ForevaXena's FanFic . . .

Unhorsed

by Enoon Erehwon

Disclaimers: The Infamous ‘Fifth Column’

1) These Characters are going to look somewhat familiar to characters we know and love, but they are my original characters.  Really . . . really and for true!

2) Mechwarrior, The Clans, Clan Jade Falcon and all other related incidentia are still the property of FASA.  This story is written without the intent of financial gain, job opportunity or even a 35 Ton Panther painted hot pink and lime green with the phrase ‘You can’t see me!’ spray-painted across the back.

Prologue -- The Way Of Things

In the years prior to 2750, humanity reached for the stars and found worlds beyond count.  They were quickly colonized and a golden age flourished under the rule of The Star League. 

As with all notions of paradise, this one fell victim to treachery and murder.  Gathering the best of his warriors and scientists, the protector-general Aleksandr Kerensky left the Inner Sphere never to return.  Bitter wars -- The Four Wars Of Succession -- were waged between the various remaining ruling Houses to see who would reforge the shards of mankind.  It is a new Dark Age.

The weapon of this war is the BattleMech -- a walking arsenal capable of great destruction.  These machines are piloted by Mechwarriors, the best and the brightest humanity has to offer.

Until Now.

Chapter One -- The Thousand yard stare

Hanna sat in the command chair of her Enforcer Mech, the rear canopy door was open to allow cool air to circulate.  The humanoid looking device was standing against the wall of the transport Dropship, bolted in place with beams across the shoulder and hips that were as thick as the sequoia trees from her home planet.  Across from her were other Mechs being transported with her.  Sizes ranging from the small 30 ton Hornet next to her to the behemoth 100 ton Atlas staring at her across the bay.  Looking up at the death’s-head design painted on the face, she suppressed a shiver.  Casting her eyes down, she leaned down to pick up her neurohelmet.  On the side of the dark blue helmet, shield had been painted with a red background.  Rearing on its hind legs was a shillouttete of a horse.  Over the shield was a light blue ribbon that had the words ‘17th Skye Rangers’ in black.  Under the shield’s point was another blue ribbon with more words painted on the winding ribbon ‘Sic Sempter Tyrannus’.  She felt her throat tighten as a tear began to push its way from the corner of Hanna’s green eyes.  Taking a deep breath, she slid the helmet onto her head and tightened the chinstrap.  “Enforcer to deck boss.”

The radio speaker in her helmet hissed.  “Deck boss, over.”

“ETA touchdown?  I need to stretch my legs.”

“TOUCHDOWN IN THREE MINUTES.  ALL MECH PILOTS REPORT TO YOUR VEHICLES AND ASSUME HOSTILE ENVIRONMENT PROTOCOL.  TOUCHDOWN IN THREE MINUTES, ALL MECH PILOTS REPORT TO YOUR VEHICLES AND ASSUME HOSTILE ENVIRONMENT PROTOCOL.  THAT IS ALL.”  The loudspeaker echoed across the bay.  People ran to the howdas, the lifts that carried them to the cockpits.  Hanna stood up to pull in the door behind her.  “Thanks for the loudspeaker, deck boss.  Weather conditions at touchdown?”

“Forgot your booties, Mechwarrior?”

Hanna smiled.  “I just got my hair permed and I want to know if I have to stop by the PX to get a shower cap.”

“Sunny and dry with a light breeze from the north east.  The Prince will be relieved to know that your hair is squared away, Enforcer.  Now we can resume the chore of winning the war.  Deck boss, out.”

Hanna snorted as she gave the door lock a final twist.  She sat back down in the chair as the cabin began to pressurize.  She reached for a long tube that snaked from her thick dark blue vest onto the floor and plugged it into a hole on the side of the chair marked ‘coolant only’.  “Computer, activate start sequence.”

“Pilot?”  The mechanized voice was female and familiar to her.  She couldn’t turn her Mech on without hearing her former girlfriend’s voice.

“Sergeant Hanna Tomlin, 17th Skye Rangers.  Third Battalion.”

“Password?”

Hanna leaned over and plugged her neurohelmet cord into a plug above the left side of her head.  “Rangers lead the way.”

