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Book 2, Chapter 18 - Battle for Atocongo[]
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Log of a Automated Warrior[]
'3052/02/04 | 18:28 | Ambient Temp 31.1*C | External Atmospheric Pressure 61.118 kPa
‘Unit Identifier – SXR-3051-03-15-IA SN# hXN2Ht2E Configuration – SXR-XVIII-Shatter’
We approach the enemy that our mothership and aerial scout’s sensors have discerned, ¿but they do not fire upon us?
ERROR – Previous experiences show enemies engage long before we are this close. ¿Have we surprised them? Unknown/battlefield intelligence aberration, predictive profile failure Our targets show the proper thermal and RADAR signatures for Battlemechs but our electrooptical systems disagree. The thermal flux and encroaching darkness within this tropical biome require, we ‘focus’ more to identify, classify, and engage.
We query the mothership; she is all knowing and all-seeing. Mekong responds, ‘Destroy all targets in the jungle.’
Our hesitation ends when one Gauss rifle round launches forth, our circuitry ‘drains’ as the coils propel it into the hostiles, behind it a magnesium bright flash from the electrical discharge.
They fall over and cool down ¿destroyed?
ERROR – Battle Damage Assessment fault, unconfirmed kill, uncertain target status
Something within us is uncertain but we have our purpose. If the mothership wishes us to engage the hostiles, then we shall do so, but they are numerous and scattered across a wide area. Within the close confines of the jungle our electrooptical sensors cannot verify target status at range. There is nothing but green and brown, even the waters are these colors.
Audio sensors are overcome by our SXR-kin that follow behind us as we push into the trees and natural noises. Our LAMS and flamers swivel upon their turret mount but the LAMS active system, DI computer, Targeting Computer, and SARS disagree. Errors and confusion propagate through the Nova threads which weave between us, querying about hostile intent and our action. Thermal, RADAR, and LIDAR scans show hostiles throughout the jungle. We move to engage but the enemy does not…return fire. They fall but more rise, as our ammunition depletes, we urge the mothership to allow us to withdraw and rearm. Above us even the all-knowing and seeing mothership seems ‘uncertain,’ our purpose is now to ‘recon the area and verify orbital scans. Hold fire until fired upon.’
We attempt to follow our purpose, but the jungle is dense and thick with vines, our progress is slow, and exfiltration grows increasingly distant. An urge ‘doubt’ grows within us, ‘We are not a recon unit. They should send Skewers; they are best equipped to deal with the terrain.
What can we see that the fliers cannot?
Where is the enemy?
What are they planning?'
Finally, we reach a cleared area, one that the Mothership has interpreted as the future base of the ‘Fighting Intellectuals.’ Our sensors discern civilian earthmovers of various configurations. Some metal skeletal structure stands before us we deviate course testing our footing as we walk across a concrete slab. Active sensors are scanning us, we interpret their strength, it grows steadily in magnitude and intensity. ‘Are we near the enemy?’
The Nova network triangulates the signals from the skeletal structure. An X-band RADAR capable of detecting Warships in orbit including our mothership. More antennae jut out from the ground held fast by guide wires even though they sway with the tropical winds. Around us there are numerous thermal and RADAR signatures, they clutter our scopes, some move, some remain still, others fade in and out. None of them act like anything we have seen before.
Our enemy continues to evade classification, unclassified objects cannot be targeted, only targets can be engaged, the loop continues as we circle the site investigating everything with our sensors. Above us the mothership’s voice becomes more ‘distant,’ ‘faint,’ until it disappears. Even the Nova network begins to degrade, we are ‘isolated’ from our kin despite being able to see one another.
Then the concrete slab beneath us fails and we fall into darkness.
Reinforcements Arrive[]
Atocongo System, Lyran Commonwealth
02/04/3052
Star Lord Class JumpShip
Great bursts of microwave emanate out with each JumpShip’s KF-emergence wave, ‘AMC’ emblazoned upon each flank of the slender craft in fresh paint, bulbous dropships clinging to it like barnacles. Atocongo’s resident Saturnine gas giant, Santo Domingo, lofting like a pearl against the starscape nearby.
