Endless War

MechWarrior 5 Origins, Installment 3

Randall N. Bills

Endless War

DEFIANCE INDUSTRIES BATTLEMECH FACTORY DROPPORT

MYOO MOUNTAINS

SOUTH WHITMAN, HESPERUS II

RAHNESHIRE, LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

5 APRIL 2997

The air came alive and tried to throttle Ryana Campbell as the building-sized DropShip slowed to a crawl on a quartet of hundreds-meter long fusion tongues of flame. Their exhaust blasted the air with a concussive force that almost made her rib cage quake, and she was glad for the ear protection she’d thrown on. The largest DropShip able to land on a world, the venerable, 52,000-ton Mammoth-class DropShip inched towards the ground, its four giant thruster nacelles on it sides expertly maneuvered by the pilot until it touched down in its cradle at the Defiance Industries BattleMech Factory DropPort. Despite the five kilometer distance, she squinted against the blast of detritus and dust washing past her position.

Almost before engine shut off, a massive, Gienah-Durapaq Elite Series 3 land train began trundling towards the DropShip and its three companions that had landed prior to this final grounding. This was a large-scale resupply. The Mammoth alone carried nearly 20,000 tons of cargo. Between the four DropShips, some 60,000 tons of materials to unload. And they would not leave empty-handed, as the precious cargo of new BattleMechs and combat vehicles spewed out by the titanic Defiance Industries factories would spread back to the stars and waiting clients, be they House Lords, nobles, mercenaries, or even a corporation that could afford the extra security. Such land trains as the G-D were usually reserved for long-distance travel across sparsely settled worlds. That they were employed for simply moving supplies across such a short distance showed the almost unimaginable wealth centered on Hesperus II, within the Lyran Commonwealth, wealthiest star empire of the Inner Sphere.

Ryana realized she was avoiding her duty and swung up into the passenger seat of the cab for the Iveco Burro truck, closing the door and stripping off the sound dampeners. The sergeant at the wheel gave her a thumbs-up to her nod and drove toward the waiting DropShip.

By the time she arrived, a veritable army of personnel had already descended on the four DropShips. Large port doors along the sides of the vessels began lowering to the ground for easy access, and cranes were moving into position to offload cargo.

She was grateful for the taciturn driver; he pulled up next to one of the smaller bay doors, where a handful of people milled about, unsure of where to go.

She clucked her tongue at her own woolgathering. Should’ve been here the moment the doors opened. That’s how we do it in the Eridani Light Horse.

She hopped to the ground and moved over to the two women and four men who perked up at her arrival. One of the women immediately caught her eye. Short of stature, but bright-green, intelligent eyes framed by shoulder-length, dark-brown hair. She held herself with both grace and an air of authority. Ryana glanced at the noteputer in her hand. Was she the new recruit from the Grave Walkers? Great marks there, despite the short tenure. She looked back up to see an unassuming man sidle closer than mere happenstance would allow. Right. She’s married, and even has a kid. The husband’s Nicholas? She glanced at her chart again. Right, Nikolai. He also had good marks. But such connections often brought baggage she didn’t care to let into her company. She glanced at the other names, and sucked in a large breath that brought an avalanche of sensory overload of superheated air, unwashed bodies, and more, before starting her drill-sergeant impression.

“Recruits. My name is Captain Ryana Campbell. Normally others, far more capable, would be placed in charge of your introductions to your new command. But by God, I am here, and you will present yourself.”

“Jasmine Carmine.” The taller woman immediately stepped forward, snapping a salute. “I am excited to be here!” Ryana discounted her almost immediately. Too much excitement got you killed.

“Jeho Rahamad,” the large, swarthy man said. His hands and build spoke of infantryman. Major Keller will find a good home for you.

“Dawson Clarmont,” a towheaded young man said, brilliant smile flashing. Capable stats, but you use that smile too much like a tool. We’ll see.

“Chloe Reed,” the shorter woman spoke. Direct, to the point. Looks me right in the eye. And no salute, since you’ve not been officially transferred. The woman immediately went up in Ryana’s eyes. Knows the details.

“Boris Tuls,” a shorter man said, pushing past Chloe rudely. There’s a place for forthright and a place for decorum. Ryana discounted him.

“Nikolai Mason,” the final man said, whom she assumed was Chloe’s husband. He too kept his expression close and answered as minimally, as requested. Good.

She nodded, knowing she’d request both Chloe and Nikolai be placed under her command. If they were going to break or flower, it would be under her guidance.

“Grab your gear, recruits. It’s time to move you into your billets and put you through your paces. Welcome to the Eridani Light Horse.”

She pointed to the back of the truck and heaved herself back into the cab, wondering if Chloe, Nikolai, or any of them might last. Their new home was very hard on recruits.

DEFIANCE INDUSTRIES BATTLEMECH FACTORY

MYOO MOUNTAINS

SOUTH WHITMAN, HESPERUS II

RAHNESHIRE, LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

21 JUNE 2998

The heavy throb of the siren echoed throughout the cavernous ’Mech hangar, while the kicked ant hive of personnel swarmed within. Despite her years with the command, Ryana struggled to keep the contempt off her face as she calmly walked towards her towering avatar of war. You try to save a few minutes, but you always forget something in your pre-operational check list. Or you simply hit the ground running without thinking the situation through. Calm, methodical, think it through. She never understood why it appeared so difficult, even for veteran soldiers.

