SCMR Chpt 57

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==Chapter 57 - Self Configuring Modular Robot==
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Trell 1...
Henry Ngo was the scout for his highness's command lance, because he worked to get here, but 'here' sometimes means you have to be the loyal armsman, not the friend, not the colleague.
"Galen, get him out of here!!" Henry barked over the channel. The heir's machine had fallen. The Clanners had, apparently, had enough with playing the long game.
They'd come in with full-court press. Then turning the canyon system they'd been using into a killing zone.
"What about you?", asked Galen
"I don't matter, the Heir to the ****** throne matters. I'm breaking orders and ****** the chain of command, you get Prince Victor the ****** off this rock!!", Henry explained
"Why me?", Galen asked
"That's because he likes you better, and because I don't have to carry ammo in Shakey Sue. Which means I won't run out and go winchester. Now GO Damn-your-eyes!!"
Galen took on the wounded Archon-in-waiting and heir, and went.
Henry went to work.
A man is born to do a thing. Sometimes that thing expresses itself in ways that clash with what he wishes he were, even what he trains to be. Henry is not that man.
The first enemy 'mech through junction 24 passed him without seeming to see him. The ugly, bird-legged thing with the asymmetry like a T-bolt didn't notice him in his modified Griffin.
This is not a stroke of good luck, not when said griffin has supplemented its arsenal with the hatchet recovered from one of the other fallen Lyran 'mechs in the local Militia garrison.
Henry drove the cleaver into the enemy's back. Coring the machine, before jumping to another position-away from the dropships that were to carry the rest of the unit off-world.
He landed on the armored cowl of another of the enemy's huge assault machines. With his left hand, he crouched-down, and with his right, he swung the axe downward, into the machine's cockpit. 
He didn't stay for the BDA on that, but was jumping again. This time to an angled hillside forested with solar panels arranged like trees.
The reflections scrambled sensors, and he moved on his third target, kicking up to 85 KPH along a hillside too steep, according to the alarms from his gyro's monitoring hardware-especially unbalanced with the salvaged weapon.
Face to face with another one of the enemy's assault machines. So close, in fact, he was inside the arc of its arms when he drove his 'mech's knee up into the armored drives of the thing's pelvis. He then a spin-kick, smashing the backwards-facing knee and setting up for a velocity-enhanced punch to the helicopter-like cockpit assembly.
Henry wasn't playing the long game here, he was out to draw everyone's attention...to buy time.
Some men are simply born to fight for a cause.
Henry Ngo was born to fight for a cause. His perceptions expanded as they narrowed-his world became slamming into the enemy and smashing them. Then finding them, focusing the bastards on himself. This is so that others might get away, might survive, might live.
Survival? That was not even a concern as he roamed the jumbled hillsides with shattered draws and saddles.
His universe was narrowed to himself, and the enemy, he didn't even look to see if the DropShips had launched.
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Edgar Malthus could see it with his eyes, but his sensors? They insisted nothing was there, that his Star-mate was fighting nothing at all...
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