EMCOTS 2

=Emergence (Concertverse) - Chapter 2=
Previous Chapter - Return to Story Index - Next Chapter
-----
==Falcon's Fall==
----
===Part 1===
Glassworks District, City of Cirenholm
Timkovichi, Coventry Province
Lyran Commonwealth
15 August 3142
----
“Back up, back up!” Kommandant Jacob Tanhause half-shouted over the intercom as his Brutus assault tank shook under a hard-hitting missile salvo. Thudding impacts from the salvo of advanced tactical missiles rang through the tank’s innards like a hundred trip-hammers at once, and Jacob swung the topside scopes around to try and find the source.
“Got it!” he called across to his gunner. “Thor Deuce, at our ten.” A non-standard, custom setup, with a particle cannon in one arm and a six-tube ATM rack in the high shoulder mount.
“I see it,” Sergeant Jessi “Cupcakes” Bannon replied, wrenching her control sticks around. The turret shifted with a whine of hydraulics. “One-twenty meters. Benjy, I want full power for the lasers; don’t care what you gotta kick.”
Below the turret basket, in the sauna-hot main hull, Corporal Lise Pierce cursed as - stripped to her armoured vest - she fought the controls, swinging the tank around to put its heaviest armour to bear, drivetrain grinding unpleasantly at the shift in place. One more thing that needed fixing - in a full repair bay, not just whatever their engineer, Corporal Benjamin ‘Benjy’ Mayhew, could do with his toolbox - but they just didn’t have time.
Time to trust my crew. Jacob pushed himself back from the scopes, resisting the urge to take over the gunnery controls and make the shot himself. He focused on the tac map display, reading the dark blue and jade icons, hitting the side of the display with a quick slap to get it moving again. The climbing losses tore at him; when they’d marched out against the Clan invaders twelve days ago, the Timkovichi Armoured Guard had consisted of a company of BattleMechs, and two strong regiments of armour and mechanized infantry. Now, they were down to a single ‘Mech - Lieutenant Palisser’s ancient Awesome - and barely a battalion of conventional troops; and that remnant was going fast.
The twin large lasers cracked suddenly, filling the turret with a sweat-prickling pulse of heat and the stink of ozone and scorched insulation. A shrieking volley of SRMs rippled off the forward launchers a moment later, lofting a dozen fat-bodied warheads at the Clan machine.
“Yes! Got ‘im - fused his ******’ elbow solid!” Jessis shouted, exultant. “Ducking behind that warhouse - get after him, Lise.”
“Negative that,” Jacob snapped. “Corporal, get us back to Mason’s Way; we can’t waste time dancing with this guy, not with two assault Trinaries hitting us. Hound Sunray Minor, this is Guard Sunray, acting,” he switched to long-range comms; the frequency for the Kell Hounds’ mobile HQ. “Requesting support urgently; we can’t stop the Falcons.”
“Hound Sunray Minor acknowledges, Guard Sunray.” Leftenant-Colonel Allard didn’t even sound slightly flustered, as though she was taking orders in a restaurant, not shuffling companies like a card-sharp’s deck. “We have support en route to your pos, Guard, just hang on, and make sure your IFFs are live; aero elements are oh-five mikes out.”
-----
At the controls of a DRT-2 Darter OmniFighter, Ensign Abraham Farmer was a long way from his home town of Worcester, on Arcadia's Plymouth Peninsula.  The descendant of the New England colonists that settled the otherwise Anglo-Scot reaches of Eastern Islay on Arcadia, Farmer's choice for service was the Federation Royal Navy, specifically, the Aerospace Arm.
His three years at the Rivka Shaltiel Flight Academy on Gienah were tough enough, and that was for general aerospace pilot and officer education, to teach him how to handle the enormously complex, expensive, and powerful machine that was an aerospace fighter craft.  But for the Navy, that was only the start; next came his stint with other final year cadets on the training carrier AFS Independence, a former frontline WarShip-Carrier that was crippled in the Concord-Compact War at the Battle of Tikonov, then rebuilt to be a permanent trainer given it proved unsuitable for frontline naval operations.  The training was grueling, the mark of the Royal Navy's dedication to having the best aerospace pilots in service, but his reward was a place among the best pilots in all the Inner Sphere.