That didn’t mean you walked without purpose, of course; her long-limbed stride quickly ate up the distance, while wafts of air from the open titanic doors at the hangar’s end tickled the shaved sides of her scalp and caused her topknot to flutter. Arriving at the base of the berth holding her beloved Claidheamh-mór—“claymore” in Scottish Gaelic—she placed her hand on the huge, steel-clad foot, bowed her head for a moment amid the clamor, and said a quick prayer before stepping to the gantry hoist where her head tech stood waiting.

“How’s she doing, chief?” she asked the short man in overalls while her eyes drank in the towering presence of her beloved claymore. The lift vibrated, then began the climb up the side of the 90-ton BattleMech, while other MechWarriors throughout the ’Mech bay rode similar hoists to their waiting steeds; her company readying for battle.

“Just finished repairing the plating along the left foot actuator. If you’re going to keep trying your “Highlander Burials” to dispatch your enemies, I would solicitously request you take better care of her. There’s only so many times I can fix that foot actuator assembly. And when she is gone, there is no coming back. I care not to contemplate where I would find such a replacement for your rare ride, Captain.”

She usually ignored the reprimand heavily clogging his words, but today she managed to tear her eyes off her ancient BattleMech and glanced at Chief Tech Olfson. When she first heard such high-minded language, she’d assume a gangly pencil pusher. Instead, he was almost as round as he was tall, with a slovenly look that should’ve gotten him cashiered out of the Light Horse ages ago. That he still stood here, employed by one of the finest mercenary outfits found anywhere across the more than 2,000 worlds of the human-occupied Inner Sphere was a powerful testament to his skills at keeping MechWarriors in their cockpits. He and Chloe are like two peas in a pod when it comes to the tech side of things. She cocked an eyebrow, before returning her gaze to Claidheamh-mór as they passed the thighs of the anthropomorphic avatar of war, and the beginning of the giant weapon aperture—a Mydron Class B heavy autocannon—that encased the massive right arm.

“I was not jesting, Captain. All of these machines are old,” he continued, sweeping his hands to envelope the entire ’Mech hangar. “But few are as old, or as rare. For near-on four hundred years she’s been marched into battle. And endless Succession Wars have lost us ancient Star League tech, meaning her beautiful accouterments have been savaged. Replace by inferior equipment. She’s magnificent. But she’s a shadow of her former self.”

Ryana’s anger spiked as she looked at him again. “I know my history. And no need to insult her. Even without that tech, I run rings around any MechWarrior.”

He raised a hand to placate her ire. “I mean no disrespect. I love her as much as you. So please, take care of her. There’s only so many more miracles I might perform before the lostech spare parts I need either cannot be found, or are a king’s ransom that not even Brevet General Kerston will authorize.”

She turned away again and let her irritation go, knowing his words came from an affection that almost matched her own.

Nearing the end of the ride, the lift slowed as it passed the chest. The olive-drab camouflage of the BattleMech was interrupted by the large yellow disk set with a prancing horse: the banner of the Eridani Light Horse, known the Inner Sphere over. And next to that, a blue circle, with a yellow star, its oversized rays shooting to the right, the insignia of her own Twenty-first Striker Regiment. There were times she felt she could still see the blue-and-green tartan underneath that olive drab, hearkening to a previous life. But today, pride repulsed such usual memories. She’d acquired this billet on her own. This command. Her company.

Her commander, Major Nigel, had made noises about promoting her to XO of their Seventh Striker Battalion sooner rather than later. She’d let him know in no uncertain terms she was a MechWarrior. And she’d lead, but a captain was all she ever cared to be. Still expendable enough to be sent into the teeth of any fight. Exactly where I want to be.

Almost before the hoist came a stop fifteen meters above the deck plating below, she ignored the gate, slipped over the side and took a hop to the Highlander’s shoulder.

“Careful,” chief spoke in farewell.

Why do they always assume I’m not careful? I’m always careful…just not how they want me to be.

Unlike many BattleMechs, the Highlander’s shoulders were rather flat, allowing for easy maneuvering around to the ingress hatch located at the back of the square-shaped head. She didn’t need to key in a code as the chief had already prepped that stage, and she spun up the hatch, slipped inside, and dogged it tight.

Aromas more familiar than her own body engulfed her senses: burnt metal, well-worn leather, cleaning-solution residue, the tang of blood not completely removed. In that instant between shutting off the rest of the world and moving into her element, she felt as though she had a form of synesthesia, as the echoes of terror and elation from the dozens of pilots that occupied the cockpit over the centuries settled their mantle of responsibility on her skin. Goose bumps flared, and her heartbeat quickened. She stood at the event horizon between the two worlds for many long seconds before letting the euphoria pass, and she sidled past the bulk of the conn chair and settled into the seat. Though the interior was pitch black, she could be half dead and still walk through these motions more familiar than eating or breathing.

She reached forward to the console that wrapped nearly 180 degrees in front of her and tapped in the initiation protocols for the fusion reactor. Her chief had already started a warming sequence within minutes of the raid’s announcement, as a cold start could often take time they might not have. So her code simply brought it from a sleep state to awake. A Christmas tree of lights came to life as the Highlander’s heart pumped its power to every portion of the machine.

She snapped open a compartment on the side of her chair, and pulled out wires and med pads. She pulled the adhesive strip off each pad and firmly attached them to the inside of each thigh and arm. Then connector clips attached to each of the four medical monitors, and she strung the ends up through a loose loop of her cooling vest at her neck. She then reached up and to the right for the small shelf that held her neurohelmet. Pulling the heavy device down over her head, she settled the bulky item onto her shoulder pads, making sure she could see well. She then fished out the dangling cable ends and by feel socketed them into the part of the neurohelmet that rested against her chest. She then pulled another cable out of a self-winding slot in the other armrest and plugged it into her coolant vest, after which she synced the five-point restraining harness tight; she liked it tighter than most, as launching 90 tons in a heavy ballistic arc jostled more heavily than lighter ’Mechs did.

