Marshall Eric Nylund was a former armoured officer who graduated to mech warrior when his J Edgar Hovertank brought down a pirate Phoenix Hawk. He had piloted the Phoenix Hawk to back up conventional forces always starved for mecha assistance on the worlds of the Taurian Concordat that saw raiders far more frequently than mechwarriors. He was in charge of determining if any of the recent actions merited official Taurian Defense Force recognition in the form of awards. There was a lot of push back for former Capellan house troops being made Taurian citizens rather than just foreign hirelings, but the Taurian Brand made them Taurians by law and by moral imperative. Selling it to the public wasn’t his job. It was hers.
Lois Lane was the most famous reporter of the Taurian Free Press, a paper that had been an actual paper founded during the Star League Occupation to keep the Taurian citizens abreast of every atrocity the SLDF committed, and every victory, however small, Taurian resistance fighters won. In the years since, their reputation for being both loyal to the Concordat and free, even from government interference, made them a voice the Taurian in the street listened to. That being said, when the Protector himself demands she covers his precious Vindicators whom the higher ups at the TDF all seem to think are the greatest thing since sliced bread for reasons no one will talk about, you go. While her editors were demanding she provide a fluff piece to sell the Taurian people on these new mercenaries, she only went along with the mission on three conditions; she got read into whatever the TDF really loves them for, she gets access to all the Marshall’s briefings in person, and she gets final approval of any press releases in any form ( after military censors of course because the enemy is watching ). Frankly if they were the usual sort of scum that fled the Inner Sphere for the periphery one step ahead of the law that should have caught them, she was not going to turn them into heroes for an impressionable generation of cadets they would be instructing in the new models rolling off the line from Jansen’s Hold and elsewhere.
Lois turned to the Marshall and asked him for the hundredth time what made these Vindicated so damned special. They were in free fall from their jumpship. The Union that brought them was running full of Diverse Optics 18 Medium Lasers and Delta Dart LRM-15 produced by the main factory at Sterope and diverted to support production of Taurian Vindicators and Javelins at Jansen’s Hold. That alone made Lois’s reporter nose twitch. Javelin’s didn’t have medium lasers at all, and Vindicators had only one. Neither machine had LRM-15, the Javelin mounted twin SRM-6, and the Vindicator a single LRM-5. If someone gutted a Javelin to put in a single LRM-15 it would be a very fragile fire support mech with no staying power and no chance of surviving against a fast light mecha who got inside LRM minimum firing range. If that is what the Vindicated sold the TDF, then she would expose the fraud, non-disclosure agreement be damned! Something was requiring all those medium lasers though, and just one per Vindicator couldn’t require any from Sterope as Jansen’s Hold could produce some of their own. Someone was hiding something not just from her, but the Taurian people.
“So, we are past the shadow of the gas giant and out of communications with the Jumpship. From here on out nothing you say to me can get offworld. Now, I have come out here for your dog and pony show for your pet mercenaries. I want you to show me why anyone in the TDF should care about some Capellan runaways even Maximillian Liao wants dead.” Lois turned her blazing blue eyes on Marshall Nylund.
The balding rawboned man just smiled and held up a battle ROM. He slid the mini disc into the reader in the console between them in the Union passenger lounge and the holo suite in the table sprang to light. A series of Davion assault mecha were moving down the city streets. Lois recognized the mecha at a glance. An Atlas anchored the lance, one hundred tons of death’s headed menace with an AC-20 autocannon that was the most devastating single weapon mobile mecha could carry, doing as much damage as an artillery shell, twice the damage of a PPC, and with an LRM-20 to blast anyone who tried to run away, and a few medium lasers for cutting apart anyone who wasn’t worth another clip of autocannon ammunition. The Atlas was king of the battlefield, any battlefield, and everyone knew it.
Beside the big machine marched a Victor, a lighter jump capable assault mech at eighty tons also with an AC-20, but only backing it up with other short range weapons in an SRM-4 and a pair of medium lasers. Two more mecha completed the lance, both devastating heavy machines in an Orion at 75 tons with a medium autocannon 10, an LRM-15 for long range, SRM-4 for short range, two medium lasers and enough armour and heat sinks to make firing a mix of weapons at all ranges easy, it was probably more dangerous than the larger Victor. The last machine was little more than weapons and feet, a stalker. 85 tons of armless menace, it boasted twin LRM-10 for long range, equal combined to the Atlas twenty tube system, a pair of large lasers for mid range combat, and close range it packed twin SRM-6 and four medium lasers.
