented.

“She seems insane,” Anne countered.

“We need all the help we can get,” Walters pointed out.

Elise sat back, wondering at the kind of standards they had in the Gillingham Militia and silently lamenting the kind of people she had fallen in with and the situation they were in. Sure the Captain was uptight, sure Anne was irritating, and Montgomery was… himself, but they seemed like decent folks and she would hate for them to get themselves killed.

She frowned and shook her head, reminding herself that such an eventuality was just as likely to happen to her.