 |
| "Big Bertha" |
Purvo, Capellan Confederation
19 April, 3050
The Stalker was an easily identified BattleMech. It's cumbersome, awkward stride drew it closer and closer to its new home in the Mech bays of VCG Complex even as two figures watched its approach. From their balcony, high above the main road approaching the facility, the infamous "egg-with-legs" was keenly scrutinized by two men. One of them was garbed in an embellished, red-trimmed long coat draped with decorative jade amulets. His elaborate hat bore a striking resemblance to a cicada. His fingernails and facial hair were both long but immaculately groomed. The man beside him was notably taller. He was clad in a black military uniform devoid of any fringe or decoration. It sported only a small rank insignia near its high collar.
"You are fortunate to have earned my aid and trust," the Mandarin said to the un-phased officer, "This man further stains his record with a BattleMech utilizing long range missiles. It is a cowardly tactic, but still, you say he will benefit us, and I trust you."
"I am fortunate indeed," Zhong Shao Zvolimir the Blackhand answered tersely, "As is the Mandarin, who now has a Battalion of experienced MechWarriors stationed in defense of his planet. This man will be an asset, I assure you."
The mandarin spun and smiled. A wicked, arrogant smile full of misplaced confidence and pride. Even though his right hand was no longer flesh and bone, Zvolimir could feel it's tremor. How it wanted to snap into action, seize this chattering idiot's throat, and squeeze until the life drained from his eyes. However, it was not a luxury his Gatekeepers could afford.
"Your operational plan is sound. He will help us execute it. I care not that he was born on the homeworld of our mortal enemy. He refused to secede when most of his fellows abandoned the Celestial Throne. He has suffered through backwater assignments without incident or complaint. He is, like many of us, an animal waiting to be released from his cage. We need only point the cage in the right direction first."
The mandarin turned his head with a scoff. One final glance at the lumbering 85-ton Stalker and he said with disdain, "Sharkomodo. It is a silly title."
Zvolimir didn't bother countering the point. How could a sniveling Noble like the Mandarin ever understand that bond of combat that earned a warrior a callsign? The very concept was too foreign for the Mandarin to grasp. His life was soft and combat was a crucible of fire. Names earned there were treasured, even if they were usual intended as good-natured humiliation. He has been the one who first contacted Sang Wei Gregor Zakalov. He had simply known, by his experience and instinct that this man would fit the Gatekeepers well.
"Yes," he replied at length, "If you can excuse me Mandarin, I have a MechWarrior to settle, an officer to introduce to his command, and a world to raid in the name of our blessed Chancellor."
"Shi shi!" the Mandarin waved, clearly irritated, "Go do your job Zhong Shao." With a bow, and one final moment of holding his hand in check, Zvolimir bowed slightly and turned on a heel to go perform tasks that actually mattered, and were required of him.
1st Company BattleMech Bay
Purvo, Capellan Confederation
19 April, 3050
The final few strides required the greatest care. The Mechbay was tight quarters, compounded by the fact that the Stalker maneuvered with all the grace of a pregnant yak. He passed rows of bays full of green-and-black painted BattleMechs. A pair of Cataphracts, a Hunchback, and the classic Cappellen-made Raven which looked quite a bit like its namesake. Following the guide lights of the astechs below, he backed "Big Bertha" into its new stall and started the power-down sequence.
Even just walking around, the heat inside of a BattleMech's cockpit was oppressive. It was stifling in fact, and despite his coolant vest and neurohelmet, he felt soaking wet and worn down. He re-checked the board and found everything in place. His hands pulled the helmet's cords from their panel and removed the hose that fed Freon into his vest from the nozzle it was fitted to, he grabbed the e-bag from under his seat and crawled from the command couch to the side hatch near his Mech's cockpit glass. The hatch was heavy, and hard to budge but he grunted and soon real sunlight poured in to blind him for a moment.
An astech was waiting there, on a hydraulic lift. The young man, no older than eighteen, helped pull the Neurohelmet up and off his head and shoulders. It was even clunkier than a salvage dive helmet, and weighed roughly the same 16 kilograms. His shoulders felt that weight lift gratefully. His neck, already stiff, snapped like dry spaghetti as he whipped his head left, then right. The astech blanched and Zakolov grinned. "Ahhhhh," he groaned out in relief. then he got a bottle of water from his e-bag and poured it over his short-haired head. The water, even tepid, was like a clear cold mountain stream in that moment. He hoisted the helmet now, and unfastened his vest so his chest could feel real air as well. As the lift began to lower, he could see a small group of men waiting to greet him at Bertha's left foot.
He knew his Commander, Zvolimir the Blackhand, from the trideo message that had served as his recruitment to the unit. The man was even taller in person, and more intense. Beside him stood a slight man. A man with slightly blown out brown hair and a pair of aviator glasses shielding his eyes. There was a heavy set man as well, and a fourth that simply looked like an extra on a reality show set in a swamp or trailer park. He even sported a true mullet and strode about with no shirt on whatsoever.
Stepping from the lift he offered a salute that was returned, and a nod to the others present. It was mullet who spoke first, in a twanged accent that he had never heard before.
"Call me Ugly Green man," he motioned to the Stalker, 'What is it? A Three-F? A Four-N? Sure got a lotta missile tubes on her."
"It's new," Zakolov answered with his best and most good-natured tone, "Right out of the Free World's League. A Five M. It's been modified, a lot, but it's a Five M at heart."
Ugly Green made a low whistle of appreciation, "That cost ya some C-Bills."
"It cost someone some c-bills, sure," Jason countered, "But I got this one out of St. Ives Cavaliers Mech bay when I bugged out to get home before they revolted."
The Gatekeepers present exchanged glances. Dark, angry glances that told volumes about how despised the very name St. Ives was here. Zakalov felt like an all-too-familiar pattern was about to emerge. Then a stern glance to the other men from Zhong Shao Zvolimir melted all of that uncertainty and unease like a direct order. It was an impressive display of respect. It was he who spoke next.
"I'm sorry your stay will be so short Sang Wei Zakalov, but duty calls. Get some food, rest if you can. In a few hours you get to meet your men and then we will all be heading for Federated Suns territory."
"Will I have some autonomy, as we discussed?"
"Some, not unlimited. You have much to prove Sang Wei. Chiefly, I expect you to prove my faith is well placed. I so loathe being wrong about someone once I commit to helping them."
"Yessir!" Jason stood fast anew. His snap to drew a laugh from the gathered officers.
"Well," Torturous blurted out in the aftermath of the laughter, "At least we know he understands rank and customs. That's better than others we have been forced to work with."
"If he makes it back," the heavy set man nodded once, "I might even bother to learn his name."
No comments:
Post a Comment