This lance alone massed 340 tons, boasted more weapons than a battalion of conventional tanks and almost as much armour. Against these stood a lance of the Vindicated. Three of their signature Vindicators and one of the new model Javelin’s they had stolen the base plans for, and worked with Jansen’s Hold design teams to adapt for Taurian production. Total mass of the Vindicated lance was 170 tons, exactly half the enemy. Picking a winner wasn’t all about numbers, but in the absence of prepared defenses or overwhelming terrain advantages, the fight should be short, and almost one sided. The heavy and assault machines could take what the Vindicators had to dish out at long range, with the Javelin helpless, and once entering the range of the big autocannons, every one of those mecha would be scrap at a single trigger pull.
Lois looked at the footage and sighed. She hated doing heroic death pieces. Sure they were inspirational, but it convinced generations of impressionable youth that dying in battle was the point, when Taurus needed its warriors to fight and survive. Winning wars required living warriors, not noble corpses.
She massaged her forehead. “So now I get to watch some foreign mercenaries die, and try to make Taurians give a shit.” Lois muttered.
Marshall Nylund laughed. “Two were mercenaries, two were Taurian trainees. Both lost their mecha, but lived.”
Lois lips twisted into a bitter smile “But the money fighters walked away clean right? Two of ours risked their lives while your highly paid mercenaries ran away like they did from the Capellan Confederation. I have no problem telling the people about our cadets heroism, but I am not covering up a loss by our mercenaries and hiding their sacrificing our people.”
Marhasll Nylund smiled. “Oh the mercenaries lost a machine, and a pilot, but we won the fight.”
Lois head snapped up. “Bullshit!”
The marshal simply pressed play.
The footage was like something out of an Immortal Warrior holovid. Something from a highlight reel from the Solaris VII championship fights, not a Davion raid on a Taurian production center no one in the Inner Sphere will ever hear or care about.
The Vindicator struck at the Atlas with a PPC and wave after wave of LRM, way more than the Vindicator’s stock LRM-5 should allow. She counted fifteen missiles in the salvo. It took a return salvo of twenty LRM, peppering its armour, only a dozen hit, but the mecha showed no intention of falling, rather it charged forward entering the deadly range of the Atlas secondary weapons.
The Vindicator ducked behind a building just at the edge of medium range, trading a PPC blast and LRM-15 strike for a clean miss with the LRM-20 of the Atlas who was pushing his slower machine into a run to close the distance, and his targeting suffered for it. Ducking behind the building, the Vindicator slowed, and the Atlas reached the corner ready to bring its matchless close in weaponry into play. No medium mecha alive could face the Autocannon 20, SRM-6 and four medium lasers the Atlas brought to bear, and the Vindicator had foolishly stopped just past the corner.
The Atlas fired as it rounded the corner, trading accuracy for speed, knowing that any hit from the autocannon would end the fight, and the secondary weapons would be enough to capitalize on the damage done by the earlier long range missiles to do the same on their own.
The Vindicator pilot had other plans and had fired his jump jets when the Atlas rounded the corner. Soaring into the air on torso mounted plasma jets the Vindicator soared above shoulder level of the huge mecha then seemed to turn in mid air and lash out with a perfectly timed kick to the death’s head cockpit to crush it. Killing the Atlas pilot and leaving it to crumple to the ground.
The pilot settled from the crash, limping as its leg actuators failed on landing, as it limped into a turn to face the Stalker. A single PPC and a trio of medium lasers lanced into the Stalker, the PPC savaging the left leg, while two medium lasers carved into the massive center torso and the third deflected harmlessly as it grazed the cockpit. In return, twelve short range missiles corkscrewed in on the Vindicator, eight hit, covering it with explosions. As the explosions forced the machine to stagger back, two large lasers carved into left and right torso, followed by a quartet of medium lasers, three of which hit right, center, and left torso, the fourth missing high over the left shoulder as the Vindicator was already falling, its engine hit twice and forced into emergency shut down. The Stalker moved on like the ponderous unstoppable juggernaut it was designed to be, but the Atlas also lay dead where it fell.
Lois stopped the footage. “That was a cadet? He looked like a master at that Vindicator. How did he get that good?”
Marshall Nylund grinned. “His mother is a Panther, his older sister inherited the family machine, but they have similar movement profiles, are only ten tons different in mass and both specialize in the arm mounted PPC and have equivalent range jump jets. The mercenaries started with good material, and trained him up to THAT. The Marshal said, rewinding and replaying the casual head kick to the Atlas. A perfect Death From Above.