She then flipped a sequence of toggles, and her skin prickled as the numerous tubes of coolant jelly in her vest began cycling, ready to combat the deleterious heat of battle. Dizziness momentarily washed her senses as the neurohelmet came online and started syncing with the massive, three-ton gyro nestled just above the fusion reactor in the belly of her beast. She reached forward and keyed through two more sequences, carefully and methodically ticking off each item in the startup sequence and verifying all readouts before inviting another occupant to her party of solitude with a final flick of a switch.

“Voice authorization required,” the computer spoke. She knew a hundred warriors who customized the voice, from male to female, accent or none, and everything in between. She’d stayed with the original default it’d retained from the moment it walked off the assembly line and into the Star League Defense Force; it somehow seemed blasphemous to do otherwise.

“Captain Ryana Campbell,” she responded clearly.

“Voice recognition verified. Code phrase authorization.”

“Cha togar m’ fhearg gun dìoladh,” she spoke softly. Her Scottish Gaelic, though not her native tongue, was still as good as the day she’d left the Northwind Highlanders to forge her own destiny, out from under the too-helping arms of her adopted parents. No one can harm me unpunished. She shouldn’t still be using a motto of the Highlanders regiments. One of the longest histories of any combat command in the Inner Sphere, stretching as it did back more than 1,500 years to Scottish Highlands regiments on ancient Terra; a legacy their modern descendants (both in blood and spirit) fiercely protected. She’d left, of her own accord. And they’d given her a grandiose honor in allowing her to take the Highlander that had been in the regiment for nearly four centuries; she was still breathless anytime she contemplated the gift. But she no longer had the right to that legacy. And she’d come to terms with that, especially as she walked down paths of her own making, finding a home in the storied Light Horse. Yet she couldn’t completely let go of her youth and the comfort it brought in these moments of solitude.

The computer voice interrupted her reverie: “Reactor online. Sensors online. Weapons online. All systems nominal.”

The previously locked joystick, throttle, and pedals unsealed under the correct verification protocols, and the rest of the banked machine came to life; fifteen meters of war-forged majesty moved at her command. A smile of savage joy blossomed; her hands and feet found their true extensions as the machine took a cumbersome step out of the berth and toward one more battle.

DEFIANCE INDUSTRIES BATTLEMECH FACTORY

MYOO MOUNTAINS

SOUTH WHITMAN, HESPERUS II

RAHNESHIRE, LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

7 JULY 2998

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ryana spoke, teeth aching from clenching her jaw through the insanity.

The middle-aged officer flicked his eyes in her direction before returning his attention back to Colonel Charles Winston. Even though only his eyes moved, the medals on his bright blue-and-white dress uniform still jangled slightly as they collided with each other. There cannot be that many medals in any army. Did he just make some of those up?

“Colonel,” Leutnant-General Wilhelm Mouttheim continued, ignoring her interruption, his sonorous voice filled with enough condescension to drown anyone within its vicinity. “You will deploy your forces and eliminate the on-world threat.”

The tension in the command room stretched like a ’Mech’s contracted myomer muscles.

In the command center, across from a holotank showing the terrain of the Myoo Mountains for 500 kilometers in every direction, Leutnant-General Mouttheim of the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces faced off against Colonel Charles Winston, commander of the Eridani Light Horse’s Twenty-first Striker Regiment. The colonel’s Spartan field togs made the ostentatiousness of the general’s uniform all the more ludicrous. Beyond the two, a room of soldiers backed their respective leaders; half circles of Light Horsemen facing the Lyrans. The enemy’s out there, but Blake’s Blood, this prick is trying his best to make an enemy of the outfit that’s going to save his bacon.

Major Nigel, her direct commander, caught Ryana’s eye from across the half circle, imperceptibly shaking his head to keep her quiet. The resignation already in his eyes spoke volumes of how much he knew his best captain.

“Colonel,” Ryana spoke up again, trying to keep acerbity from coating her words in equal measure to the general’s condescension. “We already probed the initial attack. This is a reconnaissance in force. Somewhere north of six to eight companies. Fast, light, and good. Very good,” she admitted. And from any Light Horseman, that was praise indeed. “Our only advantage is numbers. And they have to come to us. Why split up and go hunting when we know exactly where they want to go? Let them come to us.”

The force of the general not looking at Ryana was palpable. “Colonel, you would let others speak for you?” The question was practically a slap. But Colonel Winston, nearly the same age as the general, remained impassive. The fact he was nearly fifteen centimeters taller than the Lyran, and built like a tank, allowed such passivity to be a slap all its own.

Silence stretched, only filled with the light hum of the holotank, and the shallow breaths of those awaiting a storm.

The general finally rotated his head toward Ryana, eyes halogens attempting to illuminate some vermin in the garbage heap. This vermin bites, Elsie.

“Instead of obeying a direct order,” the general spoke, “after failing to initially repulse these Free Worlds League invaders, you would invite them to our doorstep? In case you have forgotten, Captain,” he grated on, “this is the Defiance Industries BattleMech Factory. The single most important military contractor within our Commonwealth. This world is the single most important world in the Commonwealth. No, it’s the single most important world in the entire Inner Sphere. No other facilities can match our BattleMech and vehicle output. Its loss would deal a blow to our economy, much less devastate our military’s capability to defend against the stellar empires of House Marik and House Kurita ravening at our borders. And you would what? Ask them over for tea?”

