Harlock
I should have expected that really
First attempt at a B-Tech fic, how hard can it be...
Oh, right
Grimgerd VIII Alpha
Resource Moon
Lyran Space
December 3027
These things never worked out the way they were supposed to. Without fail every single time they were paid for an easy assignment or a cakewalk or a no risks guaranteed mission it always turned out to be the opposite. That it happened once was forgivable but by this point the boss really should have learned that clients don't offer truckloads of cash for easy assignments.
So it was today. On paper it was guard duty for a rocket fuel refinery, a large assembly set up on a moon orbiting the gas giant Grimgerd VIII acting as base for mining operations nearby. The moon was of course airless so the whole thing was situated under a giant glass bowl, the refinery, the storage tanks, the decent sized town housing the workers and their families, everything.
The dome looked fragile but was surprisingly tough, he didn't really like being up here but that wasn't the big concern. While quite a decent sized operation there wasn't anything inherently rare about mining the components of rocket fuel, it was mostly just oxygen afterall, which was why it was odd that the Brucker Corporation had hired a full mercenary combat group to just sit and watch it for a few hundred thousand bills per day.
“Standby for airlock access.” A crackly voice announced behind a curtain of distorted static. “Cargo sled one, moving.”
The cargo sleds was how the heavy machinery was moved around the complex, a massive maglev rail network between several domes, facilities and launch pads. Normally they carried fuel tanks or parts for various drop ships but today their cargo was substantially more intimidating.
“Breaker Leader to Overlord, approaching airlock. Estimate six minutes to colony access.”
“Copy that Breaker Lance, deploy to pre-registered positions once you are clear.”
“Affirmative.”
He flipped the comms switch to receive only with a long sigh. This was becoming a chore, something he never believed could possibly happen. He was a mechwarrior, a career soldier who by skill and fortune had the honour of storming across warzones in the finest warmachines yet created by mankind. Not so vulgar as a nuclear missile nor as reliant on scientific method as a warship, the mech was the pinnacle of the warriors art. It was something which stirred the soul of any true blooded son or daughter of man, and yet here he was just waiting to get out again.
It wasn't a discomfort, his machine was as trusty as ever, the cockpit more familiar to him than anything else he had ever known. He knew every button by touch, every control and quirk, for four decades he had fought with this one machine and he loved it like family.
Maybe it was age, his hair was white, his skin becoming lined and heavy. Maybe at sixty years old without any of the longevity treatments available to the better elements of society he was starting to wear down? No, no it wasn't that. Perhaps he just didn't like talking orders from people half his age.
Right now though it didn't matter, he was a man with a job to do and a bundle of cash dangling in front of him for when he finished.
“Heidle Company heavy support, do you receive?” A new voice broke his dour musings. “This is west gate control, please send your authorisation.”
“Gate team stand by.” He inputted the six digit code each of the team leaders had been given. It was a bit redundant, he thought, afterall who else would be showing up at the airlock with four massive bipedal war machines? “Transmitting now.”
“I have it, Colonel Thomas Owens commanding Lance group Breaker. Welcome to Grimgerd Alpha.”
“Pleasure to be here.” He told an obvious lie and made no effort to disguise it. Guard duty inside a dome did not need this much firepower, in fact it was in his view a bloody terrible idea. The last thing anyone wanted was for someone to start popping off mech grade weapons inside a giant glass bowl filled with rocket fuel.
“Airlock cycling.” The voice said again. “Cargo sled moving.”
At least it was a hell of an entrance. The massive airlock doors parted for them allowing the sled to move forward with the four battlemechs of his Lance standing two by two upon it. The movement was smooth and steady requiring no effort to keep balance letting Thomas do a quick systems check while the airlock did its thing. Finally the inner doors ground open, massive steel slabs sliding apart with an almost universal squawk of alarms and flashing yellow lights.
The mechs were carried forward through this, the illumination dazzling like some sort of pop concert with his team as the main attraction. A good sized crowd was waiting for them made up of various off duty miners and workers along with their kids pushing at the edge of the cargo yard to get a look at these great mechanical beasts. Mechs were well known but not often seen, especially in a backwater like this making the arrival extra memorable.
“Take a look Colonel, we have fans.”
His second in command sounded a little gleeful as he eyed up the gathering.
“It's a mining outpost, they've probably never seen a mech before Sandy.” Thomas looked over himself, eyes dwelling on a man lifting a small child up in each hand for a better view. Admirable strength.
“They're hicks. They've probably never seen someone with all their natural teeth either, don't get too carried away.”
The barb was from his number three who was also scanning the crowd.
“Don't worry Henry, I'm sure there'll be at least one miner's daughter who'll be acceptable.”
“After three weeks on that jump ship I'm not fussy. I'll just put a paper bag on my head and think of Avalon.”
“If it wasn't for people like this we'd all be rowing between planets.” His number four mechwarrior interjected sternly. “Show some respect for the hard working men of the Commonwealth.”
“Yes mein herr Beck.” Henry made a slight bowing move with his mech. “Let it never be said Lyrans are anything but doughty men and buxom women.”