The second video was harder to watch. A Javelin was being hounded by a Victor. A 35 ton mecha being chased by an 80 ton mecha in a city should involve the 35 ton mecha running for its life, as the Javelin stock model had light armour and a pair of SRM-6 which could devastate a light mech, threaten a medium and only slightly annoy a heavy or assault mecha, but the Victor’s AC-20 on its own could rip limbs off the Javelin with any hit, and its secondary weapons of SRM-4 and paired medium lasers together equaled the total damage of the Javelins twin SRM-6, with the Victor having the armour to make that exchange all day long, and the Javelin to be lucky to survive a single strike. Unfortunately, The Javelin was tasked with defending the city. It had to stop the Victor. It had to fight.
The Victor charged the Javelin, “knowing” neither mecha was in range of the other, and received a surprise. The Javelin backed away slowly, matching the Victor’s running pace at a backward walk, and lancing out with a PPC to carve deeply into the mecha’s center torso.
Lois stopped the replay and snapped. “Wait a second, the Javelin doesn't have a PPC, it weighs as much as both SRM and its ammunition, plus the thing could barely walk and shoot without overheating!” Lois protested. Then she looked at the figures again. “Besides, aren’t they out of even PPC range in this shot?” She said, checking the range figures.
Marshall Nylund smiled. “Its worse than you think. That PPC is half again hotter than the standard model, but it can hit about a third farther out. That is one of the gifts the Vindicated brought to us, it is one of the reasons the TDF loves them so much. That Extended Range PPC is a game changer.”
Lois frowned. “Half again hotter, then this guy is doomed. His only advantages are range and speed, but firing will make him run hot enough to slow down. Once the Victor gets in range, it’s all over. Plus, there is a decent chance heat will shut him down before it even gets that close.” She muttered.
Yet as she watched, the Javelin scored twice more, keeping the pace, and keeping the Victor at range. The Victor pilot, no fool, cut down an alley at a walk and opted to play hide and seek to close, rather than continuing a charge while taking fire.
Lois shuddered. This could not end well for the Javelin pilot. The advantages all laid with the Victor. As the range closed, the Victor only had to get lucky once, and the Javelin needed to wear down an enemy with several times its own armour.
They clashed twice, the Javelin pilot relying on sprinting as it ran circles around the Victor, trying for a back shot where its PPC could get past the thin rear armour and into the big mecha’s internals where it could end the fight. The Victor in turn tried to get a clean shot with its AC-20 to end the fight.
The first exchange was a surprise to everyone. The Javelin caught the Victor from the left flank as they passed opposite ends of the same alley. The PPC crossed just in front of the Victor’s chest, and Lois frowned as the Javelin’s supposedly only weapon missed, but two medium laser blasted from the left torso to slice deeply into the Victor’s left arm. The Victor tried to match the torso twist and pivot, but eighty tons has a lot more inertia than thirty five and it did not have its left torso SRM in line when it fired, and the missiles blasted the alley wall rather than the Javelin. The two arm mounted Sorrenson medium lasers slashed into center and right torso of the Javelin, making an even exchange of fire, in a fight where that was a win for the Victor.
The second clash showed the Javelin still seeking to flank the Victor left side, and this time the Javelin was close to succeeding. PPC and laser fire cored into the left torso and left arm, stripping the left arm of its last armour and shattering one medium laser, while slicing lightly into the left torso armour. Another exchange on that side and the Victor risked blasting through the arm mounting socket to the left torso where the Short Range Missile ammunition was stored. The weakness of the Victor was the left torso and right torso both held ammunition for cannon or missiles, so a breach there risked ammuntion explosion.
The Victors snap shot with the failing arm missed, but three of the four SRM-4 carved into the Javelin’s right leg, stripping half its armour away, proving the mecha still had teeth.
The Javelin sprinted away before the big autocannon could be brought to bear, but the continued chewing on the left flank was getting dangerously close to working.
The Javelin pilot cirlced for the kill, closing in on the Victor from the left flank again, pivoting sharply out of an alley and into the street to what should have been the Victor’s left flank, if only the Victor hadn’t laid a trap by walking backwards. A good pilot, and the Victor was nothing if not that, could walk backwards by camera as fast as forwards through the cockpit screen. By walking backwards, he drew the attack on his wounded “left flank” to the actual right side of his mecha, with virginal armour, and the dreaded class 20 Pontiac autocannon.
“It’s all over rookie” The Victor pilot taunted as the Autocannon came up, and the Javelin pilot burst into a sprint, blasting PPC and twin medium lasers into the Victor.
Everything hit.
