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25. Bittersweet Victory
Castle Brian, Demi-Precentor de Chastelaine shielded her eyes with one hand and squinted as the transport VTOL took off in a cloud of dust, ferrying the last of the survivors to the Guards’ main base on the Dead Sea Plains. The little girl, whose name turned out to be Rebecca, was with them. At first, she hadn’t wanted to leave the Coalition officer’s side, but when Robyn had offered to let her ride in her mech’s jump seat, she’d cowered at the sight of the 70-ton Taurus Prime and had eventually agreed to ride in the VTOL with the others. Looking across the compound to where the large group of captive pirates were being held, she felt her stomach twist with revulsion and hatred. She’d had half a mind to make them do a forced march back to the dropship landing site, but they didn’t have the time to spare and so Iversen’s troops would stand guard over them until the VTOLs returned for them. In the gathering dusk, the fortress loomed ominously behind her. Although eager to be leaving, she felt a pang of sadness. There was much still to discover about this remote outpost and now that the pirate threat had been dealt with, a research and recovery mission would be sent here at some future date. Now, it appeared they had a much deadlier threat to face. The HPG transmission received by Precentor Arden of the Indefatigable, containing orders for the Guards’ immediate recall, had been relayed to her, less than an hour ago. The thought of Coalition worlds under attack from unidentified forces, who seemed able to brush aside their defences with ease, terrified her, yet made her more determined to face them and conquer them. The news that it would take over a month to reach Coalition space, even using the Indy’s lithium fusion batteries to make consecutive jumps, only added to her feelings of helplessness and frustration. She prayed fervently that they would return in time to make a difference. She walked slowly across the large open space in front of the fortress, that at one time might have served as a parade ground, to where she and her command unit had parked their mechs. Her fellow mechwarriors walked with her in a loose group, each lost in their own thoughts, as they prepared for the journey back. In the semi-darkness, The Rack’s stark desert landscape took on a strange kind of beauty, enhanced by the purple twilight sky, with just a thin band of orange on the horizon. A small yellow moon glowed faintly in the darkening sky and a sprinkling of stars completed the effect, looking like strands of fairy lights wound carelessly on a Christmas tree. The cool breeze, which caressed her face and neck, ruffling her long chestnut hair, intensified slightly as she climbed the rope ladder that hung from her Taurus’ cockpit. She paused as she reached the cockpit, both to savour the cool evening air just a little longer and to take one last look around. The place was largely empty now, as soldiers, mechwarriors, medics and engineers alike, headed back to the dropships. Once the Karnovs returned to collect the remaining prisoners, this outpost would be left alone with its ghosts. She shivered as she remembered the rows of graves in that secluded, sandy plot of land on the opposite side of the island. Somewhat reluctantly, she climbed into the cockpit, reeling in the rope ladder and closing the canopy. She retrieved her neurohelmet from the shelf above the command couch, pushing her hair back, before settling it on her head. Strapping herself in with the 5-point harness, she then attached the bio-med sensor pads to her upper arms and thighs and plugged her neurohelmet’s cables into their respective sockets. Finally, she attached the coolant hose to the port on her cooling vest, before hitting the master control button that brought the mech’s fusion reactor online and booted the main computer. “Pattern check, Robyn de Chastelaine”, she said, once her primary display told her the boot-up sequence was complete. “Voice pattern match confirmed, proceed with initiation sequence”, came the electronic voice of the computer after a few moments. “Coeur, honneur et noblesse”, she replied, speaking in the native tongue of her ancestors. Her family still spoke French, but usually only at private family occasions. . The words required careful pronunciation and if not voiced correctly, the computer would lock the machine down. “Authorisation confirmed, all systems released to your control”, responded the computer. “Welcome aboard Robyn, ready to kick some ass?” By way of visual confirmation, the battle computer hummed into life. Additional graphics on her HUD and lights on the control console lit up, telling her the mech’s weapon systems were now on-line. As always, the words she’d asked her tech to program into the computer’s response, brought a small smile to her face. "Not this time, sis...this time, we're going home", she murmured to herself. With the reactor’s low hum just audible through her neurohelmet, her instrument panels confirming all systems nominal and sensors registering a clear field, she slowly pushed the throttle forward, instinctively bracing her body as the 70-ton Taurus began to move. She paused as she made her way out of the compound, to let some vehicles pass. Blinking lights in the darkening sky told her the VTOLs were returning for the last of the prisoners. She knew she ought to feel happy about a job well done, of having accomplished their first ever away mission and