GOODWIN MANOR

BLUE MOUNTAINS

GILLINGHAM

FEDERATED SUNS

09:23, 18 April 3044

Just over twenty minutes since Bowman had disappeared, she returned at the head of a motley column of refugees, all of them packed into civilian vehicles of different shapes and sizes, headed up by a Sherpa in militia colours and-

Elise let out a happy sound when she saw the rearguard of the column was made up of a trio of Powermen in the livery of the Wyatt Haulage and Moving Co.

“Ahoy Powermen, what’s the good word?” she said, patching her comms into the channel she knew the company used.

“Holy beans, is that you Elsie?” came back a voice that sounded like Maliha Chapman, one of the operators from her former ‘lance’.

“Me and then some, Mali,” she replied. “Who’s with you?”

“Maeve and Garfield,” Maliha answered, listing two others from the team. “Mu is with Izzy in her truck; these were the only loaders we could get before it all went to shit.”

The company owned and maintained twelve of the IndustrialMechs, though only usually operated eight at a time, pulling in the team that was off rotation only when the DropShip was in ‘Port. Only a quarter of them being in action and less than half of the pilots being here was a bad sign. There was a question Elise desperately wanted to ask even if she dearly did not want hear the answer.

“Mali…” Elise began, trailing off when she realised she couldn’t even voice it.

“Elsie, if this is about Aiden…” Maliha responded. “Bunch of us left the bar when everything went south… He said he was going to your place… And I’m guessing he didn’t find you there…”

Elise was silent. He hadn’t been in Gem’s Bar when it was attacked at least, but he had been out in the town at the same time she was, they might have been only a street away at one point, passing each other in the chaos. If she had only stayed put then they would have found each other. Unless the roving pirates got them both… Or got him on the way to their building…

“Thanks Mali…” she replied. “Glad you managed to get out of there.”

“You too, hun. Where do you want us to park these things?”

“Line them up next to the barn,” Walters interjected, evidently having been listening but too polite to speak up until now. The tank was out of cover, the captain’s head and shoulders out of the cupola as they surveyed the gathering mess of civilians and tried their best to organise them. Some, armed citizens or infantry militia had gravitated naturally towards the obvious military vehicle, whie Bowman’s Locust was roving around the edges like a sheepdog with her flock. “Dura- Durren… Elise... converge for a meeting, same for you Mr Goodwin, you too Private Bowman. Bring Nurse Lyons too.”

As Bowman began weaving through the tangle of civilians at speeds too high for Elise’s comfort, the other two ‘Mechs emerged from the trees like a pair of ancient forest gods. There was some consternation at their appearance, the sudden presence of war machines clearly too much for the traumatised townsfolk, though they were quickly calmed by the dismounted militia – Bowman must have pre-warned them.

Finding enough space to park had become a difficult task, especially with how cautious Elise was about stepping on a wandering civilian. Over two hundred people must have been spread out before the great house – nearly a tenth of the town – and it made even that vast space feel small. In the end they had to lock up the ‘Mech on the other side of the barn and walk the rest of the way, garnering curious looks from the newcomers.

Montgomery had likewise parked a little way away, probably even less sure than she was, but the Locust was crouched down right up against the steps, its pilot sat on the end of the nose, legs swinging in space. If Elise had thought Walters was young then she was in for a shock with Bowman. The girl looked like she hadn’t even yet made it out of her teens, her youthful appearance only enhanced by a small and slight frame – perfect for the cramped confines of her ‘Mech – and the bright energy that seemed to constantly radiate from her. Her hair was buzzed short at the sides with some mousy length on top fluffed up and messy from her neurohelmet.

She waved cheerfully when the others approached.

Despite only just turning thirty, Elise hadn’t really felt her age. Up until now that is.

“Good grief…” she muttered, returning the greeting with a half-hearted waft of her hand.

“Be nice,” Anne chided.