The Javelin’s right arm was not just shredded, it was torn off. The PPC hit center torso while the medium lasers hit the Victor right arm and right leg. Both pilots had to fight their gyro’s as over a ton of armour exploded from their machines, but the Javelin only ran faster directly at the Victor.
Moving faster than an oncoming train, the Javelin was at close to 96kph when the Victor decided to swing his left battlefist to behead the light mecha that dared to charge it. Like a master martial artist, the Javelin pilot leaned forward and lunged upward, ducking inside the Victor’s punch, even as the big machine overbalanced from the miss and tilted forward. The two cockpits connected with a world ending crash, but the Javelin lead with the armoured structural arch of its cockpit top, and met the Victors wide open central clear windscreen. The Javelin’s cockpit was shattered, but mostly functional. The Victor pilot was, mostly goo.
Lois looked “A head but? The mercenaries are teaching our pilots to head but assault mecha? Are they insane?
Marshall Nylund shrugged. “Our pilot lived. If it’s stupid and it works, it isn’t stupid.”
The last two fights were brutal. The Orion met two Vindicators, a pair of PPC and single LRM-15 traded with an AC-10 and LRM-15 as the Orion focused on the Vindicator that had LRM for both his weapons. If the Orion pilot was worried the big Stalker would take a while to get within range, he didn’t show it. Twice the machines exchanged fire, and the Vindicator with the LRM finally lost its own PPC to an autocannon salvo that tore off its arm. That should have been the tipping point of the battle, but the second Vindicator had now closed.
A single PPC and six medium lasers played over the Orion, and the right torso armour stripped away by PPC fire let in two medium lasers that carved through internal structures and entered the autocannon ammunition bin. Internal ammunition explosions savaged the Orion, and its pilot ejected ahead of his engine explosion.
The celebration was short lived as twin LRM-10 salvo from the Stalker just entering range carved into the Vindicator cockpit and center torso.
Turnign to face the new foe, the twin Vindicator’s fired a single PPC and LRM-15 that would bear as the Stalker brought both LRM and two large lasers to bear on the lead Vindicator.
The Vindicator’s PPC savaged the right leg that had earlier taken another PPC hit, but the LRM 15 peppered the opposite torso and found only virgin armour. The twin LRM-10 savaged right arm, and left arm, but it was the large lasers that ended the fight. One carved into the center torso, stripping it of most of its protection. The second carved through the remainder of the transplex of the already damaged cockpit, burning through not only the remaining armour, but the internal structure, electronics, and pilot. The Vindicator fell bonelessly to the ground, dead as its pilot.
The Stalker turned, unconcerned to face the Vindicator with the LRM 15 and no PPC, content to close to close range with the lighter machine and batter it into a similar fate as its brother, and the last Vindicator strode forward into medium range, accepting the imbalanced exchange with equanimity.
The Stalker, aware of its heat burden from earlier, cut its LRM and large lasers out of the mix, and fired both SRM-6 and all four medium lasers at their maximum range, trading accuracy for heat efficiency and damage. The Vindicator fired its LRM-15, but added not only its expected head mounted medium laser, but a pair of center torso medium lasers as well.
One SRM-6 and two medium lasers hit the Vindicator. Its center torso took four of the six missiles, right and left torso each taking the slash of a medium laser, its center torso now free of any armour at all, exposing engine and gyro to any further fire. It would not be coming. The LRM 15 and head mounted medium laser tracked into the same leg that had already taken multiple PPC strikes, and tore through what little armour was left, and ate through the ferro titanium bones and cut the delicate myomer psuedomuscles, cutting the knee acutator completely and sending the armless mecha into a face first tumble to the pavement, face down, all weapons pointed at the ground, and helpless.
The Vindicator pilot did not ask for surrender for the killer of its partner, and coldly poured laser fire into the Stalkers back, detonating the SRM ammunition, sympathetic explosions gutting the engine, and blowing through the cockpit and trapped pilot with all the mercy of a Taurian buzzard.
Lois looked at the Marshall and cocked her head. “Okay, that I can work with, but are you sure this hasn’t been doctored? There is no way they mount that much weaponry in a Vindicator without either overheating or having tissue for armour, neither of which seem to be true, what am I missing?”
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The Marshall smiled. “The Vindicated discovered an old Taurian field upgrade dropship from the Star League War of Oppression. It had technology we developed to fight the spheroid aggressors, both Davion and the Hegemony’s precious Star League. They brought double heat sinks twice as good as the standard, PPC that hit at even longer ranges, and an engine both the Javelin and Vindicator use that is half the weight of the standard. it allows us to pack the punch of a much heavier machine into something we can produce in numbers, and in a size class our pilots actually have experience using.”