Finishing that year of rigorous space-borne training led directly to his current assignment to the 11th Naval Strike Wing - the "Voidsharks" - on the AFS Ranger, an old warhorse from before the Second Age of War with a shiny new rebuild.  Now he was at the controls of a 95-ton war machine currently sloughing off the re-entry heat as it plunged through Timkovichi's atmosphere.  Commander Winston's words still rang in his ears.  "We're not sure what the hell's going on, but we know someone's down there murderin' civilians.  Put 'em down fast and put 'em down hard, Voidsharks."
"Feet hot," he called over the AFRF tac link, and other pilots in his twelve-fighter squadron said the same, followed by the other twelve fighters of the Voidsharks when the second squadron of the 11th Wing descended into the atmosphere.
"11SW, this is Ranger Actual, we're relaying friendly IFFs to you now.  Weapons tight, people; watch what you shoot," said the ASG PriFly Director up on the Ranger.
"Roger that, Ranger Actual.  Weapons tight, all elements," answered Lieutenant Commander Tiraz, the 11th's CO.  He'd be piloting a Darter as well, but his configuration employed a Rotary AC/5 in the nose backed by pulse lasers on the wings.  "Inbound on Cirenholm and other localities."
Farmer kept his Darter on the course projected on his HUD, courtesy of PriFly, singling Cirenholm out from among Timkovichi's towns and cities.  The final minutes to engagement passed and he could see the black smoke coiling into the air.  The city was being destroyed.  He made a final check on his fire selectors.  The wing-mounted pods contained top of the line Matthews Ballistics SureShot-20s, utilizing Streak technology to conserve ammo, while a Vickers-Armstrong Mk. 8 Particle Projector Cannon in the chin pod let him deliver a heavy hit on top of the missile barrage to whatever 'Mech or tank he deigned to fire one.
As the 11th neared the point of its first attack run, they fanned out, ensuring the widest support to the multiple beleaguered forces present.  Above their heads the 66th Naval Aerospace Wing - the "Double-Sixes" - were locked in dogfights with enemy aerospace fighters, keeping them off the incoming strike packages and allowing Farmer to focus on the targets forming on his holotank.  He picked one particularly tall 'Mech.  The identification systems decided it was a Thor OmniMech, "Unknown Configuration", after briefly considering it a Tanatis (the 'Mech the Thor was based on).  The colors included a bright emerald shade.  In just a couple seconds he'd be in range, which meant he'd have a second to squeeze the trigger before he'd overshoot.  His targeting systems were already establishing missile locks.
The crosshairs turned from crimson to gold, and a tone came to his ears.  Weapons lock complete, range imminent.
As soon as the gold crosshairs blinked, he squeezed his triggers.  Both launchers erupted, their computers verifying the shot was good and would deliver hits, and a bolt of cerulean fury from his Darter's chin lanced through the air and scourged the side of the Thor. Even as his fighter roared over his target's head, his holotank displayed the last seconds of camera footage from the LRMs, confirming nearly three quarters of the salvo hit home; the flickering beams of a pair of anti-missile lasers burned the others out of the air.  He kicked his fighter into a brief acceleration burn, pushing his limits from the 4 and a half Gs of thrust the Darter could sustain at maximum effort, which quickly bought him the distance needed to make his second pass.  His target was limping, evidently from missile damage to its leg, but still tracking weapons on a friendly-ID tank.  They had only seconds before whatever missiles or cannons the thing was mounting would hammer them.  He kicked his thrust up again, briefly, and had a lock ready when the range was good again.
This time his PPC cored the heart of the machine, blasting armor and endo-steel from the chest.  The first coils of oily black smoke came from within.  His LRM shot wasn't as successful this time, as his right wing launcher couldn't confirm a solid lock and refused to fire.
His left wing launcher did fire, however, and twenty missiles descended on the enemy machine.  Again its anti-missile lasers flickered beams into the air, catching three, four, five missiles, six…
...but not all.
While a couple missiles worsened the wound in the enemy torso, one more struck home on the torso-mounted six-tube launcher, crippling the weapon, and the other missiles made their own impacts.  By the time he was burning past, the green enemy machine was in dire straits, and he prepared for a third run.