By the time they made it to the Manticore, Walters was already surrounded by a mob of mismatched “infantry” – there must have been two platoons worth. Some of them were obviously militia with dirty uniforms and surplus Federated Longs while the rest were civilians held a dizzying array of different hunting weapons. One of them even had a bow.

“Mr Goodwin, we need to start looking at the wounded, is there anywhere we can set up for that?” Walters asked.

“Find whatever space you can, doesn’t matter where,” Montgomery offered.

Walters nodded their thanks. “Nurse, is this something you can arrange?”

“Will do,” Anne confirmed. She rolled her neck then flashed a wry smile to Elise, “Time to get to work.”

Then, turning to the throng and projecting her voice to impressive levels. “Anyone with first aid training make yourselves known and come here! Anyone with medical supplies, even just painkillers, bring them here! If you’re injured then gather in the entrance hall in an orderly fashion!”

The nurse went off, recruiting volunteers to help her organise the wounded into a proper triage set up just inside the entrance of the big house. Elise was glad to be relieved of the responsibility of looking out for the woman but… nevertheless, part of her was still disappointed to see her go. The feeling was one she couldn’t place and frowned, looking elsewhere, noticing that Montgomery was watching the proceedings with an odd expression.

“You alright?” she asked, if only to distract herself.

“Yes, yes, I am,” he nodded slowly. “It’s strange to see many people here… Strange to see the old place being put to real use… It’s good though.” A wide grin split across the old man’s wrinkled face. “It’s very good indeed.”

Elise couldn’t help but smile along with him, especially when she imagined the utter horror her mother would have experienced had this been her childhood home.

“Right, listen up and listen good!” Walters spoke, raising their voice to be heard over the hubbub. Comms would have been better of course, but most of the civilian volunteers – and some of the militia – wouldn’t have had the right equipment. The captain seemed more assured of themselves than Elise had seen since meeting, reinvigorated by the challenged of keeping track of so many moving parts. “Anyone not a MechWarrior, with a weapon and military training, step forwards! Right, good! We will discuss roles shortly and the rest of you will be divided into fireteams after! You will be the eyes, ears, and precision scalpel of this outfit. You will keep watch, secure the perimeter, and conduct strikes too delicate for the fat fingers of a BattleMech or the treads of a tank.” That earned a small ripple of tense laughter. Whatever she thought of the captain, they could definitely make a speech.

“The plan here is to go to send all non-combatants on to Arrow Town and go to ground, tying up the enemy until we get reinforcements,” Walters continued, leaving the other options hanging unspoken. “Anyone who does not wish to be part of this, go with my blessing and all honour, the convoy will need guarding anyway.” There was some awkward shuffling as a good chunk of the armed civilians broke away to go back into the multitudes, leaving roughly a platoon’s worth of foot soldiers behind, including all the militia. “Alright then. This is going to be a long day and the days after are going to be longer still. Take in everyone here, you are going to rely on them and they on you, no matter how big your gun – or bow – is. This outfit needs to pull together if we’re going to defend our world from these bastards.”

This would be where the hero of a cheesy war movie would yell something like “For Gillingham!” and the assembled would cheer with martial fervour. Instead, Walters just looked at the host they had gathered, nodded curtly, and set to work organising them. There was nothing frivolous about the captain, just an obsessive efficiency.

While this was going on, Elise was pushed to the sidelines with Montgomery, and the two of them gravitated to the bird-like feet of the Locust. This close, the modifications were more obvious, making the ‘Mech look sleeker and more birdlike than in its factory-standard configuration. She wondered how it affected the balance, but mused that if a gyro could cope with a ‘Mech having full-sized arms blown off then it could manage a deliberate choice like this; Bowman seemed to cope well-enough regardless.

Hunched over and squatting like it was, Elise barely had to crane her neck to see the diminutive pilot.

“Private Bowman, was it?” she asked,

“Call me Ronnie!” the young woman grinned cheerfully, still swinging her legs. It was like she couldn’t even sit still. “Elise, wasn’t it?”

Elise was stunned. “You’re the only person on this planet to get my name right the first time after hearing it.”