Lois nodded, okay, but it I keep all the secret stuff out, I don’t really have a hook for my story.” She shrugged. “Not one for Taurians anyway.” Her people were, odd, by the standards of more civilized people.
She faced the Marshal. “I need to interview the pilots, on film, no censors. I will steer clear of anything you don’t want the public to know about.”
Interview 1 “Not what it looks like”
Lois looked at Mitch Haverson, a sunken chested rail thin twitch looking man who ought to be smoking a hand rolled cigarette riding a tractor rather than wearing a Vindicated Mercenary Company mech warrior undress uniform. He looked like a thousand hillbilly farmers she had met throughout the Concordat, the steady salt-of-the-earth type that built the Concordat, not any kind of glory hound. Yet the picture of his perfect Death From Above was the move of a showboater, an elite warrior sure, but an ego driven glory hound.
“That was the most perfect Death From Above I have ever seen, even in holodrama. You kicked an Atlas to death with a Vindicator less than half its tonnage. Why don’t you tell me all about it. I am sure the whole Taurian Concordat is dying to know how it felt to kick Davion’s biggest death dealer right in the teeth.”
Working his hands over his buzz cut, Mitch turned to the Marshall who was observing the interview.
“Look, I can talk about the PPC right, its on the record now?” Mitch asked, and the Marshall nodded. The whole Concordat was to be told the new weapons developed long ago here in the Concordat were back in production, and being fielded even now across the Concordat. The program had been under way for years now, and rumours were already spreading.
“Okay, well the whole thing is not what it seems. I didn’t try for no death from above bullshit. That was kind of like, plan C.
I was up against an Atlas right? I mean, he’s a big target, slow, and only really got the one long range weapon, that LRM-20. Sure he has more armour and more tubes in his long range missile system, but my PPC actually has better range, and I’m faster.
I planned to snipe at long range until he was out of ammo, then back off until he went past and close behind him, forcing him to turn to face me and offer his back to the rest of the lance, or offer me his back while he gunned for the rest of the lance. I have more LRM ammo than him, and my PPC has a lot more range than the two medium lasers that shoot out the back. I figured to wear him down.
I didn’t figure he would try to fit that fat bastard into an alley I barely fit in, so plan A was to carve a piece of him as he went past with my PPC and medium lasers. If I even caught a hint of him turning to face the alley with that big cannon, I would back out the other end of the alley and wait until later. I had zero intention of going mano a mano with a frigging Atlas!” Mitch said, holding out his hands in a clear plea to understand he was not, in fact, an idiot.
Lois looked more interested now, not hearing bragging but an actual defensive response to her attempted praise. She decided to see what the truth was, the Protectors desire for a propaganda piece be damned, there was a story here.
Lois probed. “But the Atlas pilot actually made the alley mouth at a run, before you had backed far enough away that ducking out of the alley was possible. With the Atlas filling the alley mouth, there wasn’t room to go around him. So, tell me Mitch, in your own words, what happened next?”
Mitch ran his hands over his buzz cut one more time then pointed a finger at her.
“Look, its not what it looks like. I am neither an idiot nor a glory hound. My mom is a Panther pilot and Panther’s are light mecha with a punch above their weight class. They pack a PPC just like my Vindicator and have jump jets, almost like my Vindicator. They have the same range right, but they are in the legs. You see the thing about jump jets is that you can jump over an enemy and get a shot at the thin rear armour. Your average Wolverine or Phoenix Hawk lives for this shit, but in a Panther you can’t because the damned Lords Light PPC has the whole minimum range thing. The beam isn’t stabilized until about ninety meters out and if you fire too close you will fry the damned thing.
Now what is in my Vindicator is a Kinslaughter Extended Range PPC. It doesn’t just hit out a third farther, it is coherent right out of the barrel. Hell, you can push it right up against the hull and melt your way through. I wasn’t planning any bullshit death from above. It almost never works, and if it does, it usually frags your mech up just as bad. I was planning to jump over him, twist sideways so I could land side on and reach back with my PPC and back shoot the Davion varmint like he deserves.”
Mitch said proudly. Lois looked at the mid flight pivot, then the swift kick to the head. She replayed the footage for Mitch, then pointed to the kick.
“But that isn’t what happened, is it Mitch. How did it go down, why did you end up pulling off such a perfect Death From Above headshot on a Davion Atlas?” Lois purred, knowing the hook to the story and the answer to her question were about to be handed to her.