Thomas waited for the rest of it, he knew there was more.
“Who all possess a full set of teeth. Maybe even their own.”
This was his team, his own little band of brothers thrown together by circumstance but held together by comradeship. All of them were skilled warriors who had proven themselves in a dozen battles over the years and owed each other their lives several times over, they were in Thomas' view far too good for a mediocre merc group like this.
His second was Major Alexander 'Sandy' Shaw, a man who had been at Thomas' side for almost his entire career as a mechwarrior. Both had fought for House Davion in the Third Succession war before arriving at Mercenary work and Sandy had always been ready to back his old friend. His mech was equally robust, a well worn Archer that served as the Lance ranged support component.
His Third man was Captain Henry Cross, callsign Dapper thanks to the excessive attention to appearance and appetite for debauchery. Cross was a little younger being somewhere in his forties unlike Sandy who was like Thomas past sixty. Cross piloted a Rifleman fitted out with a quartet of pulse lasers as its main weapon, an extremely impressive loadout for its job of keeping the skies clear and deleting smaller hostile mechs.
Last was Captain Johan Beck, callsign Helmut because it was the most Lyran name the rest of the team could think of. While the other three pilots had originated from the Federated Suns Beck was a Lyran sick of never getting to see real action under useless officers. Mercenary work had given him ample opportunity to fix that. He piloted a Warhammer with its classic twin particle cannons, a suitable heavy mech responsible for forming the core of the Lance's combat strength.
They were a motley enough crew with plenty of rivalry and banter, but when it came time to do the job they were a damn fine team.
At the head then was Thomas Owens himself also piloting a Warhammer which had been passed down father to son for five generations. It was a fine piece of art, an heirloom and walking record of his family's past glories. To deploy it here as an over sized security guard was almost degrading to such a proud machine but such was fate. Even the finest of warriors needed to eat.
“Alright Breaker Lance time to get to work.” Owens shifted in his chair and tightened his restraints. “By the numbers, after me.”
With a few taps to his controls the mech came to life whirring and humming its familiar symphony of activation. All systems showed green, no hiccups or problems, no obstacles. He settled in and advanced taking a deliberate step off the cargo sled and onto the loading yard. About two thirds of the dome's interior was a large city stretching a few miles across housing tens of thousands of people. Most were just transitory, contractors coming in for work before moving on after a few weeks or months. Some were permanent, the workers and families plus support businesses. There were decent bars, then not so decent ones out toward the edges of the dome. No doubt they'd be seeing plenty of business with mercs in town.
The remaining third was the refinery including a dozen massive storage tanks holding the components of the rocket fuel made here, mostly liquid oxygen but with some space set aside for liquid hydrogen and various mixtures of the two. Beside that was the loading yard and main cargo airlock the team had arrived through.
One by one the mech team stepped off the sled to cheers and waves from the civilian crowd, Sandy waving back with the massive metal hands of his Archer. The four mechs were still wearing plains and savannah camouflage from their last mission, a mix of dark yellows and greens which really didn't do much in the industrial surroundings they now inhabited. It didn't matter to the crowds of course who still cheered with every thump of a mechanical foot and whir of machinery.
“Do they look rich?” Henry wondered. “And bad at cards perhaps?”
“Remember what happened last time you tried to get rich playing cards?” Sandy moved up to follow Owens' lead. “We had to drag you put of that dumpster feet first.”
“Capellans just don't have a sense of humour, we all know this.”
“I thought it was funny.” Beck cut in.
“You're Lyran, you don't get to have a sense of humour either.”
“Sure we do.”
“Then why have you never laughed at my jokes?”
“Because they are terrible.” Beck scoffed. “I never understand why you Davion people think you invented humour.”
“Simmer down team.” Owens imposed a little order. “We're here, take up overwatch positions.”
With a chorus of acknowledgement the four mecha split up and spread out to assume guard positions on the edge of the refinery some five hundred metres apart. They each found a good spot, turned themselves outward looking over the town, and then went into standby mode.
“Overlord, Breaker Leader.” Owens connected to his company commander. “Breaker Lance in position.”
“Very good Breaker.” The voice returned. “Hold station until further orders.”
“Affirmative.”
And that in theory was that. He put his machine into standby mode and broke out a box of snacks.
“Tom?” His close range comms cut in.
“Yes Sandy?”
“Why the bloody hell are we standing here with thirty million Quid's worth of mechs looking at crappy housing blocks?”
“Because the boss told us to.”
“Right.” His old friend paused. “Permission to accidently step on him?”
“Not until we get paid.”
“No complaints here.” Henry made his own position known. “If they want to pay us for nothing let them.”
“According to the boss we are a deterrent.” Owens sought to clarify. “He thinks we will intimidate any ne'er do wells into turning tail and running away at the mere sight of us.”
“Same effect Dapper has on any normal woman then.” Beck took an easy shot. “He does know that we should be stood outside to intercept any trouble right?”
“I did suggest that to his eminence yes.” Owens smiled. “But he informed us we wouldn't be very intimidating if no one could see us.”