“Accepted.”  The display flickered in front of her as the hum of the fusion reactor started.  A blast of warm air wrapped around her while her vest filled with super-cooled liquid.  The front display changed to show her a 270 degree view around her Enforcer.  Clusters of lights rippled awake on her front dash.  She rested her foot on the accelerator.  She looked at each of the four corners of her display.  A strip across the top of the screen gave her a compass, down on the left hand bottom corner was an outline of her Mech in green.  On the upper left corner was a yellow circle with a quarter wedge cut into it.  Her weapons listing in the upper right corner was in red -- they had been all deactivated for the trip.  As her former commanding officer had put it: Dropships tend to become cranky when an autocannon fires a round through the hull especially in space.  The speed indicator below it read three sets of green zeros.  On the middle of left side between the radar and the damage indicator was a green line.  As the Mech went through its functions, heat would build up.  The green line was a gauge for the amount of heat -- represented by a rising bar that changed colors from green to yellow to red.  Too much heat and the Mech would shut down on its own.  The cockpit temperature grew as hot as the rest of the Mech.  Pilots would wear as little as possible while inside.  Standard clothing was often little more than a pair of lycra shorts and a thin cloth shirt.  Hanna wore less than that, what her lance mates called the ‘battle bikini’.  Her cooling vest labored to keep her core temperature within human tolerance. 

Her Mech started rattling against the restraints.  He looked ahead of her to the Atlas.  She flipped a switch on the left arm of her control chair.  “Atlas, this is Tomlin in the Enforcer in front of you.  Atlas, please respond.”  The 100 ton Mech started rocking to the side slightly as the Dropship continued to shake.

“Atlas here.”

“How secured are you?  I’m looking at you from outside and from what I can see, you’re shimmying pretty badly.  Can’t you feel it?”

“Crap!  My neurohelmet must have a bad connect somewhere.  Stand by.”  Hanna heard some muffled voices, one male and one female, and some scraping.  The Atlas stopped shaking.  “All green, Enforcer?”

“All green.  Did I hear another voice, Atlas?  You got some tech in there or something?”

“Umm . . . yeah.  I got a tech checking on the coolant pump in my chair, must have shut off the balance relays by mistake.”

Right, and my last name is Kurita.  “Okay, then.  When the tech is done fixing things there, can you have them check out the CASE for my autocannon?  I think it’s a little stuck.”  Hanna threw herself back in her chair.  The pilot on the other end had to have been young, maybe a fresh faced cadet from the cheaper military academies like Black Jack’s or whatever matchbook he found on the streets.  Goddamn FNG.  Stupid sons of bitches like that get people killed!  The more she looked at the towering Atlas, the more she wanted to arm her cannons and aim for the thinner armor around the cockpit.  The button that armed her weapons sat in the right arm of her chair.  Her arm crept towards the clear plastic cover.  She could feel the memories beginning to crowd out all the other sensory information. 

“Recon Three!  Recon Three!  Enemy contacts picked up!”  Garner’s voice buzzed in her helmet.

Hanna looked up at her cockpit display.  In her radar in the upper left corner, five boxes were closing quickly on the green spot in the center.  Two blue boxes at the northern edge of her radar range started to move to her position.

“Recon Three!  Move out bearing 165 at top speed.  We’re going to link at rally point Baker with the heavy lance.”  Baxter, the lance leader, turned his Trebuchet towards the horizon.  “Scouts One and Two, can you slow down the target’s advance?

“Negative, sir.  We’re washing the Mechs through the library and we’re rollin’ snake eyes.  Suggest a full out retreat.  Let the big boys handle this.”  Davis’ voice had a small note of fear to it.

“All right, then.  Recon Three and Four head for the rally point and put out the call to the heavy lance that we have unknown contacts.  Recon Two and myself will cover your--”  The radio erupted into static.  Hanna twisted her Mech’s torso as she watched Recon One stagger backwards as gouts of flame burst from the chest.  A second stream of red arced over the rise and ground itself into the exposed side the vehicle.  She saw something fire off from the rear and explode.  The Trebuchet’s human looking left arm was ripped off by the force of the explosion.  The right arm that ended in a pair of gun barrels below the elbow joint pointed to where the stream had come from.