He glanced around, lips turned up in what she assumed was a smile, if that twisted caricature could be called that. The bevy of sycophants that accompanied the general smiled, and some even chuckled in return.

Ryana easily faced down the man. After all, she’d stood in front of charging armies. This pathetic man only held his role due to either his blood or a bribe that would make the dirtiest merchant blush with shame. Either way, this “social general” easily showed his colors with such stupid tactics.

“It was your command’s decision that stripped three regiments off this, your most precious world, and sent them adventuring into Marik space. So what, Colonel Steiner and your Archon could pull down their pants and measure against the League’s new Captain-General?” The tailor-made insult evoked the outrage she hoped for; she ignored Major Nigel as he held a hand over his eyes as though he couldn’t watch the train wreck any longer. However, she also noticed amid her tirade that Colonel Winston’s impressively impassive blue eyes were on her, his thoughts inscrutable as ever. For a moment she balked, wondering if she’d crossed a line. But then forged on, having the bit in her teeth.

“So now you’re left with us. The Light Horse, to protect your prize while the cats are away to play. Mercenaries you specifically trusted with the entire defense of the planet. So why are you hamstringing us? Let us do our jobs, and not only will your precious Defiance Industries remain untouched, but House Marik will get a bloody nose they won’t forget.”

Leutnant-General Mouttheim’s mouth had slowly dropped open under the onslaught, features filled with incredulity, though anger quickly replaced it. He swiveled back away from Ryana to Colonel Winston. “Colonel, I do not appreciate you letting one of your dogs snarl insults at me while you obviously support her insubordination. By the contract you signed, you are under my direct command when it comes to the immediate defense of these facilities. As you were not able to dispatch the attackers beyond the designated two-hundred-kilometer range, and their reconnaissance probes have been spotted less than a hundred and fifty klicks from the outer garrisons, you have no choice. This falls under my command. You will deploy troops to hunt down and destroy these invaders. That includes your forces deployed at the city of Tallowrand.”

Bated breath held around the entire room at the forceful announcement, before Colonel Winston nodded his acquiescence. “We will deploy.”

Ryana felt gut-punched, especially at the self-congratulatory look that swept the general’s face. As though he’d personally placed a bridle on the wild Light Horse and had just broken the merc outfit to his command.

Colonel Winston looked at Ryana momentarily before turning toward the other commanders in the center to start giving orders.

What was that look about? Why did he let me run my mouth if he wasn’t going to support me? Just to insult the Elsie? Did he not care at all for my strategy? Seemed as plain as the fact the general’s mother obviously never took that brat over her knee. The questions cascaded in a confusion of loops that tangled and frustrated. She stomped out of the room, knowing she’d be in the thick of it again.

Blake’s Blood, I hate command.

MYOO MOUNTAINS

SOUTH WHITMAN, HESPERUS II

RAHNESHIRE, LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

21 JULY 2998

Ryana grasped the throttle with her left hand and pushed it full forward. The fusion reactor at the heart of her BattleMech thrummed as she tapped power for maximum speed. The 90-ton BattleMech surged forward, steel-shod feet tearing up large chunks of the high mountain meadow she traversed. The enemy BattleMech lance, in distinctive Marik purples, wove a zigzag pattern as the reconnaissance probe, having found more Light Horse than they expected, attempted to escape. Again.

The rhythmic sway of her ride as it galloped smoothly at over fifty kilometers an hour brought a savage pride. Her feet carefully caressed the twin foot pedals, steering the running Highlander around berms and pits that might cause it to stumble.

“Do not let them escape,” she growled, her voice loud enough for her throat mic to open the comm channel to her company. The others in her command, in far faster ’Mechs, quickly outdistanced her, trying to bracket the fleeing light and medium machines on the run, like a pack of wolves corralling their prey.

She couldn’t possibly catch them. The slowest of the enemy BattleMechs could walk faster than she ran. But she wasn’t attempting that. Instead, she was arrowing at an oblique angle from their travel across the high plateau, with the sun sparkling brightly across the lake at the far end, set against a rearing, snow-packed peak. If not for the unfolding battle, she’d pause to appreciate the picturesque scene.

Her right hand eased into the joystick at the end of her conn chair’s right armrest. As though a hand to a lover’s back, it fit like a glove she’d always known she would wear. This. This is what drove her. Not some command her superior officers kept trying to force down her throat. This drive, with the soldiers at her back. Where she could make a difference, get the job done, and protect her company.

She twisted the stick, which moved the targeting reticule across the forward viewscreen, bringing it to bear against the 20-ton Locust that sprinted at high speed—well over 100 kilometers per hour—the heavy forest at the edge of the plateau rapidly approaching. They’d been chasing this reconnaissance team for three days straight, playing cat and mouse through the mountains. Despite their lack of numbers and overall tonnage and firepower, they’d inflicted damage far out of proportion. More importantly, like all of the enemy companies ranging through the mountains, they were simply driving the Light Horse to distraction, costing them precious Light Horse blood. Much less the time, money, and lost face in front of their employer.

The targeting reticule touched the fleeing Locust, burned gold, and hummed a tone of target lock in her ears. As much as she wished to rashly let fly with the rack of twenty long-range missiles, she had bigger plans. She moved the reticule off to the left, leading the Locust by a good measure, while her thumb toggled through several target interlock circuits before settling on one that isolated the LRM 20 for its own shot. She pulled the trigger, and listened to the satisfactory blast of exhaust as the missiles launched from the Highlander’s left torso boomed through the confines of her cockpit.

