EMCOTS-2 10

=Emergence (Concertverse) Book 2 - Chapter 10=
Previous Chapter - Return to Story Index - Next Chapter
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==Battle Royale==
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===Battle of Railyard===
Tharkad City Municipal Railyards
Bremen Continent
Tharkad, Donegal Province
Lyran Commonwealth
Transglass Inner Sphere
23rd June, 3143
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Five minutes. That was how long the Wolf skirmish line - thicker than he’d expected - had cost them. Looked at one way, no time at all.
Looked at another, an eternity.
Julian Davion pushed his Templar up to its full sixty-five kilometers an hour sprint, shouldering his way through a wrecked hoverbike dealership. Part of him winced at finalizing the destruction of someone’s livelihood; another part cursed that it was in the way at all.
“All elements, keep moving,” he called over the general address. “Baker-six, status.”
“Stuck until the recovery team gets here, marshal,” the tank commander replied. “But we’ve got security out, and our guns still work.”
Julian acknowledged that before continuing forward, asphalt shattering under his ‘Mech’s broad, spade-like feet. He didn’t like leaving people behind, but there wasn’t a choice. And a crippled Kinnol, plasma-gutted VV1 Ranger Scout Vehicle and half-immobilized Demon Medium Tank, plus the better part of two squads of battlesuit infantry was usually accounted a fair trade for a brace of dead Jousts, twice their own losses in downed Clan battlesuit troops, and an SM1 and Wulfen captured. By most standards.
But not the ones I need to measure by.
He shook himself out of the doubting thoughts. There was no time to spend on them; the road ahead was clear, and from the pillars of smoke and flame, and the intensity of weapons fire coming from the railyards, not a moment too soon. So, now to reset the board.
“Callandre,” Julian ordered, “take Charlie unit, swing out right. Soon as we’re engaged, hit the Wolves right in the ass!”
“Gonna cost you, Jules.” From his old friend, the level matter-of-factness of those words spoke volumes of her worry.
“Then we pay it. Just be there when I need you.”
Callandre didn’t answer in words, her Tank Destroyer drifting through the column in a typically Calamity display of driving skill, her own company accreting around her. Another Tank Destroyer. Paired Fulcrum hovertanks. A Kinnol, twin to the crippled Baker-six, two Rangers screening a JES tactical carrier and a pair of Maxims laden with Cavalier infantry and field capture-trained combat engineers. And the hard-hitting core of Charlie unit’s fighting power, a trio of BattleMechs; Wolfhound, Gunsmith,and Jaguar. They vanished into the sidestreets that Julian knew as well as Callandre, and he put worries aside. They’d be where they were needed.
Striding across the open plaza surrounding the railyards, his Templar covering a dozen metres with every step, Julian ordered Hauptmann Berger to extend her company left as soon as they punched into the railyards. Not one for words, the Stormhammer officer lifted her Thunderbolt’s autocannon-fitted right arm in acknowledgement; and that was a machine Julian knew he’d need to get the story of someday. How one of the handful of TDR-9NAIS Thunderbolt prototypes had found its way into Lyran space …
Then they were through the railyard gates, and into a damn close approximation of hell.
Sprawling across the same area as most battlefields, the railyards had become exactly that. Julian’s eyes tracked across the burning wreck of a JES crawler. A disabled Shadow Hawk, sprawled in a wrecked warehouse like a gutshot infanteer, an equally dead Fenris lying where the Hawk's rotary autocannon had nearly cut it in two. Cauldron-Born and Exile Elementals fighting to keep a Blood Reaper and Crusader WolvesGnomes back, while a rescue team cut open the cockpit of a downed Antlion. And a Crusader Nova, light 'Mechs led by a Ryoken and swarming Toads, dashing in and out to bleed damage from an MFB and a pair of mobile Long Toms, and the mismatched battlesuit platoon and crippled Mad Cat and Gotterdammerung trying to protect them, like bandit kingdom arena games writ large.
"End this sport," Julian snarled, tying everything into his primary triggers. He drew target markers across the Ryoken, and gave it everything.
Brilliant golden daggers of laser-light, a roaring burst of eighty-millimetre shells and the headache-bright blaze of a particle cannon wrought havoc up and down the Ryoken. Armor shattered and melted, stripping the protection away from the Ryoken’s torso. Heat sinks burst in a gush of grey-blue coolant. And a spike of heat on thermals, coupled with a stagger in the Crusader machine’s step as it tried to steady itself, told of engine and gyro damage as an autocannon shell burst within its chest cavity.
