NORTH OF TIBSHELF

BLUE MOUNTAINS

GILLINGHAM

FEDERATED SUNS

08:17, 30 May 3044

Anne woke up shivering again.

Winter in the mountains was no joke. It came earlier than in the lowlands and faster than a deficient lover, likewise sTaying far longer than you really wanted it to. It left snow blocking the valleys, covering farmland, and making any sort of travel an unmitigated hazard once you set foot outside a settlement of a decent size. Agriculture ground to a halt, bulk transport needed to be done by air, and temperatures were below freezing for months on end. 

She had once considered moving closer to the equator, but she dealt with heat even worse and had ruled that out completely. Maybe there was a place out there with a perfectly comfortable temperature all year round. Maybe one day she would find it and finally be happy whenever she set foot outside.

Rubbing some feeling back into ice-cold hands, Anne pulled on her outer clothes, including coat and scarf, then got back in her sleeping bag, hunching over like a disgruntled caterpillar as she tried to regain something approaching warmth. It was tempting to go to the mess tent, where the Manticore’s fusion engine had been jury-rigged as a power generator for the few portable heaters the militia brought with them.

The only thing stopping her was her tent’s other occupant, wrapped up in their own bag, the cord pulled tight so that not a scrap of flesh was exposed to the outside world. Anne had tried that once and found it so uncomfortable to breathe as to be unbearable, electing to suffer from the cold rather than continue that existence. She didn’t know how Elise managed it, though she supposed it was just another privation of soldiering that they didn’t show in the vid dramas.

It had been a fortnight now since the last assault on the town and Elise had spent most of that time in the grip of a profound depressive episode, spending most of her hours concealed in the cocoon of her bag and only emerging to relieve herself or eat something – after minutes of intense badgering from Anne. She barely spoke, barely looked at anyone, and hadn’t even gone to any of the strategy meetings, not that there was anything to strategise anyway. Military operations had been shut down in the face of heavy snow and all the machines were confined to their hidden valley – physically as well as officially – lest their tracks lead the enemy right back to them.

Infantry had been repurposed as hunters and foragers – Or re-repurposed, Anne thought, Considering that had been their hobbies and livelihoods before the invasion anyway. Even Ronnie’s Locust hadn’t stretched its legs in over a week, a fact that was driving the young woman towards insanity. Scouting duties had been taken over by the aforementioned footsoldiers, small and slow enough that they could conceal their presence without too much trouble. Less trouble than a 15-tonne ‘Mech anyway.

Anne grimaced at the thought of the infantry. Out of the four technicals that had been sent to the DropPort as a distraction, fully half had been destroyed by the Wasp they had led away, along with their crews. When all the survivors finally made it back to the rendezvous – freed prisoners successfully in tow – without the hulking shape of Maximus accompanying them, Anne had feared the worst, almost crying with relief when a bruised but otherwise-hale Monty crawled out of the battered Manticore.

They would be feeling the heavy ‘Mech’s loss, along with the two destroyed technicals and the two that had been “sacrificed” to let as many of the freed prisoners as could fit drive themselves to Arrow Town before the highway became unusable. The rest of the prisoners had elected to join the resistance in any way they could – whether holding a gun, a ladle, a wrench, or a box – and the addition of two Powermen to the roster had made clearing snow and other obstacles so much easier, even if they were really having to ration what was left of their petrochemicals.

She looked sadly at the fabric cocoon once more. Elise really blamed herself for what had happened, even if no-one else did. From Jamie’s fastidious report and Ronnie’s enthusiastic retelling – with sound effects – it had just been an episode of bad luck and, by any account, they had punched far above their weight. Four ‘Mechs destroyed and two crippled for only one destroyed in return sounded far from a failure to her, and if even more goddamn pirates hadn’t arrived then they likely would have done this.

And if the pirates had arrived earlier then they wouldn’t have even had the chance… and if Elise hadn’t clung onto the sense to withdraw, then no-one would have made it back. Under Elise’s leadership they had bloodied the pirates’ noses in such a serious way. Under Elise’s leadership, they had done the unthinkable and come so close to victory.

If only she could see that instead of unbearable failure, instead of feeling like nothing but a disappointment.

Anne looked at Elise and her heart nearly broke. She wanted to reach out and give the poor woman a comforting hug, to sooth her with gentle words and let her know that things would be alright, that she didn’t need to worry… that she wasn’t all those things the dark thoughts said.