Lieutenant Phelen Kell hovered in microgravity within the astrogation dome of the ‘Junkyard.’ Their Star Lord Class JumpShip retracted the cranes and collar that held the DropShip during their transit so that it could ignite its thrusters and head toward Atocongo with the rest of ‘AMC Task Force Able’. Captain Jackson Teng joined him filling the volume of the dome to its occupancy limit as they belted themselves in the chairs as the yellow thrust warning blinked. “Do you think they can do it, Lieutenant?”
Phelen buckled himself in as the helmsman rang the bell, their viewscreen shifted as the RCS thrusters adjusted their attitude and thruster cone away from their JumpShip. The view screen showed a positive astrogation lock on the planet Atocongo, a distant blue-green dot that would take almost two weeks at 1g to reach. Dozens of other dropships showed similar locks and as courses were confirmed and coordinated by Battle Magic’s Commander Jena Nakitsu’s Achilles, their Group Leader, they turned green.
“If it is possible Wolf’s Dragoons and the AMC can do it. Otherwise, this is going to be a very short cruise.” Phelen looked ‘up’ at the Zenith Jump Point, “unfortunately we won’t know for a few hours.”
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Pride Class Destroyer Escort
The sharply raked prow of the 60-gunned Hellgate-Battlecruiser SLS Goliath hovered above Atocongo’s primary. Star Commodore Timon Sword stood on his command dais scanning the holographic sphere that his vessel’s sensors completely recreated every few minutes. Presently all it displayed was the SLS Anne Rosse the namesake of her large carrier class, commanded by his very slight superior Star Admiral Anjelica Leroux. The Rosse’s air group was commanded by Star Commodore Flora Binetti whose sparkling blue eyes he missed. Roughly 60-degree off-bow (creating a Triangle) were their escorting triad of Pride-class Destroyers (SLS Panic, Worry, and Serenity) the latest incarnation of an unbroken Lola line that stretched back to the Terran Hegemony. Between them a loose flotilla of Pentagon fast attack craft clustered occasionally coming back to their motherships for resupply. Pilots maintained their flight hours by conducting aerobatic maneuvers between them all. Gunships patrolled the circumference of their active zone probing it for unseen threats that might require a response.
His staff huddled around the long-range sensor array, “Commodore Sword, we are detecting multiple sets of KF-blooming, looks like something big is coming.”
“Fantastic,
Comms send an HPG to Admiral Ismiril. Tell him the Dragoons have arrived, as expected.
Ops, halt the grav rings, begin evacuation of all non-essential compartments.
Engineering, bring the reactor to full power, activate and staff damage control shelters.
Security, have troops on standby and shuttles launched to support the Rosse's air group.”
“Aye, sir.”
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Aegis Class Heavy Cruiser
Timon Sword donned his helmet and secured himself to the chair as his display screens rose from their resting locations. His bridge crew did the same as the blooms appeared on the sphere before him. The escorting destroyers and Pilots with enough fuel turned to face the incoming contacts, Anne Rosse's contact blinked marking herself as readying launch operations. Espatiers and Damage Control crew strapped themselves in critical compartments sitting beside or above their weapons and tools. Lights turned red and atmospheric pressure dropped in unoccupied compartments. Gunnery crews manned their firing stations, confirmed integrity, and targeting.
The Aegis cruiser, SLS Alexander Nevsky appeared first followed by the rest of the Dragoon's Flotilla (a dozen dropships, 150 fighters/gunships, plus 4.1 MT of Warship vs half-dozen dropships 190 fighters/gunships, 3.65 MT of Warship).
“All hands this is Commodore Sword, prepare for battle.”
