FaRtaL Chpt 20

==From a Ristar to a Lady - Chapter 20 -==
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===Unlikely Rescuer===
Twin Mountains, Altoona
21st March, 3061
1600 hrs
“I hope you remember me. We met at the drop-port. I’m Spencer Larouche.”
“……”
“I’m going to release you slowly. Don’t scream.”
She nodded. He slowly released his grip, enough for her to pull away. She spun around to face him.
“I’m impressed you managed to survive this far, my lady.”
She glared at him, not trusting her own voice for the moment.
“We need to get moving. I found a safe way down the mountain, and I have hidden a car down there, since the terrain up here is too rocky for it. I can get you away from the pirates.” He started to walk down a path.
Following, she managed to retort, “I am well aware of our situation, Captain Larouche. No need to explain it to me.”
“Interesting. You were pretty rude to me previously. So why the courtesy now?”
“Is that what you are concerned about right now? I was not aware you cared. From what I heard, you were only able to serve under Count Haynes because you didn’t care about formalities.”
The pretentious geniality on Pence’s face disappeared at Anastasia’s contemptuous words.
He frowned. “I am trying to save your life right now, so it would be wise for you to stay quiet.”
“I should thank Baron Haynes then? Wasn’t he the one who got both of us stuck in this mess?”
Pence’s cold eyes turned to Anastasia at the words. Anastasia was not afraid of him at all.
Anastasia smirked. “Didn’t you wonder why I didn’t ask you why you were here? Oh, maybe you are treating me like a fool again? No matter how I see it, this whole situation is the doing of Baron Haynes, so no wonder that I find his favourite ass-wiper here, doing his bidding.”
She had learned from Matthew, and pored over news articles pertaining to ‘Spencer Larouche’. She had a rough idea of how Pence Lamongue became Spencer Larouche, though obviously she still missed many pieces of the puzzle.
He was called the dog of House Haynes, but to be precise, he was Renard Haynes’ ass-wiper. The man who stuck to the heir and took on all kinds of dirty work to enjoy the wealth and glory promised by Baron Haynes.
His tone was cold. “I’ll be very careful of what I would say next if I were you, my lady.”
“You’re not even trying to deny it? Let me guess, you got the bandits to come here and kidnap me, with the gems thrown in as a bonus. They double-crossed you and decided to cut you off, so that they could ransom me off for a larger sum than what you promised them, or to extort you for more. In any case, they win.”
She smiled sardonically, “Am I correct? Such a hard time kidnapping just one girl. It seems your honour and competency are worth shit these days… ugh!”
Anastasia frowned as he clutched her neck and forced her up against a tree. Pence looked at her menacingly.
“I wasn’t aware that a mere noblewoman would know anything about honour. It’s not something that should be taken lightly.”
Anastasia gritted her teeth. She refused to be afraid of him, refused to be intimidated.
“So… is this… what you call honor? You enjoy it… don’t you? Killing somebody weaker than you… Come on… Finish me! Or did Renard told you… to leave my body intact?”
Her eyes glared at Pence.
Pence suddenly released her. She dropped to the ground, coughing. Her vision was blurred and tears flowed through her eyes due to her body’s natural reaction to being strangled.
“You trash bastard.” She very nearly said ‘trash-born’, but that would have been a dead giveaway.
When Anastasia finished coughing and regained her breath, Pence’s eyes suddenly grew cold again.
“Shut up before I decide to leave you to the bandits. We still have a long way to go.”
“Why should I follow you? You might just be bringing me back to Renard, and I can guess what he has in store for me.”
He sneered. “You’d rather take your chances with the bandits?”
At that moment, they both felt it. A very slight tremor through the ground.
They froze. They both knew what it was.
A mech.
===Grand Thief ArgoMech===
Rason Estate, Inman
Milligan PDZ, Woodbine Operational Area
Draconis March, Federated Commonwealth
18th March, 30610600 hrs (1800 hrs on local 28 hr cycle)
“It looks like a Harvester. But no civilian equipment on its arms, and they put hands on it.” Easier to grab and smash, I guess. Anastasia thought. Smart of them.
They laid down on their stomachs on a ledge, taking turns to look through Pence’s monocular.
“It is a Harvester, heavily modified.” Pence confirmed. “They got it from some workshop in the Periphery specializing in converting industrialmechs into viable combat units.”
She cursed. As all-terrain units, mechs were effective in mountainous regions, with their sensors and ability to navigate over most obstacles. Even a modified industrialmech had huge advantages over most vehicles.