No, she reminded herself. That was Anne…

“Really good attention to detail, that’s me!” Ronnie chirped brightly. “Really wound up my instructors at the academy because I could listen to a thing a first time and then be moving onto the next whilst they were still explaining, and sometimes I’d notice stuff they didn’t and point it out!”

It seemed like even when the girl spoke, she did it with the same hurried energy. Elise had heard about the training centre in Harlow’s Landing and calling it an academy was a bit of a stretch – she had known bigger, better-equipped preschools. This was hopeful though, a good memory and attention to detail were ideal traits in a scout and spotter, especially when combined with her demonstrably-impressive piloting skill.

“How are you at shooting?” Elise gestured up at the lone medium laser hanging from underneath the Locust’s chassis. The lack of weaponry might be a concern in a pitched battle, though not essential for reconnaissance.

“Oh, absolutely awful, really struggle to hit anything!” Ronnie beamed like it wasn’t a big deal.

Thus balance is restored…

Elise smiled politely. “How’d you manage to get away last night?”

For the first time, Ronnie’s smile faltered.

“I, you know, well, when it all went to shit we were mustered and deployed and… well, there was… too many of them… Did what we could and… Yeah… The LT told me to bug out, harass where I could… Thought I was the only one left… Guess I still am…” The smile rebounded with double the intensity, even if it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “What about you, how you end up with the Cu-, uh, the Clint?”

Elise told the story of what happened to her that night, trying her best to downplay some of the more horrific parts, her more stupid decisions, and the part she had played in taking out some ‘Mechs by herself. Montgomery watched her with rapt attention and undisguised sympathy, this being the first time he heard it too.

“So you stole it?” Ronnie pointed out. There was no hiding the fact that was technically true.

“I guess,” Elise grimaced.

“No you did,” the girl teased. “Though you’re on our side now, which is great!”

Elise didn’t have the heart to argue with her.

“Oh hey, what’s up!” Ronnie called out, looking over Elise’s head.

Walters was making their way through the throng, prosthetic in place. Behind them, the militia and recruited civilians were in small knots, having discussions. One team was loading into a car, presumably heading out to a sentry position.

“What’s up is that we are now a lance, effective immediately,” Walters replied without a trace of humour. “Maximus will be the anchor and prime target, the Manticore the sniper, and the Locust and Clint will fulfil scout and striker roles respectively. We need to work as a functioning unit to be able to survive. Mr Goodwin, seeing as you have no training in this regard, do you think you can cope?”

Montgomery nodded. “I think I can... I will do my best.”

“Best I can ask for,” Walters replied with apparent sincerity. “I’ll go over the exact plan of action shortly, in the meantime do you have any questions?”

“No captain,” chorused Elise and the others.

“Good,” they nodded, then turned directly to Elise. “Before we start, can you do something for me…?

09:45

The entrance hall of Goodwin Manor had been transformed into a field hospital triage station with such effectiveness and efficiency that Elise had to take a moment when she passed through the doors, transported briefly back in time to a dozen different battlefields. It was a multisensory memory, the sights, the smells, and especially the sounds of wounded soldiers in mortal pain not something that could ever fade.

Steadying her hands and her breathing, she pushed deeper, past the milling rows of walking wounded to where Anne was deep in discussion with someone she recognised as a local doctor. He was a middle-aged man called Nasir, originally from Bastian and settled here during a charity rotation after falling in love with and marrying a local. He had clocked her received Kathil accent immediately and while he recognised her scars for what they were, he did not push for details outside of the immediate “do they hurt?”.

“Anne, have you, uh, got a minute?” she asked. She had always felt nervous in a field hospital. It was the one part of a battlefield where she had no power. Her life was in someone else’s hands rather than her own. Today, probably from being out of service for so long, she was feeling more awkward than she remembered.

“Sure, what’s up?” Anne turned to her as Dr Nasir moved off to do something else. There was a slightly harassed edge to her, like she had five other things needed to get on with.

“Walters wanted me to ask you, uh, if that, you… were… coming with us or going with the civilians?” Elise managed falteringly, rubbing her arm.