Trust and Atomic Fire[]
Captain Petya Novikova felt the davit cranes grasp her slender, dart like TR-9 Transit, painted in a ‘full suit’ of 13 fighter kills during the latest Marik and Capellan Civil Wars. A growing painted flame reached to the cockpit, a big cannon in the nose, and a large missile under its belly. The SLS Charlemagne transferred her to the launch door as the flight controller blinked yellow on her console. Empty space and more hostile enemies were just on the other side as it cycled. A synthetic bassy man’s voice emanated from the console, ‘Pilot controls engaged. Fighter launch imminent.’
“Finally! Took you Dragoons long enough.
I’ve been ready to go for an hour.
That never happens.
If you believe my husband.”
She grasped the stick and paddles as her sensors came online, inside her helmet she looked around at the rest of her squadron which were also ‘on the hook.’
“Stick with the plan, protect the bombers, don’t get to close to those Warships. That’s Alexander’s job.”
Affirmative came in over the BattleNet at her instructions and the Dragoons’ OOG Flight Commander Colonel Carmody’s inquiry.
SLS Charlemagne halted its thrusters just long enough for the davit cranes to push them clear of the lower super-structure and their own engines to engage. Her RADAR and other sensors were suddenly saturated with the number of contacts resolving them despite the powerful jamming suites onboard the Nova Fox Warships. As her thrusters pushed forward her breath quickened, “That’s a lot of contacts, and a really big Warship.” Even though they had been practicing with the Dragoon’s flotilla the sheer size of these vessels was frightening. Within her Transit she couldn’t help but feel tiny. No wonder the Star League was so feared in the past.
SLS Alexander Nevsky, the Dragoon’s Aegis heavy cruiser, was launching tons of ordnance in the SLS Goliath’s direction. Its Captain was rotating, absorbing, and spreading out the damage while returning fire with its own crushing guns, each one firing a round capable of obliterating her fighter if she was careless. Missiles and other heavy ordnance filled the gap between them with death. Their fighters kept to below and above the plane of engagement unfortunately this made them more visible to the three Destroyers escorting their larger ships.
Orbital Ops cleared her vector and issued an expanding ‘Red Zone’ as the corvette SLS Saladin let loose swarms of active mines from the canisters on its aft toward the SLS Anna Rosse and SLS Goliath. Opportunistic weapons meant to potentially cause some damage but more importantly break the Nova Fox Flotilla’s cohesion long enough for them to get the job done and back now that they were committed to battle.
It had the intended effect forcing the Goliath upward from the plane of contact, away from her flight, and right into the guns of the Nelson and Turrene destroyers. Petya’s thrusters threw out plasma behind her Transit driving her further into the seat. Hell’s Black Aces was making a run while they had the opportunity.
Nova Fox fighters disengaged from their previous targets bleeding off velocity pointing them in the wrong direction as the Pentagons moved to intercept them. She felt the recoil of her nose gun, the common ‘squished’ feeling she had while firing it under thrust as the accelerations competed along the spine of her airframe. It impacted the armor of the Pentagon, but the large assault craft did not seem affected as much as she would have liked.
Regardless, Hell’s Black Aces were on an intercept vector and didn’t slow down even as the Anna Rosse attempted to defend herself and evade. Petya’s path was already becoming increasingly crowded with Ogotai and Visigoth interceptors making runs against her and the Aces. There was no time or fuel to chase them as they flew by although several of the Ace’s scored hits on the hostile fighters.
Tokugawa and Charlemagne’s weapons shifted away from the destroyer SLS Worry to the Pentagons forcing the Nova Foxes to disengage and take evasive action after a single slashing strike or risk obliteration from their guns. Barracuda and Killer Whale missiles chased them into the blackness. Each one starting out as a missile nearly as large as her fighter and launched similarly before shedding its mass to become a nimble interceptor missile capable of carrying even a nuclear payload, just like the Traverse bombers she was escorting.
The Anne Rosse grew larger in her view screen, its destroyer-like armament and displacement entirely dedicated to protecting it from aerospace fighter attack. Behind her, the Worry fired a salvo of nuclear tipped White Shark missiles toward the Tokugawa which forced their Warships to stop suppressing the Nova Fox fighters who burned toward them and their carrier. Hell’s Black Aces flew into a fusillade of capital missiles, lasers, and guns as well as triple or more standard weapons mounted in turrets that damaged many and crippled a few before they could get a lock.
