NORTH OF TIBSHELF

BLUE MOUNTAINS

GILLINGHAM

FEDERATED SUNS

10:31, 15 May 3044

The mood amongst the defenders was dour. An audacious victory had been twisted to a pyrrhic one, a skin-of the teeth escape that wasted more ammunition, thinned out more armour, and burned through more morale than they could really spare. While there being no loss of life was a bonafide miracle, some of their survival equipment had been lost, along with too much of the precious little personal effects that could be carried.

With their command tent now a tangled wreckage left miles behind them, the de facto leaders of the militia were squashed into the back of the new Sherpa, amidst their stolen fuel and food and ammo, which itself was parked, wheels half-submerged, around the second bend of a narrow, winding gorge. It was the worst place to be if the pirates caught up with them, but it hopefully meant they would be out of sight of roving patrols. For the time being at least.

Since exiting the cockpit, Elise had been in a state, sat against one wall of the Sherpa, eyes starting distantly as tremulous hands twisted around each other. For nearly the entire time she had been muttering to herself, reciting a sequence of letters and numbers that had made no sense to Anne until she asked Ronnie. It was apparently a list of BattleMech model codes repeating over and over, some the petite MechWarrior recognised as being common features of any AFFS line of battle like the Dervish and Archer, along with a couple she had to think a moment to tell were Cataphract variants. 

When someone asked Elise a direct question she would snap out of it for a moment, give a perfunctory answer, then go back to whatever world she was in. The poor woman was a bit lost and it was breaking Anne’s heart.

Walters and Everett were having a small, stress-fuelled argument about sleeping arrangements – the infantry were most affected by the loss of tents after all – while Monty dozed exhaustedly in a camp chair despite the racket. The defence of Gillingham was hanging by a thread. If the pirates didn’t do it for them then they were in danger of tearing themselves apart.

Perhaps literally, Anne mused as she watched Everett slam his hand down on a crate, cutting off the argument in one swift blow. He looked as ashamed at the outburst as he was angry at Walters, summoning enough dignity back to offer a stiff salute to his superior officer before stalking out of the vehicle.

Walters didn’t say a word to the few left behind, silent and staring, just avoided everyone’s eye, then followed after Everett when enough time had passed to make it look like that wasn’t what they were doing, the arrhythmic step of their false leg clump clump clumping on the metal. Slam. The door closed behind them, leaving everyone else in the tungsten gloom.

“Bloody hell…” Monty griped, rubbing his face, the sudden noise waking him up..

Elise had stopped talking. Her eyes were closed but the speed of her breathing suggested she wasn’t asleep.

“We’re not going to pull through… are we…?” Ronnie asked, head in her hands.

“Hey now, let’s not talk like that,” Monty told her, shuffling over to put a companionable hand on the girl’s shoulder, though he couldn’t summon the energy to sound like he believed it.

“But there’s no way forward!” Ronnie complained. “We spend weeks… WEEKS just barely keeping ahead, then the first time we manage to take a step forward they knock us right back again!”

She looked on the edge of tears now, and Anne could sympathise if not directly. Becoming a MechWarrior filled a person’s head with fool notions of glorious war — Ha! — that were now being rapidly and irrevocably undone. It was hard to have something so fundamental about your worldview be challenged so directly, even if in this case it was probably better for her in the long term. 

Anne revised her earlier assessment. The mood wasn’t dour, it was downright miserable, and honestly she was feeling it just as much as everyone else.

“We’ll figure it out…” Monty soothed Ronnie, his face belying his words. “Walters will figure it out…”

“And what if they don’t?” she snapped, catching herself, the moment of anger quickly turning to one of shamed remorse. There was a lot of that going around. “I’m sorry Monty, I just… I…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay… We’re all a little fraught…”

Monty caught Anne’s eye, his wide brown orbs filled with such doubt and weariness. She had to say something, for the sake of morale. It was beyond her remit as a civilian to weigh in on the military side — not that it stopped her voicing an opinion — but pastoral care of the troops was firmly in her wheelhouse.

“Co—,” she began, interrupted as soon as she opened her mouth.

“We need to hit them again.”

It was Elise. She hadn’t moved from her hunched position against the wall but there was more of a presence, the same strength of will and sharpness of mind that seemed to come with her approaching a battle. Not to mention the sharpness of personality. She was looking at her hands again but they had stilled, and her brows were knotted as if she was working through a puzzle.

“What…?” Ronnie and Monty said in near unison.

“We do not have the endurance to keep on going like this, It’s clear as cut glass,” Elise continued. “But what we proved we can do is hit them hard and fast on our terms; they have the numbers but we have the skill and the drive to cripple them.”

“I… appreciate your enthusiasm,” Anne said gently, carefully, “But don’t you think this might be too much for everyone? We need to regroup and recover, hit them when we’re in a better position.”

Elise finally looked at Anne, the glint in her green eyes putting her on edge. It was like seeing a predator in the deep wilderness, empty of malice but steeped in undeniable threat.

“The best position we have is right now,” she growled. “They drove us away, and either think we will spend days licking our wounds so will get complacent, or will have the majority of their forces out looking for us.”