Long seconds passed as the munitions spiraled through the air before detonating in a wash of explosions directly in the Locust’s path. Instinctively the pilot veered their machine to the right, angling away from the explosions. And she knew, due to those days of tracking, that the lance commander piloted that Locust, and where it went, so went the lance. The other three BattleMechs moved to the right as well. Which moved them farther away from the edge of the forest. She launched two more flights of long-range missiles to keep up the corralling, hoping the Marik MechWarriors didn’t realize their line of march was now longer than before, with her Light Horse catching up.

Lieutenant Jacobson launched his 45-ton Phoenix Hawk into a harsh jump-jet arc that leapt a meandering river, and came down, the large laser in its right arm stabbing out a ruby beam of energy that slashed armor along the back legs of a fleeing Jenner. Her other lieutenant, Chloe, moved her 55-ton Shadow Hawk into a flanking position. Their oblique angles lined up, Ryana’s Light Horse on the shorter side of the converging triangle. Meters-long muzzle flash leapt from the autocannon riding over the Shadow Hawk’s shoulder. The stream of shells chipped the armor on a Jenner’s leg.

So close. So close! She didn’t know if her thoughts ranged more to the armor on that leg or how close they were to catching the fleeing ’Mechs. Despite her best efforts, however, they were going to escape. Corralling or no, they simply had too much speed on their Light Horse chasers. She’d hoped to take most of the lance. But between one pounding footstep and the next, as her heavy neurohelmet practically bruised her shoulders while she sprinted on the verge of toppling her Highlander straight into the ground, she made an instant decision to at least capture one.

Just one…

She immediately moved her crosshairs to that enemy Jenner and toggled over to her large-bore autocannon in her right arm. She carefully watched the distance narrow as their angles converged. Just before she reached the longest range of her AC/10, she pulled hard into the trigger. Her Highlander vomited out a stream of death that found its mark and savaged the last of the leg armor. More explosive shells ate into the internal structure, sending stress fractures racing up the Jenner’s leg bone. The enemy machine’s next step hit the ground and sheared the now mortally wounded limb clean off at the shin, tossing the BattleMech brutally to the ground, where it rolled and flipped, tearing up huge furrows.

From one moment of frantic activity to the next—sweat tickling her sides, her breath coming in ragged gasps from the rush of adrenaline—her company was pulling to a halt, the remaining three enemy BattleMechs slipping into the forest. She wasn’t going to follow. Not again.

As her Highlander came to a complete stop, she couldn’t help but pound the armchair.

You’ve got to be kidding me! How long do we have to keep chasing these miserable Mariks?

DEFIANCE INDUSTRIES BATTLEMECH FACTORY

MYOO MOUNTAINS

SOUTH WHITMAN, HESPERUS II

RAHNESHIRE, LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

27 AUGUST 2998

Ryana loped aimlessly through the hallways of the base. Exhaustion gnawed her muscles and mental acuity; she stifled an expanding yawn with the savagery of putting down an opponent. These endless raids are gonna be the death of us. As if the terrible failures by the incompetent general weren’t enough against the light recon companies already on world, what appeared to be four more Marik regiments were currently in-bound to the planet on a flotilla of DropShips.

She passed from hallway into the cafeteria and almost turned and left; she didn’t care about eating just then. However, she spotted Chloe Reed chatting up an individual she didn’t recognize. A civilian, by the look of things. How in the world? She changed orientation and zeroed in on the two.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Chloe was saying as Ryana walked up. “It appears to be a sensor system, but the size is far too small. Where did you get this?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” the man responded. His tone was both educated and proper, but Ryana caught a subtle lilt of Swedenese, meaning a Draconis Combine upbringing, that the man tried hard to bury. She always had a good ear.

“What in the hell is going on here?” she demanded. They were in the middle of a war, and yet this civilian somehow appeared on base, and didn’t have a security detail? Much less talking to one of her pilots without even a by-your-leave from her?

She’d been training Chloe well, taking her good MechWarrior skills and honing them, while ensuring that a tight order of military customs and “following orders” were well instilled, even though she’d come to all of this much later than most. Chloe had long been a technological savant. Whatever this situation was, she’d fallen back into the old habit of ignoring her commander while obsessing over some piece of tech. This time she was focused on her noteputer and a small diagnostic machine that was plugged into the small, burned-out husk of some kind of electronics bank.

The man flowed to a standing position as though a dancer, despite his age, and offered a hand. “Sebastian Spears, Captain,” he responded. The friendly smile matched his open face and bright eyes.

Ryana ignored the hand. “Who are you? What are you doing with my pilot? What is that thing? How are you here without a security detail? How in the hell are you even here when we’re in the middle of combat?” She looked around, wondering if the man had somehow slipped a detail and if she’d be forced to secure the man herself.

He chuckled and raised his hands as though to ward off an assault. “Please, Captain, let me answer a few of those questions before you toss more on the pile.” He eased back onto the stool, taking a moment to sip from the water bottle on the table next to whatever broken piece of tech Chloe was mooning over

“So, starting from the top. I believe I said my name is Sebastian Spears. I’m talking with your pilot. That thing…well, we’re not exactly sure. Despite Lieutenant Reed’s desire to be a MechWarrior, her tech skills came to our attention. That’s why I’m here for, shall we say, a consult.”

His easy, confident manner started to displace Ryana’s concerns, until she realized what she’d heard. “What do you mean, ‘came to your attention’? Whose attention? And again, how are you on the base?”

He waved toward a stool next to the table. “Please, Captain, take a seat. We are in the middle of your base. And despite the coming regiments, this might be one of the most secure places in the Inner Sphere.

She shook her head, raising her chin to challenge the man to finish answering.

