SmoMir Chpt 10

==Mirrorsmoke Company - Chapter 10 -==
<<Previous Chapter - Return to Story Index - Next Chapter>>
----
The Vault, Nordmarka
New Oslo​, Draconis Combine
September, 3018Local Time: 11:37 
"Well, you put us into this mess. What's our next plan, then? And your next words better not be 'lie low and hope it all dies down', 'cause then I really will put you in the squared circle, Logan, you little coward! You think I can't take you down with only my left hand?" Bjorna's voice rose, herself nearly leaping out of the wheelchair. As soon as she did, she winced at the spike of pain that flared when she tried to readjust her body.
 
Arrowhead suffered injuries from breaching the dropship. From the helmet footage, she and a teammate had been up the gantry railings providing covering fire, while the rest of her team moved to cover the kidnapped women. Their contingent of subalterns were moving in, when one of the mercs threw a grenade down their way.
 
Arrow-2, Annette, jumped down in a panic, completely forgetting she had a mobility hardsuit on, popping a shoulder from the fall in the process. Bjorna wasn't so lucky, and the only reason she survived was because her hardsuit held. Her collarbone and some of her extremities? Not so much.
 
I took sole solace in the fact that despite Bjorna being injured, stemmed up to the gills with whatever concoction of nanites flowing in her veins, and confined to that wheelchair for the next eight weeks, she still had the energy to be the biggest mouth in the auditorium.
 
Victory was a bittersweet feeling.
 
"You're asking me to attack the second spaceport! You might as well be handing the Everest over to the snakes." Logan crossed his arms, trying to look authoritative, despite being the youngest in the room right now.
 
"We know where it is now!"
 
"Just because we have the firepower doesn't mean we can just come out blasting!"
 
It was just the four of us in the room, half of which were listlessly examining the sheathed blood-red daishō that Logan had somehow managed to acquire during his delivery to Vesterby, a way more entertaining act than listening to them going at it back and forth.
 
The blades were beautiful, if a little ancient and worn. The gold-threaded filigree stitched around the mountings of the saya looked like dragon scales. A little faded in some places, but however old they were though, the blades inside were still scalpel sharp.
 
This had to belong to the old man, and I could only wonder just what the hell happened that day.
 
This wasn't a gift. Not when Logan kept his mouth shut when asked about it, or the large gauze wrapped tightly around his hand.
 
I glanced at Emil, who looked at me in return, a bored frown on him as he huffed out air. The argument had been going on for close to five minutes now, the both of us relegated to the sidelines, sitting on the edges of the holographic table as they argued.
 
"It's the prudent option, Logan! Pressing the attack while we still have momentum. We have an open window of opportunity!"
 
"A booby-trapped window! You don't think they have a counter ready for us?"
 
"Blow through it, then! You're the planner here, plan!"
 
"We both know it's not that simple, Bjorna."
 
"Not that simple?!" she shouted, mouth agape in shock. "You stitched together a three-pronged raid in half an hour after just looking at recon footage and hijacked comms, and now you're telling me you can't plan a direct action?!"
 
Emil scoffed, snark in his tone. "Careful there. You're starting to sound like Mackenzie."
 
I chuckled.
 
"It was a rush job!" Logan replied, the both of them ignoring Emil. "And we cut it molecularity close! If Trident hadn't managed to send me the codes to spoof the satellite uplink in that tower, all of you would have had to face a Union's worth of lances! The stars just aligned, Bear. Not to mention the amount of time those kidnapped people had left before they got shipped!"
 
Her sky blue eyes turned dagger sharp. "Oh, funny you mentioned them."
 
I winced when I realized it. Logan just walked knee deep into one of Bjorna's traps. He knew it too, judging from the muted recoiling of his face, looking as if he was about to weather a hard slap.
 
"Do you think that town will thank us for just dropping off their people in the middle of the night?" she asked, voice low. "Do you think they'll welcome us as heroes when those townspeople hear about the price of their rescue?" Bjorna briefly turned her attention to Emil, who countered with a searing glare.
 
Then our eyes flitted towards Logan, expecting a reply, a quick barb, anything to his defense. Nothing came. Logan just kept quiet.
 
I squeezed Emil's shoulder, gently. He let it stay there.
 
She continued. "You might as well have handed those people a death sentence. No good deed goes unpunished, Logan. Any day now, someone in that town with loose lips will say they saw you. Any day now, I'm expecting the snakes to flatten that town into debris!"
 
"...And you want us to what–take some heat for them?" Logan ground out, eyes as shivs. "The civilians, that's the angle you want to use?"
 
"If it gets you to act, then yes!"
 
He sighed. "...You haven't thought this through, Bear. The Dracs won't be looking at Vesterby, at least not right now. And even if they did, I won't let them."
 
"And what makes you so sure?"
 