Mitch sighed.
“I told you I trained on my mom’s Panther right? Well the only difference in the Vindicator’s jump jets is that the Vindicators are in the torso, not the legs. On reflex, because jumping a hundred ton behemoth in a back alley isn’t something you train for or plan, I jumped and started to twist my torso before remembering the damned jets in a Vindicator are in the torso. Once I started to twist my torso, I started to drift right, and I was no longer going to clear the goddamned head. It was just grinning at me, smug Davion prick, because I was going to catch on the damned thing and tumble over his head an crash. So plan C, I figured to try to swing the leg up and over that big skull head of his, but I didn’t have the clearance and ended up kicking his teeth in.
Kind of figured out half way through winding up that I wouldn’t clear the cockpit, and switched to ‘fuck it, lets kick the bastard’ as maybe plan D or something. Anyway, that one worked. I stuck the landing, kind of. I lost most of my armour kicking his cockpit in, and a bit more landing. Then that Stalker decided to play one punch with me at close range, and frankly his was better and I woke up in hospital.”
Lois beamed. That was it. This was the Concordat she loved. Salt of the earth men and women doing the best they had with what they could produce themselves, going up against the Davion war machine and coming out on top. He wasn’t a glory hound, he was a Taurian too stubborn to give up, and too smart not to find a way to win.
“Oh I think that is even better Mitch. The truth is always better.”
Interview 2 “It’s worse than you think”
Mechwarrior Dara Grey looked like a librarian cosplaying a mechwarrior. She wore the Vindicated undress mechwarrior uniform so well it almost looked like the dress version. Dark hair cut in a pixie bob, and large glasses covering deep intelligent eyes, her face conveyed an intelligence that belied the savage run and gun battle ended with a head but against a mecha almost three times her mass.
Lois looked at the beaming Dara, then over at Marshall Nylund as if to ask “Can this little librarian really be the hard charging natural born killer in the video?
Marhall Nylund began laughing softly and said to Lois “Oh it is so much worse than you think. I’ll let you experience the joy of this for yourself. Don’t worry Dara, our new production Javelin and the ER PPC are on the record now, so you can talk about it.”
Dara blinked owlishly, unaware of what made the Marshall laugh. Lois looked intrigued.
“So Dara, I was impressed with the courage it took to go up against a Victor in a Javelin. Most pilots would be terrified to face one of Davion’s favourite city fighters in its favored terrain. You must be very brave.”
Dara shook her head. “No, I am really not. Brave gets people killed. I am a technician that was brought over to work with the Vindicated on the Javelin project. I was trained as Wasp pilot as part of my militia training, and was a fairly good scout, but there are old Wasp pilots and bold Wasp pilots but no old bold Wasp pilots. Cowards report enemy positions, brave people cost irreplaceable battlemech and die without even getting off a proper contact report.”
Lois blinked, that speech not matching what she had seen on the battle ROM at all.
“But you were piloting the Javelin. Quite aggressively too.” Lois probed.
Dara shook her head. “Not at all. Aggression is something light mecha cannot afford. Furthermore, this machine represents the pinnacle of losttech, the technology our ancestors developed themselves to stand against the dogs of House Davion and Liao who could not bear to see a people choosing to live free of their tyranny, and the Star League that murdered whole worlds to enslave us. The Kinslaughter Extended Range PPC was our counter to the weapons the Star League could field that we couldn’t hope to match, and the technology backing it allowed even a light mecha like the Javelin test bed we made to demonstrate it, strong enough to match any medium mecha the Inner Sphere produces.”
Lois looked into the rapturous face of Dara and realized she was one of those technophiles that had lost herself in the ancient lore of the weapons of the fallen age, and been willing to pay any price, including climbing into the cockpit and fighting, be part of bringing that technology back into existence.
Lois tried to get the conversation back on track. “So that wasn’t courage, facing a Victor with a Javelin?”
Dara pushed her glasses back up her nose and smiled softly. “Pure cowardice. The Victor is a bad design typical of Davion. It spends all its efforts on close range combat, and with my ER PPC, I don’t have to do that. The safest place for me is directly in front of him, at the edge of my medium range where my indifferent gunnery skill is less of an issue, but out of range of his weapons. After all, my Javelin can walk backwards faster than he can run forwards.”
Dara smiled as if this was in fact, logic.
Lois pushed. “But he didn’t stay charging at you, did he.”