performing above and beyond expectations, but the memory of those graves made the victory seem hollow and meaningless. She shook her head and frowned. The main aim of this mission had been to eliminate the pirate threat that had been declared a clear and present danger to their allies, the Royalist Alliance. Which is what we’ve done…we can’t save everyone, she told herself. Pausing at the compound entrance, she torso-twisted briefly to check the others were following her, before activating her radio and selecting the pre-set channel for the encampment at the lake’s edge, where the rest of III Gamma waited. “Iceni Lead to Base, we are heading back. Break camp and prepare to return to the dropships. I want everyone ready to go by the time we get back”. “III Gamma to prepare for immediate departure, aye ma’am”, replied the radio operator. Normally she could have simply used the unit’s command channel, but since most of the pilots would be out of their mechs, save those on patrol, that wasn’t an option. Robyn smiled as she cut the link, imagining the frantic activity that would ensue. Looking east towards the hastily repaired bridge, she decided not to risk crossing and instead began making her way down the island’s steep, rocky sides, using her jump jets. The other three, whose mechs were not equipped with jump jets, followed more slowly. The rest of the journey passed in something of a haze, the trek across the dry lake, the brief period of chaos as they rendezvoused with the rest of III Gamma, the long march through the mountains and across the Dead Sea Plains, all merged into a blurred daydream. De Chastelaine was shaken from her reverie by the insistent beeping of her mech’s sensor suite as, one by one, it picked up a host of friendly contacts. Gazing into the distance, she could pick out the cluster of lights that denoted the Guards’ field base. Using her HUD’s magnifier, she could make out the faint grey outlines of the Guards’ three Overlord class dropships, only just visible against the dark horizon. A few hundred metres further on and they were greeted by almost-friendly challenges from the Cavaliers’ patrol lance. After identifying herself and her unit, they were allowed to pass, with the mercenary mechs forming up behind them, maintaining a discreet distance. |
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26. Homeward Bound
Dropship St George, The Britannia Guards’ remaining senior officers had assembled in the St George’s boardroom, normally used for entertaining guests and other social occasions. However, on this occasion, the mood was sombre and the only drinks in evidence were water and fruit juice. Precentor Bainbridge’s seat at the head of the long table remained empty. Keira O’Reilly sat in her usual place to the right, while Demi-Precentors Donohue and de Chastelaine sat opposite her. The remaining places were occupied by seven Adepts and two Acolytes, the latter having received field promotions after their unit commanders had been killed in action. O’Reilly took a sip of water and stood, her mind finalising the short speech she had been rehearsing for the last hour. She surveyed the table with a welcoming smile. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your attendance. The main purpose of this meeting is to debrief you, following our operation against the pirates and to inform you of our new orders”. “First of all, I’d like to start with some good news. The Indy’s chief medical officer has reported Precentor Bainbridge is on his way to making a full recovery, though it will be some time before he pilots a mech again”. This was greeted with muted cheers from the assembled officers. “The St George's medical team, as well as those on the Spitfire and City of London have reported all casualties are responding well to treatment, although some will be taking an extended break from active service”. There were more smiles and nods of relief. It appeared that, although equipment losses had been quite high, the human cost of their first deployment had been mercifully low. One of the Adepts raised a hand. “That’s excellent news ma’am, but a great many people, including myself, are wondering what is to happen to the prisoners?” Another, seated opposite him, followed suit. “And what of the survivors we rescued from the base? How are we going to reunite them with their families if we’re headed straight back to the Coalition?” Keira took another swig of water and nodded acknowledgement of their questions. She tried to remind herself that these young officers were still on something of a high from coming safely through their first major combat assignment. She was also pleased to note the concern for those who had suffered at the pirates’ hands. “I was going to address those points next”, she said, injecting just a hint of displeasure into her voice to remind them of proper protocol during staff meetings. Their sheepish looks told her they’d got the message. “Our one and only stop on the way home is going to be the Pain system, where we will contact the OCDF forces and request they take our prisoners into custody. Although Precentor Arden technically has the authority to conduct criminal proceedings, given the nature of our new orders, we simply cannot afford the time such an undertaking would require. If the Outer Colonies will not take them, we will simply keep them imprisoned aboard the Indy until we return home and deliver them into the capable hands of our own judicial system”. She paused to collect her thoughts. “As