“So now we look scary but if we start shooting then we crack the dome and everyone dies.” Beck exhaled in exasperation. “I thought I'd left behind bad officers when I left the standing army.”
“We probably just can't fathom his genius.” Henry reasoned. “That's why he's the boss. Nothing to do with his daddy owning the company.”
“I miss the last boss. Dieter was a proper soldier.”
That got murmurs of support from the whole team.
“Since he bought it and the firm got bought out it's gone downhill.” Owens agreed entirely. “Been thinking of getting out.”
“Must be some better groups hiring.” Beck agreed. “If you go I go.”
“Same.” Henry added his voice. “It would be no fun without you chaps.”
It was something to contemplate as he opened a second pack of snacks. Owens watched a pair of sentries walking the perimeter as the actually meaningful component of this security detail, the two soldiers glancing up at the mechs every so often. Heidle was a fairly well balanced mercenary group with a decent sized mechanised infantry component, its own drop ships and even some covert agents in addition to its mech unit and had earned a decent reputation under its last director, Dieter Lindemann. Unfortunately Lindemann had been killed a year ago and the new owners were not nearly so talented.
Many of the better members had already left for better opportunities and there weren't many of the old skilled mercs left. Fortunately there were enough left among the infantry to ensure that the three hundred or so troopers were deployed sensibly to protect the refinery.
“What are we defending from anyway.” Henry piped in ruining the silence.
“Didn't you read the briefing?” Beck fielded. “Pirates.”
“Why would they bother with this dump?”
“Because pirate ships need fuel too.”
“So they're going to steal it from inside the dome?” Henry returned. “That's stupid. They're pirates, rob a ship. I mean that is sort of their point isn't it?”
“Mark this on a calendar but Dapper is right.” Beck remarked. “It is stupid.”
“Brucker who owns this place has been having disputes with some rival corporations.” Sandy offered his theory. “Was in the news, been some sabotage. Odds are these pirates we're looking for are being hired by his rivals.”
“So its not theft, they want to sabotage this place?”
“Blow up some pumps, smash the docks.” Sandy guessed. “It would delay business and drive them to bankruptcy.”
“At which point the rivals buy out Brucker's assets and take over.” Beck realised. “Sounds right, and if they have friends in Lyran high society...”
“The authorities do nothing and it is up to we noble cash hungry mercs to fix it.” Owens rounded up. “A very dangerous game because I don't think the boss is smart enough to handle this.”
“So these pirates are just crunchies right?” Dapper checked. “No mechs?”
“I don't know but better hope so.” Owens looked over at the huge spherical tanks containing tens of thousands of tons of fuel. “We really don't want to be shooting in here.”
The lines went quiet again giving Owens time to appreciate the view. The housing blocks and buildings were dull of course, just standard concrete tower blocks and cheap structures, but up above it was incredible. The dome gave a clear view of spac e beyond, the tapestry of stars which never gre old or any less mesmerising to him. More than that though was the blue gas giant of Grimgerd VIII itself cresting the horizon as it slowly began to cross the black sky.
He'd seen a lot of things in his life and travels, some good, a lot bad, and every now and then something that was still breathtaking.
*
“All teams, Overlord, be advised unauthorised access detected at airlocks one, two and three.” The voice of the Company Commander shook Owens from his daydreaming. “Local security is responding but be on alert.”
He did a quick check of his map uploaded earlier that day and overlaid with his sensor screen identifying the airlock locations.
“Far side of the Dome across the city.” Owens saved his team the hassle of looking it up. “Passenger transport access.”
“Not big enough for a mech then?” Sandy checked.
“No, nothing for us to worry about. The infantry can handle it.”
Outside alarms suddenly began to sound, the ubiquitous long droning howl unchanged in centuries of use. The sound was almost culturally wired to get an immediate response from anyone who heard it without any possibility of mistake. Find shelter now.
“Sounds like its the real deal then.” Henry fidgeted. “If they had deployed us outside we could have vaporised those fools by now.”
Owens could see a column of smoke rising up on the other side of the dome marking where business was in the process of getting interesting.
“All teams, Overlord, standby to engage hostiles. Air units deploy and identify targets. Anton Company load up and advance. Breaker Lance prepare to advance and support Anton.”
“What?” Beck stuttered on the Lance frequency. “Was that for us?”
“Sounded like it.” Sandy sounded equally bemused.
“Let me check.” Owens connected to the command frequency. “Overlord, Breaker, did you order us to advance?”
“Affirmative, advance and support Anton Company.”
“Overlord, we're a heavy mech lance armed with the biggest guns not mounted on a battleship. We kill other mechs and heavy armour, we're not set up for anti infantry work.”
“You have machine guns on those things don't you?” His commander was getting irate.
“Machine guns are best used to sweep from ground level, from an elevated position they are far less useful.”
“You have your orders. Advance to support Anton, no heavy weapons.”
“If those infantry have anti armour weapons and you send us into an urban environment without heavy weapons...”