That was all the Mad Cat needed. Thrusting its remaining arm forward, a lance of azure fire burned the Ryoken’s cockpit from its shoulders. The suddenness of their commander’s death froze the Crusaders for a moment; that, and the double-company force spreading out around Julian. Robyn duChaine’s Vulpes and a Stormhammer Thanatos, supported by a brace of Pattons, muscled the Crusader ‘Mechs back, leaving a Falcon Hawk broken into pieces behind them. The Crusader battlesuits wilted as well, the lash of particle beam and laser fire from a platoon of Hasek MCVs, disgorging infantry in Fusilier and Cuchulainn assault suits and backed by a Firestarter and Gauntlet more than they could stand up to.
“Never bet against a Davion,” an unfamiliar voice commented in Julian’s headset, laughter plain even in the heat-induced rasp; the identifier on his main console confirming it was from the Mad Cat. “They have been waging war since before it was fashionable. Star Commander Kezia Wolf; and my thanks for a timely assist.”
“Not a problem.” Julian replied, Berger’s company swinging out to the left as planned; the Crusader Blood Reaper leaping backwards on pillars of ion flame rather than try its luck further. “Situation?”
“Not good.” A second voice; male, young and a good deal more serious than Kezia’s. Video feed showed unremarkable features - ones that would’ve blended into a crowd on any world in the Inner Sphere - pale in the backlighting of a battlesuit HUD. “Leutnant Taylor Price, Marshal.” One of the Fa Shih suits, crouching over a fallen Elemental on a Long Tom’s upper deck, waved. “Got pockets of fighting all over the yards - stay down, damn you -” Price delivered a savage punch to the Elemental’s helmet as they tried to rise, then another that made Julian wince and finally stopped the Elemental’s struggles. “Last I saw Hauptmann Yuen, she was up by the north wall; your Captain Rosenthal was with her.”
"Right." Julian closed his eyes for a moment, centering the battlefield in his mind. Then, reading tactical feeds and coms traffic, and trusting the instincts developed on a dozen battlefields. "All elements, form lance groups and sweep, clear the Crusaders out. Callandre, frei jagd."
"Music to my ears, Jules."
Julian gathered the Gauntlet OmniMech, a Typhoon wheeled assault tank and a Hasek loaded with Fusiliers, plus both squads of cadet Fa Shih suits clinging to the OmniMechs like Taygetan forest apes, and pushed forward between a pair of storage barns.
Thermal and magscan were almost useless, half-blinded by fires and wreckage; twice, it was solely the Typhoon's active probe that gave any warning of ambush. The first was easy; a point of Elementals whose headlong assault was no match for the fire turned on on it.
The second, not so much.
“Disperse!” Julian shouted as a Crusader Vulture scattered four-score long-range missiles across the street. Most missed, spending their fury on tarmac or buildings, but most wasn't all. Armor splintered away from impacts, two delivering a tooth-rattling concussion as they burst next to his Templar's cockpit.
"Kabilovic, take out that missile boat," Julian ordered, tracking a pair of much closer icons. "We'll handle the Hellions."
"Acknowledged," the Stormhammer mechwarrior replied, their Gauntlet's jump jets flaring as they cleared a storage barn, Fa Shihs Battle Armor dropping away like lethal snow.
Like knife-fighting in a shoebox, the brawl that followed was quick, ugly, and costly. Both Hellions were down and dead, one with most of its fusion core blown out through its back by the Typhoon's twenty-centimeter autocannon, the other with its cockpit torn open like a foil ration pack where Price and his squad had evicted the stubborn Wolf warrior after Julian had reduced its legs to molten wreckage. The light 'Mechs' blistering short-range laser arrays had told, though; costing Julian's team the Hasek, a Fusilier suit, and a laser and most of the armor protection down his right side. The Vulture knelt in shut-down surrender, torso ammo bays blown out, but its missiles had exacted a seller's price as well. Kabilovic's Gauntlet was a wreck, limping on a crippled knee actuator, an arm and most of its armor protection strewn across the tarmac, the Typhoon's turret-mounted Streak twin-packs torn away and the turret itself jammed in train, and three of Price's battlesuits down. One dead and two wounded.
One ‘Mech and a battlesuit squad. Battles have turned on less, Julian reflected, pushing forward again, Lieutenant Price and his squad once again clinging to the Templar’s torso.