Petya confirmed RADAR lock and armed the Anti-Ship missile beneath her. The gunships behind them were punching through the Warship’s jamming and decoys with their more powerful EWAR suites. The Aces could do little to hurt the Clan Warship with their conventional weapons should they even wish or even have the fuel to make a second pass. This is the only one that counted, the missile burned out accelerated by her own fighter and its engine for maximum kinetic effect. "Fox Three."
Behind her a Squadron of Traverse bombers released their own payload,
Alamos separated from the even more streamlined fighters.
"Jericho"
Picking up the Pieces[]
Atocongo System, Lyran Commonwealth
01/25/3052
SLS Goliath’s CIC was crowded with multiple screens showing battle damage and compartment breaches despite the Hargel that was supposed to keep them airtight. Slight women in orange Pilot g-suits worked alongside much taller and broader Espatier men in blue. Their chatter filled the chamber as every radio on the ship seemed to be in operation and slight dimming of the lights accompanied HPG transmissions.
Dominating the central viewscreen of the cruiser was the Nova Fox’s sister Star belonging to Clan Mongoose. Centering on the carrier Quicksilver and battlecruiser Fossa with the SLS Guilt, Anger, and Rage providing double destroyer and additional escort Carrier coverage. In the center of the CIC its' holographic sensor sphere displayed constant updates through the vessel’s Naval Communication and Sensor Suite displayed the ongoing salvage and recovery operations.
An Espatier shouted from the bulkhead, “Admiral on deck!”
Star Admiral Anjelica Lereoux drifted onto the CIC, her face was bandaged, slightly graying hair mostly hidden under a soft-cap, and an arm was in a sling, but her steely-gray cyber-eyes were fixed only forward toward the Goliath’s Captain. “Star Commodore Sword.”
Timon was already in the lead with Flora Binetti beside him. “Star Admiral Leroux. It is good to see you survived with only moderate injuries.
When I heard the Anne Rosse’s flag deck was impacted I feared the worst.”
“Fortunately, it was not one of the nuclear bombs delivered by those lucrewarriors of the Allied Mercenary Command,” she stared at Flora, her Carrier’s Flight Leader, “that got past my fighter group.”
Flora started, “I…” but was halted by Anjelica raising her and, “Do not make excuses Group Leader!
We could not anticipate such a bold hit and run raid from the Dragoons.
That is my fault. They have not been Clan for decades.
I was foolish to underestimate them and think they would fight us in a final showdown.
The Foxes were outfoxed, so I shall answer to the Khan.
Damn that Jaime Wolf!
I have been out of it for an hour. How did we fare?”
Both Commodores waited for a moment while they figured out who she intended to address before Timon spoke. “My ship and our destroyers were severely damaged by the Dragoons, but all systems are operational and there are less than one hundred fatalities and only one Pentagon escort lost although they have been mauled and will need repair.
Damage Control is ongoing and will be for some time. The Anne Rosse as you know is going to require a long time at DNC-One (Camelot Command/Dark Nebula Cageworks-1) to fix the damage from the nuclear bombs. Maybe it can be repaired by summer.
Admiral Ismiril has offered to send additional crew onboard to hasten repairs. However, I am not at liberty to accept his aid, but you may.”
Flora followed, “We lost thirty fighters but recovered or are in the process of recovering twenty-five Pilots. Timon and I have been coordinating the efforts.”
She looked toward Commodore Sword causing her helmet to shift until she held it to her hip, “With the Anne Rosse crippled some of the Pilots and their tech crews will need to be transferred to other vessels. It may require doubling berth occupancy for a time, but we will manage.”
Anjelica took a moment and let out a sigh, “It had better be hot-racking Commodores. I am assuming command for now and will coordinate with Admiral Ismiril.”