Pence continued, “That’s not the only mech they have. They also have three more, all real Battlemechs instead of this piece of trash. They were their plan B in case their subterfuge failed. They’re not much, but without a mech, we have no chance. Better to find a hiding spot and hope the mechs don’t find us.”
She pointed, “Not really. Look at the cockpit.” She handed the monocular back to him.
The bandit mechwarrior was exiting his mech! Without his neurohelmet!
They looked at each other.
Moments later, they were barely meters away from where the mechwarrior was, puffing away happily on his vape.
“You distract him, I get to the mech.” Pence had told her, and she could not argue otherwise. Not when she did not even know if she had the right neurological profile for piloting a mech, and besides, Lady Anastasia Kalinska was supposed to be a pampered spoiled lady, how could she know how to pilot a mech at all?
They had debated over whether they should get rid of the Mechwarrior first, but agreed their priority was to secure the mech. There were bandit infantry prowling the area, they had to move fast the moment they initiated their plan.
Anastasia stepped out into the mechwarrior’s view.
The bandit nearly choked on his e-cigarette upon seeing her, then fumbled for his pistol, “Stop right there!”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said wryly, holding up her hands in a show of surrender.
She could see Pence already scrambling up the rope ladder of the mech. But something in her eye must have given them away, because the bandit mechwarrior spun around, his pistol already in motion.
“Hey, get off my mech!” He snapped off a few shots from his pistol, and she saw Pence tumble desperately into the cockpit.
With one swift motion, she drew the stiletto from her left forearm with her right hand, and stabbed it into the unsuspecting bandit’s neck from the back, killing him almost instantly. Blood gushed from the wound in his neck and splattered onto her.
The commotion drew the attention of some bandit infantry nearby, and they ran in their direction, aiming their weapons at her.
Anastasia threw herself onto the ground behind a rock as cover, and the Harvester started moving, its cockpit still slightly open. The rope ladder on the mech swung wildly as it walked with menace towards the bandit infantry, who started running in the other direction.
<<“Shit, they killed Yanis and took his mech!”>>
It did not take long for the bandit infantry to run away. Confident that the bandits would not be returning soon, Anastasia called out once the mech stopped chasing them, “Captain Larouche, get over here so I can climb up into the cockpit!”
There was no reply, and the Harvester remained still.
Maybe he did not hear me? She jogged tiredly up to the Harvester. <<“You hear me now, Captain Larouche? I’m coming up!”>>
Still no reply nor reaction from the mech, standing silently.
Her blood ran cold. She clambered up the rope ladder, and managed to squeeze her way into the cockpit through the opening.
Pence Lamongue laid on the command chair, barely conscious, above a small puddle of blood slowly draining out on the floor of the cockpit. There was a bleeding hole in the side of his chest at the ribcage, where one of the bullets had punched in. It was obvious he did not even have time nor strength to put on the neurohelmet, which laid ironically on top of the small compartment with the medical kit.
Anastasia cursed. She thought about just tossing his body out of the cockpit and leaving him to die, but she doubted she had the strength to do so. Furthermore…
If he was to die, it would be at her hands, in honorable battle. She would let him know her real identity and relish his dismay as she claimed his life. That would be her perfect revenge.
Not like this.
This was also why she had been so disappointed with herself when she thought briefly about manipulating Finn. It simply was not right.
Finally, if she just abandoned him to die, he would have been regarded as a hero, a mechwarrior who sacrificed himself to save a weak noblewoman. When he was anything but a hero, just a traitorous Burrock who had hoodwinked everybody.
That thought made her sick.
“I will keep you alive, so that I can kill you properly later.” Anastasia muttered quietly as she took out the medical kit. She checked it, and cursed when she saw there were no bandages, the bandits skimped on supplies. There was a bottle of just expired iodine and scissors though, plus some medical tape.
She took the scissors and used it to cut strips of cloth from her petticoat. It was made of white cotton, so it would help stop the bleeding. The garment was also still quite clean because it was an inner skirt, and the material was also perfect for encouraging the blood to clot and stop bleeding. It could be used as a bandage if it was long enough.
She took off Pence’s jacket and blood-soaked shirt. She looked around the cockpit and spied the small water tank at the back, along with a bottle. She used the bottle to collect some water and drank some water herself since she was thirsty.