Anne’s eyes narrowed and her lips pursed thoughtfully. “Why didn’t they ask me themselves?”

All Elise could do was shrug.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Anne asked directly.

“I…” Elise began. Her head wanted to say no. The nurse could be so irritating, brash, and suspicious and was an aggravating distraction when she was trying to pilot her ‘Mech, especially due to the sheer fact she had someone other than herself to look out for. Instead, she found herself unable to say anything. So instead of saying anything, she just nodded, brows furrowed in annoyance at herself.

A smile quirked at the edge of Anne’s mouth. “Guess I might as well, someone’s got to keep you in line.” She pointed her pen out of the door. “Now get out of my triage centre, you’re getting in the way.”

12:14

Everything was going well, so there was no way in hell that could ever last.

Wounded had been seen to, supplies had been divided and organised, and a convoy was in the process of being put together. Things were starting to look functional, which Elise could definitely appreciate when old Abe Sandoval turned up out of the crowd with a truck full of spare parts – small ones however – along with a pile of generic armour plates that looked like they might have been salvaged. It wasn’t enough to patch all the holes, and she could have done with more ammunition, but she was glad to have anything to keep the Clint’s internals from immediate damage – a little extra coverage for the others didn’t hurt either.

So, when Ronnie came tearing up the forest road with a car full of militia in tow, the convoy was in no way ready to go but everyone was in a better position than they otherwise would have been.

“Contact, contact,” she rattled over short-ranged comms, her music still there in the background though quietened in deference to the seriousness of the situation. “’Mech lance plus infantry elements incoming, ETA ten minutes to the bottom of the road.”

“Alright people, listen up!” Walters jumped in straight away. “We need to get the civilians on their way to Arrow Town ASAP. Load everything you can with everything that can fit, obviously prioritise space for passengers. Scout and Striker, get down there and tie them up, Maximus and Manticore will follow. We need to give enough of a chance for the civilians to get away, understand?”

Elise was already mounted up on rapid response duty whilst it was the Thunderbolt’s turn to undergo some minimal repairs.

“Understood,” Elise replied into comms, echoed a splint second after by Ronnie. The Locust had already wheeled and disappeared again, the small ‘Mech enough to distract anything coming even if not delay them.

There was no time to waste winding her way through the scurrying crowd of people slowly reaching panic threshold, so she slammed on her jets from standing to sail across nearly the length of the long drive and gardens, landing straight into a run – though with a slight lurch from the faulty gyro – and down the forest road. She wished Anne was in the cockpit with her, even if she was glad she wasn’t responsible for the nurse’s safety.

Ronnie’s Locust was storming off ahead, the base model a third faster than a Clint and her customised version even faster still, leaving her alone on a claustrophobic boulevard, every shadowed patch of undergrowth a potential ambush site. In the past twelve hours, her old self had resurged, bringing with it old habits and ways of thinking. The new her, the one that had known peace for a little while, hated this but knew they needed to rely on each other to get out of this alive.

More importantly, the civilians were relying on her. It felt strange to be fighting a truly just fight for once. It was nice, in a twisted way.

“Ronnie, you get out there and start tagging targets, we need those LRMs on indirect fire ASAP,” she ordered, then grimaced when she realised what she’d done. Definitely falling back into old habits.

“Good idea,” Walters chimed in, very diplomatically. “It’ll keep them on their toes until we can get the big guns in range. Civilians are right behind us, we just need to hold long enough enough for them to get on the road and away.”

“Yes ma’am, yes cap’n!” Ronnie chirped back, almost shouting over the volume of her raging music. Elise decided it must help the girl focus. Somehow.

After a tense ten minutes of silent sprint, where targets had already pinged up on her HUD at the five minute mark, followed shortly by the overlapping thunderclap of heavy weapons in the distance, Elise slowed to a walk and passed through the trees proper. Better to get a visual bearing on what was going on before blundering out into a potential ambush.