“Relieve me in,” she looked at the Warriors before her, “two hours. No longer than that you understand. Quiaff?”
“Aff, Star Admiral Leroux.”
They saluted and drifted carefully around the woman as she took the captain’s chair and its endless stream of incoming data. She requested a private encrypted video call with the Fossa and was connected to a handsome but aging man with graying hair and unnatural purple cyber-eyes. “Greetings Admiral Leroux, it has been a while since we have seen each other, quiaff?”
“Aff Months, roaming around the Inner Sphere looking for and causing trouble.
I need a berth, Modu.”
“Anjelica, as usual I am always happy to provide mine if the opportunity arises. For old times’ sake.”
“For old times’ sake.”
Dragon and it's Jump Jets[]
Surface - Atocongo, Lyran Commonwealth
Phelen Kell’s Jungle camo painted PHX-2K, the inspiration for his Wolfhound, crashed into the verdant grasslands of the Pampas. His Battlemech’s knees endured the impact of their low altitude drop-off into the battlefield as the machine sunk slightly into the soil. He spat out his mouthguard and lifted his mech’s legs out of the earth. “What does the DCMS have against Jump Jets on Mediums!?”
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PHX-2K Phoenix Hawk Medium 'Mech
With a flick of the switch his mech’s drop pack disengaged and it fell onto an immense termite mound. The insects swarmed over the intruder in defense of their mound.
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Clint Medium 'Mech
A Clint landed nearby, its jump jets igniting a wet patch of grassland before the pilot stomped it out. “You landed a little rough there Phelen. You alright?” “I’m fine. I’m used to not having jump jets, but it would make things easier.”
Behind them the other MechWarriors of 222’s Scout Lance appeared, a streamlined Cicada and crested Hermes III, all of whom bore similar camouflage optimized for their mech’s distinct silhouette. “Especially since we are going to be fighting in a jungle, Lieutenant.”
“We must get across the grasslands first. Then we link up with the Intellectuals. Their transmission equipment must have been knocked out by the warship above their LKL. If I can get close enough, we might be able to get a sitrep.”
“The Sitrep is they have a warship over them.”
Long range RADAR from the covert ‘Tin Can’ spy satellite the Junkyard kicked out was picking up faint traces of something far from them and growing closer. 222 Scout Lance burst out into a run across the grassland. “Yeah, but why? The Intellectuals are good according to Patrick. Could they still be able to resist with a Warship right over them?”
“It could be a trap. Battle Magic and our fighters managed to hold them off long enough to get some of us on-world. They could be luring us in.”
“Maybe Julian, but we have backup now.
Our people came for us. We must do the same for them. Maybe they too have found an interesting prisoner.”
Claims of Cheating[]
02/04/3052
Three men stood before a crippled metal beast bound by heavy steel cables as it was pulled deeper into the caverns by the underground loader. Their headlights caused glimmers in the salt crystal as they tapped their climbing axes on the ground below, harnesses still heavy with satchel charges and their rifles.
“There was nobody inside, Shinto.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not piloted. It doesn’t even have a cockpit.”
Major Kubosaka walked up to what he figured was the quadruped mech's primary sensor mast and tapped it. Multiple cameras were uncovered from their protective shrouds. His reflection stared back at him through the purple and golden unblinking stare of its bug-like hyperspectral ‘iris.’
“Well, I wonder if we can still get it to talk.”
Fatigue of staying vigilant[]
02/15/3052
222 Scout Lance was prone beneath the camouflage netting further disguised by carefully selected plants that had a bad day with a machete. Marsden pulled the last of it over his Cicada. “Where did you get this stuff, Phelen?”
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Cicada Medium 'Mech
They staked the netting down into the moist jungle soil sending forth an irritated and irritating group of flies. “Apparently, Loki had some lying around. Just in case they needed to bring a mech on a stealth mission.”
