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17. Search for Pirate Central
Dropship St George, It had just gone midnight, local time, when the communications officer gently shook O’Reilly’s shoulder, rousing her from a fitful slumber. “Ma’am, there’s a call from Demi-Precentor Donohoe. He’s bringing in the prisoners and is requesting instructions for the hand over”. Keira gazed up at the Acolyte through half-closed eyes, trying to bring her thought into order. Since Precentor Bainbridge had been extracted from his ruined mech and brought into the dropship’s sickbay, over eight hours ago, she had taken over command of the Guards. It was only then that she had truly begun to appreciate the burden under which he laboured. A seemingly endless stream of requests, both personal and professional, decisions to be made and reports to be read had taken their toll. On top of that, Keira had been driving the medics to distraction in sickbay, visiting Philip as often as her crowded schedule allowed. In the last two days, she estimated she’d managed about six hours’ sleep. The Precentor’s injury list had been lengthy. Displaced vertebra, minor neural damage, multiple leg and chest fractures, ligament and muscle damage. The worst had been the discovery of a minor brain haemorrhage, which had caused swelling, as well as a small blood clot. The surgeons had operated as soon as it was safe to do so and his condition, though critical, was reported to be stable. It would, however, be several months before he returned to active service. Wearily, Keira hauled herself out of the bridge command chair, where she’d fallen asleep and followed the Acolyte over to the communications console. Observing protocol, the young officer remained standing, letting her have his seat. She slipped on a headset and punched the button indicated by the comms officer to establish the link. Donohue was using a video link, often preferred in non-combat situations to audio-only transmissions. There was a slight hint of static and his helmeted head moved jerkily as his Vanguard mech plodded steadily along. “Command to Emerald Six, report your status”, she said, stifling a yawn. Donohue looked surprised, “Demi Precentor O’Reilly”, he said, careful to observe protocol on an open channel. “I take it the Precentor is indisposed?” He noted the pained expression on her face as she replied. “You could say that, Patrick. He suffered serious injuries in his fight with the pirate commander. He’s to be transferred to the Indy as soon as his condition allows. Their medical facilities are much better equipped to deal with his injuries”. She paused and Pat could see her struggle to regain her composure. “Until such time as he is able to return to duty, I am taking command of the Guards”. Donohue nodded soberly, before replying, “Does this mean we have to address you as Precentor now, ma’am?” he asked, risking a minor impertinence. His irreverence caught O’Reilly off-guard. She laughed in spite of her obvious distress. “Very funny, Pat. No, there’ll be no field promotion for me…not yet anyway”. She smiled at the image on the monitor. “Thanks Pat – I needed that”. Donohue forced a grin of his own. “No problem Keira…now do you have any idea what we’re going to do with the four dozen, dirty, nasty, ill-mannered pirates I’m herding your way?” O’Reilly’s expression grew icy cold. “I know what I’d like to do to them”. Pat nodded agreement. “The feeling’s mutual, but unfortunately we are bound by the Ares Conventions”. O’Reilly sighed, “Well, we certainly don’t have room for them here. I’ll call the Indy and see if they can’t release another shuttle. We ought to be able to ferry them up in one go…I just hope the Indy’s brig has enough room. In the meantime, I don’t want those pirates getting too close to the field base in their mechs. Have them stop and dismount one kilometre out. I’ll have our ground detachment meet them with some APCs to bring them in”. Donohue nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me. We’re currently five klicks west of your position. We’ll meet the ground troops at Nav Point Epsilon. Sending co-ordinates now, ETA six minutes”.
Perdition Mountains, Robyn de Chastelaine lit her Taurus Prime’s jumpjets yet again to clear another rocky ridge, impatient to find the exit of the seemingly endless mountain pass. Somewhere on the other side of the Perdition Mountains was the main desert road that would lead them to the Extractors’ base. Her heart leapt into her mouth briefly as the ground fell away on the other side in a thirty-metre drop. Keeping her finger on the trigger, she let her jumpjets burn an extra few seconds to slow the 70-ton mech’s fall, still making a harder landing than she would have liked. “Watch it guys – bit of a drop past the ridge just ahead”, she warned over the general frequency. She made a mental note to have a word with her scouts about reporting on the terrain as well as enemy units. Just then her radio crackled to life. “Black Dog One to Athena, terrain opening out. The mountains pan out into a desert plateau about half a kilometre ahead. I can make out the highway from here…looks like we’ve found the road to Oz”. Robyn smiled at the scout lance leader’s use of the nickname they’d given the pirate base. “Copy that Black Dog One. Hold position at Nav Point Delta while the rest of us catch up”. Switching to the Level III command channel, she issued a catch-up order to her unit commanders. “Okay ladies and gents, it seems there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Round up any stragglers and make for Nav Delta. Be careful with your head counts – we don’t want to leave anyone behind in here”.
