Divine Intervention (Tall Tales)

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Never shall innocent blood be shed, yet the blood of the wicked shall flow like a river.
The Three shall spread their blackened wings and be the vengeful, striking hammer of God
=|Divine Intervention]] - By JA Baker=
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Everyone sent into Machen Pass knew we were being sent to die.
The 3rd Benjamin Regulars were rolling up the valley like an express Maglev train, and the only chance we had to stop them before the capital was to slow them down long enough for the rest of the Militia to regroup and dig-in. Unfortunately that meant leaving a mix bag of 'Mech's, armor and infantry to hold the only pass leading out of the North end of the wide valley for as long as possible. But we knew that it was a one-way mission, we knew what was being asked of us, and no-one backed down. This is Kentares IV, and we know the Mercy of the Dragon.
Some of us wrote letters to our families, other prayed, got drunk or found someone willing to have one last roll in the sack with. I personally spent every last credit I had on a genuine, real beef stake, figuring that I should at least have a decent last meal. It cost almost a months wages, but by God and all his angles, I've never eaten anything half as good.
Dawn found us on the firing line, the rest of the militia having pulled out under the cover of darkness. I know in all the TriVids, this would be the part where someone stands up and gives a rousing speech about Honor, Duty and the House Davion, but real life isn't like that. We knew what was being asked of us, and we all knew that we'd die where we stood. My family may have emigrated to Kentares after the Massacre, but it was my home, and I'd spent my entire life being told the story of what happened back in the First Succession War. I have a sister and two nephews in the capital, and I would be damned if I let any Drac bastard get anywhere near them while there was still breath in my body. Technically I was the gunner on a Schrek Assault Tank, an old, second-line model that had long ago had its PPC's and fusion reactor stripped out and replaced with a trio of AC/5's and a stinking old ICE that had a nasty habit of backfiring. Not that it was likely to happen that day, given that the sappers had dug a pit for the Schrek to be driven into, then covered the lower hull with earth and rocks, turning it into an ad-hoc turret.
Technically, they'd left the rear hatch clear, and I had a rifle and pack ready to go, but nobody actually expected me to make use of them, and I'd handed the ammo over to a couple of ground-pounders. They'd be able to make better use of it than I ever would. I looked up at the maxim some long forgotten tanker had etched into the armor just above the gunsight.
Out of fuel, become a fortress. Out of ammo, become a bunker. Out of time, become a hero.
Well, there was nothing but heroes in Machen Pass that day.
The sappers had rigged the pass with every smoke charge they could lay their hands on or build from scratch in time, filling the valley with a thick, artificial fog that played hell with visuals and thermal sensors, forcing the Snakes to get in close, close enough that even our outdated, ill-maintained weapons could kill them if we got the chance. It mean't we couldn't see shit, but a network of hard-lines had been rigged up, at least allowing the forward observation posts to give us a warning before they got over-run. Not that any died easy: every fox-hole had an inferno-SRM, heavy machine-gun or mortar, with satchel charges and sticky-bombs at the ready.
HQ may have sent us to our deaths, but they at least made sure we could make the bastards pay for every step they took into the pass.
It was a little after dawn when the first reports of Drac scouts started to filter in: I guess they didn't like the idea of trying to force the pass in the dark. Snipers took out their infantry, forcing them to send in battle armor and IFV's, which started to take fire from the heavier weapons, so they had no choice but to send in the BattleMechs. It was nothing short of a nightmare, being stuck alone in that Schrek, listening to my comrades dying, knowing that any moment, it might be my turn. My entire world consisted of the gunsight, the joystick in my right hand and the radio, everything else fading away. I wasn't a young man who'd joined the militia because he was stupid enough to think women might be impressed by the uniform. I wasn't some random cubicle monkey who spent his 9-to-5 filling out shipping invoices. No, I was nothing but a fire-control system.
