FaRtaL Chpt 43

==From a Ristar to a Lady - Chapter 42 -==
<<Previous Chapter - Return to Story Index - Next Chapter>>
----
===Honing skills===
Kalinska Estate, Inman
Kilbourne PDZ, Woodbine Operational Area
Federation Suns
6th October, 30612100 hours (0900 hrs on local 28 hr cycle)
Anastasia angled her Hatchetman at a run towards the enemy Crusader, the crosshairs of her autocannon wavering with each massive stride taken by the medium battlemech. Her right hand rested on the right arm joystick controls, ready at a notice to deploy the deadly hatchet that was the mech’s namesake.
The Crusader erupted with blooms of white smoke, missiles arcing towards her, and her missile alarm system wailed of danger. The Crusader backtracked as best as it could, trying to keep its distance while whittling down her armor, which, to be honest, was not all that much.
Anastasia rode out the missile impacts, maintaining her speed. Parts of the mech’s outline on the HUD now showed yellow, indicating substantial loss of armor. The Crusader moved into a clump of trees behind some hills, but that would only play into her hands.
She allowed the Crusader to withdraw, but used the break in the line of sight to get even closer. She also decided to add in a taunt.
“Breaking zellbrigen?”
“Neg,” the reply was almost immediate. “Trying to slow you down.”
Anastasia knew what Hawise was trying to do. The last few times they did this particular matchup, Hawise had stood off to maintain distance until the Crusader’s long range missiles were depleted, but Anastasia was able to close in every time and dismember the Crusader piece by piece. So Hawise was trying something else today.
But Anastasia was not going to let it work. She knew Hawise was probably already turning the Crusader around and moving it as fast as she could to open up the distance again, hopefully enabling her to get a few more salvos of LRMs off.
Close enough. Anastasia stomped on the foot pedals, igniting the jump jets. The Hatchetman lifted off on plasma jets, propelling itself through the air and over the hill. As it reached the apex of its jump, Anastasia could see the Crusader already in a full run towards another stand of trees for cover.
A wave of heat from the hot air blowers, meant to simulate actual combat conditions, washed over Anastasia, and she could feel sweat starting to break out all over her skin. It would only get worse once she started firing her weapons.
Which she did as the Hatchetman descended, her autocannon slamming high-explosive shells into the rear flank of the Crusader, forcing Hawise to spin it around before the rounds could punch through the weaker rear armor. More heat washed into the cockpit, and Anastasia could feel herself starting to gasp for breath even as she held on tightly when the mech ended its jump, the cockpit shaking with the simulated landing.
Not for the first time, Anastasia cursed the antiquated heat exchanger systems used by the Hatchetman, even if Hawise’s simulated Crusader was likewise dealing with the same issues. The training simulators, built in 3028, could only handle designs prevalent at that time, which also meant no advanced technology, technology that Avryl Showers had taken for granted in the clans.
The Crusader’s arms came up, and they sent emerald spears at the Hatchetman, followed by missiles from the racks installed on the Crusader’s legs. Anastasia ignored the hits, focused on closing the distance even as parts of her mech’s outline started flashing red, warning of impending breaches.
Then they were suddenly at point blank range, and Anastasia put the hatchet to work. The first cleave scored deep into the Crusader’s arm. Hawise tried a kick, but Anastasia neatly pirouetted the Hatchetman, lifting up one leg just above the kick, while swinging the deadly hatchet up, around and down for another savage blow that drove the Crusader to its knees.
Which left the Crusader’s cockpit at the perfect angle for her autocannon to aim at.
Anastasia squeezed the trigger instinctively, the shells hammering at the vulnerable head until one of them broke through, finally ending the simulation.
----
===Striving to Improve===
“Freebirth!” Hawise cursed as she stepped out of the simulator pod, her hands lifting the heavy neurohelmet off her head. “You got me again.”
Anastasia looked slightly apologetic. “The Crusader is a poor matchup for the Hatchetman. Even though it outmasses the Hatchetman by twenty tons.” She arched an eyebrow. “Seriously, still using ‘freebirth’ as an epithet?”
Hawise scoffed. “I married one and pushed two of them out of my ass, so I think I have every right to use the word as I see fit.” She tapped her chin with one hand, thinking. “How about we switch mechs? You take the Crud, and I take the Hatchetman.”
“Neg,” answered Anastasia. “I’m sticking to the Hatchetman.”
