ICHaFBI 4

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=I, Corvus; How a Fool became Imperator of the O'Reillys - Chapter IV -=
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===Dining in Chains on eve of Battle===
Timbiqui Gardens
Brewerton, Cissolar Continent
Timbiqui
Independent World (Contested)
27th September, 3030
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Timbiqui Gardens was a symbol of freewheeling hedonism unmatched in the former Tamarind March. The Legio Morituri had transformed it into a military camp.
 
Rows of picnic tables had been scavenged and placed inside what used to be a beer tent. The MechWarriors of the Morituri sat chained together in rows of ten. Elsewhere, in the park’s permanent structures, the armour and infantry officers who acted as their wardens were enjoying fine foods, local women, and the many fine drinks produced by Timbiqui Spirits.
 
Here, Sertorius O’Reilly, eldest son of Imperator Gaius, brother of Imperator Marius, the Hammer of Huntington, the Scourge of Reykavis, the Butcher of Bourque, Member of the Order of Scipio, recipient of the Corona Graminea, sat between a murderer and a serial rapist. Yet across him sat an Imperial senator. Behind, a former governor. They were not alone. His cohort included two planetary Senators, three former legati, and an aging general.
 
It made no difference to the men who held the whips. There were two kinds of officers in the Auxilla of the Hegemony: those tankers and infantry who aspired to the glory, honour, and prestige of the Praetorian Guard, and those whose need to dominate other men led them to the Auxilla Ripariensis. Officially, MechWarriors were sentenced to a term in the Morituri after which they could rejoin the regular legions with honour. But whether three years or twenty, the wardens enjoyed finding new ways to ensure MechWarriors died long before their release date. Sertorius was an exception, sentenced to life among the Morituri. He often questioned whether it was a mercy, or cruelty, though he doubted his brother had expected him to survive for seven years. Imperator Marius should have paid greater attention to his brother’s honours, or at least his lapdog, who advocated crucifixion.
 
The tables today were heaped with vegetables and meat instead of gruel. No one talked. The food spoke for itself. Today they go into battle, again.
 
A pair of Principes stood at the head of each row. Each maniple had two: one was the pet Morituri MechWarrior who officially led the maniple, the other commanded the century of armour that would accompany them to make sure they fought with courage.
 
A horn sounded, and the Principes began to whip the Morituri into action. One by one, the maniples were led to their machines. His maniple passed one of the medium cohorts on the way out. He spared a quick glance toward Marcus Gibson, a new recruit for the fire support cohort straight from the Praetorian Guard itself. The Auxilla saw it as their solemn duty to ensure any Praetorians in the Morituri had an especially rough life, as Marcus’ swollen face and broken nose could attest. They locked eyes for a moment and Marcus blinked twice, then looked away.
 
The meaning was clear to Sertorius: Legio II was with them, but Legio IV was not. It was just as he had expected. Legio II’s general had served with Marcus, while Legio IV was commanded by one of Marius’ men. Hopefully some of his Legati could be turned.
 
Either way, it would have to be enough.
 
The Principes led them to what had once been an enormous parking lot where the heavy cohort’s mechs stood in rows. The three maniples of MechWarriors were likewise formed into three ranks and stood at attention. He cleared his mind of everything but his mantra, Siobhan, to ready himself for the day’s action. Legate Horatius was known to keep them waiting like this for hours, and if he were feeling especially cruel in peacetime, all through the night. The mantra helped to stay focused, and still.
 
The Legate arrived shortly. It must be an important mission then.
 
“No one thinks you’re worth his attention, his time, a place in society, or even the light of day. For today, I still think you’re worth the food on your plate. Prove me right. We’ve got the Timbiquians boxed into the Bale Valley. This is where the real fight is going to happen. The Timbiquians have been carrying out a delaying campaign so they could prepare the valley. Legio II and IV have done an excellent job of clearing away the rabble and blocking off the eastern exits to the valley. We’ll be attacking from the north west. In order to enter the valley, we need to clear the city of Piamonte. It’s a small city, about 120,000 people, but they’re tightly packed into a very small area, so expect dense cover and don’t get caught by 'mechs hiding around corners. Expect prepared defenses throughout the city. The whole area is heavily fortified.
 