Unfortunately it wasn’t that easy. A mental state like this was not something you could just hug away, at least in the long-term, though comfort could help in the moment. Furthermore, her arms were currently inaccessible.

A tap-tap on the fly sheet of the tent made Anne look around.

“Uh… Knock knock?” a muffled voice said awkwardly.

Reluctantly extracting her arms – but refusing to do so with her legs – Anne shuffled over to the entrance of the tent, unzipping first the inner layer then the outer, grimacing at the wash of cold air that hit her in the face. She frowned against the light and the cold, squinting suspiciously up at the visitor.

It was Aiden, Elise’s “friend” from the before times, one of the Powerman operators.

“Yes?” she asked.

“How’s she doing?” he asked, mouth twisted in concern beneath a scraggly growth of beard. Anne conceded he might have been called handsome, if you liked that sort of thing.

She sighed. “Same as before… not better or worse.”

Aiden nodded. “She taking visitors?”

Anne shrugged, the movement almost lost beneath all her layers. “Not even sure she’s woken up yet, but I doubt it.” She sighed. “Better get to work, now you’ve made me face the world.”

“Sorry,” Aiden managed a wobbly smile. “I’m just worried about her…”

Anne returned the smile, sympathetically. “You and me both… But we can’t force her out of there… We just need to look after her and be here for when she emerges.”

Aiden nodded again, waved a listless goodbye and trudged his way to the mess tent.

Wriggling her way back inside her shelter, Anne reluctantly extracted herself from the sleeping bag, slipped on her boots and — with one last worried look at the wrapped-up Elise — resealed the tent and hiked her way miserably through the glittering snow to where the medical Sherpa was resting. 

It was quite a tall vehicle, with high ground clearance, but even it had drifts up to the top of its massive wheels, making every step laborious. The sky was blue and bright, reflecting from the white sheet in blinding flashes. By the time she hauled herself into the back of the Sherpa she was thoroughly not in the mood for any nonsense.

“Morning, bitch!” their captive pirate greeted cheerfully.

“Bite me, sunbeam,” Anne grumbled in response.

The pirate grinned. After weeks of captivity she had mellowed out somewhat, even giving them her name — Sara — and, in return for information about the Buccaneer, had earned the liberty of going without restraints. There was nowhere she could get without dying of exposure and Jamie had ordered her be shot if she tried anything anyway.

Regardless, she had been unnervingly eager to help Anne with her tasks, and while the nurse categorically refused to let her near anything medical, she was a useful pair of hands when carrying things around. Although saying that, she was only such for Anne. For anyone else — especially the infantry — she could be an absolute cow. Anne wondered if the woman had somehow heard how she had stuck up for her and stopped any more… creative questioning.

Regardless, it made a nice change, even if Anne was sure the woman would jump at the first chance she saw to escape without a bullet in her back.

Anne went about grabbing things from their pitifully-low supply of dressings and bandages. Only Everett’s insubordination — stopping to turn over the pirate’s outpost in the DropPort terminal instead of immediately withdrawing — had prevented their meagre supplies being exhausted already. Along with their food, stocks of suitable clothing, and camping supplies.

“Need any help, boss?” Sara asked.

It was an affectation that annoyed Anne no end, a deliberately false attempt to ingratiate herself that might have worked in whatever cutthroat environment she had previously been immersed, but made Anne’s skin crawl. This woman had slaughtered innocent people, whether under duress or not, and here she was acting like they were best friends.

Nevertheless, Anne reminded herself to be polite.

“No, thank you,” she replied. “Just sit tight and I’ll look for you later.”

“Yeah, sure, sit tight, great…” Sara grumbled, sitting heavily back down on her camp bed. “Do my damn taxes while I’m at it…”

Anne resisted the urge to give her a stony glare. Compared to most other people here, the prisoner was living in luxury. She got to sleep on a bed, in an armoured box with actual heating rather than wake up multiple times in the night because fresh snow was weighing on the sides of the tent again.

“If you want to make yourself useful,” Anne told her, “Then inventory the rest of the supplies, alright?”

“Yes boss,” Sara grinned.

She had to know it annoyed Anne, surely.

Anne held her tongue and just nodded, steeling herself before venturing back out into the cold.

