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Part I
Lorehunter throttled down and brought his 65 ton modified Catapult, Stylus, to rest. He had lined up with a gap in the tree line for a quick escape. He knew he would need it too, for somewhere out there a much larger, better armed and armored mech was hunting him. Lorehunter had picked this spot not only for the escape path, but also for the clear line of sight he had down a ravine and into the valley below.
"This is why I hate working with these small, pick-up mercenary groups," he thought to himself.
He had been hired on to fill out a Lance for a single Drop. The briefing said the target was an ammo dump, but it had quickly become obvious that they were merely an expendable decoy. Expecting only a couple of heavies and two or three light mechs, they had been seriously caught off guard by the three Atlases and their support mechs. His Lance had only one Atlas. He did have to give credit to his decimated Lance as they had all gone down shooting. They might have even been able to pull off a win had it not been for the sabotage. First the other Catapult had fired a full salvo into the side of a hill the moment it had brought its launchers online. Their Atlas had been taken down quickly because it kept overheating. All of its weapons had been hardwired into the same firing circuit and every time the pilot pulled the trigger, regardless of the range, everything fired and launched. With the mech constantly overheating and shutting down it was easy pickings. He had been deeply saddened by the short-sightedness of whoever had hired them. The huge waste in manpower, ammo, and mechs was despicable. It was also not all that uncommon out here in the Periphery. Lorehunter really needed to find a reputable Company or, dare he dream, House, before he was killed by greed and stupidity.
His musings brought him back to his current situation. Most of his Lance were dead or shutdown. The only other member still moving was Dervish. She was a Jenner driver and was really living up to her call sign. At the moment she was dancing with one of the two remaining Atlases. The mercs had managed to take out the rest of the defenders but there were still the two 100 ton Atlases against Lore in his Cat and Derv in her Jenny. Lorehunter managed to elude the other one and leave it on the far side of the mountain ridge but it would be back soon. Dervish had kept up a continuous stream of ear burning epitaphs into the comms the entire time. She had cursed her employers, ex Lance mates, the Atlas doggedly trying to turn her into scrap, and Lorehunter for not helping her out in a more timely fashion.
Cocooned in his cockpit, Lorehunter quieted his mind, slowed his breathing, closed his eyes and shut out all other distractions. He reached for his inner calm, the place that let him commune with the Universe. Time slowed, stretched, seconds became minutes, yet everything happened at once. Nebulas, stars, and planets all passed through his consciousness as his mind expanded to focus on the details. He found his Oneness with the Universe and for one single shining eternity he held perfect clarity. He felt the thrum of the fusion reactor at the heart of Stylus. He heard the continuing rants of Dervish and the subtle thuds of the returning Atlas. In the valley below he watched the weapons of the Atlas attacking Dervish flash past the nimble mech to chew up the ground behind and around her. He watched the reality of existence unfold before him and knew what to do.
The second Atlas came lumbering over the ravine ledge and opened fire without aiming. A tree next to Stylus exploded and sent flaming debris bouncing off its armor. With a calmness that belied the chaos around him, Lorehunter squeezed his trigger. Stylus's twin PPCs fired, sending monstrous bolts of plasma down range. Across the ravine the second Atlas continued to advance. Lorehunter knew the enemy pilot had failed to notice that the ridge line on this side had a short cliff face. The Atlas would be able to handle it but it would take a precious moment for its gyros to compensate for the sudden lack of footing. Sure enough the Atlas stepped out into thin air and dropped down. The torso pitched forward just a degree or two but with the added drop in elevation it was more than enough. Twenty meters down slope the hillside erupted as trees and earth exploded under the heavy weapons fire. The first Atlas had finally found a firing solution to finish off Dervish but the pilot never got to pull the trigger. Out of the ravine's mouth screamed twin bolts of ionized energy and Death rode in their wake. In quick succession they burned into the hardened armor of the mech's head cracking open the cockpit and letting Death stream in behind them.