Anne folded her arms.

“You’re the expert,” she replied stiffly. “But you need to remember you’re not in charge.”

In a second her demeanour shifted from hostile, through defensive, before she visibly deflated, the sharpness blunting and the weight beneath her eyes seeming to get greater and greater. Elise rubbed them with the heel of one palm and nodded.

“Yeah… I— yeah, I know, I’m sorry,” she sighed. “What do you two think about this before I… uh, pitch it to Walters?”

Sitting up a bit straighter, Ronnie balled her fists and set her jaw. “If we can finish this quicker then we better do it.”

Monty nodded briskly. “I’m new to this whole war thing so I’ll trust your judgement — whatever the majority decides I’ll go with.”

Nodding in return, Elise took a deep, rattling breath, then let it out in a long, centring puff.

“This will be the crux of it, I think, make or break, a final push into the heart of their territory to shatter their resistance,” she explained.

“Have you done anything like this before… anything so desperate…?” Ronnie asked.

Elise snorted, climbing to her feet. “Once or twice.”

Ronnie only nodded, biting her lip anxiously.

Elise looked like she was going to say something else but thought better of it, making to leave, and Anne hurried to intercept her with a stalling hand on one arm.

“Hey, look,” she began, keeping her voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “You know how I feel about this, so let’s put that aside… are you in any state to be doing something like this…?”

Immediately Elise stiffened, her eyes hardening, but she seemed to catch herself and think better of whatever instinct just overcame her. She relaxed somewhat, though Anne wasn’t sure she had ever seen the woman truly, completely let her guard down. Elise’s eyes wouldn’t meet hers.

“Honestly… no…” she replied quietly. “But I have to.”

“Bullshit,” Anne hissed. “You’re no good to anyone if this breaks you for good.”

“If it breaks me, then at least it will have been in the pursuit of something worthwhile,” Elise’s tone was sad, but determined. “I’m only really good at one thing, so I might as well put it to some use.” She cracked a wonky smile. “Maybe when I return you can do what you’re good at and put me back together.”

“Rather you didn’t break in the first place, you silly mare,” Anne pouted.

Elise chuckled quietly, sadly. “No-one’s ever looked after me like you do.”

“It’s my job,” Anne replied automatically. It was true, even if she technically wasn’t getting paid for any of this, and you didn’t get into this line of work if you didn’t care about people. Nevertheless, she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t more than that.

“I know, but… thank you,” Elise said and, before Anne could react, she found herself wrapped in a quick, tight hug. It was so unexpected that Anne was paralysed, her brain shutting down, unable to react, and by the time it rebooted Elise was already out of the door.

 

10:46

The air was crisp and sharp in Elise’s lungs, carrying a bite with it as it travelled down the narrow valley. First frost must only be a few days away by this point, which means first snow wouldn’t be too far behind. If they waited any longer to strike then they might lose the chance altogether.

Her head was still murky, filled with a conflicting barrage of old thoughts and bitter memories, pushed aside by the bright laser focus of having a task in hand. It had snapped her out of the past, diverted her from a repeating litany of her greatest failure, and given her something solid to keep her anchored in the present. What she hadn’t told Anne was her fear, a fear that if she stayed idle for too long she might never surface again.

She looked over at the BattleMechs, stood in a row against a nearby cliff face like soldiers ready for inspection — Or lined up for a firing squad… she mused darkly — as their few ‘Techs scrambled to use the last of their substandard supplies to make less-than-ideal repairs. It always amazed her what these backwater engineers — used to working on Powermen and Cattlemasters — could do; she had seen people better-trained do less with more. Sometimes ingenuity — and a whole lot of desperation — could really tip the scales.

“Speaking of desperation…” she muttered, sweeping their meagre encampment for Walters, tucking a lank strand of hair behind an ear.

Once upon a time she had been quite a vain person, embarrassingly so, as befitted a minor noble of the Federated Suns, and memories of how she had acted were almost as painful as… some other ones. Being forced to rebuild herself from the ground up had really put some things into perspective. She hadn’t bathed in days — neither had anyone else — yet it wasn’t the worst thing in the world somehow.

A hot shower would still be nice, though.

She spotted Walters emerging from the top hatch of their Manticore, gesticulating with their false leg in hand as they gave instructions to what remained of their crew. Trying to stifle the limp in her own bad leg — could always be worse — Elise made her way over, skirting around the damp, pebble-strewn edge of the stream.

The captain pulled themselves out of the hatch and shuffled their way to the edge of the turret where they sat, half-empty trouser leg flickering in the wind. Leg balanced on their knees, they watched Elise approach with unreadable brown eyes. A few paces out, she stopped, looking up at them and they down at her.

The two of them stood watching each other for a tense few seconds, warriors separated by worlds of experience, until it was finally Walters that broke the silence.

“I know what you’re here for,” they said flatly.

“Oh?” Elise folded her arms.

“Because I’ve had the same idea.”

Elise cocked an eyebrow. “That so?”

Walters nodded, then patted the edge of the tank, “Come, sit with me a minute; let’s talk.”