The first strike run happened so fast, Jacob Tanhause wasn’t sure for a moment just what had happened. Just a shattering sonic boom, a flash of man-made lightning brighter and hotter than his Brutus’s laser bolts, the rippling light-flares of missiles. The Thor Deuce staggered back into view, shedding armour in semi-molten strips, bleeding coolant from ruptured sinks. Sweeping back in a blisteringly tight turn, the friendly fighter set up for another run. That fighter -
Jacob blinked, trying to make sense of it. It didn’t match anything in LCAF service that he knew; maybe a Davion Rondel, if they came in a mark that packed a pair of heavy LRM racks and a heavy particle cannon, but he’d never heard of one. No Davion regiment used that gold-on-black color scheme, anyway.
The second strafing run peeled away even more armour, spilling one of the anti-missile lasers into the street in ruin, and then the fighter was away, behind them.
That was more than enough for Jessi Bannon. As soon as her range field was clear, she hit the firing triggers, unleashing everything the tank had. Short- and long-range missiles walked across the ‘Mech’s armour in rippling yellow-white blossoms, calving away armour composite and endosteel, and the cobalt spears of the main lasers hammered into the weakened centreline, ripping away armour, gutting the gyro and blasting out of the seventy-ton machine’s back in a mist of semi-molten shrapnel.
Robbed of its balance, the Thor shuddered in mechanical palsy before collapsing forward. Hard; hard enough to bury its right shoulder and part of the head module in the torn-up asphalt.
“Good kill, good kill!” Jessi yelled, loud enough that Jacob had to hold his headset away from his ears for a moment.
“Guard Sunray, this is Spotter One.” A young voice, one of the infantry teams providing early warning and - when they’d still had ammo for it - artillery directions. “Boss, you wanna look up, ‘cause it is beautiful.”
Jacob flicked the camera feeds to vertical, showing just what the infanteer had seen.
DropShips. Half a dozen or more - including a couple that were big; from the rangefinder’s figures at least half again the size of an Overlord - each emblazoned with a white and gold hawk insignia.
----
In the bowels of the AFS Charles Sinclair, Lieutenant Evangeline Penton-Vallejo drew in a breath and readied the controls of her Paladin. The PLD-3 was the OmniMech version of Arcadia's first signature 'Mech, and her configuration was one of the specialized "Striker" variants employed by the three Striker Regiments of the AFRF.  Her eyes went over her equipment checklist screen and verified everything was green.  The five RussTech TurboJets that gave her 'Mech thrust for jumping, the Vickers-Armstrong Mark 8 PPC and Mark 14 and Mark 18 Lasers (Large size, one normal and one pulse) and the Mark 15s (mediums), every one of those energy weapons a Terran Royal-tech Extended Range model.  The loadout fit the Striker preference for energy weapon, even if it also meant every spare square meter of volume was taken up by the heat sinks necessary to even partially regulate her machine's major heat potential.
The twenty-three year old graduate of the Nagelring was new to the 8th Strikers.  It was a tradition for both sides of the family, the Penton-Vallejos and Penton-Galvariz-Aghliesi, to serve in the unit, and Evangeline was happy to get the nod.  Bronze-skinned and dark-haired, she took after her family matriarch, Rachel Vallejo y Galvariz, save her preference to cut her hair far shorter, and to keep the traditional shaved temples that were utterly unnecessary in neurohelmets these days.
Right now her concern was the light in the 'Mech bay.  This was only supposed to be a training campaign, she thought, swallowing her fear as the light flashed red once more, and the light-wands of the battlesuited trooper acting as ground-guide waved to tell her she was lined up right.  The turn to yellow told her they were about to deploy, that she was about to jump out of a DropShip at least half a kilometer off the ground and then bring her 'Mech to a controlled landing, under fire, with the jump jets.  For the first time in her life, she was going to face combat.
Mom and Dad fought in the War.  They survived Tukayyid, Buckminster, Irian.  I can do this too.  She drew in a breath as the yellow light's pace quickened. Any second…
The light flashed green.