Dara frowned. “Well, even Davion’s aren't’ that stupid. When he figured out I could pick him apart at range, he started cutting back and forth through the side streets. If he got to the main reactor complex, he could take out power to the city and set us back years and billions of C bills. I had no choice but to engage more closely, but even then, if I stuck to his left flank, I shouldn’t have to face his autocannon.”
Lois allowed the film of the first two clashes to show, watching Dara frown as her PPC miss was shown again. Her indifferent gunnery was clearly a sore spot for her as a mechwarrior.
“You did good work, using your superior mobility to keep wearing down his left flank, and another exchange or two and you might have had him, even with the tonnage disparity. But he trapped you didn’t he mechwarrior Grey?”
Dara frowned again. “I was tracking him my magscan and and infra red, mostly magscan through the buildings and didn’t see him turn around. I was out of space. If he cleared the next block he would be in range of the cities main reactor and could set us back a decade of development with a few salvo of that damned autocannon. If I closed in on his damaged flank and hit, I had a 35% chance of taking him down before he could bring his cannon on line and a fifty percent chance of taking him down after a close range exchange because the Kinslaugther ER PPC doesn’t have any minimum range and at point blank even I can’t miss.” Dara said firmly.
Lois grinned, determined to get to the reason such a declared nonaggressive pilot charged and head butted a Davion assault mech. “But you found yourself facing that autocannon at knife range, didn’t you Dara. What did you do then?”
Dara blinked, again looking somewhere between a wise owl about to impart wisdom and a surprised librarian asked about her favorite book.
“Well, the autocannon does more damage than I can take anywhere on my mecha, so I can’t simply stay back and let him shoot me. He has more weapons, more armour, and frankly is a better shot than me, so really I only had two real advantages.” Dara said simply as if any of this was simple.
Lois looked at the situation as outlined and failed to see any advantage. “What advantages are those Dara?” Lois asked, honestly confused not simply asking for the camera.
“I have a detailed knowledge of physics and a far better acceleration profile. The Victor has more weapons, and can put a lot more mass and myomer psuedomuscle behind his punch, but force is on my side. Force equals mass times acceleration. He may outmass me by eighty tons to thirty five, but I can accelerate my Javelin to ninety six kilometers per hour, and he was standing still.”
This time Lois blinked. “So you charged him, to be, safe?” She asked not really following.
Dara nodded. “You would have to be brave to the point of stupid to slug it out with a Victor at close range, and if he hit the cities main reactor, just think how many people would be killed just from the hospitals losing power. Anyone on life support would have to bet their life on the back up generators coming on line fast enough to restart their stopped support, that is assuming they all work after centuries of having to do more with less because of these damned raids. Really, the only sane choice was to take all the weapons out of the equation and stop the Victor with Newton not weapons.”
Lois played the closing charge again, watching Dara duck under the Victors punch and lunge into the Victors tipping cockpit as it overbalanced from the missed punch.
“You must be a very skilled boxer or martial artist to have slipped the punch that smoothly, and that head but was inspirational. I am surprised you were that aggressive, considering how logical you had been until this point in the battle.” Lois probed.
“Oh, I don’t know any martial arts. It just worried me that I had a Kinslaughter ER PPC in my right torso, a weapon an entire city died to put back in our hands, a piece of lost technology from the Star League War of Oppression only given back to us by the heroism of the Vindicated, and if we clashed chest to chest, it would be ruined. The cockpit though is a module produced here on Jansen’s Hold, we have dozens in stock and it's a quick three hour job to swap them out, half of that honestly is calibration after the plug in. I never saw the punch at all. I had already started to lean down when he swung, and I had my eyes closed because charging at eighty tons of battlemech is too scary to watch.” Dara said beaming.
Lois looked over to the Marshall, suspecting she was being played for a foo, but the Marshall was quietly laughing so hard tears ran down his weathered face. Dara stood blinking back earnestly, concerned that Lois might think her foolishly brave, not simply a rational person trying to survive something as irrational as battlemech combat in a populated city.
Lois blinked, trying to process what she had just heard when the Marshal finally spoke up.
“Ask her about the horns Lois!” Marshal Nylund wheezed from his laughter, barely audible as he failed to contain his laughter.
Dara blushed bright red and shot the marshal a death glare that one didn’t lightly cast at anyone given a Marshal’s authority in the Concordat. Lois sensing a story, pressed on with a question as the marshall keyed something into his wrist computer, sending the image of a modified Javelin to the screen.
It was, very Taurian.
Dara was now holding out both hands and gushing defensively.
