5
Gomand
Fellanin II, Kessel Prefecture
Benjamin Military District, Draconis Combine
29 May 3039
As the Cyclops’s Zeus-36 Mark III autocannon savaged the BattleMech, the twenty-ton Wasp in Fourth Proserpina Hussars colors separated in two along its waist with a flash of concealed secondary explosions and a puff of shattered internal structure. The upper body hammered into the asphalt bridge, gouging troughs as it skidded for several meters before coming to a stop against an abandoned car. Meanwhile the legs clipped one of the five-centimeter steel suspender cables of the magnificent Trandim Bridge, which stretched northeast across the Alba River and into the city of Gomand. The cable sheared clean through the Wasp’s already weakened right leg with almost surgical precision, and the shredded leg parts avalanched down onto the uncaring bridge as well.
The enemy ’Mech already forgotten, Major Ariana Winston breathed the acrid stench of her own sweat from long hours in the cockpit and snuck a quick sip of stale, lukewarm water from the straw stuffed under the edge of her tight-fitting neurohelmet. Then, with her Cyclops, Sleipnir—she was such a sucker for Norse mythology—planted in the middle of the bridge as sure as any foundation, she listened to overlapping comm channels and watched avidly as the skein of red and green arrows moved within the tight confines of Gomand.
Fingers played the BattleMech’s cockpit console as a maestro, drawing out details. Others often scoffed at her ride, underarmed and underarmored compared to other ninety-ton ’Mechs, but her Tacticon B-2000 Battle Computer gave her unparalleled battlefield information. She was a good pilot, no doubt about it, but she was an excellent commander, largely due to maximizing the use of the tools at her disposal.
“Dammit all! Those Hussars be moving up three streets over. Recon Lance, shore up that position. You let them Snakes outfox ya, and I’ll personally take stripes out your backside, boy.”
Ariana smiled at Captain Delphi Jacob’s tone, as her key-frequency for the Seventy-first Light Horse Regiment—and Jacob’s Company—matched up with moving icons on her battle computer display. You’d think he was a crabby fifty-year-old instead of just into his thirties.
“That’s it, Hussars. Come on, take the bait. No infantry hiding down this street. Just a lone ’Mech, cut off from her lancemates, waiting for you to show ’em whose boss.”
Another channel from much farther into the city. Captain Clarissa, from her own Twenty-first Striker Regiment, but the Fifth Striker Battalion instead of Ariana’s Seventh Striker. Giant ones, Clarissa. But dangerous to use yourself as bait to lure them into a trap … should’ve used one of your scouts. Dangling as bait is part of their job. They lose you, your whole company might just fall apart.
“Zavier’s down, as well as Hadim. Pull back up Third Street, and we’ll wheel back down Fifth to meet up with the Striker Lance. They’re starting to push hard. Don’t think we can hold it….”
That would be Zavier’s Company, also part of the Seventy-first. Ariana grimaced. She had never met the man personally, but he was known throughout the Eridani Light Horse as a good man to have at your back.
She pulled up several overlays onto the city, eyes tracking movement as she continued sampling comm channels, her long studies of battles and her innate command ability projecting several potential outcomes.
The pattern snapped into place several minutes before it would become apparent to others. These Snakes would drag the city down around the Light Horse’s ears if they had to, but they had to know they couldn’t keep playing cat-and-mouse. We’ll win, they’ll lose. So the Snakes were going to push out of the city. And they would push right through her.
lf an hour of her own silence in the dry heat of her cockpit, she had to swallow heavily before addressing her troops. “Our R-and-R is just about up, folks. The Fourth Proserpina Hussars have just realized they can’t hold the city and can’t damage us enough to make long-term entrenchment worth the pain. They’re gonna break out, and they’ll be coming right through us.”
She eased her hands onto her joysticks with casual ease, excitement lighting a fire in her eyes. “Time to earn our keep.”
CYCLOPS “SLEIPNIR”
Per Star League Defense Force Quartermaster’s request, Stormvanger Assemblies, Unlimited delivered an assault command platform for Regular Army forces operating in swift, mobile offensives. Its above-average speed for a ninety-ton BattleMech—sixty-four kilometers per hour—superb command capabilities in its Tacticon B-2000 Battle Computer, and Olmstead 8400 communications system covered the requested specifications in spades. Unfortunately, many SLDF commanders often tried using the Cyclops as an assault BattleMech along the lines of more heavily armored Awesomes or Stalkers, only to find themselves outgunned with below-average armor. This earned it an unfair reputation, leaving it an unusual BattleMech, with most having lost their Tacticon long ago due to poor repairs and lack of supplies.
The daughter of Colonel Charles Winston, Ariana was a mercenary brat, raised by the soldiers of the Eridani Light Horse. What could easily have turned into nepotism was anything but as she joined basic training after her nineteenth birthday. Forswearing even a hint of favoritism, her poor study skills left her struggling under the extra burden of too many watchful eyes. Despite an inauspicious start, through grit and determination she ultimately graduated top of her class.
Upon taking command of the Seventh Striker Battalion, she chose a Cyclops—which she named Sleipnir—knowing its poor reputation would test her skills even further.
Written by Randall Neil Bills