She then poured the remaining water onto the makeshift bandages, soaking it and wiped the bullet entry wound clean. There were no tweezers in the medical kit to extract the bullet, and she dared not waste too much time on treating his injuries. Anyway, he probably would not die once the bleeding was stopped. She applied the iodine liberally to another cloth and wiped it again to disinfect the wound, not caring if he felt extreme pain from the effect of the antiseptic. She folded some of the cloth into a makeshift pad and placed it on the bullet wound, then wrapped the bandages around his body to secure the pad and stop the bleeding, fixing the whole assembly in place with liberal amounts of medical tape.
Then she felt Pence’s body twitch. Anastasia looked at Pence as he groaned in pain.
“How long have I been unconscious?” He asked.
“Not long. Maybe ten minutes? Fifteen at most.” The bandit infantry must have called in, the enemy mechs would be arriving soon. They had to start moving.
“I see.” He noticed the bandages around his torso. “These don’t seem like normal bandages.” He glanced down, and he grimaced when he realized the bandages were from Anastasia’s petticoat.
Anastasia said, “You’re in no shape to pilot a 'mech now.”
“And you know how to?” He coughed, then winced at the pain. “We’re going to die here.”
“Not if I can help it.” she snarled. “There’s a small foldout seat behind, you get on it. I’ll take the command seat.”
He glared at her weakly.
Anastasia narrowed her eyes. “I played some Mechwarrior games before,” that was an outright lie, as a proper lady the original Anastasia had probably never played any of those games, and clan warriors did not need to play mere computer games when they trained using simulators or real mechs, “And I may not be as good as you, but I’m still going to be a better bet than somebody who might pass out from blood loss any moment! So just get off and let me take the con!”
He stumbled over to the small foldout seat, and she helped to strap him in. He seemed to lose focus though, and was unconscious again soon after. With his wounds settled, she did not have to worry about hygiene too much and quickly relieved herself with the foldout commode in the back.
After she sealed the cockpit canopy completely, Anastasia put on the old-style neurohelmet, making sure it was still connected to the NCCI and seated snugly against her head, ensuring physical contact with her scalp so the sensors could pick up her brain activity. She was grateful the mech was already running and she did not need to get past the security protocols, which would have been impossible.
She took one look at the cockpit setup, and was assured it was a fairly standard layout, familiar to any mechwarrior. The bandits had outfitted the Harvester with a standard Battlemech cockpit, instead of just retrofitting an advanced fire control system over the civilian systems.
She twisted a knob on the console to open the feedback test circuit, and winced a bit with the wash of vertigo as circuits tuned to unfamiliar brainwave patterns fed dissonant patterns back to her brain. She adjusted the vernier knobs that controlled the helmet's tuning, working them back and forth as the dizziness ebbed. Out-of-step traceries on an oscilloscope display on the neurohelmet HUD screen resolved into a single standing wave.
The neurohelmet was now set to her brainwave patterns, though she knew that it was only a very rough calibration, and she would likely suffer from nagging headaches for a few days after this. Besides, she did not even know if her brainwave patterns were suitable for mech piloting at all. Maybe the mech’s Diagnostic Interpretation Computer (DIC) might not even understand the signals from her brain centers, severely limiting the maneuvering options available to the mech.
“Only one way to find out.” She grabbed the throttle with her left hand, and the main control stick with her right. Both feet on the pedals, between the straps so they could follow her feet along other axes for expanded movement options besides just turning. Again, she was glad she did not wear high heels, and her boots fit snugly into the pedal straps.
She thought about climbing down to take the dead bandit’s cooling vest, but decided not to. They needed to be off and away as soon as possible. A little bit of heat in the cool Altoona air should be manageable. She noted that the mech had very limited cooling, and she could not afford to keep it running at maximum speed while firing its weapons; the mech would overheat within minutes.
She also checked the mech’s armament. Only a single eighty-millimeter autocannon, with a partial load of ammunition for slightly more than two minutes of continuous firing, if she read the numbers correctly. It was her only ranged weapon. It would have to be good enough.
Anastasia pushed the throttle forward, and the Harvester started moving. She would have been more excited about finally piloting a mech again, if not for the dire circumstances.
She punched up a map of the area on the HUD, mentally gauging distances and the safest route back to Fort Lambourne.
Can’t do a direct line, it’d be too obvious. Would need to cross a river here… Rocky terrain there. It would have to do. With the throttle set, her left hand flipped a switch to activate the secondary control stick on her left, allowing her to control the left arm of the mech separately. She raised the left arm of the Harvester up to the cockpit level, and directed her thoughts towards manipulating its fingers.