Open ground, and another battle half over before he joined it as Callandre's unit hit the Crusaders from the rear. A Tundra Wolf harrying a wounded Bushwacker - its shoulder-mounted missile launcher hanging down against the Bushwacker’s back like a broken limb - found itself assailed in turn by a Fulcrum, Ranger and Gunsmith. More individual acts played out - a one-armed Vulpes battling a Clan-built Thunderbolt given reprieve as engineer teams swarmed up the Crusader machine with grapple-rod and jump-pack; Cavalier and Fenrir Battle Armor squads pushing Elementals back from beleaguered Lyran mortar teams - but Julian put them aside, trusting his subordinates and concentrating on the battle's centre of gravity.
There! A Regent and a Rawhide dueling a Tomahawk. A bubble of space in the marshaling yard surrounded them, each side giving its leaders room for their battle; shattered battlesuits and the broken form of a Crusader Mad Cat III mute testament to its ferocity. So too was the state of the main combatants; one of the Tomahawk's weapons armatures lay in the snow, coolant flowing like blood from semi-molten gashes torn deep in the blocky torso by particle beams and heat spikes telling of reactor damage. The Regent was in little better shape, its frontal armour more memory than protection, staggering as though punch-drunk on a fused knee actuator.
But it and the Rawhide fought together like a well-oiled machine. The Tomahawk pilot was caught on the horns of a dilemma; to turn towards one would permit the other to get free shots. The Clanner wasn't panicking, they were too good for that, but Julian knew well how easy it was for a pilot in that situation to be put on their backfoot and pressed until defeated. So long as they were left to themselves, the Wolf pilot was not going to walk away.
He considered a shot at the Tomahawk before movement caught his attention. A Jupiter, battle-scarred but weapons still intact, pressed towards the fight. No, I don't think so.
“Try me, Clansman,” Julian called over general address as he locked his Templar’s batteries onto the heavier Crusader machine. The Clan pilot was no sibko-fresh rookie, twisting their machine’s torso in a sinuous evasive pattern. A Star Commander, at least; and they would have seen Julian’s own heraldry, Argyle's Templar cross set into the diamond of New Syrtis in honour of both his homeworlds. A passage in the Remembrance and guaranteed use of their genes in the breeding programs, if they can best me; the only kind of immortality Clanners believed in and one they all craved. Laser fire strafed across the Jupiter’s weaving torso, tearing deeper wounds in the armoured shell; its autocannon stabbed out flickering lines of tracer in response, cratering the Templar’s thick shinguards. Fire lashed in from multiple directions, hammering the Crusader assault ‘Mech to its knees.
An explosion flowered in Julian's field of vision. He returned his attention to the Tomahawk Assault OmniMech in time to see it topple as well. Its remaining weapons armature was an exploded ruin, the machine struggling to even remain upright; Julian winced, knowing what an ammunition detonation felt like through a neurohelmet. The Regent and Rawhide took their shots well, cutting their way through broken armor to devastate the fusion plant within. A plume of bright plasma and a spike on the heatscan spoke of their success. The Tomahawk collapsed, going over like a forest giant.
The Regent, wounded and proud, turned to face him. A female voice crackled over his comms. "Welcome to the fight, Lord Markesan. Your timing couldn’t have been better." The mechwarrior’s personal heraldry had been scorched away, leaving only the lion’s-head insignia of the First Royal Guards, but the comms system’s ID coding tagged her as Hauptmann Talia Yuen. "You've worked them loose, now it’s time to these unwanted guests the door."
"Agreed." Julian turned his Templar back towards the fight.
With Callandre rampaging through their backfield, the Wolves had to’ve recognised their position’s hopelessness, but they were good enough soldiers that they weren’t going to quit easily. That much, Julian would give them credit and honour for, if nothing else; he'd known commands of the AFFS that couldn't have executed a fighting withdrawal so well, nor extracted as dear a price in blood, shattered armour and broken machines from their pursuers for every step. But weight of numbers and firepower told; if the Wolves' increasingly ragged formation wasn't actually running down the Archon Michael-strasse, they were backing up rather hastily indeed. Quickly enough that Julian was mainly engaged in stinging with long-range particle cannon shots before Yuen called a halt to the pursuit.
“All elements, hold up here, and get ready for retrograde back to the yards.” she ordered, planting her Regent’s boot on a fallen Shadow Cat.
“We can still catch them.” Julian commented over a private channel. He actually agreed with Yuen’s call, but it was worth hearing the why.