Badlands, Tantalus, “Athena, this is Black Dog One…looks like we hit the jackpot. There’s some kind of outpost in the middle of a large basin, about one kilometre southwest of the main highway…sending co-ordinates now”. After nearly twenty minutes of monotonous plodding through the arid, rocky badlands, de Chastelaine was mightily relieved to finally hear from her scout lance again. Robyn pushed her Taurus’ throttle forward, as the navigation computer read the new co-ordinates and translated them into a new nav point on her HUD, eager to see what her scout lance had discovered. A few minutes later, she reached the turn in the river, where it carved through some hills, allowing her to see her objective. The dried-up riverbed that had, for the most part, followed the course of the desert highway, did indeed veer off to the southwest. As the scout commander had described, it opened out into a deep, shallow-sided depression that presumably had once been a mighty lake. However, any water that had once existed must have long since evaporated under The Rack’s fierce sun. The handful of rocky spires and plateaux that rose from the basin, had once been islands. The engineers who had constructed the base had also had the foresight to link the islands via a network of ramps and roadways, creating a number of separate compounds, easily accessible to the occupiers, yet offering little help to any would-be attackers. As far as Robyn could see, there was only one road leading to the central compound – the only place from which the other islands could be reached by land. There might be other access routes for jump-capable mechs, but those would take time to find – and taking a tour of the lake bed was not something any pilot would be keen on doing while under fire. “Athena to Black Dog One: recon the access road and make a note of any defensive emplacements. If you can find a safe route down, scout the lakebed…we don’t know if any pirates managed to escape from the canyon. The last thing we want is an enemy lance or two pouncing on us while we’re searching the facility”. “Copy that, Athena”, Adept Imogen Fletcher grinned behind her neurohelmet visor. Finally, she was getting to lead a recon mission – something she’d trained for, for years, but never had the opportunity to do for real…until now. |
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18. There Be Pirates Here
Badlands, “Black Dog Lead to all units, form up on me…I don’t want us getting picked off one at a time by any enemy units. Keep your eyes peeled and your sensors active”. Adept Fletcher waited for acknowledgement from the rest of II Delta before pushing her Havoc Prime’s throttle forward, accelerating up to a cautious 60kph. The terrain was rough here and they had no idea if any pirate units had escaped the canyon trap. Checking her sensor display, she noted the blue triangles, spaced to her left and right at 50-metre intervals. Acolyte Josephine “Josie” Andrews was to her immediate right, piloting a 10-year-old Beowulf. The 45-ton mech was not as well armed or armoured as her Havoc, but it did carry a Beagle probe…ideal for detecting hidden hostiles in these surroundings. Beyond Josie, piloting his brand-new Caracal in his customary casual manner, was Initiate Aidan White. Based closely on the Clan Adder, the 35-ton machine carried a pair of particle cannon as its main armament - absolutely lethal against light and medium mechs, though their heat build-up and minimum range constraints could be a problem in these tight quarters. On her left, trotted a relatively new Hussar, piloted by Initiate Denise “Simba” Lyons. Although light on armour, it possessed incredible speed. Lyons' 400-D model also packed a serious punch, courtesy of the LB10-X autocannon in its centre torso, an ideal weapon in the hilly terrain they were traversing. Her scout unit was rounded out by a pair of brand new Raptor RTX1-0A light Omnimechs, both piloted by new recruits she had barely had time to get to know. Despite weighing a mere 25 tons apiece, their expensive extra-light power plants enabled them to mount a pair of large lasers. Their usual trio of small lasers had been removed to free up tonnage to add an extra ton-and-a-half to their nominal 4-ton armour allocation. If things got too rough, their pilots would have to rely on their speed, which topped out at 110km/h, to get them out of trouble. The six pilots instinctively slowed their mechs as they reached the edge of the basin. The ground here was much like the rest of the surrounding area – dusty with lots of loose rocks just waiting to catch an unwary