Remembrance Pt. 3

750km Due West of Phnom

Homestead, Capellan Confederation

25th January, 3050

The start of the operation was almost… pitiable. The pirates the Gatekeepers encountered upon planet-fall were poorly armored, and easily outgunned. The planet’s heavily forested surface offered many places for the raiding parties to hide. Though they were hard-pressed to hide themselves from the highly trained ‘MechWarriors’ focused laser fire. The order to conserve ammunition seemed almost like more of a consideration for the enemy than a handicap.

“Is this seriously all the action we’re going to be seeing on this planet?” Ken said to Syndrome over the comm as he sat atop the open hatch to his Raven-3L, Muninn. Ken laughed a bit, “I mean if these pirates are all we have I may want to go get a drink back in Phnom.”

“Let’s not get too comfortable, Archangel.” Syndrome returned, “Intel intercepted an HPG transmission that would suggest the Davs will be knocking at our door a bit sooner than we would have hoped.”

“The Fed Rats, or this planet’s female population. Either way, as long as I have something worthwhile in my cross-hairs by week’s end. I mean, I’m just tired of these sad-ass pirates.” Ken heaved a sigh at this, feigning impatience. He pulled his grandfather’s red glass star from the pocket of his pants. A bauble from his patriarch, the former mercenary, to bring him luck.

“May I see that?” Syndrome asked Ken from the lift to the hatch of his considerably taller Hunchback. The former Jade Falcon pilot’s eyes caught even the smallest glint from the distance between the two.  “You say you got that ornament from your Grandfather on Sarna, Correct?” Syndrome lowered his lift to be able to reach out to Ken and get a closer look.

“Wha–This guy?” Ken handed the trinket up . “Yeah. The man who raised me, and trained me. He settled in the Confederation after leaving his Merc Unit. He would never really talk about his time as a pilot, though.”

Taking the good luck charm from Ken, Syndrome regarded the Star with an air of calculated recognition, “It may do some good for you to find out what style of piloting your grandfather learned his own methods of fighting from.. ”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Syndrome handed the trinket back, resuming the ascent to his cockpit. Ken, doing likewise dropped into his own cockpit, and hung the chain from it’s usual spot. Archangel closed the hatch, and began startup procedures. He was becoming more comfortable than he’d ever thought he would in the Light-Class ‘Mech.

The Dropship whirred to life as it used its VTOL engines to begin the quick journey closer to where the intercepted communiques from the Davions had presented evidence of a small forward group. Archangel always marvelled for a moment when his Raven’s hip actuators fired as it’s feet hit the planet’s surface. There was always a certain amount of amazement at the acute blending of man and machine the Neurohelmet provided.

Archangel and Syndrome were met by Gunshow and Stoneblade at what would become the dust off point for the now-full lance.

“Actual is reporting a full Davion lance on site,” Stoneblade began over the tac-comm with an authoritative start. “Intel is showing at least four contacts within one klick of where we have set up shop. Our job is simple, Gatekeepers. Destroy the contacts, secure the area, and wait for clean-up crews to secure the salvaged parts and ammunition. The blips have been sporadic, so we’re expecting to find the Davs carrying their own ECM. Be ready to counter, Archangel.”

The other three fired back dutifully in the affirmative, before setting off in formation to begin a patrol sweep in silence under the canopy of the ECM in Archangel’s Raven. The quartet of pilots rode in stony silence. Not willing to break their comm discipline and give the waiting Fed Rats a potential read on where their position might be.

The sudden report of an Projected Particle Cannon grazing Archangel from his five o’clock made him wheel around as his heart leapt into his throat. A PPC shot. Fired from too close to do much more than splash against Muninn’s armored hull. Still, it was enough to make every alarm in Archangel’s cockpit start bitching at him irritatingly.

Archangel started before much more could be said, “Ai ya… By contrast our friends are apparently OK with giving their positions away,” Archangel’s innate ability to put people at ease led him to use much of the expressions and idioms he had encountered on Purvo.

As soon as that was said, the four began reading a Low Signal warning on their heads up displays. “Archangel, switch to Jam.” Stoneblade called out.

“Copy,” Archangel returned, toggling his ECM to counter mode. Once he had, four contacts appeared on the display in short order. A Spider, Firestarter, and two Thunderbolts. All within one hundred meters. Unsurprisingly , the Rats were able to find a hole in which to scurry from the Gatekeepers’ view.

“Flush ‘em out,” Stoneblade hit his comm with the flatness of a man who made killing those who flew House Davion’s flag more of a routine than most.

Archangel took up more of a rearward position to keep in missile range while Stoneblade’s Cataphract and Gunshow’s Awesome pushed into the cave to issue a warm “hello.” Leaving  Syndrome and he to mop up as the Davions fled.