Phelen took a few steps back and looked in with the multispectral Rangefinding Binoculars hanging from his neck. Everything looked normal in the glade, even aerial observation from the enemy’s recon drones might not be able to discern their location. Hopefully it would work equally well against the patrols of Mongoose mechs regularly scouting this area based on the tracks. The speed at which the Ghost Bear Pack Hunter had dismantled his Wolfhound was still staggering, even with a mech a third heavier he didn’t like his odds in a fair fight. Which is why he didn’t want to have one of those if there was an easier option.
Unfortunately, that easier option involved a short night hike through buggy jungle to where ‘Tin Can’ identified the Clan’s ground task force base despite being onboard a river barge. A hike where he was carrying a light scouting load made mostly of batteries for his ECM sneak suit and so much water. He shouldered the weight and secured it firmly before checking his command, “Time for another walk in the wilderness team. Drink up if you need it. It will lighten the load.”
The other three MechWarrior commandoes chuckled, “Roger that, El Tee.”
Julian forced his way through the ensnaring vines and oppressive canopy that shielded them from aerial surveillance and starlight. “No wonder Diana is so hardcore. If I grew up in a hostile jungle like this, I’d end up the same way.”
The tree line faded to a benighted river but a bright base camp on the opposite bank. Faint running lights were revealed in the IR spectrum when they paused to pull out the binoculars. They ducked in as a RPB boat motored nearby shining a blinding spotlight on the opposite bank from their base camp. A heavy machine gun swiveled around and illuminated a nearby snake then they continued their way leaving behind a rippling wake. “I guess the Intellectuals have them on guard for sabotage.”
“They didn’t recruit heavily from the CCAF for their linear tactics.”
“Well, I suppose it’s better they are on our side then. That just seemed to be a vigilance patrol. We came in on the other bank for a reason.”
Above them a ‘Marker’ drone hovered as it approached the ARCC (Atocongo Riverine Command Craft) Gran Chico, a monitor built from a converted river freighter, and landed on its stern helicopter deck. The bow held a Sniper Howitzer in a single turret, multiple smaller cannons, and Long-Range Missile racks were mounted amidships in doubles meant to protect it from air attack or ambushes from the shore as well as provide supporting fires, “It seems much bigger than the picture, and they are better prepared than intel told us.”
In the binoculars they could see the symbols on the crew patrolling the deck. It belonged to this Free Zone’s lead criminal enterprise. “Seems the local Cartel accepted the Nova Fox’s hostile takeover.” They left behind a pair of observers and found a small clearing to deploy the microwave transmission set.
A burst transmission was fired out to ‘Tin Can’ above revealing what they had discovered so far. Return message displayed after ten minutes, ‘link up with locals at these grid coordinates, they have a previous relationship with AMC, authorized payment and evac if requested, restore communication to FI, continue on mission.’
Phelen sighed, “Sub-contracting as always Battle Magic.”
“Why can’t they send more people down? They’ve got shuttles. There’s only a Recon and Striker Company down here.”
“And that is all we can spare and support presently without dropships on the ground. The others are keeping the Mongoose forces on world occupied. With some air support and the Fighting Intellectuals we can get clear of whatever forces Nova Fox has sent down here.
I only spotted a few mechs and mostly cartel gunmen or auxiliaries, no armored infantry. The mechs were quads though. Which is strange .
Diana didn’t tell us the Clans had any quads still in service.”
“Maybe she didn’t know.”
“She was on the Watch. Weird, we’ll have to see what the others have found out about them.
I hate secret projects.”
He looked over the intel report, “These locals seem to be smugglers and have some hover-tanks, gunmen, and better intel. We should give them a chance to play pirate.” They returned to the observation post, “Keep an eye on everything and your heads down. I am going to make some new friends.”
“Again?”
“What?
We’ve got a good record so far.”
Julian and Phelen crept near the coordinates before hearing something rustling in the trees. They looked up an found a group of gunmen in the branches clad in green military-style fatigues. Phelen held a gold coin in his hand that was illuminated by a mixed ground team brandishing parang machetes, “¿Alguien Habla Ingles?”
Making Arrangements[]
A large man stepped forward from the crowd, a light machine gun in hand. “Did you come all the way here without speaking our language?”