“Kit, you have been using the Hatchetman almost exclusively since we started, and despite it beating the Crud, most times I clobbered you in a heavier mech, or a more mobile one with range, like a Griffin or a Phoenix Hawk. Is there something you want to tell me?”
Anastasia shrugged. “It’s no big secret. Of all the 'mechs in the simulator database, the Hatchetman is the only one with a melee weapon. And its weapons loadout isn’t that far different from my Spirit Walker.” She took a swig from her water bottle, which contained an electrolytic drink.
It did make a certain amount of sense, although the autocannon was a poor substitute for the arm mounted ER PPC, and the two medium lasers were laughable compared to the Spirit Walker’s array. But it was the closest facsimile Anastasia had, so she forced herself to use it.
She was growing attached to the Hatchetman’s jump jets though, and wondered if it was worth the hassle to reconfigure her Spirit Walker to carry jump jets for the mobility boost. Assuming she could get it back, of course.
Hawise sighed. “All right then. How about I take a Rifleman? I think we have yet to try that matchup.” She glanced at the clock at the corner of the simulator room. “We should have time for one more run before washup, lunch, and siesta. And then you have your lady stuff after siesta.”
Anastasia winced. “It’s not as if I have a choice, quiaff? Lady Seydoux invited me out for another musical with the usual gang, I have to fit in and all, and I’ve come too far to go back to being an outcast.”
“Aff,” Hawise grinned. “Just admit it, you’re starting to enjoy all these too.” She waggled a finger at Anastasia. “You were checking out some of the books in the manor library last week, trying to read for the plot of the shows you watched right? And you were even humming ‘Let it Go’ yesterday.”
Anastasia flushed and decided a tactical retreat was in order. “We should just start this run!” She escaped into her simulator pod, and Hawise laughed.
----
It was desert canyons this time, the terrain riven by valleys and ravines. Hot sand blew across the surface, reducing visibility and making it more difficult to aim direct fire weapons, such as the Hatchetman’s autocannon. One saving grace for Anastasia was that it would probably handicap the Rifleman too, since it carried paired medium autocannons with large lasers. The winds would most affect ballistic weapons.
She marched the Hatchetman in the valley below, watching her sensors intently for signs of Hawise’s Rifleman.
Contact! A blip appeared to the southeast. Anastasia changed the Hatchetman’s course to an intercept heading, but she decided to stay below in the valleys, in order to stay out of sight until she could get into an advantageous position.
Hawise knew it too, and staked out a position above the valleys where the Rifleman would have relatively clear fields of fire for at least four hundred meters for most of the possible approaches Anastasia could use.
Anastasia gritted her teeth. I have no choice. The Hatchetman was a close combat brawler, not a sniper nor a skirmisher, terrible at pop-and-shoot tactics. In contrast, the Rifleman was designed to be an anti-air platform, but with the ravages of the Succession Wars, was pressed into front-line combat, where it usually served as a stand-and-deliver sniper. Its array of direct fire weapons would likely be superior to the spread damage inflicted by the Crusader’s long range missiles, and hence was a deadlier threat to the Hatchetman.
For a battle between a brawler and a sniper, terrain was everything. Whoever got the drop on the other would hold the advantage.
Anastasia checked the terrain map again. While the Rifleman could cover most of the approaches, it did not cover all of them - there were still spots of cover. She would have to dash from cover to cover and hope the weather conditions would help her close in before her mech took too much damage.
She advanced the mech down the valley she was in, keeping a close eye on the radar tracking the relative positions of Hawise’s Rifleman, her own Hatchetman, and the intervening terrain.
There! She peeked the Hatchetman out, and glimpsed the Rifleman perched on the cliff. She ducked the Hatchetman back behind cover, even as lightning streaked past, narrowly missing her. Wait! Lightning?
The standard RFL-3N Rifleman mounted paired autocannons, large lasers on each arm, the heavy armament designed towards downing enemy air support, not PPCs. She punched up the Warbook, quickly checking the Rifleman’s variants.
It was the 4D variant, which replaced the autocannons with far more effective PPCs, but at the cost of an even higher heat deficit. It could not sustain firing all its weapons for even twenty seconds, and would shut down in moments. On the other hand, its all-energy offense would not be affected by the winds swirling around the canyon.