The hike to the mess tent was only twenty metres but it felt like a hundred, every step a labour as she sank into the snow, pulled free her leg, then did the whole process again and again and again. She glanced over at the ‘Mechs, kneeling hunched over near the steep wall of the little valley, their forms muted by the mounds of snow that had piled atop them. There had been no sign of the enemy bringing aircraft with them – other than the DropShips – which made hiding all that much easier.

Miserable and cold, her nose streaming and her eyes watering, Anne eventually clomped into the entranceway of the mess tent, stamped snow off her boots and trudged inside.

Despite the name, their last large tent was now forced into a triple usage. As well as somewhere for the defenders to eat and socialise, it was also being used as a command centre and makeshift ward for the more seriously injured, giving them somewhere that was sheltered and warm to try and recuperate. These were the ones they knew were going to pull through, at least.

The ones that weren’t had already died.

Anne handed off her bag to Nasir and went over to see Jamie, where they were talking to one of the infantry, so bundled up in heavy cold-weather gear as to be completely unrecognisable. 

As far as she could remember, this patrol wasn’t due back until the evening, so either they had run into trouble and needed to withdraw, or had found something that warranted reporting as soon as possible.

“Anne,” Jamie nodded by way of greeting. “Espinosa here was just telling me something quite interesting; why don’t you tell Nurse Lyons what you told me.”

Espinosa, the lead of Team B, turned their goggled face in her direction.

“We managed to get eyes on the town and confirm the prisoner’s intel,” they offered. “Counted plenty of combat vehicles, confirming upwards of at least thirty five individual units, though nothing on the heavier side of things at least.”

“What else,” Jamie prompted.

Espinosa nodded, finally pulling back her hood and goggles to reveal a face flushed by the relative warmth and eyes tight with ill-concealed worry.

“When we circled around to the old Goodwin place we found tracks.”

“Tracks?” Anne asked.

“Big ones,” Espinosa confirmed. “BIG big ones. Like BattleMech big. But no sign of the units themselves.”

A familiar chill began to crawl down Anne’s spine. “How many?”

“We’re talking a lance, I reckon,” Espinosa replied, keeping her voice hushed lest they be overheard. “And from the size of those boots, we’re talking heavier than anything we’ve got left.”

“Thank you,” Jamie nodded, “Go get some food and some rest.”

Espinosa saluted wonkily then made her way to the mess portion of the tent.

“This doesn’t sound like good news…” Anne commented eventually.

“It doesn’t, does it,” Jamie agreed, frowning, their voice low. “If they have a new lance of ‘Mechs — or even somehow fixed their old ones —  roving the countryside, looking for us, then it’s only going to be a matter of time…”

“Until they find us…” Anne finished, leaving the implication of this unspoken.

Jamie rubbed their eyes. “On top of that we’re in a bad place with the fuel and food, worse than I anticipated.”

“Medical supplies too,” Anne added grimly.

“Thought so,” Jamie sighed.

“What are we going to do?”

Jamie glanced around, making sure no-one was nearby. “This stays between us, alright?”

Anne nodded.

“I’m going to give the order to withdraw,” Jamie told her. “Couple more days to gather intel then we head to Arrow Town for good… We had our chance, we did what we could with it, and now anything else is just suicide.”

It had been a possibility — a fear, a hope — and to hear it spelled out like that was something else entirely. Anne almost felt relieved. They would fail here, but… it would stop any more lives being lost.

“It’s… for the best, I suppose,” she replied neutrally.

“Perhaps…” Jamie didn’t sound so sure. They looked exhausted, like the weight of command was becoming too much to bear. Maybe this was the best option, even if they weren’t convinced; quit now before this operation wore them down to nothing. All of them.

Anne reached out and squeezed Jamie’s shoulder.

“I’m going to get some food,” she said. “Have you seen Monty at all?”

Jamie nodded. “Helping Ronnie run diagnostics on her ‘Mech. Oh and Anne?” they said as she made to go. “Don’t tell Elise.”

Anne nodded tightly, getting pots of lukewarm, stale porridge, over-cured strips of meat, and thrice-brewed, watered-down cups of precious coffee before she dared make the long hike back over to her tent, stopping only to make distracted small talk with people on the way.

Back inside the dim seclusion of the small fabric cave, she carefully set down her cargo and sat, legs drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped tightly around her knees, watching the chrysalis that was Elise, dark and unmoving.