“We couldn’t; not decisively, not before they made it to reinforcements of their own.” Yuen replied. “They can back up faster than we can chase; and I’m not throwing away a definite win for a mirage.”
Julian was about to answer in the affirmative when the southern skies lit up. Bright, flickering stars of aerospace fighters interweaving, linked briefly by lines of light or the contrails of missiles and rising or falling out of sight, some trailing smoke. The spotlight-beams of sapphire energy from subcapital-class lasers, stabbing holes in the cloud layer. Long strings of tracer fire, more missile contrails, and light-gauge energy rays rising upwards. And the descent flares of DropShips and individual ‘Mech drop-pods, scores of them.
“Unfinished Book!” Julian cursed. “They’re landing directly on the Triad!” He started his machine southwards before Yuen’s voice stopped him.
“Hold up, and think for a minute.” she said. “You’d have to fight through the city and the Wolves to get there, and we don’t have the time. Covington, get me the stationmaster, now.” she added, speaking to someone on a side channel.
“ … this thing on? Good.” came through a few moments later, voice-only. “Marshal, Hauptmann, this is Emily Marks, stationmaster. Can’t get you directly to the Triad; the Wolves’ve cut the direct line. But, there’s a surface-access point about three miles west in the government district that is clear. Got a lance-carrying train ready to go as soon as it’s loaded; give me fifteen minutes and some willing hands and I can have a company entrained to follow after them.”
“I’ll lead the first group. My machine’s in better shape than yours.” Julian said, running through unit status in his head. “DuChaine, you’re with me.” he decided after a moment, barely waiting for an acknowledgement before switching back to the link with Yuen. “I’ll borrow your Leutnant Price, if you can spare him?”
“Can, will.” Yuen replied. “Two of my MechWarriors as well. Berry, Rayne, you’re with Marshal Davion. Stick to him like glue, you understand me?”
“Reiner Hogarth’s got a battalion forming up to try and bull through.” Callandre chimed in, her Tank Destroyer rocketing away with a pair of Fulcrums Hover Tanks riding its flanks. And God bless that old clotheshorse for not waiting for an order, Julian thought at that news. “I’ll join up with them. Leave me some fun?”
“I always do, Calamity.” Julian responded with an enthusiasm he didn’t feel. “Let’s get moving.” And hope we’re in time.
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===Assault on Triad===
'The Triad, Tharkad City
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Nathaniel finished shedding his duty jacket upon entry to the 'Mech bay. Underneath he wore the standard-issue cooling suit of the AFRF, a full-body suit threaded with coolant lines, their connectors, and the medical sensors his 'Mech would use to monitor his vitals and condition. The crowned hawk rank insignia was fixed to the collar.
The bay itself was one of many that supported defense of the Triad, each holding a company's worth of bays. He glanced about to see a matched pair of Liberator OmniMechs stomping towards the exit under guidance from an armor-suited Tech. A Hector and a Thor straightened in their nearby bays before lumbering forward. His eyes journeyed past the adjacent bays filled with assault-weight 'Mechs to the bay where his 'Mech waited. 
Liberator was its name, the traditional designation of the inherited 'Mech of the rulers of House Proctor, long before the Crusader-inspired OmniMechs he'd just witnessed departing were given their designation. While the name was once held by the Black Knight Sara Proctor piloted in the final battles of the Liberation War, now it was a PLD-3 Paladin. The seventy-five ton OmniMech's model was long associated with House Proctor and the Arcadian people. The locals often compared it to the Black Knight design and with justice as it shared many similarities to that machine, indeed had been inspired by it aesthetically. But where virtually all variants of that older design sported all-energy armament, Liberator was configured with Streak-system six-shot SRMs to go with the lasers set into the torso and left arm. The right hand was empty but could, with a flick of a switch, take control of the sword embedded into the OmniPod mounted on the arm. All my years of education and training and now it comes to this.
"Majesty!" Nathaniel turned to face Colonel Laughlin, also in a cooling suit with a gold hawk rank insignia on his collar. A platinum-haired man about Nathaniel's age stood beside him, a first lieutenant by his cooling suit's insignia and wearing the patch of the Lifeguards on his shoulder. The commander of the Lifeguards saluted, as did the lieutenant. Nathaniel returned the salutes. "Majesty, this is Lance Lieutenant Harold Grayston, I've assigned him to be your immediate lancemate and co-commander. You give the orders and he'll see his MechWarriors follow to the best of their abilities."