As relayed by Ronnie via the Clint’s ageing systems there were four ‘Mechs in a loose diamond formation. Instantly recognisable in the light of day were the Crusader and Gladiator from the previous night, the stout form of a Centurion forming the nearest “point” of the shape. They were all bedecked in the grinning warpaint and savage embellishments that Elise had seen before, their aspect less imposing under the sun but still cutting an intimidating visage.

While these three might have been formidable by themselves, and the couple of dozen infantry in obviously looted vehicles zipping around their feet like vicious terriers with their masters, it was the ‘Mech anchoring the formation that gave her pause.

It was the Banshee, an absolute monster of a machine as she had ever had the misfortune to encounter. On foot it would have obliterated her without a thought. In the Clint she just might get the chance to eject before that happened. That thing was more than capable of ripping her apart with a single salvo. Just like she had used to do in her old Victor.

Well… thought Elise, flexing her hands over the controls, readying her feet on the jump pedals, and taking a deep breath. Time to get to work…

12:45

There is a phenomenon in life where the same amount of time never actually seems to be the same under different circumstances. Fifteen minutes, for example, feels like a long time while sat waiting for a bus or a restaurant. On the other hand, if you’re busy then it feels like no time at all. What’s paradoxical is that when you’re busy in combat, it feels like an excruciatingly long time

Which is why Elise, with her autocannon dry and her jets’ reaction material running low, breathed a sigh of relief when missiles arced over the treetops, signalling that Walters and Montgomery had finally joined the fight.

Not that it had been much up until that point. Elise had taken a leaf out of the Ronnie Bowman playbook and focused on moving as fast or erratic as possible in any given moment, making it nearly impossible for the enemy to land a hit. After watching the young pilot at work for a quarter of an hour, Elise was in awe of her talent and instincts.

She darted around at full pelt with no concern for the rugged terrain, followed by a train of light and explosions like the tail of a comet, forcing the enemy to waste ammunition or risk overheating in an attempt to take her down and when they gave up to focus on the Clint, she would zip in and draw their attention again with a reckless fearlessness that reminded Elise of someone she used to know. The Locust would do anything to annoy the bigger ‘Mechs, often sprinting through the formation – and hopping over the infantry more than once – or firing its laser to astonishingly little effect. Most impressively, Ronnie actually charged the Banshee at one point and kicked it in the ankle, running away before it could retaliate.

It had been a game of cat and mouse, where there were four cats, the mouse was uncommonly fast, and Elise was a rat occasionally getting in a good bite with her lasers while they tried in vain to catch to other rodent. And now they had two cats of their own to join in the scrap.

Elise, for all her talents, had always struggled to construct a good metaphor.

But join in they did. Walters’ Manticore was the first to draw serious blood, their gunner showing a fine eye when their first crackling shot caught the Centurion square in the chest, pulverising the right side into a glowing, sparking crater and forcing it to back off, still dripping the remains of its armour plates and giving the Thunderbolt a bit more room to manoeuvre.

Montgomery advanced cautiously across the road and further down the valley, taking pot shots with his large laser. When the machine was being looked over by Abe, Elise had indulged in some nosiness about the TDR-5LS, finding to her surprise that it was a variant extinct since the Second Succession War, boasting the extended-range version of its large laser – capable of an effective shot past the distance of a PPC – and small pulse lasers where one might expect machine guns on the basic modern version. Both of these technologies had been lost for nearly century and it spoke to the careful skill of generations of MechTechs, not to mention how little the machine had been used, that they were still in good condition.

Searing blue beams streaked across the countryside, blasting divots out of the earth rather than hitting a target though still enough to get the attention of the Banshee. The ninety-tonne monster had been holding back for a while now, the pilot smart enough to exercise restraint on its weapons as the smaller ‘Mechs kept its lance tied up. Now it moved, opening up with its PPCs on the Thunderbolt, ripping into the heavy ‘Mech’s already-damaged arm like a lighting strike.