Anastasia bit back a curse. Hawise did say Rifleman, but did not specify which one. She had been too careless in her bid, and the older warrior likely took advantage. Again. The loss on Hoard should have clued her into realizing Hawise did not survive this long on luck alone. From their conversations, she picked up hints that Hawise only managed to survive Luthien and Tukayyid with unorthodox tactics, adopted in desperation at the last moment to stave off death.
No matter. Knowing that the Rifleman’s PPCs were still recharging, Anastasia pushed her throttle forward, and ran her Hatchetman out into the open, just four hundred metres away from the Rifleman. Hawise could chance shots with her large lasers, but it would only threaten to shut the Rifleman down from overheating.
Anastasia had already staked out the next piece of cover, the Hatchetman running desperately for it. She bounced in her seat as it simulated the rocking motion of the mech in full stride, her stock mouthguard protecting her teeth and tongue from damage, and she wondered if she should get a custom job that would fit her better.
She counted down mentally the recharging time of the PPCs, knowing that it would be close.
The Hatchetman slid behind a rock pillar, just as she counted the full recharging of the PPCs. Anastasia sighed in relief. Three hundred more metres to go.
She knew there was no avoiding what came next. She would have to let the Hatchetman take the hits and hope that it was still battle-worthy when it reached the Rifleman. She spun the Hatchetman out from behind the pillar and started running on a slight tangent relative to the Rifleman’s position, her feet ready on the pedals.
Hawise held off from firing right away this time, probably trying for a deflection shot. Anastasia could see the Rifleman’s barrels tracking her mech’s movement, and even at a distance, they seemed to loom in the computer enhanced magnification on her HUD.
The particle beams slammed into the Hatchetman, eagerly devouring armor over the torso and arms. Anastasia saw the sections of the armor outline turn to blinking yellow almost immediately. Another hit from any of the Rifleman’s weapons would breach the armor in those sections.
The Hatchetman staggered with the loss of so much armor, but Anastasia’s superior sense of balance conveyed through her neurohelmet easily kept it upright and moving. She twisted the control sticks, turning the mech’s torso to put her crosshairs over the Rifleman. Let’s give you something to think about.
She sent a long burst of autocannon fire at the Rifleman, scouring armor off one leg. The heavy 'mech barely staggered, and instead continued to track her movement, its long barrel arms following her ominously.
The next few moments saw the Rifleman fire only one PPC at her, which missed high, and it was obviously cautious of overheating. Anastasia knew it was now or never.
She stomped on her foot pedals, the Hatchetman rocketing upwards onto the cliff while the Rifleman started backing away. She landed her mech lightly on its feet, ready to dole out some punishment with the hatchet, but the Rifleman had already turned away, putting valuable distance between the two mechs.
And even then, the Rifleman had flipped its arms behind it, and one arm still trained its guns directly on her. Sand swirled around their 'mechs.
She stared down the barrels of both the PPC and the large laser, suddenly frozen by a memory surging into her mind.
Then they fired right into the Hatchetman.
Her seat shook with the impact as the shots punched right into the center of the Hatchetman, lighting off the ammunition for its autocannon. Her HUD filled up with light, almost blinding her. The glare faded away, and Anastasia found herself sitting in the darkened simulator pod, the instrumentation panel shut down, with only a single dim light in the cockpit.
===Distubing Thoughts of Yesterlife===
Afterwards, they were in the tiny locker room, stowing away their neurohelmet and cooling vests in the secured compartments. For security reasons, Hawise had restricted access to the simulator room to only the two of them, and nobody else in the estate had access. Hopefully, this way nobody would also know that Anastasia was a mechwarrior.
“Not like you to freeze up like that,” commented Hawise. “You could have dodged the shot, you knew it was coming.”
“Just something that spooked me,” replied Anastasia. “On Caripare, during Bulldog.” She stood before her locker, staring at her bulky neurohelmet already sitting inside. Why did I suddenly think of it?
“Uh huh.” Hawise did not say anything else. She could be startlingly observant. “Well, that’s it for today. I really stink, could use a good shower.” She stowed the neurohelmet into her own locker, and walked off. “I’m going off to mind my kids. See you at lunch!”
Anastasia clenched her fists, her head bowed. Staring down the barrels of a Rifleman… it had been Finn’s Rifleman-5D, back on Caripare…
----
*;Author's Chapter Note: Not many changes from the original story here, at least in the first part. The second part is Anastasia starting to emote over her past, and finally some mech combat, even if it was simulated.
----
<<Previous Chapter - Return to Story Index - Next Chapter>>
Chapter 43