Lorehunter's moment of clarity passed. The minutia of reality crashed back in. Fire, smoke, weapons fire, warning klaxons of different types all creating a maelstrom of sensations and distractions. Dervish was promising all sorts of sweet, intimate rewards for her rescue. Recovered from its misstep the last Atlas was lining up its next shot. Lorehunter pushed the throttle to max and Stylus leapt forward and into the forest. Once again the environment around him was churned up as it absorbed most of the incoming alpha strike. A few missiles managed to find their way over the tops of the trees to rain down on Stylus. Lorehunter was glad he had paid the techs for extra armor. Granted it hindered the normal heat dissipation of the mech, but Lorehunter was the type of pilot to fire when he had a shot not just when he had a target.
Lorehunter continued to charge ahead, angling to keep the thick woods between himself and the remaining Atlas. The trees continued to shield him from the enemies' frustrated, wild shots. Normally Atlases were used to spearhead a charge or defend valuable resources. This continuing limitation in use tended to instill a linear thought mode in their pilots. The mind set was something similar to: move to target, blow the hell out of target, move to next target. Flanking and tactics were for Light and Medium mechs. Lorehunter kept moving until distance and terrain left nothing for the Atlas to shoot. Once clear he began a long arc to put him at his opponent's left. He knew most people favored their right and when given a choice would go to the right.
"There he is." Dervish's voice came over the comm and suddenly a red dot appeared on Lorehunter's Tac Map HUD. Dervish was still in the game and now feeding him telemetry. Ironically she was perched up against the very same cliff face that had tripped up this Atlas not five minutes previously.
Lorehunter throttled down and turned to move into the woods slowly. He plotted a course that would bring him out slightly behind and to the left of the Atlas.
"Derv, you have any teeth left?" he asked.
"One Medium but any kind of hit will core me," came her reply.
"Can you hit his right arm to set me up?"
"Firing in 3 ..... 2...."
Lorehunter throttled up and brought Stylus surging out of the woods just as Dervish plinked the Atlas's arm. Lore knew the HUD would show an attack coming in from the right and sure enough the pilot began twisting in that direction even as he began the ponderous maneuver to turn his war machine in the same direction. Lorehunter watched as the enemy’s back came into perfect alignment. He fired his main guns and the PPC bolts chewed into the thinner armor of the Atlas's back. Realizing where the true threat was, the pilot began to twist back toward Lorehunter but forgot that his legs were still turning to the right. The result was that his back remained exposed and in perfect firing position. Switching his firing circuit to Alpha, Lorehunter fired again -- this time with everything he had. Again plasma burned into the armor, slagging off huge chunks of metal. His four medium lasers flashed into the ruin of his enemy’s back. High Heat and Emergency Shutdown alarms began sounding in the cockpit. The mech's emergency protocol kicked in and shut the reactor down. Stylus was a sitting duck.
Slowly, the glowing red edges of the wounds in the Atlas's back disappeared from sight as it turned to face its victim. Lorehunter watched as the bulk of its weapons came into view. Quietly he reflected on his life and how it was fitting that this was the way it ended. Suddenly there was another flash of a green laser. Secondary explosions ripped though the Atlas's torso and the momentum from its turn toppled it to the ground.
"We're even now Lore, which means you get none of me," chided Dervish.
To keep them quiet about the double cross, their employer had given them a huge bonus. Likely it was merely the rest of the Lance pay. Lore had used it to buy transport for him and Stylus to the Lyran Commonwealth. He had seen a flyer for recruitment into the Skye Rangers and was sick of the Perifery.
Part II
Three weeks later . . .
Sitting cocooned in the cockpit of his brand new Raven, Lorehunter felt both claustrophobic and very, very exposed. The light scout mech was half the tonnage of his old Catapult with an equal reduction in armor. Its weapons were pitiful in comparison -- both in range and impact. But then it was not meant to be a heavy hitter. Lorehunter had named his new mech “Index” because its purpose was to locate the enemy, identify the various mechs and their weapon load outs, and then use the newly introduced laser TAG system to guide friendly LRM fire to the designated target. To fulfill this role the Raven was fast and agile. Not as fast or maneuverable as a Jenner mind you, but Lorehunter was old for a mech warrior; his reflexes were not as twitchy as most scout pilots. When he had mentioned this to his new commander, Warhorse, the officer had glared at him and pointed out that all new recruits are given scout duty. His voice was even and controlled, but it carried such force and authority that Lore was certain it could have ordered enemy weapons’ fire to return to base had he wanted to. Warhorse explained the reasons, counting them off on his fingers.