"Thank you, Colonel." Nathaniel nodded to Grayston. His memory felt kindled by the man, a resemblance he couldn't quite place. "You're from a House, correct? I do not recognize the name immediately."
"House Grayston of Clinton, Majesty," he replied. "My cousin holds a count's title that my mother relinquished before I was born."
A memory kindled in Nathaniel. "Lady Diana Grayston of Clinton? The former Solaris duelist called 'the Countess of the Silver Fuller'? She was your mother? Then your father—"
"Though I am not his legitimate issue, I am honored to call Duke Edmund de Fortemps of Bondurant my father." Lieutenant Grayston replied.
Nathaniel nodded. He glanced and quickly confirmed the bay next to his held not another Paladin but, on closer inspection, a Silver Knight, a more direct successor of the Black Knight but upgraded to an eighty-ton frame. Like his own 'Mech it was fitted with a sword while the left arm carried a large-scale shield. Several torso-mounted lasers were evident. "Your mother's BattleMech, if I recall." Nathaniel said.
"Yes, Majesty," he confirmed. "Silver Fuller is a standard type for her class."
"Ah. Well then." Nathaniel nodded to the machines. "Let's not keep the pack waiting. Slaying wolves is an old job for nobles, after all."
Harold grinned. "So it is, Majesty."
"By your leave, Majesty." Laughlin said, A nod from Nathaniel sent the older man to his waiting BattleMech. Nathaniel and Grayston traveled to their own. The bays adjacent were vacant, indicating their lancemates were already outside and waiting. Nathaniel shared a final salute before stepping onto the bay lift beside the AFRF MechTech at the controls. The lift moved steadily and brought him to the hatch more quickly than he would have climbed by rope ladder.
Once inside Liberator, Nathaniel followed the pre-launch checks out of rote habit. Only after everything was hooked in and he was seated in the command couch did the realization strike him. I face death today. Not just my death, but the death of everything I dream to achieve. He drew in a breath to center himself. Lord above, help me. Grant me my father's courage and help me to survive this fight, for the sake of my people and the peace we will have again. The thought helped him push away the fear, at least, enough to focus on the final start procedures. At the computer's demand for a checkphrase for identification, he replied, "Heavy is the head that bears the crown".
<{"Checkphrase confirmed. All systems unlocked. Initiating startup sequence."}>
Nathaniel finished his final checks while the computer verified, in its usual fashion, that the reactor, sensors, and weapons were online and nominal. The flatscreen displays of the cockpit joined the interactive HUD showing on his neurohelmet visorplate to give him every bit of data he might need. He waited patiently for a Tech to wave him forward with a red lightwand before he pressed the throttle lever ahead. Myomer relaxed and contracted and Liberator took its first steps towards the battle. He noted his display giving the locations and status of not only Grayson's Silver Knight but the other two 'Mechs in the lance, a Mad Cat II and Thor. We look quite odd to these people, he thought, reflecting on how both of those designs had similar counterparts of primarily Clan-make. Now these designs shall be associated with their defense and, in due time, their liberation.
The techs waved him to the door. He brought Liberator into a steady walk, steeling himself for the battle to come.
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===Wolves on the Hunt===
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The outskirts of the Triad, Tharkad City
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The snow-crusted grandeur of the Triad stretched out before Seth Ward's vision. The feed from the Blood Claw's external cameras showed the tainted majesty of a Great House capital in all its stomach-churning "glory". His instinctive snarl gradually became a wolfish grin as his eyes made their final sweep of the environment and the adjacent displays on his Hellstar Assault BattleMech. A den of treachery and deceit, like all of the Great Houses. But not after today. Today, the Wolf Clan destroys House Steiner and takes its next step towards our rightful destiny as ilClan.
The superb DropShip crew brought the Blood Claw down in one of the Triad's parks. The door cycled open and his personal Command Star in the Golden Keshik stormed out under a hail of missile and cannon fire from various vehicles and 'Mechs behind prepared positions. The Blood Claw's weapons were already engaged against these foes and Seth was quick to join them. He focused his targeting crosshairs on a Fafnir and pulled the triggers. Four bolts of particle fire crackled through the air in the instant before they blasted blackened shards of metal from the Lyran assault 'Mech. Intense heat briefly flooded the cockpit before the Hellstar's massive heat sink capacity dumped the PPCs' excess heat into Tharkad's frigid air. The Lyran 'Mech teetered from the ferocity of his strike but did not fall. The pilot within was rattled enough that his return fire with its heavy-weight gauss rifles proved less accurate, only one slug striking Seth's Hellstar. You will not get another chance to use those weapons, freebirth, Seth thought. As soon as his weapon indicators went green again, he fired another barrage.
