ARC I: THE KNIGHT’S COFFIN
“They called it the ‘Wanderfalke’—the Walking Falcon. And as I watched that sole Wanderfalke overlooking the broken defenses of the Confederacy, I wondered what its pilot was thinking at that moment, for he was the last mech that escaped just before the Aldorf Bridge was detonated. He must have been a fine pilot to survive that.”
- Journal entry of a Confederate Army Officer after the fall of Aldorf City.
+++
+++ Lieutenant Hans Hoffman +++
Confederation of Lotharingia - Haubliz City
2044 Common Year
[XXX Panzerkorp Süd]
[5. Leichte Mech-Brigade 'Großherzogin Amelie']
[12. Straf-Mech-Bataillon]
[E Company]
Lieutenant Hans Hoffman wouldn’t go down today without a good fight.
His six-legged Wanderfalke mech landed on the asphalt, sparks flying as it almost drifted. The enemy’s sluggish tank tried to turn its turret to aim at him, but a round was already slammed ready into Hans’ main gun by the Wanderfalke’s autoloader.
May you find peace.
He pulled the fire trigger.
The shot from his main gun silenced the Imperial behemoth, its gun lowering as puffs of smoke came out from it. Hans watched as their commander, burning in the inferno inside emerged from its hatch. His agonized scream echoed on the battlefield.
“Damn you! Burn to hell, Lotharingian!”
He didn’t understand his foreign Flandrish tongue, but he knew that the man cursed him when he heard the word “Lotharingian”. Yet Hans was merciful, as he gave him a final burst of machine gun fire from his mech’s double coaxials, ending his agony.
He looked around at the mess around him. The enemy soldiers had already retreated into the lanes and streets. All that was left was the corpses of those that he gunned down, the wrecks of their mechs and tanks, and the burning corpse of their commander.
A tiny smile grew on his face as he stared at his macabre art.
Truly, I’m despicable.
“Lieutenant!” Captain Adelyn von Wittenstein—their commanding officer, shouted at the comms. The usual aristocratic condescension was now gone in her voice. Almost as if she was truly concerned for his well-being at this very moment. “Lieutenant! Why has your platoon not retreated yet?! Why are you still deep in enemy lines?!”
Before Hans could respond, however, two allied Wanderfalke mechs of Einweg Company arrived behind him.
“Lieutenant,” Sergeant Franz Richter—another ace within his platoon, said, as his corresponding voice icon in Hans’ head-up display lit up. “Our platoon’s ambush position is possibly compromised.”
“They’re dropping arty on our positions,” Corporal Hedwig Volker—another one of his underlings in 1st Platoon, reported. “I think we gotta follow Miss Princess’ orders, sir. She already gave us a fallback line.”
“Haven’t the rest of our company already retreated?”
“They are retreating already, very fast too. Seems like our platoon stopped their spearhead element from interfering with our pullout from this sector. Still, we have to—”
All of their turrets turned into an approaching mech behind them. Eight-legged, slightly better armored, and with a bigger main gun—it was a Wanderadler Main Battle Mech. Captain Adelyn finally arrived.
“Seems like Miss Princess is here,” Hedwig quipped with pure venom. “I wonder what that newbie aristocrat wants now.”
“Have respect,” Franz said. “She’s still our commanding officer.”
“Captain, this is a dangerous—”
“You three will retreat, NOW!” her mech stopped, as her voice spoke through their comms. “No one’s dying in a pointless fight today. No one. And especially not you, Lieutenant.”
It seems she doesn’t understand the situation yet.
Their sector held an important highway that if captured easily, would completely derail the Lotharingian pullout in this district. With it, Hans knew they could use it to simply drive past the retreating elements of his brigade—the 5th Light Mech Brigade.
And with it, the rest of Einweg Company and the 12th Penal Mech Battalion. I’d rather die before that happens.
It was why he held on to this position hard with his platoon. Lose it, and they would be encircled.
Running wasn’t an option unless someone stayed as the rearguard.
“I don’t understand why you care so much about us,” Hedwig said, this time, on the company-wide comms, which meant she could hear it for herself. His venomous sarcasm. All of it finally exploded this time. “We’re just a bunch of dirty commoner convicts, no?”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Captain,” that silenced her from making any further comebacks. “Captain, you have to understand that someone has to threaten them in this sector to delay them from using that highway.”