Machinery came to life and the great doors for the Charles Sinclair's hangars opened, allowing light to pour in and illuminate the BattleMechs of the 8th Strikers' 1st Battalion.  Their operational color of light blue and white, standard for the air-dropping Striker Regiments, was only broken up by the relatively small unit patch often placed on the shoulders or upper chests or legs of the 'Mechs in the unit, the yellow and orange-plumed Arcadian sunhawk on a yellow disc, reflecting the 8th Strikers' unit nickname: "Sunhawks".
The 'Mechs ahead of her, led by Captain Rosaline Kincaid of Bravo Company and Lance Lieutenant Wolfgang von Krager, her personal lance commander, started jumping out in regular intervals.  She put her 'Mech into motion and followed them out, shutting out everything but her drop training.  She thought her stomach would climb into her throat as her 75 ton 'Mech jumped into open air.  Some weapons fire lashed skyward at them and met retorts from the 8th Strikers' Aerospace Group and the supporting naval fighters, as well as the weapons on the descending DropShips.  The fast insertion droppers were going even lower to deploy the 8th Striker Armored Infantry Regiment into position, along with supporting 'Mechs.  Fire skittered off the light blue and white hulls of the DropShips, which they returned in earnest while dropping their forces off.
Evangeline's eyes focused on the rapidly declining number showing her altitude.  At three hundred meters she fired her first burst of jump thrust, only for a few seconds, and continued to gently employ it until the two hundred meter mark, when she began a steadier application that escalated to a full slam on the pedals at a hundred meters.  At ten meters the thrust was temporarily exhausted, but that was close enough.  At least for her "Mech, for her it was a bone-jarring landing.
Laser fire stitched across the breast of her Paladin, scorching the bright Sunhawk patch there.  An enemy 'Mech, unknown design, was targeting her.  She focused her crosshairs on the chicken-legged machine and, mindful of her heat, triggered all three of her long range energy weapons.  The bolt of plasma from the PPC was joined by a stream of sapphire pulses from the torso-mounted pulse laser and a solid sapphire beam from the neighboring torso mount.  Armor sloughed from the enemy machine and heat surged in her cockpit, defying the coolant circulating through her cooling suit.
Incoming missiles came for her, and Evangeline maneuvered to try and avoid them. At last five still struck, though to no effect.  With her heat still fairly high, she staggered her fire, giving her cooling systems time to work while whaling away at the foe.  Lieutenant von Krager's Mad Cat joined her in pummeling the targeted chicken-walker, placing a barrage of SRMs into the machine to knock more armor loose.  His large lasers carved out chunks of armor and internal frame, and the chem-fueled smoke of a damaged engine came from the wound.  With her heat back to manageable levels her fingers stroked the firing keys again, this time firing only the lasers at first.  The enemy pilot was enough of a natural to keep their machine standing despite losing over two tons worth of armor in a few seconds.  Yet their machine was clearly the worse for it, with the lasers that struck her out of action.  Lance Lieutenant von Krager fired his missiles and all twelve slammed home on the torso, damaging the gyro and finally sending the green 'Mech down.
Her machine shrieked a warning, and she turned in time to face the missiles coming her way.  A distant enemy, in a machine that resembled a Strider Hawk or Katun 'Mech, but with more of an avian profile than even the Strider Hawk, was unloading twenty-salvo LRMs at her lance.
Lieutenant Thomas MacDonald's Ranger, an upgraded version of one of the original 1st generation OmniMechs, stepped closer.  Rapid fire lasers, anti-missile lasers, struck at the incoming salvos, and the Ranger's rotary autocannon blazed away at the distant enemy 'Mech.  After a few moments MacDonald's left arm came up and a PPC shot, from the same model as her own, speared the enemy machine from a distance, all while the enemy missiles that survived the anti-missile fire plowed into MacDonald's machine and her own.
The other Paladin of her lance, that of Lieutenant Kevin Kilroy, was configured for direct fire support, which meant a Gauss Rifle paired to twin Mark 14 Vickers-Armstrong lasers.  All three weapons fired at the enemy missile 'Mech.  The coilgun shot blew a chunk of armor from the 'Mech's chicken leg, while twin beams of sapphire melted armor in rivulets to the street below.