“You have to understand, I worked with the tech team for YEARS to get the Javelin in production. My only way onto the team was as a researcher and test pilot, as the Wasp I used to drive had similar movement abilities. They were really proud of me making it as a first string mech warrior and test pilot for the production model. I was in hospital for three days after the crash and the whole tech team had seen the head but before I got out of hospital, so when they went to install a new cockpit, they had time to design the new modification, and to clear it with command. I tried to object, but if I made them take it off again, the whole crew would think I was rejecting their support. So, yeah, my new cockpit has those.”
Those, in this case were the two great sweeping Ferro-titanium structural horns sweeping out from the cockpit like the bull on the Taurian flag. Not made from the bones of the Victor she killed, that was back in service under Concordat colours now, but factory fresh from Jansen’s Hold’s main Javelin line.
Now Lois was laughing, and Dara was blushing further. “They are PERFECT!”
Taurians had a sense of pride and a sense of humour. The two of them seldom strayed far from each other, and when they joined together, there was no stopping them. The charge of her Javelin could only be commemorated thusly, and forever would she bear the horns in pride or shame. Welcome to the periphery, it gets weird here.
Interview 3 “it is exactly what you think”
Lois looked uncomfortably across the table at Vindicated Mechwarrior Alfred Bester. A thin Slavic face, cold eyes, sharp intelligent features and pale bloodless lips made her think she was sitting across the table from a predator, not a person. He wore the Vindicated undress mechwarrior uniform with the addition of black gloves that added to his already sinister appearance.
“Let me save you the effort, Miss Lain. I have seen your reporting, and you won’t get a pretty little human interest story here. I am a professional mech warrior from a far harder school than any you know of. Most of my friends died in combat already and I have long since stopped caring about what people outside the trade think about what I have to do to keep the friends I have left alive.”
Lois replayed the battle, seeing the Vindicator with the medium lasers destroy the Orion, allowing its pilot to eject safely. She watch Bester’s face as the Stalker came into range, its LRM howling in to hammer the cockpit and center torso. His face betrayed nothing. Then the second salvo of weapon fire was exchanged and Bester’s thin lips thinned to a white line as his jaw flexed. She could hear the stretching of his black leather gloves as his fists clenched. The next salvo of weapon fire drilled a large laser right through the cockpit and body of Mechwarrior Chin Ho Kelly.
She stopped the holo play there.
“You have my condolences for you loss.” Lois said with practiced sympathy. A line vaguely true, as all deaths on some level were a tragedy, but she didn’t know the man, and he wasn’t even really Taurian.
Bester smiled and his voice cut like the icy winds off the northern steppes.
“Spare me the platitudes. To you he was an overpaid foreign mercenary who died, sparing one of your own citizens. You probably consider it a good use of C bills and no Taurian families will have to morn him. Well you are right.
Chin Ho Kelly’s family is under Davion occupation, those that didn’t die when Algol fell. He had three family in the defense force. One Aerospace pilot was killed by bombing on the the ground. One was lost with second battalion, we don’t know if alive or dead. The third was burned by a Firestarter in her tank, so his fellow Vindicated are all the family he has left.
We cannot return to the land of our birth, the part that hasn’t been stolen by Davion has condemned us to death. We have been offered the chance to stand here, a place to defend, and a land that will allow us at least a grave to call our own.”
Bester reached across the table and restarted the playback, running it until he stood over the Stalkers back, pouring laser fire into it until it exploded, killing the trapped pilot.
Lois asked him quietly. “He was downed, helpless. You didn’t give him even a chance to surrender.”
Bester backed the video up again, and watched his lasers blazing home, watched the explosion claim the life of the Davion pilot. His teeth bared in what was only technically a smile.
“He killed one of the Vindicated, one of my family. He doesn't get to go home. If all Chin Ho Kelly gets is a grave, this Davion bastard doesn’t even get that.”
Lois looked into his eyes, and saw a cold deeper than space and a strength stronger than steel. Unexpectedly for Bester, she smiled.
She leaned forward and said softly. “The Taurian Concordat is happy to have you. The name of Chin Ho Kelly will be remembered, Taurian school children will tend it with our own honoured dead. The bastard that killed him we scraped out of the cockpit and recycled.”
Alfred Bester’s face softened for a second, the wounds he hid briefly visible. He said nothing when she continued talking, but his face showed that her words reached him.
“Welcome home Mr Bester. Welcome home.”
The Taurian Concordat didn’t sign the Aries accord, because alone among man’s colonies they had no desire to expand by conquest. Taurians valued freedom above all. There were no accepted rules for conquest. There was no end Taurians accepted except victory. If you came to their soil, expect to bleed. If you left one Taurian alive, expect that one to kill you.