“Just do it or you can say goodbye to your pay packet! Am I clear?”
Owens bit back his initial response.
“Affirmative. Breaker Lance on the move.”
He cut the channel and waited a few moments in silence, the rest of his team already aware of what was happening.
“Colonel?” Sandy was first to speak. “I request again permission to step on that silly bastard.”
“Should have done it while we were unloading.” Beck voiced his regret. “Getting accidentally on purpose squished by a giant robot is a leading cause of death among Lyran officers.”
“This is going to go to hell and is going to happen fast.” Owens gritted his teeth. Sending heavy mechs unsupported into an urban setting was virtual suicide. The buildings offered cover and concealment to mech hunter troopers, small hard to spot infantry hauling armour piercing missiles. One or two good hits from nowhere could really ruin their day.
Standard procedure was to remove the urban environment with prodigious amounts of firepower, can't ambush you from a building if the buildings are all smoking ruins. Sadly this was not an option.
“Alright we'll do this carefully. Avoid the tower blocks, we'll deploy near the warehouse and retail districts. The buildings there are fairly low and close to the ground, we should be able to see over them.”
He brought up the map and assigned a position to each of his team.
“Advance in broad line formation, keep visual contact with each other, slow and steady. By the time we arrive Anton will probably have mopped up anyway.”
He exhaled, this was not how professionals did things.
“Machine guns and melee only. The civilians are evacuating so if you have to punch a house or step on a shop go right ahead.”
“Here we go again then.” Sandy chuckled darkly. “Charge of the Light Headed Brigade.”
His mech rumbled as its systems engaged, the bands of synthetic muscles tightening up as the joints moved. He was in no hurry so didn't push beyond a steady walking pace keeping alert to civilians dashing around. Last thing he needed was to be scraping miner out of his heels.
They left the refinery via the main gate following the main road out toward the town. It was fortunately wide enough for mechs though not really designed for them, the maintenance teams were going to have plenty of overtime filling in the dips and cracks in the asphalt the Lance was going to leave imprinted in the surface. A lot of mechs in urban settings used rubber on their soles to minimise damage but nobody here had actually expected to go trampling along a highway today.
One thing the Dome had an abundance of was shelters, some underground, others sitting on the surface encased in steel and concrete. All were particularly hardy and airtight designed to resist the possibility of an asteroid or badly piloted dropship cracking the dome or falling into the city. While not designed to keep people safe in a pitched battle they would probably work pretty good provided people could get themselves inside.
There were a few vehicles dashing about, civilian cars and buses dropping people off at shelters. They were at least well practiced in emergency drills and wasted little time in finding safety clearing the way for the Heidle Company to go do its thing. While Owens' attention was on the ground ahead of him he did note a trio of helicopters thrumming into action as the mobilisation continued, the air support component of this mission.
Again it wasn't ideal, helicopters like most VTOLs wanted a lot of space to manoeuvre in which just wasn't happening inside this oversized birdcage. Like their mech brethren the pilots were probably cursing the Commander with as much creativity as they could muster. Two of the aircraft were gunships with a shark like profile laden with missiles and a respectable autocannon, the third was a scout chopper armed only with advanced sensors and whatever blessings the pilot could coax out of his god.
They were in the same predicament Owens faced, urban settings were bad for gunships with the similar possibility of man portable missile launchers or a cluster of light autocannons hidden among the structures ready to ambush them. Unlike the mechs though the gunships had very few options to handle it, their normal routine of dumping flares or chaff and then accelerating away was severely hampered by the Dome above them which although quite tall in the centre was much too close for comfort out on the fringes. Consequently the gunships were dragging their heels and lurking more toward the middle of the Dome until the Scout confirmed what the opposition looked like.
The Lance meanwhile reached its deployment point and spread out, each of the four vehicles fanning out with about a hundred metres between them. The town was built on a neat grid system meaning the roads and streets were all mostly parallel, that would make it easier.
“Hold here.” Owens ordered. “Lance Leader to Anton Company, we're in your sector ready to support.”
“Taffy?” The Captain of Anton Company answered. “I thought heavy weapons were restricted? What you gonna use? Harsh language?”
“Might come to that McMurdock.” Owens grinned. Like him Anton's commander was a veteran who knew the game inside and out and had little faith in the overall field Commander. “Overlord wants us out here, so here we are.”
“Overlord. Bet he gave himself that callsign self important prick.” McMurdock sneered in a harsh Scots accent. “Well at least you get a ringside seat to watch how actual soldiers do the job.”
“I'll break out the popcorn.”
The bulk of the mercenary force consisted of three companies of infantry designated Anton, Bruno and Caesar. The latter two units were pure foot soldiery and deployed around the refinery in fixed positions, Anton Company however was a mechanised unit taking its hundred men into action in the back of wheeled APCs. Under Captain Ian McMurdock it had proven to be a very effective force and was the usual support element for Owens' mech team in most engagements. They both knew how each other operated and made for a damn fine combined arms team, though this time it was going to have to be mostly infantry work.
