Graphic content warning: If you've never thought about what would happen to a person if they were hit directly with even the smallest of mech lasers, well, I can tell you you'll experience it here! So a word of caution when reading if you're one of those sissy freebirth types. Ew.
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This story is designed to be a take on the horrors of war inflicted on the First Wave of the Jade Falcon's initial invasion in the Lyran corridor - yes, it is a rehash of AQOTWF, and uses the first names of characters from the book itself, but that will likely be the only true similarity, the others being the psychological effects of warfare.]
Chapter One: The Calm Before the Storm
"-Bandits in the heroic defense of Steelton. The FedCom forces report similar victories against renegade factions all across the Eastern Periphery, securing peace and prosperity for the Lyran Commonwealth."
It had been awhile since he'd heard a broadcast about the Periphery, but Paul Brett remembered them well. It wasn't atypical for a young man his age to have heard several of the propagandist messages sent throughout the Federated Commonwealth, promoting the armed forces of the combined Steiner-Davion alliance, and the overall well-being of the Lyran peoples.
Paul could still remember his earlier days at the academy, how Albert would gawk at their professor's insistence that to fight for the Lyran worlds was the sworn duty of their generation. Paul was never much to fall for this sort of thinking, but he had to admit, it felt good to be doing something for his people.
Boot camp for the 17th Skye Rangers had not been so glorious, however. Remembering the days of being worn down to the bone with exercise and training, the terrible food, all of the other soldiers and their various trans-unit politicking... He was glad to be out of there for good. It hadn't been too pleasant an experience for him, several off-worlder Davion loyalists had somehow found their way into the 16th Skye barracks, and they had not treated the small, fair-haired young man as though he were anything more than a total pushover. They insisted of course, that these Lyran soldiers were nothing like the tough, rugged Federated Suns soldier, that back on their homeworlds, there were all sorts of war stories of men taking down opponents ten-to-one.
Paul never bought it for a second.
He would have kept on reminiscing, but a heavy hand knocked right up against his helmet, jarring his brain and making him clutch his rifle with white knuckle force. The owner of the hand was, of course, Private Albert Krass. The larger, more broad-shouldered boy was grinning and had his own rifle shouldered, the light from a hanging lamp outside the doorway of a supply office glinting off of the silvered markings on his uniform.
"I said, what's for dinner today, dumkopf? I swear sometimes your head's so far up your own arse the minute a Bandit shows up we're both done for."
Paul grimaced and looked over his shoulder at the other Private.
"Like I would know. Probably more slop, same as always. It's not like the food's ever been gourmet."
Their marching line turned the corner passed the 14th Company's barracks, and for a moment, a tinge of vertigo persisted in Paul's head as a JumpShip's takeoff a couple hundred meters in front of him over the edge of the buildings made him remember what the experience had been like for him, getting hauled all the way to the front lines of the Periphery on Barcelona, but he wasn't sure if it was the memory of the long, nauseating trip or the fact he'd been smacked in the back of the head so hard by his friend.
Barcelona was a place too cold for Paul's tastes, after all, growing up on Summer made one into a human whom preferred a warmer climate. Considering the name of the planet, he wasn't surprised to find his first offworld trip unpleasant in this exact nature. The troops of the 4th Platoon took another turn, and the Sergeant ordered a full halt. Paul's boots made an audible noise as his heels snapped together at attention.
"I expect you back in your quarters at eighteen hundred, understood?" barked the officer, the last word spoken close enough to the Private's ear that he flinched slightly at the volume.
"Sir, yes sir!" he immediately chimed with the rest of the Platoon, before they were ordered at ease and allowed to enter the mess hall before them. He was relieved to stop feeling so tense. Of course, Albert shouldered right passed him to grab a good seat before they were all taken. It wasn't to Paul's surprise that there was more than adequate room, and the troops ended up spread losely about the place which could easily seat another two or three Platoons. In fact, there were clustered groups from the 13th Regiment, 2nd Platoon, though he wondered why they didn't number nearly as many as the rest of his own Platoon. Many of the more grizzled looking 2nd Platoon members eyed their younger counterparts with a look of contempt, and he attempted to avoid their gaze whenever possible. It wasn't long before Albert had gone and come back, sloshing a bowl of soup down before Paul loudly, some of the contents of the bowl pouring onto the table as the surface of the liquid protested Albert's assault. Paul jumped once more as he was dragged out of his own world of deep thought.
His partner in crime eyed him suspiciously.
"You alright? Your head ain't nearly in the game as much as usual."
It was true, he felt distracted by all the goings-on that there was only one thing on his mind: they were trained soldiers, which meant they were here to fight. He could only assume this is exactly why the 13th's 2nd soldiers were less in number, and appeared xenophobic. The prospect was daunting.