“Okay,” he responded, an easy shrug placing the burden squarely back on her for ignoring his niceties. While still wary and irritated, such a move by most should’ve brought out her worst, yet his easy manner managed to kill most of her anger.

“I represent a consortium of concerned citizens who are attempting to track down and save mankind’s artists treasures, as well as various lostech.”

She glanced at the item on the table. “Military applications.”

He smiled easily. “Sometimes. But often it’s simply about trying to preserve knowledge. We have lost so much of who we are during the last two hundred years of Succession Wars. Our art, culture, and yes, even technology. We are trying to safeguard what we can and rediscover the rest.

“What’s the name?”

“Interstellar Expeditions.”

“Never heard of it.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. We don’t exactly advertise.”

“And how are you on-world in the middle of this fight? Much less on this base?”

“I happened to be passing through on an errand, and knew that Lieutenant Reed was on world. I decided to kill multiple birds with one stone, so to speak, so I stopped off in this system.”

“That doesn’t explain—”

“Captain,” he kindly interrupted with an upraised hand. “I have certain connections. They allowed me to speak with Wilhelm and your Colonel Winston. They graciously allowed me to land and chat with your lieutenant to see whether she might have some insights. I apologize that I did not ask your permission. The next time through, I’m happy to extend such a courtesy.”

Her mind spiraled at the statements. In the midst of what was quickly turning into the Eleventh Battle of Hesperus II, over one of the most important worlds of the Inner Sphere, he simply asked permission and was given it? This meant either he was incredibly foolhardy—and he didn’t strike her as the type—or he’d also contacted the on-planet Marik commander and received the same promise of safety. That smacked of immense connections. Another thought struck. Or he’s incredibly wealthy. Or both.

Who the hell are you?!

“Oh…wait a minute,” Chloe finally spoke up, coming up out of her deep dive into a trance of electronics and diagnostics only she could experience. “This appears to be a phased-array sensor system.”

Sebastian abruptly shifted focus. “Are you sure? Our techs extrapolated that it might be so, but couldn’t ever get it to fire up.”

A self-congratulatory smile erupted on Chloe’s face. Ryana couldn’t help but smile in return at Chloe’s giddy, enthusiasm. She quickly become a fan of this bright, driven woman.

“Not surprised,” Chloe said. “Almost all of the components are utterly shot. So you’ve got to piggyback a signal through several subsystems and use that to coax it back to life. Well, not really life. It’s still an utter loss. But you can extract an…echo of its previous state. And I bet anything there’s a phased-array sensor here. Or at least there used to be one.”

Despite the insane encounter, Ryana felt herself drawn into the situation. “I’m no tech, but I’ve never heard of that.”

“I’ve only read about it. In some ancient textbooks. If this is what I think it is, well…it’s Star League tech. But not just any tech.” Chloe lovingly reached out to caress the machine, as though it were the most sacred relic on any cathedral altar. “This is as cutting-edge tech as anything the Star League produced. It occurred right at the end…right as it was all falling apart. Don’t even know if a production run was ever mounted on any BattleMechs, or if they just field-tested the prototypes.”

Sebastian typed furiously on his noteputer before folding it up and tucking it into his jacket pocket. He then stood, lifted a case, and carefully rewrapped the burnt artifact and placed it in the case. “Lieutenant Reed, you are every bit the gem I was led to believe. I’ve doubled the consult fee we discussed. It’s already in your account.”

Chloe stood up, dumbfounded as the man finished and stood up to leave.

“That’s it?” Ryana and Chloe said almost simultaneously.

“Yes. I’ve the information I required. You’ve pointed us in exactly the right direction.”

“We don’t even get to know where you got that, or if it really is what I think it is?” Chloe demanded, the shock of the abruptness of it all washing her face red.

“I’m sorry, no,” Sebastian responded. “You agreed to the details of the consult at the very beginning. Including your discretion.” He glanced at Ryana. “And while I do not have your signature on a contract, I know your code, Captain. I would expect you to honor the discretion of the deal signed by your subordinate. We’ll be in touch.”

With that, he marched off, leaving them both stunned.

“What the hell?” Ryana finally responded.

“I’ve no idea. I didn’t realize ‘consult’ meant thirty minutes and then he’d whisk it all away.”

They stared after Sebastian’s departure and then at each other as though to verify it had not all been a dream. Ryana had been through a lot of strange scenarios in her life, but that ranked as one of the most surreal.

They both burst out laughing at the ludicrousness of it all, Ryana’s exhaustion momentarily forgotten as she threw her arm over Chloe. “You hungry?” Ryana said. “Because I’m suddenly starving.”

MYOO MOUNTAINS

SOUTH WHITMAN, HESPERUS II

RAHNESHIRE, LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

9 SEPTEMBER 2998

“You will advance. Immediately!” Leutnant-General Mouttheim shouted into the comm channel. “Or your precious honor will be shredded when the Mercenary Review Board is informed of your violation of the contract.” The commline went dead, and an uneasy silence fell across the emergency field-command tent. Colonel Winston stood across the small holovid table, his large frame as impassive as ever, as Ryana struggled to keep her anger in check. She saw Major Nigel edging towards her as though he might tame her outburst. No one would ever contain her. She’d known from the moment she was old enough to know herself.

“You cannot be considering accepting those commands!” The colonel’s cool eyes moved to burrow into her and she added a belated “Colonel.” However, once more, the bit was in her teeth and she couldn’t hold back. “There’s no possible way to contend their landing zones. And while they’re only Marik regiments, we’re outnumbered more than two to one. It was lunacy to go hunting their raiding parties, and it’s lunacy to face them now that they’re so heavily reinforced.”