to the people we rescued from the base, many are still too critical to be moved, so they will have to come with us as well”. “What’s our supply situation? We surely won’t have enough to last the trip back with all these extra people, will we?” piped up a female officer. O’Reilly frowned at the interruption. “We’re going to be taking some short-cuts on the way back and we’ll be making full use of the Indy’s lithium fusion batteries to double-jump through as many systems as possible. Precentor Arden estimates we can cut the journey time to as little as six weeks”. She held her hands up to forestall any further questions. “It won’t be entirely without risks. Precentor Arden warned that lithium fusion batteries are not designed for sustained use, however, for reasons which will become clear shortly, it is imperative that we return to the Coalition with all possible haste. The people we rescued will be put in temporary accommodation on our return, until we can secure passage for them on civilian jumpships, back to their homeworlds”. She took another deep breath and her expression became grave. “Now, for the reason we’re in such a hurry. A little over four hours ago, a Priority One HPG transmission was received from Command”. She paused for a moment, wondering how to break the news, before deciding to just tell it as simply and clearly as possible. “A week ago, the Coalition came under attack by unidentified forces. Specifically, they’ve targeted Wellington, attacking our naval forces, before setting down outside Glastonbury. They’ve hit the Lancers pretty hard and were last reported pushing south to Taunton. The Halifax Hussars and Regent’s Own made planet-fall three days ago but Wellington’s main HPG went off-line shortly afterwards and no further reports have been received. Further attacks are expected”. Keira looked around the table, noting the uniformly wide-eyed, open-mouthed expressions of shock. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that greeted the announcement. “According to the navy, whoever these people are, they arrived in system with a small but powerful fleet. One of our destroyers tried to intercept them and was crippled…though not before getting a warning off and a description of the vessels”. She paused again, still having difficulty in assimilating the information herself. “If the reports are correct, the enemy entered the Wellington system with a Potemkin dropship carrier, a McKenna battleship, a pair of Essex class destroyers and a Lola III”. She gave them a moment to absorb that information. “I’m reliably informed by Precentor Arden, they carry more firepower than the Coalition navy has in any of its four flotillas. The Potemkin alone can transport five Divisions’ worth of troops…that’s about half our total front line forces”. There was a protracted pause as everyone took time to mull over the information and tried to estimate the BCAF’s chances of fighting off the invaders. O’Reilly shook everyone from their thoughts by planting her glass down on the table loudly, making a few of them jump. “There’ll be plenty of time for reflection on the trip home. Right now, what I need from each and every one of you, is to get your units in the best fighting shape they’ve ever been in. Have your techs and pilots work on their mechs until they know every square centimetre and the status of every system like the backs of their hands. I want to see the Indy’s simulators worked overtime, running every offensive and defensive scenario in their databanks. Be careful though. We need our troops to be in the best shape of their lives, both physically and psychologically…we don’t want them to start suffering from burnout. Make sure they get their rest too”. She stared round the table, making eye contact with each of them. “We’ve got six to eight weeks to recover, rebuild and improve our capabilities. I’m relying on you to make sure we’re ready to do our part, when the time comes…dismissed”. There was an outbreak of subdued murmuring as the men and women, who, between them, commanded the Britannia Guards, pushed their chairs back, stood and made their way from the mess hall. Only Donohue and de Chastelaine remained. Patrick was the one to voice the question which had been on everyone’s lips, but which had gone unspoken. “Do you really think six to eight weeks is going to be enough time?” he asked. “More to the point”, interrupted Robyn, “Will there be anything left to fight for by the time we get back?” Keira returned Patrick’s steady gaze, her large emerald eyes glowing as they reflected light from the overhead fluorescent lamps. “It has to be, Pat”, she said simply, “That’s all the time we have”. She turned to de Chastelaine. “We can’t think too much about that. If we start worrying about what’s going on back home, it’ll undermine our preparations. The troops won’t be able to concentrate properly…morale and discipline will crumble. As I said, it’s up to us to keep them focused, combat-ready and in good spirits. It’s the only way we’ll have a chance…” With just six hours until Precentor Arden’s deadline, the four dropships carrying the Guards and the mercenaries’ transport, lifted off from the rock and scrub-littered desert, their engines glowing brightly in the darkening sky. According to the St George's pilot, they would rendezvous with the Indefatigable with 2 hours to spare, before speeding homeward, towards an uncertain future.
You can read about the attacks on the Coalition in A Friend In Need II: Shadow of the Jihad |