“One: light mechs are cheaper to repair and replace. We’re not going to let you crash around in a mech until we know for sure that you can handle it. Two: light mechs have weaker short range weapons. We put you in one until we’re certain that you know how to shoot and that you aren’t going to blast your Lance mates in the back. Three: scout mechs are named that for a reason. As a scout you will have to learn and memorize all the various mechs, as well as their strengths and weaknesses, so that you can keep your Lance commanders well-informed. Accurate intel is a hefty force multiplier and your Lance’s ability to battle successfully will depend on your ability to provide that intel. The knowledge you gain now will serve you and your unit in the future as well. By knowing their strengths and weaknesses you will know where you can target to neutralize threats instead of simply trying to pound through the most heavily armored sections. You will also know how to pilot in such a way as to limit your opponents’ ability to return fire. Of course, being a big-time mercenary come in from the hard, cruel Perifery, you probably already know all this so I’ll give you the last and best reason for why you are going to pilot that mech.” Here he paused and Lorehunter became aware of a tiny voice in the back of his head.
“*****, *****, *****, *****, ***** . . .” it repeated. Lorehunter realized in a blinding flash that by questioning his orders on the grounds of age, he had inadvertently implied that Warhorse, who was obviously older, was also less capable than the younger pilots. Plus, Lorehunter challenged the commander’s ability to lead by implying that he had made a mistake with the assignment.
“Four . . .” The commander’s voice became calm, even, like the surface of dark water in a nightmare, just before the terror bursts forth to drag the sleeper down into the depths. Lorehunter looked into his commander’s eyes and felt something like the moments of supreme clarity he had on the battlefield. His vision was like running through holograms of scenes from the commander’s past. In each one, the veteran pilot was riding his mech through the chaos and hell that are war. In every one, regardless of who was attacking or defending, who won or lost, he was a raging pillar of frantic fire. His mech withstanding withering fire while raining destruction on his enemies. Lorehunter saw in that instant that here was a man who did not need to reach or grope for the “Moment”; the Moment was irrelevant to the veteran pilot for battle was in his blood and soul. As Warhorse gave his final reason, there was such an air of authority under craggy countenance that Lorehunter was certain time would stop if Warhorse glared at it, “Because I ordered it.”
“Sir! Yes, Sir!” Lorehunter burned with embarrassment and shame. Before him stood the veteran mech warrior he had always thought he was. Now he was looking the real deal straight in the eye.
“Dismissed, recruit,” growled Warhorse.
So now here he sat in Index. “Move out,” came the command over the comm channel. The mechs in his Lance all throttled up and began moving to the prescribed Navigation points.
There were two other scouts in the Lance with him, both in Jenners. Their job was mostly to harass, annoy, and distract the enemy. He was to move around the battlefield to a spot behind the enemy and then to paint them with his TAG. The three scouts streaked off. Lore peeled off and found a ravine running in the direction he needed. He charged off the edge into thin air. Halfway down he began firing the Jump Jets to slow his fall. He landed hard, causing some minor damage to his mech’s legs. Out of sight he powered onward.
The other scouts had made contact. They began luring the enemy back to within range of the LRMs. Finally Lorehunter was far enough around; he launched himself out of the crevice with a full burn from the Jump Jets. Quickly he got into position, picked a target, and started the TAG.
“In position. Charlie is tagged.”
Far, far away he saw several small black clouds rise up into the sky. Suddenly they all changed direction slightly and converged on target Charlie, a Catapult like his old mech. They rained down on the Catapult, dozens and dozens of missiles, shredding its armor, chewing into its structure, and finally finding its own unspent munitions. The enemy was engulfed in a monstrous fireball and turned to slag.
“No salvage there,” thought Lorehunter.
He moved and found another target. This time an Atlas.
“Echo is lit,” he said into the comm channel.
Again the smoky clouds rose, oriented, and arrowed in. Death rained down on the massive war machine. Little explosions erupted all over the mech as the missile impacted again and again. The mighty Atlas shrugged it off and moved to cover.