The command suite in Owens' Warhammer let him tap into the various data feeds allowing him to watch video filtering down from the scout chopper. Apart from a few bursts of machinegun fire there hadn't been much anti air action so the scout was able to go about its business in relative peace watching events unfold.
This gave Owens his first look at the opposition as they secured the loading docks and freight yards around the airlocks. While smaller than the big cargo dock and rail sleds near the refinery there were still a lot of containers and boxes stacked up in multiple yards and warehouses. These were mostly deliveries for the town, food fuels and other day to day resources offloaded from the closest inhabited planets closer to the sun. They were less volatile but still quite important so naturally Anton Company was going to have to be careful.
Unfortunately 'careful' was not a word McMurdock paid even the slightest attention to.
The apparent pirates were moving quickly and with a plan. Their gear appeared varied but was functional and by his guess the inbound platoons were arranged by weapon type to give at least roughly uniform ability across each squad. It was a little like securing a Landing Site, once the infantry was secure the rest of the force would roll in and begin the real attack. Break this perimeter and perhaps they could curtail or avoid more fighting entirely.
McMurdock certainly seemed to think so and decided to get stuck in with as much gusto and fury as possible, which was a lot. The APCs thundered down the roads leading to the loading yards and smashed through the chainlink fences before squealing to a halt in a particularly loud and impressive display. Subtlety was also apparently alien to the Skye born wrecking ball. Even as they slid to a stop the APCs opened up with roof mounted heavy machine guns, the thud and clink of heavy calibre rounds disappearing downrange toward the invaders.
While it would be nice to think the gunfire alone would fix the problem mostly it was just to keep heads down while the infantry unloaded and scattered left and right throwing themselves flat and looking for cover. A few shots met them but quickly stopped when they drew fire from the armoured taxis.
“Move up, move up.” McMurdock ordered over the radio. “Kick them loose before they get dug in. No hanging back, just get in there and start killing!”
His men were as good as their orders and stormed forward weaving from cover to cover taking the fight into the maze of containers and buildings. It was a bad place to try and execute a battle and the best bet was to attack with such speed and fury that the enemy had no idea what was happening. From his vantage point half a mile away Owens could see the puffs of grenade smoke and hear the clatter of gunfire mixed with a hiss and whiz of laser rifles. His sensors could tell him very little as the infantry melted into the yard beyond any reasonable vision but Anton Company knew their game and seemed to be nudging forward.
This was when the airlocks began to open again.
“Murdo, Owens here.” He quickly voiced a warning. “Second wave on the way.”
“Copy that, composition?”
“Scanning.”
He had to wait a while for the gates to open but as soon as they did a veritable swarm of vehicles rushed out from all three.
“Where the hell did they all come from?” Henry snapped over comms. “Don't tell me they just smuggled those in on container ships!”
“Keep it down.” Owens rebuked, this was the time to get real. “Murdo, multiple technicals, twenty plus on the move.” He described the swarm of fast moving wheeled vehicles veritably pouring from the airlocks, barely a metal frame of a chassis with a machinegun or missile pod mounted on top. “I'm seeing armour too. Oh, tanks.”
“Tanks?” McMurdock checked.
“Affirmative, look like Chevaliers. Twelve so far.”
“Copy that.” Came the answer, those two words delivered with the tone of a man no longer enjoying himself. “I might need some back up afterall.”
It didn't matter how they had managed to get a squadron of wheeled tanks down here, who they had bribed or paid off, all that mattered was they were about two minutes away from ripping into Anton Company who had precious few options to respond with. Sure they had some anti tank missiles but with most of their number engaged sweeping the freight yard they wouldn't be able to redeploy fast enough to meet the new threat.
“Breaker Lance, time to get busy.” Owens didn't have to weigh the options, measure the consequences. He was going to be in trouble no matter what he did, if he acted he'd be hammered for breaking orders, if he stood still a lot of people he liked were going to die. No contest.
“Sandy, Helmut, flank left and engage enemy armour on that side. Dapper, flank right with me. We clear both sides and meet in the middle.”
“This mean we're going weapons hot?” Beck asked pointedly.
“It does, I'll take responsibility.” Owens confirmed as team leader. “Keep your shots low and double check before you shoot. The Dome can take a few holes melted in it but not too many, it'll probably come out of our paycheck anyway.”
“Ready on your order Colonel.”
“Very good.” No turning back now. “Commence.”
Time was short and if he'd learned anything from his decades of experience it was that it was better to act than second guess himself. With a shudder the mech broke into a run from a standing stop, not an easy feat to pull off without falling flat. Up ahead things were on the brink of getting bad, the video feed from the scout chopper showed one of McMurdock's APCs erupting in a flash of light as one of the inbound Chevalier tanks cooked it with a direct laser hit. The team was responding, moving to a better defensive position, but they wouldn't make it alone.
To his approval and mild surprise the gunships ripped past too at low level travelling much faster than the Mech team. They swept in and over the freight yard blasting missiles as they went and spitting fire from their autocannons leaving ragged chains of smoke behind them. At least three tanks were hit and put out of action before the helicopters peeled off and popped flares as a fistful of missiles chased the gunships roaring over the rooftops.