"They're too busy to be paying any attention to something that insignificant." With a wave of Logan's hand, the holographics lit up behind us. The both of us hopped off the table, backing away so that we could see Nordmarka in its entirety.
 
Covered in the colors of House Kurita.
 
"That attack on the spaceport has shifted a significant number of their forces further up north," Logan started. "Thanks to the data we stole, we've spooked them."
 
I scowled, crossing my arms. "So they're actively combing for us. I don't see how this makes Vesterby not a target, Logan. We made a massive scene that day. Plenty of eyes on all of us."
 
"They've closed us off," Emil chimed in, but he was more focused on all the red lights scattered across the map. "We're too late."
 
"I never said that, let me finish," Logan replied, grinning. "First, let's look at how their birds are moving."
 
The hologram shifted, turning the red lights into lances of planes, or even dropships. Then more lights appeared, lines that connected to these twelve dots to vaguely form a spider's web of points underneath the ships. It was a continuous relay of sorts, the aerospace lances having their own route under each point, but all of it beginning and ending at the second spaceport.
 
"They're converging only in this area here," he said, waving a hand around the north-eastern edges of the continent. "To the point where dropships are even taking the time to fly suborbital just so they won't run the risk of getting shot down by ambushes. As if we're that stupidly brazen."
 
"Logan, what exactly are we looking at?" I asked. "What's so important there?"
 
He pointed at the dots. "Bunkers. Warehouses. Anything the Dracs have squirreled away, they put it there."
 
Bjorna gasped, and bade her motorized wheelchair closer. She had done it too forcefully, and her pale disheveled hair whipped down to cover some of her face. "If we'd hit that port–"
 
"All that metal would rain right down on us," I said, pointing at the map. "See how they scattered those facilities? Response time is going to be short. We hit one, we might as well have hit them all!"
 
I couldn't believe it, the Procurement Department had their hooks on our planet! I was looking at a logistical hub right under our noses all this time. And it wasn't just me who realized it. As soon as it became clear, it was like the war games all over again, our minds laser-focused on deconstructing their flight paths, force composition, and anything in between. Logan might as well have just dangled keys in front of toddlers.
 
We zoomed in on all the dots, taking careful note of each facility, how best to hit them all. The list in each area was extensive, from 'Mechs to tanks, equipment and supplies, even down to the ammunition. It was a trail of treasure being heavily and expensively guarded thanks to us!
 
"There has to be an opening somewhere, Dav," she countered, "Maybe between the intervalled check-ins? Isolate one, and then smash and grab what we can. That has to be what–fifteen, twenty minutes? Same plan we used at Lindorm."
Emil shook his head. "No, too tight. From above, Sholagars and Shilones would be reaching us first. That's ten minutes."
 
"And that's even if we can isolate them now," Logan added. "Always assume they've changed tack, and I guarantee you each facility will be talking to each other on the ground. Especially now that they know how fast we can hit them? Time won't be on our side."
 
He held up an open palm. "Five minutes."
 
Bjorna scowled. "So that's it then? You gave a little presentation for all of us so you can say you can't do it?"
 
He shook his head. "I never said that."
 
Logan made another motion, and the holographic map zoomed south of the planet.
 
All the way down to New Albany City.
 
"The fact of the matter is," he said, "We don't need the metal. Let them stew there, at least for now. We have our own BattleMechs. Hell, we can even fight a little more openly now that our FORGE-lines have those salvaged Panther and Jenners. We'll print those in no time."
 
Another grin crept on his face, turning to Bjorna. "You want us to press the attack, Bear? We'll oblige, but it has to be in a way that matters. Fight them in a way that doesn't always make us look like ruthless killers."
 
"Finally," she said, "I like the sound of that."
 
"Fight the enemy where they aren't," quoted Emil. "Very well."
 
"What are you suggesting?" I asked, but then realized it was a stupid question. New Albany was a prison in all but name, even complete with high walls and the overly trigger happy guards.
 
Logan nodded, the revelation must have shown on my face. "Team leads, I think it's about time we go make some friends."
----
Performance Dossier: Wolfe, Bjorna
 NAME: WOLFE, BJORNA
 BIRTHPLACE: N/A
 BIRTH DATE: 25/08/3003
 EYE COLOR: GREEN
 HAIR: PLATINUM BLONDE
 
 ACQUISITION: Daughter of a courtesan, who had slighted a noble. Recovered at age ten (10).
 
 PERFORMANCE: Marked talent for the social aspect of leadership, though her strategic acumen leaves much to be desired. When alone, prefers quick, decisive and on the fly choices under pressure rather than a meticulous plan. Will discard orders if she believes them to be ineffective. 
 
 COMMENTS: A fine flower as any, once she comes of age. But unlike any rose, this one has poisonous thorns. Take care not to provide her with too much fuel for resentment, she has a long memory.
----
<<Previous Chapter - Return to Story Index - Next Chapter>>
Chapter 10