“Cease fire. Cease fire. Target has moved next to a building.”
Lorehunter moved before he was spotted, but it was the very act of moving that got him seen. The Atlas began to lumber toward him – firing as it came.
“Echo is in the open and chasing me. Unable to paint target.”
“This is WolfOne. I have target locked; bring the rain.”
It was one of the other scouts that had come to lend a hand. Once again the Atlas came under fire, but paid it little heed. It had become fixated on Lorehunter and his little Raven.
“WolfOne to Lorehunter: follow my lead.”
Lore had already throttled up to full speed to make himself as difficult a target as possible. He turned hard and brought himself around to race back toward the Atlas. His size and speed made him a hard target, but the Atlas was throwing a lot his way. Ahead he saw Wolf’s Jenner circling the Atlas’s legs. Lorehunter almost forgot himself watching the spectacle before him. Constantly adjusting for the Atlas’s progress, Wolf spun his Jenner around the enemy, keeping exactly 40 meters from the target, while traveling well over 100 kph. If that weren’t enough, he had his torso twisted so that his weapons pointed into that circle. With each pass he fired at the same point, scoring hit after hit on the behemoth’s right knee joint.
“Don’t get too close Lore or y’ill get rained on too,” Wolf warned.
Lorehunter saw that WolfOne’s course kept him just outside the fire zone of the inbound missiles while close enough that the Atlas could not track fast enough to shoot back. Lorehunter tried to follow the path of the Jenner but even with the Raven’s throttle opened all the way, he could not keep up with WolfOne. Wolf simply compensated for the slower mech by increasing his speed and moving to transcribe a slightly larger circle. Lorehunter lost his concentration for a moment as he watched the piloting feats being performed in his presence. WolfOne was now running a precise 50 meter circumference circle around a moving point, over uneven ice and snow, avoiding incoming friendly fire and his slower Lancemate, staying ahead of the enemy fire, all while continuing to hit the same target with each pass.
Then it finally happened. Having carved through the outer armor, Wolf’s laser blasts began working on the knee joint proper. Repeatedly heated by lasers and quickly cooled by the sub-zero environment, the knee became brittle. Wolf fired on last time; the knee turned red, cooled, and then shattered under the stress. The giant mech toppled forward. Before it had even hit the ground, WolfOne had peeled away to race across the battlefield.
Once again Lorehunter was humbled. In the Perifery he had been a “good” pilot. He had brought victory for his employers often. His knowledge and skill usually surpassed that of his peers and superiors. But here . . . Well, this was an entirely different league. He had never dreamed of some of the things these pilots did on a regular basis. More often than not he saw himself as a liability to his Lance instead of an asset. His knowledge paled next to the encyclopedic databases kept in the minds of the officers of the Rangers.
Index shuddered and stumbled to the left before the massive gyros could equalize. Klaxons and alarms sounded in the cockpit. Warnings flashed on the console. Lorehunter slammed the brakes and came to a skidding halt. The ground directly ahead of him exploded with directed weapons fire. He turned 45° toward where the shots had emanated and opened the throttle to full again. Quickly he scanned his readouts. An Awesome, with 3 PPCs was bearing down on him. Its first broadside had nearly cored the lightly armored mech. Almost the entire right side of Index was ruined – armor gone, chassis damaged, weapons destroyed, even some of the reactor shielding and heat sinks had been compromised. A voice, faint and unrecognizable, whispered in his mind. He slammed the controls left and his Raven danced away from the second barrage of PPC fire. The Awesome’s secondary weapons landed sold hits on his back armor which now was gone. Any hit on almost 2/3 of his mech would cause a catastrophic shutdown. Before he could make a plan of action, a swarm of enemy missiles found him. Realizing it had been fatally wounded, Index followed its final protocols. First it jettisoned its pilot, then it shutdown the reactor core, and finally dumped its extra munitions to prevent secondary explosions that might further damage the fusion reactor.
Sighing dejectedly, Lorehunter released his harness and climbed from the simulator. Another loss, another subpar performance. In the last week he had managed 42 kills, but died 87 times. Standing outside the simulator was Warhorse.
“You know Son, you might have been right. You really do suck as a scout. I am reassigning you.”