“The Colonel, she already called for air cover to stop them. This is of no use.”
“There is no Lotharingian Air Force above Haubliz City today, Captain. You and I know that.” Hans kept his patience, as her naivety almost boiled his blood. “Someone has to stay.”
“But we…we already delayed them long enough, Lieutenant. We already did what we could do. I can’t order any of my men under my command to sacrifice more. It’s…”
“Then 1st Platoon shall retreat with you, Captain.”
“Lieutenant?!” Franz’s voice was almost furious. “No! Absolutely not! I’d rather die here with you than run with my tail behind me!”
“You will. The two of you will. Captain, if I die here, I recommend Sergeant Franz Richter as a suitable replacement for 1st Platoon’s commanding officer until you find a proper commissioned officer—”
“No! No!” Franz fiercely denied it. “I can still fight. We can still do this together—”
Multiple distant booms distracted all of them. The green icons of 1st Platoon, all under Hans’ command, most of them lined on or near the highway to ambush advancing Imperial armor, showed firing or reloading icons on Hans’ tactical map.
“There’s too many of them!” one of his underlings reported. “We downed at least five of them, and they’re retreating, but I’m afraid their artillery is about to rain on us, Lieutenant.”
Hans’ mech turned to face Franz’s mech. “No, we can't stay here any longer, Sergeant. Lead the retreat. Captain…” his turret turned at Adelyn’s mech. “Lead Einweg Company to their survival.”
She immediately voiced her protest. “Lieutenant, I can’t just abandon you here—”
“I trust you,” no more replies of opposition came from her. Hans knew that, unlike their previous COs, she cared for them, even though they were in a penal unit. She even fought knee-deep with her own mech with them—on the frontlines.
And Hans knew that she herself achieved six kills during their last engagement, even when she was but a newbie on the front. A fine pilot, and a fine officer. Sure, a bit overbearing, haughty, and prideful…
But he trusted her.
Her defeated voice replied. “I…Lieutenant, if you don’t come back…” Hans could swear that she was holding back tears. “I’ll absolutely make you regret it…”
Hans didn’t know that this woman valued his life this much. That was certainly a surprise. “How ominous,” he coldly replied as his mech’s chassis turned. “I’ll be off then.”
“Lieutenant, don’t you dare die…” Franz said, even when his mech didn’t follow Hans.
“I’ll try…” it was all he could say. “I’ll try.”
At last. Their icons on the tactical map finally turned around as they retreated, alongside the rest of his platoon. It’s just me now.
So many battles. So many fields of death. Not even two years into his service. Not two years since this blasted war started. Not two years since he was convicted of “disrespecting” her…
Who knew that the daughter of a Duchess can ruin you at a whim’s notice? He could shout at how unfair it was, but Hans had long given up.
This was his fate.
Stolen novel; please report.
To be the last one out.
And if not—the last one dead on this field if need be.
His mech finally lunged in the one direction left for him—forward into the fire.
+++
My company will escape…this time…
This time…
These words of vows escaped Hans’ mind. Again and again, as if it was a broken recorder, he vowed to ensure that conclusion to this battle.
Even when this city was nearly encircled.
Even when the rest of the XXX Southern Armored Corps was now on a full retreat.
Even when the elements of his own brigade were on full retreat.
Even when he himself ordered his own platoon to leave him as the final rearguard.
He’d hold them off from passing through this highway—to the last round.
I swear, this won’t be another Aldorf.
The Flandrians were all hot on the tail of the collapsing Lotharingian forces. Hans could not deduce the situation outside of Haubliz City—that would be something only the Colonel herself would know. But he could tell by the situation in his sector that things were bad.
It sorely reminded him of Aldorf City. When most of his company mates died. Left behind as a sacrificial rearguard till the last moment. Left behind as those bridges detonated.
Our company cannot afford any delays.
His mech stopped on a turn in the constricting, snow-strewn streets of Haubliz City.
If I’ll be the last one out, then so be it.
To always be one of the few survivors—he was tired of it.
The ace of the southern front awaited like a prowling hunter. His six-legged mech’s propulsion system stood ready for any quick movement that would be needed once his enemies appeared. The Army classified it as a “Light Legged Tank Destroyer”, a designation that Hans took to his heart when piloting his eighteen tonners of a mech.