It was a damn ballsy move and put the gunships largely out of the fight until they could re-arm. They were lucky not to eat a faceful of tracer fire on the way in or missiles on the way out, the shots made against them unable to track against the clutter of buildings and flares. It helped, but two choppers weren't going to stop a full tank squadron even on their best day.
“Range six hundred, designating targets Alpha one through nine.” Owens ran through the data from the scout tagging each blip and making sure everyone knew what and where to shoot. “Once we clear the buildings engage at will.”
That took only a matter of moments, Owens and Henry breaking clear and into the maze of containers, the multicoloured cubes and spheres representing modules from across the sphere. There wasn't time to be gentle about it and if something got stepped on then so be it, he just hoped there was nothing volatile hidden in them.
“Tank, bearing three zero low!” Henry called. “Make that three!”
Owens rotated his mech's torso to face the threat without altering his path, the targeting computer picking out the incoming vehicles and blinking a warning. Against relatively light vehicles like this his odds were good, but nothing was ever certain and those laser cannons rolling his way could still kill an overconfident mech.
Henry was closer and opened fire an instant before Owens, the chatter of his four medium pulse lasers crackling across the freight yard. Most chewed into various containers the tanks were weaving through, but several caught the lead tank punching through its side armour with minimal effort.
The first vehicle swerved hard as the crew were flash fried by the laser cannons, the incandescent vehicle bouncing off a concrete barrier before digging into a loading platform and coming to a stop. Bright flames jetted from the holes melted in its flank as its interior was consumed.
The rest was up to Owens, the remaining two tanks turning away from Henry's attack which put them on course for the bigger and nastier Warhammer Owens' was putting in their path. The tank crews weren't fools and they took evasive action launching missiles and engaging with their turret mounted laser cannon as they accelerated, perhaps seeking to storm past the mech and get into the relative safety of the town.
Against a less experienced warrior it may have worked but not Owens, not a man with four decades in the field. The missiles and lasers were both a threat if they connected, that much concentrated fire wasn't necessarily lethal but it was certainly going to sting. The attackers had so far being exploiting the terrain for their own advantage, now it was time to turn that around.
He ably dodged the first salvo of laser fire, the crews rushed and shooting on the move hurting their initial attack. The hefty Warhammer skidded to a stop then shifted its weight and swept an armoured leg round to connect with a stack of containers, the strength of the kick lifting and throwing the metal boxes and whatever was in them into the path of the incoming projectiles. The hail of boxes didn't go far enough to hurt the tanks but did neatly screen the Warhammer from a second salvo of lasers and the inbound missiles, the munitions detonating in clouds of smoke and vapour as they obliterated the containers, half a luxury hovercar bouncing off Owens' flank armour a sit was explosively redistributed.
He didn't have time to work out how much that was going to cost him in damages, the torn containers dropped with a squeal and crash to the ground clearing the line of fire. Now it was his turn and he took it, the mighty PPCs mounted as each arm were already ready and waiting for their chance to make themselves known. Before the smoke even cleared the bulky warmachine opened up, crackling blue particle beams swirling and stabbing one each into the incoming pair of tanks. It was a perfect shot, the light vehicles succumbing to the direct hits immediately and rolling to a burning stop.
“Left flank clear!” He called out, the adrenaline still pulsing despite his age. Whatever questions and doubts he had about his future he couldn't deny that here and now he was living for this.
“Right flank clear!” Sandy echoed moments later. “Advancing on the centre.”
“Murdo, status?” Owens checked in with his infantry brethren.
“Still in the fight but enemy mobile units are breaking through.” The response game. “Two tanks and some technicals, sorry Taffy, couldn't get them in time.”
“I better go mop it up then.” He grunted a slight laugh. “You owe me a bottle of Scotch for this one.”
“Sounds fair, I have some real Northwind blend with your name on it.”
He twisted his mech and began to head back into the town, the scout helicopter following the events and shifting to track the invading light tanks.
“Sandy, keep Helmut and back up Murdo. Nothing else gets past.”
“Affirmative.”
“Dapper, stick with me. We'll cut off their advance.”
“Are they going for the refinery?”
“Looks like.” A glance at the map seemed to confirm it. “Nothing else worth shooting around here. At the bounce Dapper, best speed.”
Both mechs took off at a gathering sprint digging their heels into the concrete surface beneath them sending crumbled stones and aggregate into the air behind them. Despite their size and rather ungainly nature the machines could move when they had to and right now they really had to.
The flickering map display on the screen to his left showed a pair of blips representing the last two tanks, both running down the main highway between increasingly tall buildings.
“I can't get a clean shot, too much in the way.” Owens cursed under his breath. Normally he would have blasted through the buildings but he couldn't guarantee all civilians had evacuated. “I'm getting closer.”
“Be advised Breaker Lance, enemy technicals also on the move.” The scout chopper issued a further warning. While they were less dangerous some of them still carried assorted missiles which couldn't be easily ignored.