“HOLY SHIT!  RECON ONE!  RECON ONE, RESPOND!”  Davis’ Dervish moved into Hanna’s view as another volley came roaring in.  The Trebuchet’s helmet shaped cockpit caught a pair of missiles and imploded.  Hanna felt all emotion drain out of her heart as the limbs on the Mech settled into stillness.  Baxter was her best friend, the one who comforted her when Allison had been killed by the Kuritans in the Battle of Andret’s Ridge.  Baxter died in the cold vacuum of space, but his death was not going to be answered quietly.

Hanna looked where Baxter had pointed.  She could see a form standing on top of the ridge.  Her rangefinder marked the target out of the range of her weapons.  “Recon Four, take him out!”

A whoop sounded in Hanna’s helmet as the black bodied Clint raised its right arm, which ended in a cannon.  “Locked!  Fire!”  A blue bolt of energy streaked out of the cannon.  Hanna zoomed in on the Mech.  The Mech looked like a vulture, the cockpit hung over the center of the body and either side contained what had to be the launch tubes of its missile array.  The arms held four muzzles.  Holy crap, are those two LRM-20 racks?  That think must build up heat like crazy!

“Recon Four, hammer it with the PPC.  Recon Three and I will close in for a leg shot.  This is recon lance Cyclops to heavy lance Aegis.  Come in Aegis lance.”  Hanna started her Mech to running speed.  Her right arm raised up and a red crosshair floated across her view.  With a carefully executed set of thoughts she managed to center the cross hairs on the chicken-knee joint of the Mech.  Fire.  The neurohelmet took the command and the autocannon fired.  Bright yellow points of light streaked out, several of them slamming into the joint.  The Mech staggered once to keep balance.  Green beams of light lanced out from the Dervish’s flat box like hands, followed by rounds from his SRM-2 to impact on the left missile rack.  Hanna flipped mental switches and brought her laser array online.  She sent dark blue light centering on the box hip to flash for a second.  The Mech sent another pair of missiles like a liquid river roaring towards the Clint below them.  One arm aimed for the Dervish’s arm and the other aimed for Enforcer’s leg.

“SHIT!  SHIT!  MY ENGINE’S GOING CRIT--”  Hanna felt the shockwave as the chain reaction from the power plant of the Clint raced beyond the control of the damaged dampening rods.  Hanna had only a split second to close her eyes against the blinding white flash.  The lights in her canopy flickered briefly, then steadied.  The Mech in front of her fired its weapon.  By the way the beam was cutting through the armor in her hip, she would have three full seconds between the laser depleting its capacitor and recharging.  Time enough for her to move around to the underprotected back and strike it with a full barrage of autocannon shells.  The other arm fired a thick beam of red light.  The Dervish fired another round of SRM-2 missiles, which looked like it did nothing that a good layer of paint couldn’t fix.

“Aegis lance, where the hell are you?”  Hanna started to move forward as the third second rolled by.  The Mech arm followed her, still projecting the beam of light on her hip.  Hanna looked to her damage indicator.  The upper part of her left leg had turned from green to yellow.  Even as the fourth second ticked by, the yellow darkened to orange.  “What the--”

A flash of light from her left side caught her attention.  Davis’ Dervish now had a sparking stump where the arm was.  Davis was screaming profanities as he leveled his remaining arm at the Mech.  Two blue bolts came from the other side of the ridge.  One of them struck the Dervish in the chest, the other sizzled the torso where the arm used to hang.  Hanna watched in disbelief as the blue square closest to her dot blinked out of existence.  The Dervish fell backwards, its remaining arm parallel to the body.  Hanna turned her Mech around and started to race for cover.  Something hard punched in the back armor.  She swiveled her torso to the side and fired her large laser blindly, hoping to make the Mechs scatter, or at least reconsider their target.  Her Mech started beeping as someone set a missile lock on it.  Hanna made her Mech dart to the right as hard as she could.

