WP3025 Chpt 6

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==Chapter 6 - Winged Praxis (Battletech 3015 CYOA)==
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===A Toast to Home===
Dropship Siduri, Orbital Ascent
New Olympia System
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
7th January, 3015
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I watched from the so called 'balcony' as New Olympia fell away below me. It had been my home for two years now. Two years of the most challenging learning I had ever done. Two years of excitement and misery. Two years in which I had learned to love the sky. Two years that had me building towards a purpose.
 
New Olympia had given me a new name. It had tested me in battle for the first time. I would miss it.
 
But not nearly so much as I would miss the people I had met there. Only now that it was impossible, did I realize just how much I wanted to receive my eagle's wings from Cliffhanger, to have that proper first drink in the O-club. I wanted to joke and kvetch with Itchy and Canyon, to drink and play crud with Slant and Discord. I wanted to argue tactics with Naptime and Bingo, tangling up our arms as we flew our hands about. I missed them all. The ones I had been close to, the ones I hadn't.
 
We had flown together. We had fought together. Some of us had lived, some of us had died. I was leaving them all regardless.
 
I raised the glass of very fine whiskey I had been offered by the Siduri's crew to them all. "Adios, mis amigos. Clear skies and good hunting." I took a measured sip. It really was very good, with notes of butterscotch and traces of cherry over oak and pepper. The ethanol came on slowly, and as the taste developed in my mouth, I could feel my surprise that whiskey could be so complex.
 
I smiled. It was good to know that I could teach my local self a thing or two about drinking. It was almost enough to distract me from the fact that Terri had stayed behind on New Olympia.
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===Chat over drinks and War===
Dropship Siduri, Transfer Burn
New Olympia System
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
8th January, 3015
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"I hear it got very dangerous here, last year." Francoise Mossman was an employee of Starcorps Industries. She and her husband Gunther apparently spent quite a bit of time traveling between the different Successor States, making sure the various branches of Starcorps were following vaguely similar corporate visions while still remaining legally separate entities. Apparently it paid well enough that they were used to traveling on Princesses like the Siduri, considering the more pedestrian Monarch a major step down.
Which to be fair, there was a major difference, but I had no real basis of comparison. Having booked passage on a series of FWLM military and cargo droppers at this point, never even having thought of traveling on a liner. The Mossmans were tolerable dinner companions for Kasparova and I, who I had made a point of inviting to the Earth-deck dining when I had realized that she was traveling in a significantly lower level of accommodations than I was. I wasn't sure how she was taking it, but she was about the only person on the Siduri that I knew even a little bit. My older patterns would lead to me isolating, hard, and I didn't think that my local patterns were best suited to a bunch of monied types. At least it meant Phillipa would be able to enjoy the higher end meal and the experience of the Earth-deck evening simulation.
 
She had engaged Gunther in a spirited debate about the finer points of League tariffs and the best choices for investment into imports. Francoise, meanwhile, was indulging her Federated-born interest in all things military, and had started asking me about the excitement last October.
 
"That depends on where you were." I hedged. "Yes, there was fighting, but it was mostly restricted to New Greenland. Kasnow surrendered before the Eighteenth and Fifth made landfall, and New Olympica declared neutrality."
 
"I thought the cadets from Allison had fought." she said. "Isn't that in Olympica?"
 
I nodded as I cut into my marlin steak, caught only a few days before in the oceans we were riding a pillar of flame away from. "It is. In Darienbad, actually. That caused some issues."
 
"Oh?" she asked, taking a forkful of rice.
 
"Well, Commandant Matthias had been planning to fight in and around Darienbad. It's ground his cadets were used to, and a city provides a lot of advantages for defending 'mechs. Between that and the Olympica militia, he could have made things very bloody for the invaders before breaking contact and setting up an insurgency. Cadet forces tend to run light, so they're more mobile, by and large." I spread my hands. "But then Prince d'Andre decided he didn't want to see any of his holdings shot up in the fight that would entail. Told the militia to stand down, and Matthias that he was forbidden from combat operations on Olympica." I took a bite of the marlin and chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. "Apparently Matthias threatened bodily injury to the prince. Probably a good thing they didn't talk in person."
 
"I can imagine," she said. "What a despicable lack of spine!"
 
"Yes," I said. "Well, it meant that all of the training 'mechs. Along with the personal Battlemechs of instructors and cadets had to be ferried over to New Greenland as the invaders were making orbit, and a whole new plan had to be drawn up."
 
"That sounds dangerous," said Francoise. "What if the invaders had sent down fighters?"
 