“Understood, keep me informed.”
He slowed a little to make a turn digging up more sections of road as the massive machine swung about. With buildings in the way he was going to need to be almost on top of the tanks to engage. It wasn't going to be pretty.
“Target coming up on your three.” Dapper called, Owens already on it. “You'll intercept in a few seconds.”
The Chevalier tanks were faster but the mechs had a head start with the two groups about to converge. Henry's Rifleman was somewhere behind moving to try to drop on the enemy from behind while Owens hit from the front, but he already knew he wasn't fast enough to head them off. Instead he turned parallel to the main road and pushed up his speed rotating his torso right to aim at where the tanks would be. He focused charging down one street with only a single line of buildings between him and the hostiles, his only chance to engage presented by the gaps flashing by between the tall structures.
The tanks had no such restraint swinging their turrets left and blasting laser volleys at the rushing mech. Most tore into the buildings in jets of steam and dust accomplishing little with only one landing a glancing blow turning a strip or armour bright yellow with heat. Owens didn't react, didn't wildly shoot back. He held up using the brief glimpses of his opponents to line up his guns, time his attack, wait for the last building to pass by and only then did he shoot.
The instant the side of the building passed by he opened up, the stream of blue particles hitting the tank on its forward quarter blasting off its forward wheels and punching through the weak armour behind. The tank reared up, its return shot missing completely, then crashed down and dug into the road flipping the vehicle over onto its roof where it skidded to a halt.
He barely registered the spectacular crash, chunks of road half a burning wheel bouncing past as he focused on changing direction. The Warhammer's heel dug in hard cutting a furrough in the asphalt and pulverising an abandoned car left in the middle of the street. The machine complained at the sudden force, its joints trembling like an olympic runner approaching his limit as warnings urged caution. It was enough, Owens knew the mech could take it, he bled off the speed and kicked into a halt levelling his guns as the second tank skidded to a stop to avoid slamming into the shattered hull of its comrade. It stopped exactly where Owens predicted staring down both of his PPCs, the two beams lashing out in unison before the enemy vehicle could throw itself into reverse. It was almost cruel.
“Breaker Leader, all units destroyed. Report status.”
“Breaker Two, freight yard under control.” Sandy replied. “Mopping up now.”
“Breaker Three on your flank, no contacts.”
“Breaker Four, looking good. Gunships are finishing hold outs.”
Owens checked back to see the helicopters circling and swooping like vultures using their cannons to pick off any last resistance. That was good enough, they didn't need mechs for the mopping up.
“Breaker Lance return to stations.” He changed channels. “Overlord, area secure, returning to overwatch.”
“Negative Breaker Lance! Negative!” A panicked voice responded immediately sharpening Owens' senses. “Enemy contact at the loading bay! Main airlock!”
That was where they had entered the dome, an airlock big enough for a mech. That was not good.
“Breaker Lance, move on the Main airlock! Make it quick!” He threw himself around, only he and Henry were going to be in position to intercept whatever was at the airlock, it would be another couple of minutes before his two comrades could join them. In a crisis that brief time could be an eternity.
“Overlord, do you have a visual on the new contact?”
“It's another tank, missile tank!”
Within seconds the scout chopper was overhead and swinging around giving Owens a look at the vehicle entering the dome. It was a tank only in the loosest sense of the word, its boxy upper hull marking it as an SRM carrier loaded up with a massive stockpile of projectiles that could fill the sky with high explosives. They deserved respect but weren't the most dangerous of vehicles especially in an urban environment where buildings would absorb most of the missiles.
Unfortunately it wasn't targeting the mechs.
“It's going for the refinery.” Owens watched it begin to turn toward the facility and its rocket fuel storage tanks. “Where are the infantry? Who is in range?”
“There's no one near the gate!” His commander responded frantically. “You're the closest! You have to stop it!”
Owens swore harshly, there was no way he could get a clean shot from his current position with so much clutter and structures between him and the missile truck and no way to run past them in time. The gunships were throttling up to join them but had the whole dome to cross first, it would only be seconds but it was seconds they didn't have.
“Dapper, jump jets!” He made the call. “Get airborne and hit it on the bounce!”
“Going for it!”
Owens didn't wait, his mech was bigger and heavier than Henry's Rifleman and much less easy to handle in a jump, especially one that was going to be almost purely vertical, but if he didn't try and those missiles hit the refinery the results would be disastrous.
He braced, exhaled, then hit the activation switch launching the mech a hundred metres straight up. It wasn't gentle, he had no time for a controlled ascent and even in the fairly low gravity of the moon it was still a brutal feeling crushing him down into his chair. It got him above the buildings and after a couple of seconds orientation he spotted the target, the missile truck raising its launchers on the brink of firing. He had one chance, one shot and he wasn't going to blunder into it. He waited, waited until his mech reached its apogee when upward momentum was perfectly cancelled by gravity. That moment, that heart beat between rising and falling, that was when he would take the shot.