“What am I going to do with you…?” Anne whispered. “I wish I knew how to get through to you… to utterly convince you that everything’s going to be alright…” She sighed, hunching further into her coat. “I suppose even if I can’t do that then I can at least look after you.”

She shuffled over and began digging out the open end of the sleeping bag until she found a tangle of copper-coloured hair, freckled skin, and a red-rimmed, heavy-lidded green eye glaring out at her.

“Leave me alone…” came the muffled admonishment. 

Elise tried to turn away but, hands on what might have been a shoulder, Anne pulled her back over. Her face emerged more fully now, full of childish sullenness and hidden pain.

“No,” Anne replied flatly. “Not until you eat something.”

She placed the food and drink down in front of Elise and, staring sternly, began to tuck into her own. It was fully cold now and not exactly pleasant, but cold food was still food at the end of the day.

Elise tried to turn away again, and again Anne turned her back, saying “Eat,” around a mouthful of porridge.

“Get off!” An arm emerged from the sleeping bag and Elise flailed at the limb that held her, quickly caught at the wrist by Anne’s free hand. They locked eyes, Elise’s face like thunder and Anne’s a mask of cold, teacher-like patience.

“Maybe I’m being quite literally heavy-handed, for which I’m sorry,” the nurse began stonily, “And I understand that you’re hurting… but I’m not going to let you hit me.”

She let go of Elise’s wrist, who secreted her arm back in the sleeping bag and wouldn’t meet Anne’s eye, even if she didn’t try to turn away again.

“Sorry…” Elise muttered.

“Prove it by eating something,” Anne replied, returning to her frigid breakfast.

Elise glared at her again, to which Anne responded by pushing her food even closer.

They maintained the battle of wills for a bit longer until Elise broke the stalemate by beginning to cry, burying her eyes in the folds of her sleeping bag in a vain attempt to stifle the wracking sobs.

“I know the food isn’t great, but it’s not that bad,” Anne tried to joke. There was a noise from Elise that might have been an amused snort or just another upset sound.

Gingerly, Anne reached over and began to stroke the exposed part of Elise’s head. The other woman froze, her sobs suddenly cut off.

“Sorry, I know you told me not to touch you…” Anne apologised, withdrawing her hand.

“No, don’t stop…” Elise sniffled. 

Anne continued then for the few minutes it took for Elise’s sobs to truly lessen and dry, and only at that point did Anne finally take her hand away and return to her truly icy breakfast.

Slowly, Elise’s face emerged, puffy and red from the tears, then enough of her shoulders to let out both arms. Then, with all the ponderous lack of grace of a BattleMech righting itself, she rose to a sitting position, hair a tangled mess, stray strands crossing her face unnoticed.

With almost absurd caution, Elise retrieved her food, opened the container, and took a tentative bite.

She grimaced.

“Christ…” she muttered, nevertheless forcing down a few more bites before attempting the awful drink. This she managed without issue, reminding Anne of what she’d heard about the quality — or lack thereof — of military coffee.

“Thanks…” Elise muttered, not meeting Anne’s eyes. “No-one’s ever looked after me like you do…”

“It’s my—,”

“Job, I know, you keep saying that…” Elise interrupted. “But I’ve been in medical situations before… and while I’ve been under some really good doctors and nurses, none of them have been… I guess while they’ve cared for me it’s never really felt like they… cared about me, I guess is what I’m trying to say…”

Anne’s eyes widened and, despite the cold, she felt heat on her cheeks.

“I—,” she stammered.

“Look, I don’t care why you’re doing it…” Elise interrupted again. “What I’m trying to say is… thank you.”

Anne met her eyes and the pain she saw there was almost too much, old wounds opened raw and bleeding, unable to heal.

“It’s okay…” she whispered.

“Can you do something for me…?” Elise asked quietly.

“Potentially,” Anne replied.

“Can you… do that again…? Stroke my hair…?” Elise clarified, seeming almost embarrassed. “It was… nice…”

Anne repositioned herself so she was cross-legged and beckoned Elise over, who — still mostly in her sleeping bag — shuffled across and lay her head in Anne’s lap. It was a child-like thing, strange to do to an adult woman past thirty, but if it was what she needed…

One hand stroking Elise’s hair, the other trying to eat the rest of her food without getting it everywhere, it quickly became apparent the MechWarrior had fallen asleep again. Anne didn’t stop, though, and could only think about how much worse she’d be when she finally found out that they were giving up.