The left hand of the mech formed a fist, but with the middle finger stuck out for the universal insult.
“Yes!” Anastasia exulted in glee. She would have preferred to do this in a proper controlled setting, but in any case, she was glad to have confirmation. The DIC was able to read her brainwaves, which meant that Anastasia’s body had the right neurological profile for mech piloting!
“Where… are we now?” Pence seemed to have woken up from the mech’s movement.
“On the way to Fort Lambourne. You can forget about taking me back to Baron Haynes.” She said with more confidence than she felt.
“Why didn’t you let me die?”
“What?”
“If I were you, I would have left myself behind.”
Anastasia flinched, and her mind went blank for a moment. She focused her attention back on piloting the mech.
Pence continued. “You are very clever, my lady. Everything you told me earlier is true. Baron Haynes ordered me to kidnap you in secret and bring you back to Inman. What did you do to get on his bad side?”
“Kidnap me?” She scoffed, “He’s even more petty than I thought, but why are you telling me all this now? What’s with the sudden burst of honesty?”
“Well… because I think we’ll probably be dead soon. They have three other mechs. I don’t know how you managed to move the Harvester, but you will not be able to escape three Battlemechs.”
She gritted her teeth. “Tell me.”
“Thorn, Urbanmech, and Hatchetman.” He listed. “Do you even know what these are, my lady, or how overmatched this Harvester is?”
She did not bother to reply. Of course she knew. One modified industrialmech with a measly autocannon versus three Battlemechs? She was badly outclassed, outnumbered, and outmatched. But if she could get to Fort Lambourne… Craig Wurtz’s company of motorized infantry might not be able to stand up to mechs in an open field battle, but with the fixed defenses of the Fort, they might have a chance.
The sensors display on her HUD flashed, enemy mech detected at two kilometers away.
The radar display showed its approximate location, right in her projected path northwards back to Fort Lambourne. The bandits could read maps too.
The comms crackled in her neurohelmet, <<“Give it up Larouche! You’re outnumbered and outgunned. Let us have the girl, return us the mech, and we’ll let you live.”>>
Oh, so they thought it was Pence piloting the mech? It was a reasonable assumption. She refused to respond, not wanting to give away anything, and focused on the enemy mech’s location.
It was moving slowly, so slowly it was the Urbanmech, or one of the other mechs trying to lure her into its interception radius.
She was not going to fall for that, but it was also likely they would have deployed their other mechs in a spread formation to catch her. She could only make her best guess and try to slip past them. Engaging with the autocannon was her last resort.
She angled the Harvester northwest to circle further around the enemy mech, praying hard she had guessed right. If the bandits were competent, they would have deployed their other two mechs to the west and east of the likely Urbanmech, and the Hatchetman and Thorn were definitely capable of chasing down the Harvester in this terrain.
Another mech popped up on the sensors, this time moving significantly faster, and closing in quickly. Anastasia gauged its speed on the radar display. Moving faster than sixty kph… it must be the Thorn.
There was no way she could outrun it, but all things considered, it was the most optimal target.
She angled even further west. She did not know how much armor the Harvester carried, but it was probably not enough to stand up against the firepower of a Thorn at close range, even if it was only a twenty ton light mech. Her best bet to take on the Thorn was to keep the range open and whittle it down with the autocannon.
The terrain was uneven even while it sloped downwards, with precipitous cliffs that could severely damage the Harvester’s legs if she was not careful and it fell off.
The Thorn was already in visual range. One kilometer away. Eight hundred meters.
She gripped the main control stick firmly, her right palm already starting to bleed a bit from the friction of controlling the stick. All mechwarriors developed calluses on their hands due to long hours holding their control sticks, but Anastasia’s body was not adapted to this. She thought about gloves for an instant, but dismissed the idea immediately because it would reduce her feel on the stick and also made her hands feel hotter in combat, a big no-no when many mechwarriors stripped down to the bare essentials in the cockpit due to the heat from weapons fire.
Six hundred meters. The Thorn was only a light mech, but she never felt it more menacing. If she had been in her Saber Knight, she would have chewed and spat out Thorns by the dozen.
A warning tone wailed, telling her the Thorn was trying to lock on her with its weapons systems. She gritted her teeth and rocked the Harvester from side to side, trying to shake off the target lock from the Thorn as it launched a flight of long range missiles.
The missiles blasted around the Harvester, shaking them up a bit, but none connected.