Both eyebrows were up now but Elise obliged, clambering up onto the cold, damp metal of the Manticore’s hull. It was more difficult than it looked, even with two mostly-working legs. She sat awkwardly next to Walters as they looked over their “encampment”. Everett was supervising the arrangements for his infantry, paltry as they might be. She made a mental note to volunteer herself — and the other MechWarriors — to sleep in their cockpits. It wouldn’t be comfy but might go some way to keep the fraying threads of fellowship from unravelling much more.

“Is this how it was for you…?” Walters eventually asked.

Elise wasn’t sure what she was surprised by more, the question or who was asking it.

“Be specific,” she replied, trying not to sound harsh.

“The constant, unending anxiety, the feeling that even if you do your very best it might not be enough, or that it might be great for some but screw over others,” they elaborated, their voice distant, with only the barest hint of emotion. “And the knowledge that every single decision, no matter how minor, that you make will eventually lead to the death of someone under your command, even if it’s not today, or even tomorrow, but someday.”

Elise watched the encampment, the swirling grey sky, and the shimmering stream before replying.

“Yeah, pretty much,” she told them.

“How did you deal with it?”

Elise laughed, a hollow humourless thing. “I didn’t care. I pushed aside any empathy until there was only the tactical calculation left. I did this until I shattered under the weight of it. You give the orders, you write the letters, you blow off steam any way you can until either you get reassigned to garrison on a safe world, discharge, or get promoted so high the casualties stop being people and become just numbers on a ledger,” she took a breath — in through her nose, out through her mouth. “No-one in their right mind would want to be an officer… and other officers only convince you to be one in the twisted hope that maybe this time it’ll be different when you do it… or so that they won’t be so alone in their misery.”

Walters was silent for a while, hands fidgeting absently with the loose fastenings on their leg, looking into the middle distance.

“When I did my training, the instructor was fixated on some old Terran philosopher, whose entire thing boils down to balancing the scales and making the decision that creates the most beneficial action for the most people, no matter who gets screwed over in the process,” they explained. “If I give the order for a decisive strike, it might be we all get screwed over tomorrow and more innocent people die. If I don’t give the order, we could get screwed over a few days from now and the innocents die anyway…”

“…or we do something recklessly stupid and come out on top,” Elise finished for them.

Walters nodded. “Do you really think that’ll happen?”

After a second of thought, Elise replied, “No, not really, but it’s the only course of action that’s going to lead to the outcome we want.”

Another nod. “Thank you.”

“For what?” 

“Supporting me these past weeks, for playing along with me as commander despite me being completely out of my depth.”

Elise allowed herself a wry smile and dared to pat her captain on the shoulder. “That’s the secret, Jamie… Anyone who isn’t out of their depth is a liar or insane.”

 

17:26

Pitching the idea to the troops went surprisingly well, Elise thought. Captain Walters didn’t sell it so much as laid the facts out bare for all to see in that clinical, no nonsense way they tended to have. It would be a final push on Tibshelf, a likely-suicidal assault to break through what defences the pirates had left and hit the mines rather than the town itself, the intention being to force a collapse and deny the invaders their prize. The goal of any insurgency was to make occupation too costly to continue, forcing the interlopers back from whence they came.

Like every point such as this, Walters had given everyone the option to leave with their honour still intact, to head out to Arrow Town and report what had happened here. 

Not a person spoke when the offer was floated, leaving only silence.

It was decided that the attack would happen at dawn, materiel and personnel moved down into the wide valley at a slow pace over the long course of the night while the support vehicles remained where they were, on a desperate vigil should any of them make it back. Personal effects, trinkets and precious things, would be left with the Sherpas for safekeeping — just in case, of course.

It was then, after the lines had been drawn, roles had been assigned, and the falling sun heralded the fighters’ departure that a complication occurred.

“What is it you’re saying to me right now?” Jamie frowned.

“Prisoners,” Anne repeated. “Dozens of them, kept as slaves by the pirates.”

“And you’re sure of this?” Monty asked.

“As sure as I can be,” Anne nodded.

“Our prisoner just told you?” Walters added sceptically.

“Cost me the last of my chocolate, but yes,” Anne confirmed.

“Why would she do that?”

“My guess is as bait,” Elise suggested, standing like the others with a heavy coat over the scanty, practical uniform of a MechWarrior. “There’s no way she knows what we’re about to do, so she’s goading us into an attack: appealing to our sense of justice to deplete our forces.”

“Hmm,” Walters grunted. “She’s not wrong.” They looked to Everett, his threadbare militia uniform augmented by scavenged armour with the savage paint scraped off. “Do you think your people will be able to take the spare Sherpa on a little diversion?”

Everett chewed his lip thoughtfully, glancing at his sergeants before replying.

“Yeah, we can do that,” he said. “Might create a distraction for what you’re up to, and best not to get caught up in ‘Mech fight anyway.”

Walters nodded, none of the insecurity Elise had seen earlier present in their demeanour.

“That’s settled then,” they said. “Ms. Lyons, get as much information as you can about where they’re being held, make sure it’s as accurate as possible then liaise with the lieutenant here; rest of you mount up and get ready, we move in ten.”