"That was a worry." I said. "They didn't, but we set up a BARCAP just in case."
 
"Barcap?" she asked. "I'm afraid I don't know that term…wait, you said we."
 
"Barrier combat aerospace patrol," I explained, then coughed. "Until recently I was a cadet at Lloyd Marik-Stanley."
 
"So, you fought in the invasion? Oh, capital!" she clapped her hands together. "I imagine you know all sorts of juicy details."
 
"Against it, yes. I don't know much about what sort of planning went on, though I'm sure the tinnies are grabbing more of the credit than they deserve. We fought the Eighteenth in our backyard. Dragged them up through our bombing ranges and areas we practice low level flight. As far as I'm concerned, the most important thing the Allison force did was play bait and hold the line a couple of times." Apparently, my wry tone had caught the other two's attention, though perhaps it was Francoise's clap.
 
"Was it really like that?" Gunther asked. "I find it hard to believe that mech forces were not more significant."
 
"All I can tell you is how it looked to me," I said with a shrug. "I know we sent up the BARCAP to keep them safe on the transfer, took on the Eighteenth's fighter complement, then kept on hammering their mechs and logistics as they made their way up the mountains. I'm sure the Allison cadets pulled their triggers, but most of their mechs couldn't reach out beyond 5 cm laser range. Some of the Chameleons and the personal mechs had weapons that could do some proper harassment, but I know for a fact that Allison was losing Stingers on every close ambush they attempted."
 
"That's a rather fragile chassis at the best of times," pointed out Francoise. I supposed a Davion-born employee of a mech manufacturer would be familiar with one of the most common scout mechs in the Sphere.
 
"So are Cheetahs and Sabres, but we kept flying," I countered. "Took on heavy and medium fighters too." I took another bite of the marlin. "Look, I'm not saying that AMI didn't do anything, but once the Eighteenth pushed under the umbrella of three Riflemen and took LMS airfield they really started dictating the terms of the battle. Before that, we were feeding them a steady diet of hiex and inferno gel, while keeping their fliers from interfering. After…" I shrugged. "They did catch most of the Eighteenth's fighters on the ground before it got too bad. Made it a mostly even fight for those of us who managed field-expedient fueling."
 
"How did it end?" asked Phillipa.
 
"21st​ Centauri Lancers jumped in," I said. "That's what I found out afterwards, anyway. The Eighteenth had been mauled, and the Fifth Ducal was pretty much worthless. Their securing of Kasnow was a glorified training op."
 
"Didn't you say Kasnow had already surrendered?" asked Francoise.
 
"Yeah." I said. "Sure did."
 
"Well, I must say, I find it very strange that so much of the planet would just go belly-up at an invasion," she said. "Back home it would be unthinkable." I rolled my eyes. She didn't notice. "So, what were the casualties?"
 
"You should have seen the other guy," I snarked. "The Eighteenth came with a heavy regiment. They left with a light battalion or so. The Fifth actually managed to lose a lance worth to various accidents during their 'pacification patrol'." I laughed, then sobered. "But it was bad. About a reinforced company left of a battalion of mech forces from Allison. Not sure what the final equipment bill was for LMS, a lot of us had to land or ditch in rough country, and I'm not sure how well recovery went. There was some talk about potentially salvaging from the Eighteenth's wing." I took a long pull from my wineglass. "But I lost friends. Too many…" I shook my head and busied my mouth with drinking.
 
Phillipa took pity on me and diverted the Mossmans' attention while I thought back to those desperate days after the water cracker had given up the ghost and we'd been forced to abandon our fighters. Being hunted by jump infantry and a Vulcan. I tore into the marlin and rice, doing my level best to not think about Itchy's face going slack as the bandage just couldn't do enough to keep his blood where it was supposed to be, how he had been bleeding inside, and how we had been so concerned with the pneumothorax that we had ignored it as his belly swelled. We had tried to fight to save him until the end, and it wasn't enough. Because we had been stupid.
We had been stupid when he died too, yelling out our grief. And Cleaner had died because of it, turned into a short lived torch by that pendejo in the Vulcan. Terri and I, I still couldn't tell you how we survived. Fell down a slope, didn't get noticed. Spent days huddled in a cave as the battle and a storm raged outside, with the corpse of a cougar we'd had to shoot. Couldn't put it outside, the hunters might notice it.
 
Fucking hell, Gideon, did it always come back to Terri with you?
 
I noticed that the Mossmans were saying their goodbyes, and grunted out pleasantries as best as I was able. Phillipa was giving me a level look across the table.
 