Evangeline figured her comrades had everything in hand, allowing her to divert attention toward another of the enemy machines moving through the wreckage of an apartment.  She spit the crosshairs over the holo-image of a winged 'Mech on her holotank.  Her systems identified it suddenly, calling it a Shrike, a 95-ton 'Mech, utterly unfamiliar to her.
"Regimental Command here."  The voice was recognizable as Colonel Jagdish Patel, the XO of the 8th Strikers.  "We've finished remote updating of all your unit recognition profiles from data handed over by local forces.  Put it to good use."
"Roger that," answered her battalion CO, Major Alejandro Perez.
Evangeline's systems showed the loadout of the machine, with UAC-5s, a pair of extended range large lasers, and a ten-salvo LRM launcher.  It was designated a "Clan" machine, whatever that was…
She learned a moment later, as the enemy 'Mech focused fire directly on her first.  The range of the enemy fire was such that it was clear that "Clan" meant "Royal", at least to her understanding.  This was a top of the line Assault 'Mech.
"Bravo Lance, focus fire," Lieutenant von Krager ordered.  The other machines, turning away from that dying fire support 'Mech, turned their attention on the Shrike.
During her education Evangeline's tactics classes showed off some of the performances a gifted MechWarrior could give.  This was as good as anything those recordings showed.  The Shrike's pilot was almost untouchable, and every shot was hitting home.  Her machine, her lancemates, everyone was getting shot up, and the Shrike was firing like it didn't need to worry about heat at all.  She let loose with everything she had just for the enemy 'Mech to suddenly shift or weave, throwing her aim off, and while some armor was lost on the other machine, it didn't compare to the damage they were doing to Lieutenant von Krager's Mad Cat.
That they were fighting an elite enemy pilot was clear, and even worse, other "Mechs were coming up, four more in total, and while their designations weren't immediately recognizable, the tonnages were all Assault or Heavy grade.  "This is Bravo-Bravo-3, we need fire support, enemy Assault 'Mechs present, possible command unit!" she called, even as autocannon shells from the "Falcon" 'Mech tore through the head module of MacDonald's Ranger, nearly decapitating the machine.
-----
Abraham Farmer still had a fair ammo reserve and a bit of fuel when the call came from Commander Tiraz.  "All elements, urgent request for fire support from 8th Striker.  PriFly given the call to us."
"Roger that, Squadron Lead," he replied, one of many to do so.  "Going in."  He swung his Darter about while data from the Ranger gave him the location on the other side of Cirenholm.  A burst of fire from the ground clipped him, but given the thick ferro-aluminum armor that protected the Darter it caused no further concern.
He wasn’t the first pilot on scene.  One of the 2nd Squadron's pilots, in a Malleus, was already rolling in on an attack run.  The hundred ton gunship came in textbook-perfect, no oversteer or correction, just the right amount of throttle.  Its Gauss rifles spoke, a triple-thunderclap hurlng hypervelocity slugs at the jade ‘Mech - except it wasn’t there. What happened next seemed to play out in slow motion, even though logically it could only have taken a handful of seconds. The Shrike, suspended on pillars of ion flame as two of the Gauss slugs passed below it. One struck home, explosively calving nearly a ton of armour away from the ‘Mech’s right thigh, wrenching it to one side and dragging the torso-mounted lasers and missiles out of play. Its left arm stabbing out, tipped by muzzle-flame. Hundreds of depleted uranium-tipped slugs splintering armour, shattering ferroglass - and tearing the pilot beneath apart. Time sped back up as the Shrike landed, the Malleus wobbling in the air for a moment before slamming into the ground. The fusion core let go an instant later, a brief flare of white flame reducing the fighter to a blackened shell before the failsafes choked the reaction.
Farmer bit back a vicious curse, angling around and flipping his main trigger to missiles. Deflection was too high to try a particle cannon shot, thanks to that damn jumping-jack move, but the Streak racks might just work.
Lock tone sounded, loud and clear on both racks. And no AMS for you, you son of a bitch, he thought with bloodthirsty satisfaction as he hit the firing stud.  Forty missiles fired in a swift ripple from the pods on his wings, each missile tracking onto the Shrike while it descended back to the ground.  He kept his altitude and kicked his thrust back to max, preparing for another pass.