Montgomery kept marching even so, showing much more caution than the previous night. During the last few hours, Elise had taken a few moments to sit down with him and impart some wisdom, from the viewpoint that if the heavier machines were effective she would have a better chance of surviving rather than any real desire to teach. She was glad to see he had taken the lessons to heart.

He was the bait and it was working, the heavy lance following him with a barrage of missiles and heavy ordnance, pressure from the Manticore forcing them further away from the forest as a steady stream of civilian vehicles began moving at speed out and down the road, throwing caution to the wind as their sole primary objective was to escape.

Even with the battle in full swing, Ronnie was still in the thick of it, harrying the Crusader. She hadn’t been exaggerating about her lack of ability with the laser. She was awful, atrocious even. Elise hadn’t seen a licensed MechWarrior so bad at ranged combat before. However, the young woman more than made up for it with piloting skill, moving the stripped-down Locust with a fluidity and grace most people couldn’t match with their own biological bodies.

After a lucky strike from Elise had burned away the Crusader’s back down to the internals, Ronnie had independently recognised a wobble in its gait that suggested gyro damage. So she was constantly in there, doing jabbing kicks on the thing’s legs as she ran past in an attempt to make things difficult for the pilot. On the second pass, the big ‘Mech staggered then listed, arms out in an almost comical attempt to steady itself before crashing onto its front.

To add insult to injury, Ronnie immediately wheeled and jumped – jumped, with the ‘Mech’s legs! – onto the downed machine’s back. Elise wasn’t sure if it was from damage or embarrassment, but the pirate stayed down as the Locust ran off to find someone else to annoy. She laughed at the sight of it.

The mirth was short-lived when her comms crackled.

“Elise!” it was Anne, “They’re at the convoy!”

It was a common failing in the chaos of a ‘Mech battle. Everyone was so focussed on the clash of titans that they completely forgot about the presence of infantry. A good commander could use this opportunity to move up heavy weapons to a flanking position, or secure a tactical objective… like stopping the civilians from escaping.

The pirate infantry were bearing down on the convoy, the scant few militia vehicles drawn up in a protective screen and opening fire. There was nothing for it, she would need to abandon the fight to keep their charges safe – Monty and Walters could handle themselves for a little while.

“Ronnie, on me!” she snapped quickly, punching her jets to quickly cross the rugged ground. She could clearly see the pitted militia Sherpa that the combatants were using to transport their supplies, put in a prominent position by virtue of having military-grade armour. It was the vehicle Anne was riding in.

It was the biggest target there.

Elise just moved on instinct, giant feet crashing into the ground and planting wide, creating a stable platform for the lasers in her chest. A moment to draw a bead on a small, moving target then they fired, two green beams ripping through flesh and metal, igniting the little vehicle’s fuel in an explosive instant. The pirate vehicle was a tangled, burning mess, the half dozen pirates that had occupied it even less than that.

People. Half a dozen people. With all the care of swatting an insect, six lives just gone.

Elise was frozen in the moment, horrified with the realisation of what she had done, barely noticing Ronnie kick over a different vehicle and the remaining infantry doing what they always did in the presence of BattleMechs – fleeing if they could, hiding if they couldn’t.

“Elise. Hey Elise. Elise!”

It was Anne.

“Huh?”

“You alright in there?”

She wanted to be sick. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

“Good to hear, looks like I owe you twice over now,” the nurse said, annoyance and gratitude mixed in her voice. “The convoy is away.”

Elise looked up and indeed the melange of civilian vehicles was already out of sight, taking advantage of the open road and their speed on the flat to eat up distance. In some ways this was the easy part, the near future presenting a gruelling challenge that would have tested her skills and endurance even in her prime.

But… she had no choice. They needed to keep the pirates tied up in the area for the sake of their home.

“All units, fighting withdrawal to first marker,” Walters ordered. “Proceed to second at best speed once you are out of sight, we’ll regroup at third. Good luck.”

It was time to go, but Elise tarried, waiting until the Sherpa – and other small militia vehicles – had disappeared up the forest road before she too passed beyond sight and mind, swallowed up by the endless green and brown.