The explosive roar started up as soon as the two entered the cave. As Autocannons were brought to bear the Firestarter was the first ‘Mech to make his escape. The Spider followed, but was less fortunate, as Syndrome put a Gauss round through it’s leg before it could make it very far.

“Looks like the Thunderbolts bought tickets…” Said Gunshow with his usual mocking tone.

“The T-Bolts are slagged,” Stoneblade’s report was a bit more official sounding, but essentially the same, “Let the Spider try to limp away. Archangel, try to mop up the Firestarter.”

“Roger, Sao-Shao,” Archangel responded before punching his throttle. The Raven moved fast, but Firestarters were faster. Archangel hoped to keep the relatively unscathed Firestarter within missile range, as he targeted the speedy Davion and began to rain hell with his Long Range Missiles. 300… 350… 400… he watched the distance closely as the gap between the two widened. He watched the light ‘Mech on his display as parts of the enemy’s ‘Mech flashed from yellow, to orange. 400… 500… 600.. 700 meters. Archangel held his breath as one of the Firestarter’s torsos dropped to cherry red. This would be a photo finish.

Good. Keep me on the edge of my seat, Fed Rat. Archangel thought with predatory nalice. 850… 900… 950. He let out a savage roar as he punched his final salvo before the Davion pilot could make good his retreat, as if the utterance could make the missiles somehow find their mark with more punch.

After a moment, a female voice sounded, “Target… Destroyed.”

Sitting back and taking a breath, Archangel sighed with relief. The hunt was over. “Baby, you always know just what to say to make me feel better.” He said to the disembodied voice as he started Muninn towards the last place his HUD showed the Firestarter. Running a Kilometer to the wreckage of the enemy ‘Mech, he had to strain his eyes to see through the smoke. The final missiles came down on the cockpit of the light, and not the critically-damaged torso like he would have expected. On the bright side, A ‘Mech that had been brought down like this was a hundred times easier to salvage than one where the reactor had gone critical. As an additional benefit, the final strike had twisted the frame of the cockpit, pinning the still breathing Davion pilot to his seat, and making ejection problematic. At least if one liked their spine to remain intact.

As Archangel emerged out of the hatch to his Raven, he removed his Neurohelmet and shook out his sweat-soaked hair. Walking to the crumpled mass that the Firestarter had limply become he heard the Tac Comm squak at him from the helmet he had been so eager to remove.

“Archangel, Report.”

The dark haired man grinned wolfishly, as he picked up the helmet and casually replied. “Nothing useful to report yet, Stoneblade. I downed the Fed Rat. I’m piecing through. One moment,” Archangel watched as the Davion pilot struggled in the mangled Firestarter’s upended cockpit.

Ken had long before separated the disparate parts of his mind, in his inhumanity, there was an unrelenting mission to reunite the greater humanity under one banner. The warrior and the pacifist, the Capellan and the human, Archangel and Ken. His goodwill and his loyalty were forever at odds, but faced with the enemy in battle like this… Archangel, the impassive Liaoist won out.

“Well, damn. A fine mess, this.” He whistled, kneeling to meet the Davion’s panicked gaze. Archangel managed a warm grin in spite of the bile welling in his throat. “I was hoping you would share some information that might make my stay here a bit more relaxing. A trip away from home is always better with some peace and quiet.”

The Davion laughed and spat at the crouching Archangel. Some of the spittle managing to land on his boot.

“I’ll bet,” Archangel said flatly, he didn’t expect the soft touch would be very useful here. House Davion pilots were nothing if not prideful. He sighed and produced a knife from his boot.

Prideful, but Archangel was nothing, if not pragmatic, and in this case if sugar failed a dose of vinegar could be applied.

---

Stoneblade settled into the cockpit of his Cataphract after the last transmission from Archangel who was, as always, confusing, but effective. He toggled his Tac-Comm to the secure channel routed to Purvo Actual, to resume his conversation with the Zhong-Shao.

“I’m sorry, sir. You were saying?”

“Yeah… HPG stations all over that sector have been going dark within 15 light years, encroaching towards your location. Hsien, Tall Trees, and Bryant all had their stations go dark within the last 72 standard hours.” Zvolimir’s voice boomed over the comm.

“What’s the plan, then?”

“We are assuming a Davion plot, naturally. I don’t know though. My gut tells me that’s putting  a bit too much on faith. Seems too easy,and you know how much I hate assuming things.”

“Still. What should we expect?” Stoneblade settled further into the chair of his cockpit, heaving a little sigh as the support vehicles showed up for salvage.

“Best case, a better organized pirate faction, or St. Ives terrorists. At a worst… I couldn’t say…  It’s possible I’m wrong and House Davion is making a bigger play for our space than we had expected. Just do your best to keep morale up until more intel is available. You could be on Homestead a little while longer.“

”Yes, sir.” Was Stoneblade’s only reply. Trying his damnedest to stuff the ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach about the prolonged mission.