----
The white heat of her earlier fury had faded, leaving Malvina Hazen with only cold, glassy clarity. Even as the missiles - striking with the surety of Streak guidance - hammered into Black Rose’s frontal armor, spreading bands of yellow and orange across the damage display, her focus never slipped. She twisted her wounded right leg out of the line of fire, taking the barrage on undamaged plating.
Imminent death is curiously liberating. For she was going to die; these interlopers had seen to that, whoever they were. But that freed her, of responsibility and greater concerns; of the need to do anything but kill as many of them as possible before her end.
“Janovech, keep those fighters off us. Anwar, Craig with me,” she ordered, pushing Black Rose to full speed. “Star Commander Corwin, flank and engage!”
“Aff, my Khan!” four voices replied, her command Nova splitting and reforming in practised, disciplined moves. Janovech’s Ryoken II, autocannon already spitting out spent shell casings and flak shells, spun in place, chasing the strafing fighters.
Particle cannon spitting lightning bolts, Craig brought his Hellstar to bear against two of the newcomers; a modified Black Knight and what her systems identified as some freeborn bastardisation of the Mad Cat - were they the dezgra exiled Wolves, then, finally stirring from their den on Arc-Royal? - and the cursed Lyran Awesome, a machine ancient when the Founders were young, bleeding coolant and limping on a fused knee but still refusing to die, while Anwar followed her.
For the throat. Their commanders were hers.
----
Farmer's sensors screamed in warning and illuminated, via his HUD, the direct of fire coming form below.  One of the enemy 'Mechs, one his systems were calling a "Ryoken II", was firing toward him as he commenced another run.  He banked before his missile launchers could get a lock while his systems registered a pair of minor hits, consistent with a cluster autocannon.  He fired his engines up to get the range to start another pass attempt.  "Looks like we've got an AA 'Mech out there," he said into his tac-comm line.  "Keep an eye on that."  He swung around while another Darter, his wingman Ensign al-Rashid, came into formation with him.  "Let's deal with that Shrike 'Mech," he said, "leave the Ryoken to the others."
"Roger that," the Dar-es-Salaam-born pilot said, following him as they started another pass.  They kept a higher altitude, given the enemy machine's great jump capability, and readied to fire.
The Shrike seemed to feel them coming, or perhaps did see them coming.  Either way the pilot, with their enormous skill, literally pirouetted out of the crosshairs just as Farmer triggered his weapons.  His PPC turned sand to glass, but hit nothing, and the SureShot launchers refused to fire.  The same apparently happened with al-Rashid, who radioed "No joy.  That is one agile pilot."
"We'll get 'em yet.  Come on," he said, preparing for another pass.
----
===Part 2===
Evangeline's 'Mech wobbled as particle cannon blasts from one of the enemy command unit's 'Mechs - a "Hellstar" according to the "Kell Hound" IDs - took armor off enough that her left side was becoming completely exposed.  One jump jet was showing a critical fault and the aim on her Mark 18 (Pulse) Laser was off due to damage to the aiming mechanism.  At least the heat sinks haven't been hurt, she thought while putting her crosshairs on the Hellstar and giving it the return treatment with her own particle cannon and laser.  The rest of the lance were busy trying (and failing) to contain an assault-weight Warhammer mod and that Shrike, moving like the pilot was almost one with their machine.
Her opponent was quite capable too, evading her PPC blast, while the sapphire beam of her laser carved a valley of molten material from his shoulder.  She triggered the left arm's medium lasers next, twin emerald beams that sliced another chunk from the enemy, and waited patiently for her heat to cycle back down before firing the damaged pulse laser.  It stitched sapphire light along the flank of the Hellstar, a glancing blow, and its particle cannons scourged her machine once more, three out of four shots striking home despite her desperate maneuvering.  This time the pulse laser simply died, a direct hit that exposed the side of her machine front to back, and her Paladin's left knee locked up from the molten material wedging the joint.  She fell this time, off-balance from the leg.  The enemy pilot brought their weapon up and, despite the range, she knew the next shot would spear her cockpit and kill her instantly.