Just as he fired, a Lyran Hauptmann OmniMech lumbered between them, taking two of the hits. It staggered from the blow, delaying its retaliation shot long enough for Seth to side step the Hellstar. Behind him, Star Captain Caroline Vickers' Night Wolf fired a full barrage of ATMs into the Lyran. The Lyrans had long broken zellbrigen and the Wolves were well and ready to respond with the same behavior.
"My Khan." The voice of Star Captain Hans Radick, commander of the Golden Keshik's trinary of battle armor infantry, crackled over his speakers. "We have confirmation of Melissa Steiner's presence in the Lyran throne room."
Seth had briefly pondered doing the deed himself, but what mattered was Melissa's death, and his warriors were his blade in the end, so it was still his kill. "Kill her and any who oppose you. I will divert reinforcements to you immediately."
"Aff, my Khan. The Archon will be dead by the time you arrive."
Seth grinned even as his fingers triggered another PPC salvo, this one spearing the Fafnir in one of its massive Heavy Gauss Rifle assemblies. An explosion told him he'd landed a direct hit on the weapon, causing its capacitors to discharge violently and damage the Fafnir's internals. He urged the Lyran pilot to fall, to retreat, and to give him the opening he wanted. Time to end this war. The Lyran Commonwealth dies today, with my Wolves' fangs in its throat!
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Armed soldiers had the run of the Triad now. Melissa found herself the only figure not garbed in combat suits of some variety or another. Battle-armored infantry and the towering assault 'Mechs of the throne room were her only companions. Even the image on the throne's rarely-used holo-display communicator was the helmeted visage of her distant cousin Roderick Steiner, live from the cockpit of his Clan-built Rifleman IIC. "You should withdraw with the others," he urged again. "We can keep the Wolves distracted."
"And they will tear up more of the Triad, more of Tharkad, to get at me." Melissa replied. She swallowed and wrestled with the latest burst of existential terror. Her gut twisted with fear at death, a death she was inviting by dangling herself, almost literally, over the Wolves' snapping jaws. "If we keep them concentrated it makes a counter-attack easier."
"Don't lie, Highness. This isn't about saving the Triad." Roderick's jaw clenched. He wasn't yet in combat, but soon enough he would be. "This is about your guilt. As if dying here will make up for everything."
"It won't. But nothing will, nothing short of saving the Commonwealth." she said bitterly. "I am already doomed to go down in our history as one of the worst Archons the Lyran Commonwealth ever endured. All I can do now is ensure the Commonwealth and House Steiner survive so that history is actually written by a Lyran hand. My decision is made."
Roderick grunted a non-committal acknowledgement before ending the call. Melissa drew in a breath and centered herself. She glanced to her defenders with guilt. More lives to be lost. But they fight for the throne itself as much as they do for me.
The sounds of battle were distant at first, but all too soon the cries and screams and thunder were audible. She slipped in protective ear plugs, a demand from Trillian and all the others, but it only delayed the return of those awful sounds. The bodyguard infantry took up protective positions around her and the 'Mechs shifted, their pilots preparing to fire their closer-range weapons.
The distant wall blew inward. Battlesuited Clan infantry were first through the breach, following their warrior code; eternal shame to the laggard, glory even in death to the foremost. And a glorious death they found, as two-score missiles, bright jags of laser fire and the shrieking tirade of the Atlas's multi-barreled autocannon transformed the breach into a pocket of Hell not even the legendary toughness of Elemental armour could withstand. But BattleMechs could; a dun-armoured Crusader Thor muscled its way forward, the pack-lord come to show its cubs how the job was done, one arm tipped with brilliant leaf-shaped blades of muzzle flame. Melissa clutched at her ears in reflex, despite knowing it wouldn't add any to the ear plugs’ efforts to deaden the shattering roar as massive shells walked a path of destruction across the Atlas's shoulder and arm. Even as the Atlas staggered back, raining armour shards across the marble floor, the Fafnir stepped forward to take up the challenge. Laser pulses bit into the Fafnir's armour. In answer, it simply fired its heavy Gauss rifles; and if the autocannon had been loud, this was beyond belief, a sound so immense it was impossible to hear, one felt by the whole body. Melissa actually saw the moment of impact, though it took long moments for her mind to process it; the Thor's armour seeming to flow like liquid as both hypervelocity penetrators slammed home, the shoulder joint exploding like time-lapse footage of a flower opening and the heavy-calibre autocannon crashing to the floor.