“What would you do?” Colonel Winston asked, his voice as calm as a placid lake. The question shocked, and she took a step back. The colonel had listened to her rant plenty of times. Had even answered now and then. But he’d never directly questioned what she would do in a large command position. On the verge of answering, she bit her tongue, sensing a trap of some sort. Every regimental Light Horse commander was an expert strategist. He had no need for her input. So why was he asking? She searched for a tell, but that façade might has well have been an endlessly deep pond, for all she could read. And she did really want to show that dirtbag Mouttheim what real strategy looked like. So…

She stepped to the edge of the holotank—again, ignoring her major’s look of horror—and punched up the surrounding terrain, zooming and panning it to just the right set of coordinates for her liking. The Myoo Mountains thrust up, until she could see three passes through it to the heart of the mountain range and the Defiance Industries factories nestled in their breast. She traced her fingers through the air of the projection, following the passes. “Three routes through the mountains to the factory complexes. We don’t have enough forces to blockade all of them. And they could send BattleMechs through all three, but I doubt it. Marik commanders are never that inventive. So sure, they’ve now got four regiments on world to throw at us. But we’re the Light Horse. And they know it. So they’re not going to split up their forces. Which means they’ll choose this route here,” she said, indicating the lowest pass.

“Why?”

She glanced up to find the colonel’s impassive face still staring her down, a match for the heavy-handed tone, and she flushed slowly as she realized the command staff of the entire Twenty-first Striker Regiment was gazing on her with mixed reactions of humor, skepticism, and outright hostility. Despite the cool night air sweeping into the tent, she fought a heat rising in her face and a trembling of panic, as though in an overheating cockpit. On the verge of losing control, she spotted Chloe in the background, always with a smile and nod of encouragement. She’d never had a good friend before. Not since leaving the Highlanders all those years ago. And Chloe was quickly becoming that. Perhaps even a sister she never had. She fought down the heat, ignored the hostility, and unstuck her tongue, forging on with her knowledge of how to beat the Marik invaders.

“Because it’s the surest route. It’s the widest, so they’ll be able to bring a larger front to bear. They won’t be as piled up behind each other as they’d be in the higher passes. And the sides are much steeper, making it almost impossible for us to jump ’Mechs onto ledges to try striking from hiding. They’ll play it safe and come through here.”

She took a deep breath, filled with her own unease and the stench of warriors several months into heavy combat. Looked the colonel full in the face to read whether he agreed.

“If that’s the surest path for the Marik troops, how do we respond?”

She smiled, as the idea she’d been toying with for days came to the fore. “It’s about dividing and conquering. And doing the unexpected. Especially when the Marik commander knows any such move will infuriate Hesperus’s commander, so he won’t expect it. We place only a company here,” she said, pointing to a spot in the middle of the lowest pass. “The bait. Once they’ve reached this portion of the pass, they’ll have several kilometers of visibility and know we cannot hide any other troops along this route anywhere close. They’ll assume we split our forces to cover all three passes. If needed, a few well-placed taunts might just get a company or two to surge forward out of position, knowing they’ll have heavy hitters follow up if they get into too much trouble. However,” she continued, drawing a line along a ridge nearly fifteen kilometers behind the position, “here, we place every artillery we have at our disposal. Once the initial company is through, we launch an artillery barrage the likes of which we’ve never done before, directly at the walls of the pass. Destroy it. Seal it completely. Yes, Leutnant-General Mouttheim and the duke will howl, since trade routes use the pass. But there’ll be no retreating, and then it’ll be our turn to engage them, while our own heavy hitters finish off any forces left on this side of the pass. That’ll give the Marik forces plenty of time to think about whether they even want to try the other two passes. Or perhaps they’ll decide we Light Horse are just a little too ruthless and unpredictable to mess with.”

She couldn’t help the smile that turned into a wolf’s grin as she glanced around the table and back at Colonel Winston.

He stared at her a moment longer before he turned to Major Nigel. “You were right.”

“I know. Been telling you that for months.”

“I needed to see it without preamble.

“Seen enough?”

“I have.”

What?!

Totally blindsided by the unexpected conversation, Ryana tried to keep up as the two men rapid-fired between them. She couldn’t take it any longer. “I’m standing right here. What the hell are you two talking about?!”

The colonel swung his eyes back to hers, and she cursed her willful tongue. “Colonel,” she once again belatedly added.

“It’s a good thing you are so capable, Captain. That gives you a measure of discretion. But not even you are allowed insubordination. You will keep a tone of respect,” he continued, his calm, quiet tone a lashing ever the equal to her worst outburst. “Even when you’re calling me to account.”

How did he punch so hard with such a soft voice? Wait, what?

He smiled slightly as confusion settled across her senses. “I believe you have a battle to flesh out,” he said. “The Marik forces are likely to hit that pass in less than three days. You have twenty-four hours to present a complete battle plan, with all logistical requirements.”

Wait, what? He was accepting my plan?! The elation began at her toes and shot upward with dizzying speed. The entire regiment will be deployed under my plan?

At the height of her euphoria, just as it was breaking, the colonel closed his trap. “You’ll be here, with me, as ops commander, ensuring your plan brings us success.” She crashed, realizing the major and colonel had outmaneuvered her. After laying out the plan in front of the entire command staff, she couldn’t possible step back down now. But in stepping up, she’d removed herself from direct combat. She’d no longer be in the thick of the fight.

Can it possibly be worth it?