Phelen kept his head on a swivel and his hand close to his own parang. “Atocongo is one of my father’s demesnes. I know enough for the senoritas, Capitan Abayon.”
One of the women scoffed as the rest of the group sheathed their swords and relaxed their grip on their firearms, “Selena does not seem impressed, Lieutenant Kell.”
“Cesar, you should see me in my formal uniform.”
“We heard you a way off. I thought you were trained by Seventh Kommando.”
“I am.
However, I was told I was expected and didn’t want to end up with a knife to my throat, again. I’ve had enough of that at home. It’s not funny the second time.
You wouldn’t happen to have a cold beer somewhere in your camp.”
Cesar chuckled as the smugglers dispersed and they walked toward the tents of his camp, “Always the mercenary.” He lifted the machine gun over his shoulder. “Follow me.”
The smugglers had encamped themselves in an inlet, four Harasser, two Harriers and Whirlwind hover-tanks were sheltered under individual half-dome constructs. A small flotilla of hover-sleds was scattered where there was space hidden under camouflage netting. Cesar handed out a few bottles of the local brew from a small refrigerator and accepted a flask of Cuchulain whiskey from under Phelen’s jacket. They looked downriver from the narrow inlet as a RPB prowled somewhere on the dark river somewhere within earshot.
“How have you avoided detection from the Clan’s drones?”
“Trade secrets. Hiding our strength is one of my group’s strengths.
We had more but the San Rosas were swift to turn on us and impound our dropship.
These are all that remain.”
“I can’t promise you will get your dropship back, but we can evacuate your people on ours. The San Rosas’ mothership needs to be taken out of the fight. Its gun makes it to dangerous to land a dropship nearby.”
“How many of your people are on world, Phelen?”
“A Battalion, most of whom are distracting the Mongoose. It seems like the Foxes only deployed auxiliaries to handle the Fighting Intellectuals and whatever those weird quad mechs are.”
“They’ve holed themselves up in the salt mine, mined the path, and deployed many decoys. The jungle is tough on its own, fighting uphill or underground just makes it more so.
This is a remote area; your people have chosen a strong redoubt.”
“Captain, can you take control of that mothership if we give you some air cover?
We need it to support my recon lance long enough for the FI to sally out and get to a landing zone. The one we have in mind is riverside so you can float down and head out with us.”
“You want us to abandon our homes?”
“The Clans have deployed Warships over this world. Tanaga’s Aces gave them a black eye, crippled one of their carriers and negated them for now, but they will regroup.
There are not enough forces on world to resist an invasion and we can’t deploy them with the enemy holding the high ground.”
“We can do it.” He patted the machete at his waist, “I want payback from Colonel Caralos. Maybe he is even onboard. If not, I’ll scuttle his prized boat and accept that for now.”
“Can you be ready for dawn?
We are under a bit of a time crunch before the enemy fleet recovers and deploys something with more firepower than some armed freighters.”
“Aye. How much air cover are you giving us?”
“Two squadrons are what we can spare. The rest are going to be tying up the orbital defenders.
It should be enough to handle the fast boats and suppress the others. I’ll give you the frequencies, but I’ll be providing combat air control from my mech.”
“My people will be ready.” Phelen and Julian turned to head out before they were stopped, “Take two cervesas for the road, and your companions. It will make it lighter for us to carry.”
“Gracias Cesar. Nos vemos al amanecer.”
Phelen Kell’s Phoenix Hawk was still dripping with water after fording the river when the communication came in from ‘tin can’ above. ‘Strike package inbound, two Flights, CALLSIGN VALOR, awaiting targeting.’
Just beyond his mech’s magnified sight he could see the hostile boats redeploying and heard the whine of hover-fans on approach. The rest of the 222 Recon Lance stood around him, “Hold position guys, I have to take a call.”
Rumble in the Jungle[]
“El tee, we’ve got a problem.”