It didn't take long for the fighting to reach me: an already damaged off-white Panther stumbled out of the smoke, its pilot evidently disorientated. I quickly rotated the Schrek's turret until the targeting radical pulsed gold and pulled the primary trigger, sending three streams of 90mm death screaming into it. armor flaked and fell as it staggered backwards, knocked off balance by the force of the attack. But I followed it without needing to even think about it, keeping the crosshairs over the center torso as best I could, but between muzzle lift and the Panther stepping into a shell crater, it started to fall backwards.
All three streams of autocannon shells connected with the 'Mech' s head, ripping through it, and the pilot inside.
I had no time to contemplate my first kill, as a Galleon light support tank rumbled into view on my left flank, its medium laser bitting into the armor on my turret as I struggled to bring my weapons back round. Unfortunately, the Galleon wasn't staying put, but rather continued to move forward, managing to keep ahead of my guns even as it continued to pump megajoules of laser energy into my already weakened armor. Then a pair of infantryman appeared, one lobbing a pair of satchel charges into the tanks tracks, the other one giving it a one-two hit from a shoulder-launched SRM. The satchel charges lifted the right side of the Galleon off the ground, and I saw sections of track and bogies flying free, then the SRM's exploded just short of the front armor, spraying the already damaged vehicle with burning napalm. It wasn't enough to totally kill the light tank, but it was enough to keep the crew occupied burning the ground-pounders down with their twin small lasers while I finished bring my autocannons round.
The Schrek's guns barked, and depleted uranium tipped death tore through the Galleon, gutting it in less than a minute.
I didn't have time to revel in my victory, as an entire squad of Raiden battle armor came leaping out of the smoke. They were too fast and too agile for me to track, as the moment I thought I had one in my sights, it would suddenly change direction whole its companions picked away at my rapidly demolishing armor with their small lasers. I felt sure that my time was running out, so I resorted to simply spraying out as many shells as I could in the hopes of hitting something purely by law of averages.
But then it started. An Arrow IV struck the ground amid the Snakes, tossing them through the air like a child discarding unwanted toys. They landed in broken heaps, a few moving slightly as their injured pilots struggled to regain their footing. But more missiles came, a seeing unending barrage, the force of the explosions clearing the smoke, revealing the battlefield. Only a handful of the Militia units remained in fighting condition, surrounded on all sides by the advance guard of the 3rd Benjamin Regulars. Only the artillery missiles fell with unnerving accuracy, every one finding a 'Mech, tank or infantry squad to decimate. I saw a bone-white Atlas stagger as it took a direct hit to the shoulder, blowing an arm clear off, followed by two more than simply shattered its body, the head flying high on a pillar of smoke and flame as the pilot ejected. Others were less lucky, with the inexplicable rain of death striking cockpits or setting off ammunition explosions that gutted 'Mechs and vehicles like.
I turned my turret around to find a trio of truly ancient looking Archers BattleMechs in the blood red of the Draconis March Militia standing in a line, half hidden by the remaining smoke. Each was covered in the scars of battle, one missing both arms, yet they continued to unleash death and destruction upon the invaders. The Snakes had nothing that could touch them at such a range, forcing them pull back out of the pass or face utter obliteration. I fired the last of my autocannon rounds into their backs as they retreated into the smoke.
When I looked back, the Archer's were gone, the only sign they had ever been there the dead and broken Draconians they left strewn across the pass.
Those of us who survived pulled back to the extraction point, surprised by just how many of us there were. Then the radio sprung to life with word that the 10th Lyran Guards were burning hard for the planet, having learned of the Combine raid while passing through the system. The unexpected arrival of an entire RCT had the 3rd Benjamin in full retreat, looking to get off planet before they were caught dirt-side.
We reported what had happened in Machen Pass, all of us looking to thank the three Archer pilots who'd saved our arses, only for HQ to insist that there were no Arrow IV equipped BattleMechs on the planet, and certainly no Archer's of the type we described. Indeed, a check of Militia records showed that none had served on the planet since the First Succession War, the last three being destroyed while fighting to hold the Combine in Machen Pass...
The End
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Divine Intervention
Divine Intervention
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