The two bluish sensors on the cheeks of his Wanderfalke’s turret shone through the dark night, as it scanned for the Imperial invaders which he expected to appear on his head-up displays. Even with the gunfire and explosions across the city, his hearing wasn’t wrong. Those metallic rumbles. The sounds of their approaching engines.
Seems like a Murat MBM…and that’s definitely a Petain MBT too.
An armor-piercing round was prepared and primed for his use, just as an Imperial Flandrian behemoth crossed the street—a Murat Main Battle Mech. Unlike his six-legged mech, the Murat MBM was eight-legged. It was heavier. Well-armored on its turret. And most of all—
One shot, one kill.
Dead when he pulled the trigger on his control stick.
Its turret, circular by design, reminiscent of Flandrian Main Battle Tanks of this day and age, flew to the skies after a violent explosion in its ammunition racks. The Flandrian soldiers that accompanied it scattered in panic, just as two supporting Petain MBTs rushed forward to retaliate against his attack.
But Hans already foresaw that. His mech jumped away from its original position, just in time when two anti-tank rounds flew straight into it—rounds that would have obliterated his unarmored vehicle had he been there.
The double coaxial heavy machine guns of his turret opened up, suppressing the Imperial infantry ahead of him.
All as two smoke canisters dropped on the street, obscuring their vision as his mech disappeared.
Hans may be outnumbered, but he was known as the Falcon Ace for a reason. His mech drove rapidly through the battle-ridden lanes, the small profile and nimble mobility of his mech fully concealing him.
Two grappling cables from his chassis fired, which allowed him to scale a relatively small apartment. Upon reaching its rooftop, his Wanderfalke lunged forward, jumping roof to roof to flank his foes.
They’re still trying to react.
His gun sights fell to his targets below. They were still trying to recover the crew of the downed Murat MBM, all while their two MBTs sat in the open, their turrets turning left and right on the streets.
Heh…Flandrian morons. His turret turned and his gun depressed to aim at one of them. They should have known where I am.
Another shot rang out from his mech. The blowout panels on the turret of the Petain MBT below released a fiery inferno into the skies, as they all turned in his direction. But this time, he needed no reason to not charge forward.
Two anti-tank missiles fired by their infantry flew straight into him. Yet his mech jumped off the apartment, dropping down into the streets as their missiles slammed on a nearby building instead.
A hail of rifle fire greeted his advance, as his mech’s legs clocked a speed of sixty-five kilometers in just eight seconds after landing, almost screeching as sparks flew with each step as he pushed it into its utter limits. A shot from their Petain MBT boomed, yet his mech nimbly dodged it—the enemy anti-tank round nearly grazing the side of his mech’s low and angular turret.
Power surged into its legs, as his mech jumped forward—and Hans could almost imagine in glee the terror the Imperial soldiers below must be in, as they watched his grayish, almost demonic mech jump and pounce on their remaining Petain MBT.
Especially when they finally saw the glistening insignia on the lower side of his turret—a simple peace symbol.
He pulled the trigger.
The firing pin of his main gun struck the primer of his loaded round, releasing a long depleted uranium penetrator that began spinning due to its fins—stabilizing it for its short journey. The sabots around it detached in milliseconds once it was in the air, as it careened straight into the armored cheeks of the enemy turret.
Armor that wouldn’t defeat a dense depleted uranium penetrator that could penetrate even eight hundred millimeters of armor thickness—sending a storm of spalling into the crew of the Imperial tank, finally silencing it.
But Hans didn’t stop—his instincts predicted in advance the incoming hostile mechs that were rushing into his position.
The Flandrians were deranged, he could tell, as heavy artillery strikes dropped around him. That’s worse than danger close. He scoffed as his mech jumped from rubble to rubble. They still had infantry near their downed armor. They’re firing on their own men just to kill me.
His mech drifted on the roof of one of the rooftops that overlooked the highway—all as another round was prepared by his autoloader. His gloved hands held his control sticks tightly, as his remote-controlled turret tracked the advancing Murat MBMs on the road.
He aimed for their lead vehicle.
Seems like I’d be downing another dozen before I die.