pilot and send their mech tumbling to the bottom. They were about halfway down when their radar displays lit up. “Uh-oh! Black Dog Four to Lead – enemy lance approaching from our rear…five hundred metres and closing fast!” Fletcher heard the slight note of panic in Denise Lyons’ voice and fought to suppress her own sudden rush of fear. The pirates must have been powered down among the numerous rocky outcrops that lined the approach road to the base. At least one of them must have picked up her lance on passive sensors and given the signal to attack. Now they had the advantage of the high ground, while her lance was caught in the open, on unstable ground, with no cover for several hundred metres in any direction. This definitely wasn’t like anything she had encountered in the training simulators! Just then, her threat indicators lit up, filling the cockpit with their urgent beeping. A fraction of a second later, her mech rocked and stumbled as over a ton of the Havoc’s rear armour was vapourised by the twin large lasers of the pirate Blackjack that came sailing over the edge of the basin, riding on the plasma trails blazing from its quad jumpjets. Blessing her mech’s heavy armour, Fletcher yanked hard on her control sticks, bringing her wounded machine around as quickly as it would go, fighting the impulse to light off her own jumpjets to put some distance between her and her assailant. With nowhere to hide it would be a waste of effort. Better to stand and fight. Her battle computer’s War Book identified the enemy machine as an old BJ-1. Probably has single heat sinks…pulling off that move must’ve overheated him, she thought. Indeed, she thought she saw thin tendrils of smoke coming from the Blackjack’s torso. The pirate’s eyes widened in surprise as he watched his intended victim manoeuvre to face him. He had expected his ambush, concluding with solid hits for both his main weapons in the vulnerable rear torso area, to cripple his opponent. Now his heat warning alarm was going off and his mech responded sluggishly to the controls. He cursed as he realised he was not going to be able to avoid his opponent’s riposte. In desperation, he stamped on the pedals to activate his jumpjets again, in the hope of throwing his enemy’s aim. A wave of intense heat flooded the cockpit. Glancing at his HUD he saw his heat scale had climbed into the yellow. He stabbed the button to flush additional coolant through the Blackjack’s overtaxed heat sinks and made a mental note to try and leave at least one of these invaders’ mechs in salvageable condition. Imogen cursed as she let fly with both her mech’s extended range large lasers, only for her target to suddenly go airborne again. Her mood lifted as the mech faltered in its flight, a shower of sparks and shredded armour arcing from the Blackjack's rear torso. She heard a whoop over the lance’s radio channel and realised Denise had tagged the pirate with her Hussar's autocannon. “Nice shot, Simba!” she called out to her lancemate. “No problem boss – it looked like you could use a hand”, Lyons responded. More shouts came over the lance channel, as Aiden and Jo found themselves under attack. Andrews’ Beowulf staggered as a pirate Panther unleashed its particle cannon, striking her mech’s left torso. A roar overhead caused all the Coalition pilots to scan the sky nervously. A ruby lance reached down from the heavens and struck Aiden’s Caracal, followed by a pair of short-range missiles. The light mech rocked slightly under the attack, but the effects were more psychological than physical. “What the hell? Nobody mentioned these pirates had fighters!” he groused over the radio. “That’s not a fighter”, said Fletcher in a slightly awe struck voice, “That’s a LAM…a Wasp, if I’m not mistaken”. Although the Coalition had begun manufacturing its own LAMs in the last couple of years, they were very expensive and very few in number. Imogen had seen a Red Kite up close, but Land Air Mechs never failed to enthral her, especially when they were going through the conversion process, from fighter to mech, or vice versa. It was her dream to eventually pilot one. “Where the hell would a bunch of pirates get their grubby mitts on a fancy piece of kit like that?” wondered Aiden. “God knows. Maybe they got lucky and found an old Brian Cache or something. You know the stories about how the Star League left quite a few in this part of the ‘Riff? Maybe there’s a few still waiting to be found”. More shots rocked their mechs as the pirates closed in to press home their attack. |
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