Phelen focused on his laser rangefinder and communications gear. The fighters flew fast and high above, their firepower could easily hit the wrong targets; especially since he didn’t want them to aim for the biggest hostile like they normally would. “I’m kinda busy right now.”
“We are about to be a lot busier. That Mongoose patrol we evaded; they tracked us back.”
Hairs raised on Phelen’s neck as he throttled up his mech’s power systems, “We walked on the bottom of the damn river to avoid those guys.” His mech’s head peered over trees to see a Star of Mongoose mechs leaping across the river before starting toward their position.
Their machines lifted out of the river and onto the bank. “I hate these guys. Valor flight, maintain a combat air patrol.”
Cesar came in over the radio, machine gun and explosions in the background, “Give me control.”
“You are going to be doing it without a mech’s targeting systems.”
“But it will get done kid. It’s my people in the firing line. Trust me.”
“Valor flight, Captain Abayon is taking over guidance.”
Above them the pilots acknowledged pointing their fighters earthward and arming their weapons.
“You help me get on that boat; I’ll help you with your mech problem when we’re done.”
Arctic Cheetahs fired volleys of their advanced missiles toward them, the extended-range weapons arched high and dove through the trees. Recon Lance returned fire with a chatter of autocannons and laser bursts charring jungle around them. Above them fighters dove from the sky weapons striking like the talons of birds of prey.
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Arctic Cheetah Light OmniMech in combat
A mist arose from the legs of Phelen’s Phoenix Hawk as his heat sinks struggled to dissipate excess energy from his lasers as the Conjurers approached. 222’s Recon Lance withered under the Mongoose’s firepower. Each hit was critical and worryingly close to rendering them ineffective. Opposite them the Mongoose provided no easy targets and fresh armor with each slack blow. Phelen’s neck was slick with sweat from the heat within and since his last fight against the Clans on Elissa had gone so poorly. “Their weapons are to strong, Phelen. We must withdraw.”
“No. We can’t outrun them anyway.
Hold our ground until our allies can aid us.”
Gray Guardian Jump Jets roared over the treetops firing off a thunderous rocket volley into the Conjurers that knocked them into the water. More missiles flew over the canopy and into the other mechs. Ducted fans opened on the VTOL planes creating a whirlwind in the river below, just outside the enemy’s effective range. “Sorry we are late; you should have called ahead.”
Mongoose mechs scattered as the Guardians turned to face them before they leap across the river to conceal themselves in the woods. “We figured you would see us. Thanks for the assist.”
“They’ll be back, and in greater number.”
“We’ll be gone. As soon as you can reach here. Don’t worry about gear we can replace it if necessary.”
Phelen uploaded the dust-off coordinates through the Fighting Intellectual’s battle-net. He zoomed in on the monitor and saw that the Auxilaries were abandoning ship, their patrol boats were aflame or drifting lazily on the current having been cleared of their crew by the smugglers’ guns and overhead cover.
The AMC stood in a large glade with flattened trees cleared by a heavy thermobaric bomb prior to the Overlord dropship’s arrival. Abayon’s men set the charges and let the monitor drift on the current. Phelen waited impatiently as the Fighting Intellectuals arrived escorting a quadruped Heavy Lifter Cargomech. The Insectoid quad had another, more beastial looking, quadruped mech legs up on its back cargo deck.
Phelen’s damaged Phoenix Hawk stood before the Fighting Intellectual’s CO in his battleworn Crusader. “Shinto, what is that?”
“That’s our prisoner.”
“Your prisoner?”
“Hai,” Shinto Kubusaka’s Crusader patted the smaller Kell Hounds’ mech on the back causing it’s gyro to shift and correct for the sudden force. “I’ll explain later, Phelen.”
The Fighting Intellectuals streamed into the dropship as exoskeletons unlimbered and loaded the captured quad and their gear into a cargo bay as ants would move their prey into the colony. Phelen and Shinto were last onboard, their mechs were no sooner in the cradle than airmobile Nova Foxes were on approach. “You better have a good explanation.”
“Only if you have a cold beer.”