The Thor stumbled, its pilot shocked by the sudden loss of weight. Both guardian ‘Mechs stepped forward to finish it, but more Crusader battlesuits were swarming forward, through the breach in the wall and the main doors. A chorus of wolf howls filled the air along with the roar of jump jets as they came on, the battlesuited infantry of the Royal Guards met them with a counterpoint cry of “Steiner and Victory!”, laserfire and missiles. A dozen small engagements sprawled out across the throne room, gunfire and the cracked-bell ring of battlesuits slamming together in close quarters combat, others leaping for the twin Lyran ‘Mechs. The Atlas snatched one out of the air in a giant steel fist, crushed it and hurled the remains into the midst of the rest, scattering a squad like bowling pins. That was all Melissa managed to observe before one of the Guards bodily hauled her into cover behind the throne. "Stay down, Highness!" the guard shouted, the pleasantly melodious voice incongruous with the hulking enormity of the Grenadier assault suit they wore.
Melissa's initial instinct was to refuse but the fear of her situation drove her to the prudent acceptance. Only after she was covered behind the throne did she justify herself. If I'm exposed it's too easy for the Wolves. For the good of the soldiers I have to stay alive as long as possible. She recognized the rationalization immediately. In truth, her legs were frozen. With all the laser beams and missiles and ballistic rounds firing, she couldn't even conceive of emerging. Remorse for her decision quickly set in. I should've gone with the others. My ego led me into this. 'Be the bait'. This wasn't necessary. I… stop. Stop feeling sorry for yourself!
A moment after that admonishment crossed her mind the entire room quaked beneath her, joined by the thundering of a collapsing wall. She turned to see the Fafnir down, halfway buried under the rear wall of the throne room. The ornate display above was partly broken by the crack in the structure that resulted; I'll have to have that painted over, I suppose, some irreverent corner of her mind whispered. A Clan battlesuit emerged from the broken canopy of the 'Mech covered in coolant and blood, and it shook Melissa that she couldn't remember the name of the young MechWarrior who'd just died defending her. The Clanner noticed her and raised their weapon arm to kill her; Melissa forced herself to stand, and look the Elemental squarely in the faceplate. They can kill me, but I'm the only one who can disgrace myself. Repeated high-pitched thundercracks filled the air as a number of rounds struck the suit until a geyser of blood briefly spurted from the chest cavity area. The Wolf warrior was down. Melissa watched as more soldiers poured in over and around the Fafnir's half-fallen form and the rear door of the throne room, a mixture of Royal Guard Battle Armor in their familiar color and less-familiar suits in the white and gold of the Arcadian Lifeguards. The battle armor suits of the latter stood out though she could not recall their designations. She did recognize the way they moved. Differences of history and background aside, bodyguard troops had one mission, and they trained in all the ways to fulfill it. There were flashes of steel, as well; Patrik Fetladral’s Wolves, led by the Khan himself and tearing into their Crusader cousins with the ferocity and hatred only possible between kin.
The fighting continued on, seconds feeling like minutes. The Throne Room was being demolished, its ornamental columns shattered by flying battle armor suits and the sweeping fire of 'Mechs, as more Wolf 'Mechs appeared at the broken wall. The Thor that first broke through finally toppled, both kneecaps blown and severed by the weapons of the swarming battle armor. A lighter machine Melissa didn't recognize fired flamers into her defenders, incinerating some within their armor; the Crusader MechWarrior only outlived them by moments as Patrik Fetladral tore the roof of the cockpit away with armor-augmented strength, filling the interior with a storm of lethal metal. She closed her eyes at imagining the grisly fate, one she might face all too soon herself, just for a moment, before forcing them open again. This is what you wrought, you fool, in your arrogance and pride! The least you deserve is to watch it.
There was a blast from overhead. She didn't see what caused it. She didn't see much of anything, in fact, as within a second a sharp impact struck her in the back of the neck and head. Everything went black.