Just then, one of their other former classmates from Summer joined them, a tall, thin lad by the name of Muller, and another, Lehr, who's stupid grin didn't suprise Paul one bit. Muller plopped down and nearly caused a second round of soup storms, due to the rickety metal bench which Paul could only assume hadn't been replaced since the first Secession Wars. He clutched the bowl and held it aloft instead, though the speed this required only meant he burned a finger instead.
"How are you drekheads doing?" Lehr inquired enthusiastically, his lopsided smile beaming at each of the other soldiers in turn. Paul just sipped his soup, prompting a chuckle from Albert.
"Paul here's turned into a regular spacecase," he mentioned to Lehr, who glanced at him sidelong before dipping a piece of bread into his own bowl and biting at it, before using it to point back at Albert with vigor.
"Hey, ol' Pauly here's not the one who lost the footrace to a dirty Davion," he mentioned, which drew a nice long 'oooh' from Muller, who then laughed and clapped an arm around Albert and shook him a bit while the latter made a face.
"Ah don't worry, he's just jealous of your math skills, Al. One day when he's missin' his calculations on those mortars, and gets stomped on by a Commando, he'll be remembering this moment."
Paul's face grew pale at the prospect of fighting against even the lightest of Battlemechs in the future. Of course, Lehr took note, and was ready to change the topic in his own interest in any case.
"Say, so you guys heard yet? Apparently, there's some gorgeous women in 2nd Company, eh? What you guys think, maybe wet your whistles? Play the field?" He was looking at Muller, who grumbled and rolled his eyes.
"What's it to you anyway, Lehr? It's not like these battle hardened babes are goin' to take a look at how soft you are and want a piece."
Always quick with the crack, Lehr just grinned.
"Still upset over Karina, huh?" he asked rhetorically, referring to an attempted romance the Private opposite him had failed to pull off. That silenced Muller for a moment while Albert slurped loudly at his soup. Paul only sighed softly.
"Hey, Pauly, why don't you go get some more bread for the table, huh? We sure could use it."
Paul nodded, glad to have a chance to distance himself from the high spirits of his comrades. He placed his hands on the table, and stood up. It was only a few more seconds before he was in line at the sundries table, scooting forward each time a soldier loaded up on bread, juice, or utensils. He was only five or six Privates away when a voice spoke softly behind him.
"New kid, huh?" it asked, gruff and deep.
Paul looked over his shoulder, only to find an older-looking Sergeant, probably in his fourties. The man looked unamused by the rest of the soldier's jovial conversation, same as he did, and for a moment, Paul faltered under his gaze, before he swallowed and spoke up.
"Just arrived today," he mentioned, sounding like a child in a playpen rather than the member of an elite company of soldiers.
"You'll do fine," he said simply, before reaching around the lad to grab a few pieces of bread and a napkin. He brushed passed Paul carefully, leaving him feeling oddly better than he had been just a moment before. Taking one of the almost-empty baskets of bread for the table, he moved back over and placed in the middle of the other three, Albert noticing his face had lost it's tension, and reached over to toss a piece of the bread back at Paul with a grin.
"Eat up, we got runs tomorrow."
The rest of his meal Paul spent loosely conversing with his platoon mates, before a small automated chime denoted it was about time they started filtering back to the barracks. He excused himself to use the restroom, and whilst he did so, he had only used it as a ploy to allow himself to walk back alone. Hands in his pockets, he left the smell of the food behind, and headed down the lanes toward the barracks the 4th Platoon had been assigned. But as he passed an administrative annex, the line of buildings broke, opening up to a large, towered gate which was open as a Raven stepped through. For a moment, he gawked at the size of it, but his hands left his pockets and he was further disarmed by the rolling landscape beyond.
It stretched before him, daunting in it's brevity, and in the distance, a faint orange glow marked the oozing of lava floes from a far-off volcano. What made it worse, though, was the wreckage, as even in the distance and the fading light from the recent sunset, he could still make out the carcasses of tanks and other ground vehicles scattered about the lower-lying area just beyond the base. Not all of them were Bandit, as many were facing away from the base itself. Bringing his gaze back, however, brought some solace, as he eyed the defensive fortifications likely responsible for the destruction just on the other side; there were long, thin trenches with battlements and barbed wire, and he could spot some units on patrol just before the gate slowly moved upward and blocked his line of sight.
It took him a second to start moving again.
Finding his bed, and ignoring the playful banter of the bunking soldiers, it wasn't long before his stress gave way to exhaustion, and he fell prey to the one you never see coming.
[EDIT: I started a job at Microsoft watching mundane fire panels which never go off hardly ever when they're in bypass, so I realized 11 hours of straight MechCommander was a thing. This means I should get to add a chapter to this story every few days or so! ...If I'm up to it. No guarantees!]
Edited by The Rogue Falcon, 05 June 2016 - 04:04 PM.