The world suddenly fell away from her to reveal a dark sky full of stars.  The outline of the leg on her damage indicator disappeared.  She craned her head around to try to see what was going on around her.  She could feel the vibrations of something heavy coming close.  They could be coming to finish her off with a blast to the cockpit.  They could even be as cruel as to step on the round head of the Mech.  The thudding grew stronger behind her, where her head was pointed.  In the camera’s view, she could see the vulture like craft loom over her.  It pointed both of its beam weapons below her angle of vision.  The glow of the lasers crept over the rim of her canopy frame.  The damage indicator on her other leg darkened to black quickly.  It turned its torso and lowered the cannons.  It’s just cutting me apart, like a turkey dinner.  The beam scorched through the joint, then touched the ammunition cell.  The explosion slid the Enforcer to the side and staggered the enemy Mech out of her view.  Hanna couldn’t eject and no one had answered her calls for help.  With a swallow and a knitted brow, she resigned herself to an ignomious death on the battlefield from oxygen depletion.  More thuds came behind her, these were deeper and harder than the others.  Hanna squirmed as she tried to reach for the emergency ejection loop above her head.  She knew the feeling of a 100-tonner walking from previous experience.  They rarely cared who got underfoot and she was directly in their path.  The thuds were now lifting her Mech’s frame off of the ground.  She had only a few seconds to give herself the mercy of a death in space.

The final thud knocked her backwards into her seat.  She screamed once, then blinked.  She was in the Dropship Caesar heading for the planet Kilcross for what would be the first successful operation against the invaders that called themselves The Clans.  Her sweat felt cold against her skin.  She held her arms close to her to keep from shaking.

“Deck boss to Enforcer.  Everything okay in there?”

“Yeah, nothing like a Dropship smacking into the ground to ruin a good nap.  Enforcer, out.”  She changed the frequency to the one used by ground crews everywhere in the Federated Commonwealth.

            “--embark by rows, starting with the Hornet.  All pilots will follow the green line to the ground boss.  Stop at the line and await processing.  Move out.”  Hanna waited for the beams to unlock and swing out of the way before she started moving.  The sunlight was a welcome break from the harsh and antiseptic glare of the sodium lights in the Dropship. 

The base was rolling with activity.  Dropships on either side of hers were letting their cargo out.  Mechs walked out in smooth motions and followed the line.  In the distance, Hanna could see the repair bays, spanning fourteen stories in the air to accommodate all sizes that would wander through the area.  Off to one side were the barracks and control centers, the standard drab gray ferrocrete structures made to be put up and torn down with little effort.  Tanks rolled around on a tarmac well away from the Mechs.  Some small distance away from them, infantry lined up in blocks of green, then marched to their buildings.  This was a well timed and comfortable routine that Hanna built her life around. 

She stopped at the green dot.  Ahead of her was a large vid screen.  The face of the ground boss looked into her canopy at eye level.  “Open your cockpit door and have your ID tags ready.”  Hanna pushed the button to retract her restraints and set her balance on auto.  She half-crawled to the back of her cockpit and opened the door.  Below her, the ground boss rose up on his howda.  “ID tags, Mechwarrior.”

“Yes, sir.”  Hanna handed them to him and sank into a more comfortable crouch.  She knew what was going to happen next. 

The ground boss blanched predictably when the name and rank encoded on the tags was read:  Her Grace, Baroness Hanna Tomlin.  “Y-Y-Your Grace, had-had I known you were arriving, I would have--”  He stiffened and threw his arm up in a salute sharp enough to shave electrons from an atom.

“I am here as a Mechwarrior, not to review the troops.  Address me by my rank, not my station.”  Hanna grew tired of having to explain herself to almost every ground and deck boss.  “What is my assignment, sir?”  She returned the salute.

“Yes . . . you’re lance leader to the 177th Blackjack Regulars.  Follow the green line, then take the yellow one to hangar 25.  Your Mech will be given a once-over and in the meantime, you’ll be getting familiar with your crew.  May I offer you a word of advice?”

Hanna took her tags and hung them around her neck.  “I’ll always take free advice, sir.”

“If your lance mates aren’t in the chowline or in the rec hall, then they’re probably in the brig or on their way.  They’re not Rangers, so don’t except much out of them in the way of fighting.”  Te lift the deck boss stood off started to lower.  “You’re clear to move, Mechwarrior.”  Hanna saluted and crept back into her seat. 

“Ah, the old Kuritan curse: may you live in interesting times.”  She made the Enforcer lumber forward .

Just like the deck boss said, her new lance wasn’t in the chowline, not in the sparsely populated rec hall nor were they in the brig.  They were, however, on their way to the brig and were in their bunk room awaiting court-martial.  She hefted up her duffel bag higher on her shoulder.  Hanna counted off the rooms to herself.  Here I am, room 27.  Time to act like a lance leader.  She set her face in a slight scowl and raised her hand to touch the door pad.  A burst of laughter erupted from the other side of the metal, followed by other voices.