He pulled the trigger, as they panicked on the road. Another round was slammed into his main gun, as his turret shifted to the last tank on their convoy that was desperately backing down.
Another shot boomed—now all of them were stuck on the highway for him to feast on.
They wouldn’t give him mercy once he was done.
He wondered how much longer he would last. But their artillery answered as it struck block after block as his main gun sang its chorus of death, downing tanks and mechs one after another methodically. Their artillery didn’t hit him yet, but he knew they would—eventually.
Not much longer then.
Yet he laughed as another Murat MBM exploded on the highway.
Better make the most of it then.
+++
His mech made its final pained crawls. The battle had been short—but demanding.
The propulsion system was already banged up badly by that heavy artillery strike. In fact, most of the city, and the areas around him were being demolished by heavy metal rain all around him.
Nine rounds left. He painfully thought, looking at the half-damaged displays of his mech. No more friendlies. There were already holes in his armor, after a few close passes with their artillery. My propulsion system is malfunctioning. His hands also bled, as some of the spalling rained on him inside whenever his armor cracked from the artillery. And I’m almost surrounded. Deep inside enemy lines, there were so many red icons on his tactical map, slowly converging on him.
I guess I’ll die here then…
Yet he pushed on. He had held them for twelve minutes already. His company mates, his platoon, they must have made it far already. He only needed to buy more time, and surely…surely they’ll live.
Another shot from his main gun boomed, surprising a Petain MBT that was hunting for him and disabling it. So far, his game of hide and seek and mobile ambushes worked well, but his mech’s legs were already too badly mauled to keep it mobile much longer.
Hans sprayed his machine gun on the scattered soldiers ahead of him, as he pulled his mech back. Then—an artillery strike slammed into a building just on his side.
His mech painfully limped backward, as its turret desperately turned left and right to fire its coaxials, desperately stopping the horde of Flandrian infantry that attempted to storm him. A shot from one of them—someone carrying a recoilless gun, perforated his cockpit, and Hans screamed in pain as some of the spalling and hot jets painfully implanted themselves in his legs and lower torso.
He finally gave up.
The Flandrian infantry cautiously approached his downed mech, many of them looking in fear and hatred at the number of kill rings on his main gun. Almost four dozen, all of which indicated his kills of Imperial armor. They wanted to capture the Falcon Ace.
Hans painfully picked up his pistol, just as some of them began climbing the Peacemaker, the name of his mech. He pointed it at the hatch on top of him, just as they forcefully opened it.
A shot rang and dropped one of the Flandrian soldiers before the hatch closed back again. Hans wheezed painfully, still unable to properly move inside. This was the end, that he knew. That man must have opened it to ask for his surrender.
And he shot him.
Damned invaders. Filthy Imperials. He thought. I’d never surrender to any of you.
The hatch was opened again, just as pineapple grenades fell into his cockpit. Three of them in fact. All of them primed to explode.
His life flashed before him…just as he laughed. His final thoughts—the chocolate rations this morning sucked.
The Flandrian soldiers ran away, just as a tiny boom from the inside was heard. The Peacemaker was finally silenced.
The dark burning night over the ruins of Haubliz City settled—his main gun still slightly pointed to the sky.
One could only wonder if the Peacemaker found peace at last…
+++
Do not despair…
I’ll put you back together…
Oktagon-Systeme Wanderpanzer II Falke Ausführung H (OS 2.5) main control software booting up…
Internal modules online…
Controls restored…
Sensors restored…
Routine scan commencing…
HUD booting up…
A glowing hand caressed Hans’ heart. Its warmth soothed his weary soul, as Hans heard an ethereal, feminine voice.
Wake up…my child.
You still have a chance.
A new chance.
For you.
Yet…another cold and otherworldly voice stepped in. Unlike the warm touch of the previous soul, this new one corrupted as it pulled him in an embrace away—possessively.
Its dark, feminine giggles were faintly heard by Hans’ unconscious soul.
No. He’s mine.
Mine.
He’ll live better under my guidance.
Goddess of Truth…this soul from your world.
Is now mine.
[WELCOME TO AESTIA, TERRAN SOUL]
[SYSTEM INTEGRATION: COMPLETE]
[SYSTEM CLASS SET—MECH PILOT (VANGUARD)]