The shot never came, with the next salvo instead firing behind her, and for good reason.  Captain Kincaid's Paladin, a Striker Primary configuration, sailed through the air over her on five jets of burning thrust, moving quickly enough that only two of the PPCs struck her and only took armor away at that.  In mid-air the ultra autocannon on the left arm flashed to life, firing at double rate (and thankfully not jamming) to inflict heavy damage on the Hellstar's flank.  Captain Kincaid landed and triggered her PPC and medium lasers, cooking her 'Mech with heat but delivering a strong blow to the heavier foe that made use of the damage Evangeline had already dealt.
Yet even overheated, the Paladin had one last weapon to call upon.  Metal shone in the sun of Timkovichi as the right hand opened and the configuration's sword came out of the OmniPod in the forearm, extending to full length in the seconds before Kincaid thrust the blade into the Hellstar's damaged armor.  The enemy machine faltered, coolant flowing like blood from its chest wound, and the pilot drew back, firing wildly and missing given how well Kincaid kept her Paladin moving.  Kincaid kept on him, swinging the blade again and slicing through the barrel of the right arm's particle projector, while her left arm fired two ruby beams point-blank into the enemy machine's wound.  The entire right side of the Hellstar was becoming a wreck.  Elated, Evangeline forced her back to its feet and tried to get a shot, but Kincaid was still in the way.  "Captain, I've got your back!"
There was no answer, the Captain's concentration was total.  Her blade swiped empty air, as the Hellstar pilot spun away to evade it, but they weren't evading the torso-mounted PPC.  The Hellstar's chest, covered in wounds from Gauss Rifle strikes from strafing Malleus fighters, broke at the lightning of Kincaid's weapon, exposing the machinery within.  The sword flashed again, this time a thrust that went into the wound and speared the engine itself.  The Hellstar fell, never to rise again.
By now Evangeline was tracking the other foes, but she was as ill-prepared for any for the maneuver of the Shrike.  As if sensing its comrade fell, the machine spun - evading PPC shots from the venerable but still dangerous Awesome; and God, Evangeline had never seen a ‘Mech that damaged still on its feet, even in battlerom records, the legendarily thick armor more holes than plating and its heat exchangers glowing white-hot on infrared - and fired into the rear of Kincaid's 'Mech.  Double-fires from its ultra autocannons, just as dangerous as Kincaid's own single ultra had proven, but unlikely to precisely hit the same target.
And yet, they did.
The shells blew apart the head of the Paladin from behind, destroying the entire module over the course of about two seconds.  Evangeline's heart fell to see her company CO die so quickly, so easily, like her impressive victory of just seconds ago was nothing.  She wanted to kill that Shrike pilot…
"Go for the Ryoken," urged Lieutenant von Krager.  "Now!"
Given the shape she was in, Evangeline wasn't sure she could duel another enemy 'Mech, but gratefully, she wouldn't have to.  Not alone.
The Armored Infantry was here.
Her target, and another, already had the veteran battle armor infantry swarming them.  The Striker-clad infantry troopers were doing the swarming, a squad striking at the legs of the souped up Warhammer, a second squad already on its torso and shoulders shooting into sensitive spots, while a squad of Peltast heavy armored troopers fired salvos from their triple SRM launchers into the enemy machine, pelting it with the equivalent firepower of three SRM6s.
The Ryoken's autocannons briefly let off on the anti-air fire, instead focusing its efforts on the Striker infantry trying to get at it as well.  She watched the autocannons' cluster rounds rip into a squad, wounding or killing one of the six troopers, but the survivors pressed on, firing away with their BA-scale Gauss Rifles.  Those weapons were too small to do much damage, but they'd do far more if the remaining soldiers, and any other squads, could get there.
Granted, succeeding in that might not happen if they didn't get help.  Evangeline noted her lance wasn't in shape for it.  MacDonald's Ranger was down, missing its head module — he'd ejected — and Kilroy's Paladin was trying to fight the Warhammer.  That just left her, and her hobbled 'Mech.
A good thing I'm built for range!
The Ryoken II's movements were simplistic enough that it was easy getting the crosshairs on it, and when she pulled the triggers, her lasers and PPC hit home with every shot.  The blue beam cut through the barrel of one of the deadly autocannons and the emerald beams from her left arm sliced up armor on the machine.  Her PPC scourged armor right from the chest.