"It seems like the battle was quite affecting." the lawyer said.
 
I drew in a breath. Let it out. "First combats are always rough. I'm told it gets easier. More manageable, anyway."
 
"That…" She paused, collecting her thoughts. "To you, Mr. Zalman. It was affecting for you."
 
"Sure," I said, refilling my glass. "Why wouldn't it be?"
 
"More than usual," she said, working around the point. "Are you sure you want to expose yourself…"
 
"You're talking about combat fatigue?" I snapped, suddenly having no patience for talking around the issue. "Post-traumatic stress reaction, actually. Depending on the symptoms, possibly the disorder."
 
She blinked, mouth falling open a bit. "I am." she admitted, pulling herself back together. "I'm surprised you know it by that name, actually."
 
"Yes, well, Jews prize education." I explained, ignoring the fact that my local self had known nothing of the sort, and this was all my older self speaking. "Look, post-traumatic stress reaction or disorder is perfectly normal. It's the brain reacting to and coping with an extremely stressful situation it was in. It just happens to be a set of behaviors mismatched to a lower-stress environment. It's why it's so prevalent in combat veterans, victims of accidents, assaults, piracy…"
"You surprise me again, Mr. Zalman," she said. "Though, I suppose it makes sense to learn about it given your chosen career. Was the number one in five for veterans?"
 
"Depends on the data set." I explained, feeling the comfort of talking on a subject I knew something about. "I've also seen numbers closer to one in ten. But there's a major tendency towards underreporting, especially in the veteran population, so I'm inclined to believe higher numbers. Especially considering some longitudinal studies with geriatric populations. I've seen lifetime prevalence up above fifty percent there of some sort of post-traumatic expression. Might have been eighty, but don't quote me on that. I really can't cite the study I'm thinking of…"
And then I realized where I was, who I was, and how I was talking.
I was in the future of the eighties, talking about psychological studies, research that ComStar might have some major questions about…and I was a fucking fighter pilot!
 
Phillipa was looking bewildered.
 
"Ignore that," I said. "I can get rambly when I'm a little drunk."
 
"I see," she said, not buying it for a minute. "Well, I must admit, you are the most interesting beneficiary I have worked with or perhaps the oddest."
 
"Por que no los dos?" I asked.
 
"I do hope that you're not expecting me to live up to the League's Canopian stereotype, however. I am grateful for dinner, and enjoyed…"
 
I blinked as what she said filtered through my head, then it clicked. "Oh!" I said, then shook my hands in negation. "No, no, no! Nothing of the sort. I've got some sorting out of things to do…and we have a business relationship. That's awkward, and an ethical mess. No." I drained my glass again. "Besides," I said, setting the glass down. "Besides…"
 
What? The fact that I was pretty sure that Gideon was more of a romantic than he wanted to be? Than he professed, and believed to be? "Have you ever felt annoyed that you missed the point when you fell for someone?"
 
"No, I can't say I have." The lawyer stood. "I do believe that you're drunk, Mr. Zalman."
 
"Yeah," I said. "Rambly. Sorry. Have a good night."
 
"You as well," she said with a bit of a frown, leaving.
 
"I'll try." I mumbled. I stood and walked off for my little bungalow, cursing my self for being a fool who should have known better. As I lay down to sleep in the closest thing to Earth gravity and pressure I had felt since I woke up in that hotel bed a week ago, I reflected that I had never felt so far from home in two lives.
Sleep was fitful, and slow in coming.
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*;Notes from the Author : Well, thanks to you all, we have assigned Gideon's callsign. The man glories in the name of "Duster". Thank you to all who suggested callsigns, voted, and even just shook your heads at the madness. You're here, and I appreciate that. To pull back a bit of the curtain, the two callsigns Gideon was going to try and drink the brew to avoid were Farmboy and Skywalker. He informed me in no uncertain terms that he was not okay with the insensitivity towards people he grew up with, and that he was not a farmer, dammit! (Doylist reason is probably my subconcious objecting to Star Wars references. I can get persnickety about these things. *le shrug* I'm even a Star Wars fan, by most lights.) My personal favorite of the bunch was probably Dreidel (Maybe, I think?), but these things are not to be decided by one's self, even at the remove of an author and a fictional version of himself.Anyway, I've gone ahead and uploaded the edited versions of the previous chapters. They're not horrifically different, but each of them was updated with slight character tweaks and use of call signs throughout between pilots. I'll not say they're required reading for those of you who have been here from the beginning, but it'd make me happy if you read them and gave me feedback if any came to mind.
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