“I’m telling you, that’s the honest truth!  Paul jumped out the window with his fatty-gews in one hand and his tags in the other!  It was priceless!”  This male voice was loud, like the obnoxious drunk who said he would beat anyone in the bar in arm-wrestling shortly before passing out.  He let out another machine-gun laugh.  Under the laugh was the creak of metal, so he must be sitting on his bunk.

“Hey, anyone hear about who the new lance leader is?”  This voice was a younger male, no more than three or four months out of basic.  He’s never seen combat save some good simulators.  He’s going to be the weak link in the chain. 

“I heard our new leader is a woman.”  The third voice had the sound of culture to it.  He was probably real nobility -- Hanna’s title came because her mother married the right man.  The first man groaned loudly.

“You’ve got to be shitting me!  We’ve got a chick in the leader’s seat?  Man, what a joke!”  The first voice’s bunk creaked, followed by a thump.  “Women should not be in combat, they should be at home having the kids and making sure they’re boys.  Christ!  I should be running this lance.  I’ve put in more time in this man’s -- and I mean man’s -- army than that prissy dyke.  Fuck!”

Hanna took a deep breath and balled her hands up into fists.  She opened up her duffel bag and slipped on her jump suit.  She closed the front piece with a jerk up on the zipper.  She shifted things around so that the side of her neurohelmet hung in view for everybody to see.  Her lance patch hadn’t been changed yet, so on her right shoulder was the same insignia of the Rangers.  Another deep breath brought her temper down to reasonable levels.

“Paul, relax.  She’s gonna--”

“S.T.F.U. Randy.  There is a reason why it’s called a cockpit and not a c--”

Hanna jammed her hand against the pad.  The door opened with a whoosh.  She took three steps in and dropped the bag beside her.  The three men stared at her blankly.  Paul, the last one who had been speaking was in the middle of the room.  Randy was sitting on the lower bunk and the third, who hadn’t given his name, was leaning against the sink area.  The room was done in the basic military fashion.  Double bunks with sheets and scratchy blankets, foot lockers on the floor and no other effects.  The three were dressed in dark blue t-shirts and pants.  All three were thin and wiry -- the perfect Mechwarrior frame -- with close cropped hair. 

“Lance leader on deck.  ATTENTION!”  Hanna watched as the three stiffened their backs.  Randy jumped up, promptly banged his head on the lower lip of the bunk, then managed to stand up in attention.  A bright red patch popped up on his forehead.  Hanna paced around the room, looking over each soldier in turn.  “I am your new lance leader.  My name is Sergeant Tomlin, and if I like you, I will let you call me by my first name, Sergeant.  Otherwise, I will only be addressed as Sergeant Tomlin.  You will not call me Tomlin, Tommy, Sarge and ma’am.  If you do, you will regret it like you have regretted nothing more in your life.  That is not a threat, that is an explanation of the consequences of your actions.  From now on, if you are not sleeping or eating, you will be training.  The local rumor is that this is the lance of misfit jocks.  That stops today.”  She swooped over to Paul.  “If you don’t like it, say so now and I will be more than happy to ship your lazy ass anywhere on the front lines so you can kill your other fellow soldiers.  Am I clear, Mechwarrior?”

“Yes, Sergeant Tomlin.”  Paul stared straight ahead.

“I am to understand that this lance is under closed quarters pending a court martial, is that correct?”  She looked over her shoulder to Randy.

“Yes, Sergeant Tomlin.”  Randy responded quickly.

“What are the charges?”  She turned around to look at the third man.

“Absent Without Leave, Sergeant Tomlin.  We were late with our leave curfew.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ethan Daniels.”

Hanna squinted her eyes.  “Ethan Daniels, what?”

“Ethan Daniels, Sergeant Tomlin.”

“Who is the judge martial here?”

“Captain James Barlow, Sergeant Tomlin.” 

“Be ready and dressed for simulator runs in three hours.”  Hanna started to walk out the room.

“But we--”  Randy started to object, but Hanna’s gaze froze him on the spot.

“You have your orders.  Hit the sim deck.”  Hanna walked out of room and closed the door behind her.

To Be Continued . . .

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