-----
A particle bolt flashed through the air just past Alaric's cockpit, sending his instruments into a brief staticky burst from the backwash when it collided with the department store to his left. He backed his Savage Wolf back and flipped the triggers to swap his ATM launchers to the short range warheads. Beside him Verena's Jupiter went forward. The colossal assault 'Mech was better able to withstand punishment than his 'Mech, with its double-extra light engine that gave it such heavy armor and firepower at the expense of vulnerability to engine strikes. Autocannon rounds ripped into Verena's machine to no immediate effect save stripped armor plate. She returned fire with zest while Alaric maneuvered behind and around her, allowing his missile launchers to confirm their lock before facing the offending Zeus down the way. With his launchers showing green for their new loads, he triggered both to fire. At the same moment Verena fired her 'Mech's PPCs, scoring direct hits that paved the way for the powerful short-range warheads to smash through the Lyran 'Mech's wounded steel skin. He was rewarded with a blast that consumed the side of the Zeus. Heat visibly rippled from the assault weight machine's wounds. A quick check on his thermal imaging sensor confirmed the heat bleed of severe damage to the fusion plant.
The Lyran MechWarrior, though wounded, did not relent. The PPC fired again and scourged armor from Alaric's right arm, very nearly penetrating to the sensitive laser housed within. Defiant to the last. I like this MechWarrior. Seeing the Lyran start to back away from them, Alaric risked his heat by firing both lasers into the visible wound. The double beams of sapphire light created a short-lived flower of plasma from the Zeus as it toppled over. Alaric keyed his tactical command channel. "Alpha One here. I am tagging a fallen Lyran 'Mech, make sure to secure the pilot, he will serve well as a bondsman and warrior of our Clan."
"Aff," a voice answered. "It will be done."
Now that he was freed from combat, Alaric took a moment to bring up his wider tactical displays. Beta Galaxy's many engagements were going roughly according to plan. Tharkad City was not yet secure and the forces at the Railyard had suffered a fresh reverse. A grin crossed his lips at seeing the reconnaissance estimates of the enemy forces. "Ah. There."
"Alaric?"
"This is Galaxy Commander Alaric, all forces within five kilometers of my position, fall in on me and follow." His eyes went over the map showing the tunnels linking the city proper to the Triad. "Our foes have given us an opening to aid the Khan in his battle for the heart of the Lyran Commonwealth. We will go to support him and share the glory that is our right!"
A chorus of affirmations answered him. Alaric pressed his throttle forward and maneuvered the Savage Wolf through one of the smaller commercial buildings. It slowed him and renewed the light gray layer of concrete dust on the machine, but buildings of such size could not resist the power of a BattleMech. Our victory here lies on the outcome of this battle. My ambitions demand I see to it myself.
----
Seth Ward allowed his machine's DI computer system to swat a light pole out of the way while learning a corner. A Lyran Bulldog tank turned the far corner, narrowly throwing off his aim. He discharged a pair of PPC bolts anyway that blasted apart an entrance to the Triad's mass transit subway system, retaining their power to strike the offending tank through the wreckage. When he moved closer he could see how brittle and weak the surviving, blackened armor was. The tank crew turned to throw his aim off their now-weakest side, so he discharged PPCs again and took more from their rear. Laser fire from the Wolves accompanying him followed up his strikes until the Lyran tank belched fire from within. Two figures clambered from the burning wreck and ran for the cover of a building. They were of no consequence now.
With the core of his Golden Keshik at his side, Seth powered the Hellstar through a turn and into the approach to the Archon's Palace. The signs of battle were already showing ahead. My advance forces cannot confirm Melissa alive or dead. Now we make certain.
Magscan confirmed the contacts first. Seth grinned and said nothing while maneuvering his warriors into place on the furthest end of the Narrows. The Palace was in sight.
A formation of BattleMechs and vehicles awaited him on the near end, barring the way behind a series of ferro-crete barricades. In contrast to the blues favored by the Lyran machines these were in white and gold. Some had highly familiar configurations and shapes, but there was a difference to them, a panel here, a cockpit piece there, that bespoke their origins. His system's computers quickly identified their profiles and displayed the names as the Sea Foxes had passed on.
And somewhere there, the brash young ruler of the Arcadians sits in his 'Mech. Seth felt a fury burn within him. The Spheroid who dares call himself a crusader. He briefly considered leveling a personal challenge to Nathaniel before deciding against it. He leveled his crosshairs and triggered his PPCs at a looming assault-sized machine among the enemy ranks. "Forward!" he cried. "Today the Wolf Clan claims victory!"
By the time he finished his command, the air between them was filled with violence. The battle was joined.
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