That got the Ryoken II's attention.  It's autocannons roared to life, and multiple cluster munitions struck at her wounded machine.  Her engine gave off a warning light, indicating it'd been hit in the exposed left side, and the damaged left leg lost what little armor it had left.  But nothing critical's truly hit, the engine's not out yet!
Also a good thing I don't have ammo!
Defiant to the fact of her 'Mech's increased heat level, she followed up with another shot.  This time her lasers hit home on the other 'Mech's left side, effectively reproducing the damage she'd already suffered.
Except the Ryoken II did have ammo.
One of the lasers was the culprit, as later BattleROM footage would confirm.  The cluster munitions and missiles in that side of the 'Mech cooked off from the heat of the laser, producing an explosion that blew open that side of the Ryoken II.  The existence of cellular ammunition storage saved the rest of the 'Mech, although the unarmed limb there now hung uselessly with its control systems severed.
The three Striker troopers made it to the Ryoken's left leg, where they promptly started to fire into the moving parts.  The enemy machine's foot locked up and the pilot, already suddenly down over a third of their machine's mass worth of material, couldn't keep the 'Mech balanced.  It toppled over onto its good side.  The armored infantry promptly jumped away.  "All yours, Lieutenant," a voice crackled over the common tactical line.  The infantry returned to their fallen comrade, clearing the way for her.
"Thank you," she replied, her crosshairs already on the 'Mech's exposed guts. Her heat dipped just low enough to be safe before she fired everything yet again.
Given her engine damage the heat flooded the cockpit, and her cooling suit struggled against it.  As the sweat covered her face Evangeline watched the effect of her shots into the enemy 'Mech's exposed side.  The particle projection cannon and lasers stabbed at the engine and gyro, doing a particular number on the latter, enough that the pilot's efforts to stand ended before the Ryoken II could even begin shifting weight.  She waited for her weapons to recycle before, due to heat, using staggering fire, again on her opponent's exposed torso.
This time she was rewarded with a brief fountain of fusion plasma, after which the Ryoken II died.
My first combat kill. It was an exhilarating thought, especially since she'd not expected to get one so soon.  Not during a training mission.  It'd come during some anti-piracy campaign with the Ghastillans or Principate, or maybe in a skirmish with the Combine or the (Oriento-)Capellans.  Not… not like this.
Despite her machine's hobbling, Evangeline made it turn around, tracking the insanely-effective Shrike.
Just in time to watch Lieutenant von Krager die.
-----
Oh, this one was good, worthy.
Ammunition warnings were flickering on Malvina’s heads-up display, but she dismissed them. Only a few salvos of missiles left, and almost no autocannon rounds. It would be enough.
The Black Knight pilot had been a gift, truly; blind, not watching their back. But this one - they fought, as the Falconers put it, by the claws, torso weaving constantly in a sinuous evasive pattern that kept her lasers’ bite from telling. So why was she not going for the cockpit?
I want to see what you have.
Pushing forward, Malvina lofted a missile volley, spending the last of her autocannon rounds at the same time. Armor splattered away in useless splinters, driving the Mad Cat back one step. Two.
The lighter machine hunched back for a moment, as though trying to guard its wounded armor.  Then it stormed forward, hitting back with everything it had.
Streak six-racks from the shoulders. Large and medium lasers. Guided by the aim of a warrior, blooded in real battle, scything into her wounded leg armor, sending molten composite flowing in glowing rivulets down the shin plating; one beam snapped the empty ammo links for her autocannon.
“You … lose,” a heat-drained voice came over the general address channel as the Mad Cat’s laser arm levelled at her cockpit, building power to strike - slowed by the burden of that all-out salvo.
In answer, Malvina simply fired her own lasers. Straight and true into the Mad Cat’s cockpit, a glowing laser-cut through armour and ferroglass cockpit shield.
Perfect.
Beam fire hammered into Black Rose from every angle, armor melting and breaking away as she tried to force the ‘Mech around, myomer muscle cables snapping. The right shin gave, suddenly, endo-steel bones shot in two, sending her stumbling forward into the path of the Awesome’s last particle cannon shot.
A blinding flash. The smell of ozone and the sound of shrieking metal.
Darkness.
----
Previous Chapter - Return to Story Index - Next Chapter
EMCOTS 2