My turn, she thought as she twisted the Harvester’s torso to the right and shifted her targeting reticle over the Thorn. She caressed the trigger once the Thorn was within range of the autocannon, sending a steady stream of autocannon shells towards it, her hand trying to keep the reticle over the target even as the Harvester shook with the recoil of the autocannon.
The slugs exploded across the right leg of the Thorn, shaving off armor.
“Not bad,” commented Pence, but it was clear he was drifting in and out of consciousness.
The Thorn got a bit closer, but Anastasia worked the pedals furiously, moving her feet for finer control over the Harvester as it traversed the difficult terrain to keep the range open, her own brain feeding instructions to the DIC to maintain the mech’s balance even with the advanced footwork. She was pushing the Harvester at its maximum speed now, and coupled with the heat from firing the autocannon, the temperature in the cockpit rose noticeably.
The next several rounds of fire exchange had mixed results. She missed most of her shots, but one rolling burst connected with the Thorn’s left torso, leaving a set of craters across its armour, while it managed to slam a salvo of LRMs to the Harvester’s left arm, stripping off all the armor. The next shot would go internal on that limb. Thankfully, there was nothing important there. The really important components were the autocannon and the ammunition, all on the right arm.
Anastasia gritted her teeth and focused hard. For some reason, the Thorn was content to stay at a distance, content to shave away her armor instead of closing and utilizing its superior firepower at close range.
It was the age old dilemma faced by many mechwarriors, maximize damage output or minimize damage taken? Obviously her opponent chose the latter.
Nevertheless, the Thorn was still working its way in, would get into medium laser range soon, and then she would be at a severe disadvantage. The Harvester was already slowing down with heat. If she continued to move it at its maximum speed while firing the autocannon, the heat buildup would soon start to degrade the mech’s myomer systems and affect its ability to target enemies.
Three hundred meters separated them now. She triggered off another rolling burst, and this time she got lucky, the rounds splattering against the right leg of the Thorn, even as it belched another salvo of missiles at her.
The light mech staggered with obvious actuator damage, but she had no time to revel in her minor victory because the flight of missiles slammed straight into the Harvester’s head. Anastasia hissed in pain as shards of shattered plexiglass flew through the cockpit, inflicting minor cuts on her despite her thick dress. Her face was thankfully spared with the neurohelmet and its thick visor.
A corner of her mind that sounded suspiciously like Luisa screamed at the condition of her expensive dress. Between the rough travel, the blood, the shrapnel, and the heat slowly frying her in the cockpit, it was going to be fit only for rags now.
She chanced a quick look at Pence. He was unconscious, and the shrapnel did not seem to have hit him.
The Thorn limped heavily, and she could see there was critical damage to the hip actuator, reducing its speed to slower than that of her Harvester.
Her own heat levels were rising, and she was now panting for breath in the sweltering cockpit, sweat pouring off her skin.
Time to finish this, she thought.
She circled the Harvester to the right of the Thorn, letting it close the range to two hundred meters. Laser blasts streaked through the air, barely missing her, followed by another flight of missiles that claimed all the armor from the Harvester’s right torso.
She took her time to place her shot, slowing the Harvester to a full stop, then gently pressed the trigger, her hand making minute corrections with the control stick. The long volley started tracking just short of the Thorn’s right foot, then traced up along the entire right leg in a series of explosions, blasting through the vulnerable myomer and internal structure already exposed with the loss of the protective armor.
The Thorn collapsed to the ground, the leg destroyed. It scrambled in the dirt, obviously trying to get up, but Anastasia had other ideas.
She backed the Harvester away, and marched off as quickly as she dared at an angle that avoided a free backshot from the Thorn. The Thorn was not the only enemy mech on the field, and the other two were surely closing in. The Harvester was also overheating, and she could not keep firing the autocannon. Better to run away and cool down.
Since she stopped firing, the mech’s limited heat exchanger system was able to vent the heat, bringing the cockpit temperature down to more bearable levels. She also opened up the canopy to allow in some cool air, and trusted the mech’s sensors to warn her of approaching enemy units.
Pence was still unconscious, knocked out by his blood loss. She could see the slight rise and fall of his chest, so he was still alive.
Then the Hatchetman appeared on their tail.
Anastasia cursed. She had not gotten as far away as she thought. The Hatchetman had jump jets, which allowed it to better navigate difficult ground by just jumping right over them, so it would only be a matter of time before it caught them. To make matters worse, any hit from its heavy autocannon would shred through the Harvester‘s paltry armor, while she was down to just a few more salvos from her autocannon.