MYOO MOUNTAINS

SOUTH WHITMAN, HESPERUS II

RAHNESHIRE, LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

11 SEPTEMBER 2998

The first artillery shells fell with expert precision on their pre-plotted points along the walls of the pass. The concussive blasts hammered into the rock face. Though it had withstood countless millennia of rain and wind, the granite wall was nevertheless unprepared for the massive energies that sent shattering, jagged breaks deep within the rocks. Each successive shell struck and unleashed its torrent hundredths of a second after the shell before it, spreading the skein of destruction with lightning speed, widening cracks into fissures and fissures into breaks. Within seconds the hardened wall desperately tried to stay upright, but with all its anchor points sheared away, the pull of gravity overcame the mighty strength of the rock. Even as additional shells arrived, pulverizing rock and sending down a shower of heavy stones and particulates into the pass below, a monolithic slab of granite some hundred meters wide, about fifty meters tall, and nearly twenty-five meters deep, picked up speed as it pulled away from the face and plummeted into the pass. Nearly 350,000 metric tons of rock, traveling 250 meters per second, imparted over ten terajoules of kinetic energy to the surface. The rock never came close to reaching its terminal velocity, but that made little difference for the company of BattleMechs caught beneath the fallen wall—they simply ceased to exist in any recognizable form. The impact registered as a six on the Richter scale, felt more than 500 kilometers distant, and the tiny BattleMechs that the impact missed were tossed to the ground. House-sized boulders bounced down from the wall as the final artillery volleys finished their terrifying business, hitting amid the BattleMechs as though thrown by a petulant child at toys they no longer wished to play with. The cloud of thrust-up detritus mushroomed into the air and filled the pass, immediately blocking the view of the horrific scene. Interminable minutes swept past before the last sounds from the massive avalanche died off and an eerie, nervous quiet settled across the scene.

Captain Ryana Campbell breathed out heavily, the tang of blood announcing she’d bitten the inside of her mouth. She unclenched hands that hung desperately to the sides of the field-holotank that displayed the battlefield through a looping aerospace recon flight. Despite the grainy picture, the horrific nature of what she’d unleashed still reached their position more than fifty kilometers distant and throttled her with its power.

I can face someone and kill them ’Mech-to-’Mech, but this? I just slaughtered dozens, and doomed double that to an easy defeat if they don’t surrender. Is this what it means to command at this level?

As Colonel Winston refocused the visuals of the feed, she could already see the company of Light Horse ’Mechs designated as the bait were moving forward, knowing some two companies of Marik troops trapped on this side of the avalanche would be relatively easy pickings. She could see Chloe’s Shadow Hawk as it smoothly crossed the terrain, taking the lead Ryana had given her as a temporary field promotion to captain. Frightening how fast and far she’s come.

And of course, if the Marik forces proved too much, nearly a battalion of mixed Light Horse and Steiner forces were already on the move and would meet up in less than an hour. Leutnant-General Mouttheim had indeed thrown a fit when they informed him of their plan, but he wasn’t about to have his troops sitting on the sidelines if victory was imminent.

The battle was almost anticlimactic at that point. The minutes trickled out into an hour, and the Marik forces signaled their surrender after losing half their number in short order. Another aerospace fighter reconnaissance on the other side of the pass showed the bulk of the Marik forces in a disarrayed retreat. She knew instinctively they would be pulling off world. Silly, really, considering they still outnumbered the Light Horse. With some brilliant leadership they could still make a determined push and maybe, just maybe, damage some of the Hesperus production lines. But “brilliant leadership” and “Marik” didn’t often go hand in hand. She’d dealt them a stunning blow, in a completely unexpected manner, and that left most commanders more than willing to pull back across the border and lick their wounds. After all, there would eventually be another raid. And another. And another. Endless war encapsulated the Inner Sphere in its throes of desperation for a Golden Age that would never come again.

She slowly looked up and met Colonel Winston’s eyes. Those impassive, knowing eyes. She raised an eyebrow and clenched her fist, her eyes asking the unspoken question as those surrounding them in the tent called out congratulations on such a brilliant, unorthodox defense. Is this command?

He nodded imperceptibly. Yes.

Her stomach still clenched harder than her fist from the tension and horror of that moment. And yet…and yet….

The wash of congratulations moved her. It wasn’t about her. It was about those around her. Before, she’d been able to protect the soldiers of her company. But now, she could protect so many more. Her Light Horse.

The tension eased as she straightened her shoulders. She would never enjoy killing anyone, much less slaughtering dozens like that. But she was a soldier. A mercenary, born and bred. And she was here to do a job. And if that job meant she was to be an ops commander, then she’d get the job done and protect her family all the more effectively.

No one can harm us unpunished.

About the Author

Randall N. Bills began his writing career in the adventure-gaming industry, where he has worked full-time for over two decades. He’s led the publication of literally hundreds of sourcebooks, rulebooks, boxed games, and more. This includes instrumental work on the seminal BattleTech and Shadowrun game lines; he was lore advisor on Harebrained Schemes’s BattleTech computer game, and is a co-story developer for Piranha Games’s forthcoming MechWarrior 5 computer game. His most recent game publications include the Dungeons & Dragons Dragonfire deckbuilder.

His hobbies include music, gaming, reading (fantasy to history, theology to science), and spending time with his family. He currently lives in the Pacific Northwest, where he continues to work full-time (and then some) in the adventure-gaming industry while pursuing his fiction writing—Randall has published eight novels, two Star Trek novellas, and a host of short stories.

He lives with his wife, Tara, and children—Bryn Kevin, Ryana Nikol and Kenyon Aleksandr—as well as a neurotic German Shepherd named Ecko.

Cover by David Kerber

Edited by Philip A. Lee

Additional Continuity Review by Chris Wheeler

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