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It was hot that day, or was it night? It is so hard to tell sometimes on Terra Therma, especially with a buggy Betty informing me that it was nine degrees Kelvin outside, the local time hit three hundred hours though the planet had a fast rotation, and for some reason that all three UAC5 guns of mine were completely jammed. They weren't. I watched the dock boys oil the barrels myself just before dropping.
Let’s get back to the heat. The ice accumulated from the cold drop turned to steam within seconds of reaching the atmosphere, shorn from my BattleMech’s armour and replaced by inky soot. I'm glad my blast shield survived the trip. Heat sinks or no heat sinks, the friction would have baked my cockpit and me in seconds had it not intervened. That isn’t to say that we weren’t hot. Even with its protection my air conditioning automatically blew waves of superheated air in my face, but over time that cooled down to a chill.
Popping off the shield, I surveyed the lava-lit drop zone. Everything was black and red and orange besides our shrouded forms and a few standing super-insulated buildings. Light oozing from the free-flowing rock and metals illuminated everything poorly, so poorly that, when First Lieutenant Lolita, our current top-ranking officer, issued the command to pull out, I toggled my night vision to ensure that the ground wouldn’t yield to sixty-five tons of Jager metal.
The hike into the mountain range was filled with fiery peril. Lava plumes opened up left and right, gushing forth molten metal and earth, and seldom there were tiny explosive glints of gases finally reaching oxygen that reminded of our mission. The tritium and helium reserves this planet offered had to be in Marik and Kurita hands and not the Steiners, and claiming Terra Therma would greatly weaken their war effort while bolstering ours.
Finally, we reached it: the looming heart of the planet that was the central volcano. A ballooning nano-fiber umbrella gathered volcanic gases above and siphoned it into a nearby filtering station, separating the desired elements from the useless soot and sulphur, and in the background the structure’s series of pistons thrummed incessantly, pounding away like sticks on a drum.
Working units made up of power armour and convoys of trucks were abandoning the site in droves before they managed to catch sight of our Mechs. I cursed. Our arrival was known by the enemy even though we were at the head of the assault.
"Look sharp!" the lieutenant barked over comms, voice husky and guttural. “They’re around here somewhere. Split up your lances.”
She was a harsh old bird, and her Mech of choice reflected this. Her blood-red Victor 9C-model had seen many battles and remained decorated with laser-scarred armour of the last five battles, revealing her experience and gifted avoidance of the big hits. They say she never made a wrong decision in the field, and as of yet I had no reason to doubt that.
We separated into our four-man teams, my lancemates Utnapishtim and Jello Man bobbing to my left in their Cataphracts and Young Gun behind us, sashaying in his Swayback as we ascended the volcano. There were no signs of resistance, making the climb upward the easiest possible, and upon completion we could hear Young Gun’s and Lynx’s exhales when we reached the top. We reached the high ground without fighting for it, and that was inspiring for most of us.
"They're still here, idgots. Don't breathe so free," Lolita continued. "Alpha lance, check coordinates E6 and F6 for contacts. I don’t like the smell of this."
“Roger” “Affirmative” “Sure thing,” came our replies. Young Gun kept silent, his pride no doubt wounded.
My Jagermech glowed from the heat as we passed over the landing above the mouth of the volcano, and my heat differential rose at an incredible rate, turning my cooled cockpit into a sauna once more. The other three followed at the same speed, ready to tear up armour plating upon a moment’s notice.
An enemy Jenner scout halfway up the volcano was the first to be plowed into the ground, torn to shreds by AC fire and a six-pack of medium lasers before it could turn around. Below, a pair of bewildered Assaults looked up and stomped for protection, covering their butts by hastily firing everything in a spray of salvo to prevent us from getting a clear shot.
More came on either front, and our newly installed Slave Units responded to the location of every observed enemy. Two of Bravo lance assisted us while the lieutenant and a scout shredded some strays on the other side of the volcano, flanking them on both sides before giving a final Victor-style alpha strike. The ones on our part of the battlefield hid around the corners and tried a pincer movement on us as well, but to no avail as we rushed with ACs a-blazing. They dropped like flies to our powerful shots, legs evaporated and side torsos cored out by heavy, hot slugs.
“Yeah! Get some!” Lynx shouted, the sound of his Jenner’s medium and small lasers rippling in the background.
“Cut the chatter! You know the rules,” Lolita snapped again, and that was the end of that.
We had losses. Young Gun died early, slain by a well-aimed PPC-Gauss combo to the command throne, and a Bravo Highlander ran headlong into an enemy trap beyond a cluster of volcanic vents, dashed with SRM pepper before he could eject. The lieutenant shouted for them to respond when their C3 Slave Units stopped responding and cursed curtly when she didn’t receive an answer.
We almost received another loss too. Ut and I traded blows with a long-range Cataphract and hid behind a small hillock of volcanic earth, waiting for the right time. We chose poorly. The moment we moved out of protection the ’Phract jumpjetted forwards and unleashed a full barrage at Ut’s wounded side torso, punching a hole in his XL fusion engine. He was fortunate to survive when he ejected before his baby went thermal, secured in an environmental suit and parachute.
Worried about my own torso, I kept my ravaged side protected as I attempted to avenge the loss of his Mech with an onslaught of shells. Circling each other and struggling to even out each other’s damage, we grew closer and closer to death. My nerves grew tense, my hands clenched the controls, but by some stroke of luck I ended up on top. All three segments of the enemy’s torso were pounded on before his ST Gauss rifle exploded in a spray of shards. One less Steiner pilot in the universe, I remember thinking, giving myself a mental pat on the back.
Seven minutes of intense fighting had passed before the canyons fell silent. Thick black plumes rose from all over the range, and not all of them were volcanic in nature. Only two lances had been dispatched to deal with us so far, and both were ripped apart, leaving us mildly satisfied regardless of our low ammo and smashed plating.
At mission end, many Marik and Kurita were accounted for and sent home in body bags while more still were lost in paperwork or overly dangerous terrain, but their names will live on in glory and honour for halting the Steiner mining operations, or so they tell me. However, questions litter my mind still. What would happen to mercs like us? Would anything be done with our dead’s bodies after the funeral service? The higher-ups refuse to tell me, so I don’t know, but I wish I did. This is Lysandra “Vaude” Theodoros, signing off.
Edited by Vaudevillian Veteran, 10 August 2013 - 08:19 AM.