She pushed the Harvester to its limit, the ground churning under its running legs as she sought to stay away from the Hatchetman. The distance closed little by little, the Hatchetman catching up on slopes and rough terrain because it could just jump right over them.
The Mechwarrior in the Hatchetman called out over the open comms, //“I’m going to catch you, Larouche, and I’m gonna make you pay!”\\ It was a female voice.
Oh well, being a Mechwarrior was an equal opportunity occupation, after all. So was banditry.
The Harvester finally hit the base of the Twin Mountains, and Anastasia could see the dirt road that her entourage had taken earlier in the day.
The Hatchetman was only seven hundred meters behind them, and closing steadily.
She ran the Harvester down the road, waiting for the range to tick down sufficiently that she could start firing at the Hatchetman. She relied on the compressed display on her neurohelmet HUD, which compressed the three-sixty view into just one-sixty degrees.
The distance tracker ticked down to five-fifty.
Anastasia twisted the Harvester’s torso to its right, and when she turned the targeting reticle further to the right, the one-sixty HUD view veered further even though she could not turn her head with the neurohelmet fixed on her shoulders. She placed the targeting reticle over the charging Hatchetman, and triggered a long burst from her autocannon. It passed over the Hatchetman's head.
She was very tired, the physical and mental exertions of the day catching up to her. Her next volley also missed wide, and her right hand on the control stick shook with exhaustion and strain, not helped by the blood from her lacerated fingers.
Preceded by the warning tone of a lock-on, the Hatchetman fired off a burst from its own autocannon at long range. Anastasia grimaced as the barrage tore through the Harvester's left leg, punching through the armor and almost taking it off in a single salvo. The mech stumbled, and she was just barely able to keep it standing.
Betty was certainly bitching now. <{"Critical hit, foot actuator. Critical hit…"}>
Her left hand flipped a switch to shut Betty up. The Harvester was down to a limping shuffle, an easy target.
She was almost out of ammunition for her autocannon. She managed to place several rounds right in the centre of the Hatchetman, but they barely slowed it down.
The Hatchetman's next shot missed, the barrage passing wide left of her mech.
Anastasia decided to go down fighting. She aimed the autocannon again, and triggered her last salvo. The ammunition counter ticked down to zero and she could hear the last shell clunking into the feed.
Then her ammunition was all gone, and she knew that she would only hear a mocking click if she pressed the weapons trigger. The last barrage missed cleanly despite her best efforts.
The Hatchetman was well within range of its autocannon now, and Anastasia weaved her Harvester desperately to throw off its aim, but hobbled by the actuator damage, it was a futile effort. The lock-on tone seemed to become even more insistent, as though telling her they were going to die soon.
She could see the Hatchetman’s autocannon line up, its barrel pointed straight at her. It fired, and the Harvester tumbled to the ground as its left leg was shattered by the autocannon fire. Anastasia rode out the fall gamely, angling the mech in such a way that the fall would be as gentle as possible, but the impact still flung her hard against the straps, and she knew she would have bruises along her shoulders if she survived. She could see Pence still strapped in the backseat, but he was awake now, a sardonic smile on his face.
It seemed he knew the game was up too.
She checked the sensors. The Hatchetman was closing in to finish them off. She was still lucky, they probably wanted to cripple the mech and capture them. They would probably hold her for ransom. Whether they would extend that courtesy to him was another matter.
Then the Hatchetman was suddenly engulfed in a series of explosions, tossed around like a ragdoll as it was almost swept off its feet by the sheer volume of fire concentrated on it.
“What…” Anastasia looked up and saw through her canopy window the unknown mech she had seen before with House Rason’s heraldry, its deadly array of autocannons glowing from sustained fire as it marched in from the west. A Dervish, a Javelin, and a Wasp followed behind, the Dervish obviously having contributed with its own long range missile racks, smoking from the discharge of its deadly missile load.
Finn Rason, her fiancé, was here.
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==Chapter Notes==
*; Chapter Note from the Author : The reason why they could get so close was thanks to the Javelin’s ECM (it's the 11B variant. I noticed the AFFS seemed woefully short of recon designs with ECM/Beagle, maybe because vehicles would usually conduct them). And Finn’s Templar was in the ‘Tancred’ configuration - 2 RAC/5s tied to a targeting computer are NASTY.
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Chapter 19