“Air cover will not be an issue. Their air cavalry has been destroyed, their aerospace assets are negligible and their air defense too strong for our own aerospace to operate. Expect the enemy to be made up mostly of infantry and 'mechs. The enemy does have heavy armoured units, but expect them to remain in the Bale Valley itself. You and the Assault cohort will be the spearhead. You will, as always, have the support of Auxilla armour and infantry units. You’ll also be supported by Limitanei infantry and armoured units. They’re brave, but they’ve never seen a proper battle. Don’t rely on them. Cracking into the Bale Valley is your responsibility, and you will bare the blame if you fail. When you succeed, the close support cohort will exploit the breach to allow our battle armour to shred anyone dumb enough not to have fled their fortifications.
 
“Come back with your BattleMech, or not at all. Principes, take charge of your men!”
 
One at a time, the Morituri were unchained and fitted into their cooling suits. Their Principe climbed into his Gladius hovertank. Sertorius braced for the pain to come. The Principe always liked to check that the shock collars built into the cooling suits worked. This time, no pain came, only a faint buzz from the cooling suit. He saw the others around him jolt and wince from the pain and copied them. He tried his best to hide his excitement as he climbed the makeshift gantry into the cockpit of his MAD-3M Marauder. The MechTech who strapped in gave him a wink just before he shut the cockpit.
Another part falling into place. Only one more moving part left.
 
Now to survive long enough to see whether they can pull it off too. He repeated his mantra to stay focused and fell in line with the rest of the maniple.
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===The Nightmare of Bad Urban Planning===
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An infantry support laser nearly blinded Sertorius as it melted a streak in his cockpit armour. He twisted his mech and smashed in the wall of an office building, pasting the infantrymen inside. The twist opened up his rear armour to the SRM launcher behind him. He screamed with rage as the force shook him. He twisted and fired his medium lasers into that building too, but the crew had probably already abandoned their single-shot launcher and run.
 
“Legate, where the hell are the Firestarters?”
 
<<“Held back. You know our orders are to minimize damage.” Legate Horatius replied. Their Principe had died hours ago to an AC/20 turret that the maniple had unfortunately neglected to inform him of. Even more unfortunate, Legate Horatius had to navigate his way into the fight to replace him. “Our infantry are advancing, they’ll be here.”>>
 
How they hell can they even tell? Piamonte is a labyrinth. He thought. The Duke must have had all the urban planners rounded up and shot centuries ago, nothing else can explain the insanity of this place. How do people live here?
The Centurion ahead of him rounded a corner and was knocked immediately to the ground by a wave of SRMs. A Grasshopper jumped over the row of buildings and destroyed the ambushing SRM Carrier, only to be struck from behind by an Urbanmech’s AC/10.
No, it’s not a labyrinth, it’s a nightmare. For six hours straight, they’d fought through the streets, sometimes clearing the same street a half dozen times. There always seemed to be more infantry, more mechs. The Riflemen and the Orion had withdrawn for resupply three hours ago, but couldn’t seem to find their way back. Not to mention the Guillotine and Marauder 3R that had been claimed by the Timbiquians.
 
Someone at headquarters broke protocol and engaged the general comms for a split second, enough to hear the camp in total chaos. The Legate’s voice disappeared for a few minutes while the maniple sparred with a lance of light mechs that darted between low rise tenements. Marius could hear the slightest hint of a waver in his voice.
 
It was all the confirmation he needed that the final piece had fallen into place. He coughed three times into the comms.
 
A Wyvern jumped in from of Sertorius so he backpedaled to get out of range of it’s small lasers.
<<“Marauder! Stand your ground!”>> the Legate yelled.
 
He continued his retreat while blazing away at the Wyvern.
 
<<“Marauder! Stop or I will stop you!”>>
 
He continued backward, and heard the telltale buzz of the electroshock collar. The Legate’s Gladius tried to back up, but found itself boxed in as the Grasshopper jumped behind it. Sertorius savoured the moment as his Marauder’s left foot pinned the Gladius to the ground, and the right caved in it’s roof.
 
The thought of facing 145 tons of Battlemech sent the Wyvern jumping away and no one pursued.
 
Sertorius reached under the console and flicked a hidden switch, installed by his loyal MechTech, giving him access to the entire Cohort and again, coughed three times and waited for five minutes before he spoke. “Legio Morituri and Limitanei forces, this is Legate Horatius. I’ve received word of an enemy deep raid on our headquarters. All forces withdraw from Piamonte immediately.”
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ICHaFBI 4