He couldn't wait for the target lock to align his guns he would be firing from the hip making this a difficult shot. Once he engaged recoil would throw him off so he only had one opportunity. The mech slowed, the force on him lessened, the moment arrived.
Calmly, coolly he cleared the safeties, lined up and fired both PPCs at once. More than enough power to kill the SRM carrier outright especially firing down into its launcher and ammo storage.
Except he missed.
He missed.
How did he miss?
He watched in disbelief as the two blue beams dug into the ground in front of the missile launcher carving up the concrete just a couple of metres short, the heat scorching the paint but nothing more. He had a clean shot, something he'd done countless times before and he'd never missed. He didn't miss. Yet he just had done, it didn't follow.
There wasn't time for another shot as his mech dropped back toward the ground giving him a grandstand view of the SRM carrier ripple firing a dozen missiles at its target. He had the only window to stop it, just a few seconds of opportunity and he failed. The vehicle didn't survive for long, a storm of pulse laser fire chewing it up as Henry got airborne and made the shot that Owens had failed to but it was too late. Killing the vehicle didn't stop the dozen swirling missiles it had managed to launch first as they arced over the factories and dropped into the massive fuel storage tanks.
“All stations! Take cover!” Owens hit the broadcast button on his comms and sent the frantic warning. “Brace for heat and shock!”
He didn't know exactly what was going to happen but following the protocol for a nuclear blast sounded like a good precaution. His mech hit the ground and he immediately dropped getting as close to the surface as possible and protecting the machine's cockpit. The other mechs did the same throwing themselves flat with as much speed as several dozen tons of warmachine could manage flattening whatever happened to be beneath them at the time. There was no time to be careful.
What happened next was something like the gates of hell opening, a brief glimpse over the threshold into the inferno. It was over in moments, surprisingly fast indeed as the missiles struck their targets and caused a detonation of spectacular scale. The expected fireball and blastwave barely materialised, the air that would have transferred that energy consumed in an instant by the conflagration and unable to be replaced. The dome was shattered, armoured glass fractured and metal supports twisted and ruptured like they were nothing. Whatever atmosphere that wasn't consumed by the flames vanished into the airless void of space leaving the colony as cold and desolate as the rest of the moon.
After the adrenaline and relentless movement of the last several minutes the sudden peace was extremely disconcerting. It was absolutely dead silent, there was nothing except the usual background whir of the fans keeping the control panels in the cockpit working. Owens hung in his seat harness, the Warhammer still prone waiting for the blast that never materialised. Slowly he began to move, the seals keeping his machine pressurised apparently undamaged.
“All stations, Breaker Leader.” His voice was quiet but sounded thunderous. “Report status.”
He waited for a response as he climbed back to his feet. There weren't any fires in the town, just a few puddles of burning rocket fuel that carried their own oxidants. Everything looked crystal clear with no atmosphere in the way distorting his view, the buildings mostly still standing though many seemed hollowed out with their contents scattered across the town. Furniture, possessions, some bodies.
“Breaker Leader, this is Two. Shaken but operational.”
“This is Three, sensors damaged but otherwise operational.”
“Four here, no damage.”
“Very good, begin searching for survivors.” Owens felt sick like his stomach was entirely empty. Whoever wanted this facility destroyed had got their wish but at immense cost. His hands were trembling on the controls and he lost track of how long he had just been stood there. Seconds, minutes, longer?
“Overlord, come in.” He tried. “Overlord?”
No answer.
“Murdo? Anton Company? Bruno? Caesar?”
Nothing.
“Any stations?”
He started to move, sweeping back and forth to look for any signs of life. None were visible.
“Think the civilians got to the shelters in time?” Johan called in as much to break the silence as anything else.
“Not all of them.” Owens had seen enough bodies to know that. “If they did they should be fine, they were built to survive asteroid hits.”
“None of our guys had pressure suits.” Henry showed up beside Owens. “The choppers didn't have a chance.”
“We need to get some help over here Colonel.” Sandy tried to push them forward. “Colonel? Taffy?”
“Yes, yes I heard.” Owens eventually answered. “Minerva, this is Breaker Leader, are you receiving?”
“This is Minerva.” The commander of their assigned Dropship replied. “What happened over there, did we see an explosion?”
“Affirmative. Contact Grimgerd system control, declare an emergency and request any ship in the vicinity assist with rescuing civilians.”
“Is the dome damaged?”
“The dome is gone.”
“What happened over there? Where is...”
“Just send the distress signal.” Owens cut him off. “There must be some survivors here and we can't waste time.”
“Alright, but whatever happened the boss will want to know.”
“I'll tell him in person and take full responsibility.” Owens resolved, it was all he could do. “Send the signal, then get us out of here.”
Oh, right
Grimgerd VIII Alpha
Resource Moon
Lyran Space
December 3027
These things never worked out the way they were supposed to. Without fail every single time they were paid for an easy assignment or a cakewalk or a no risks guaranteed mission it always turned out to be the opposite. That it happened once was forgivable but by this point the boss really should have learned that clients don't offer truckloads of cash for easy assignments.
So it was today. On paper it was guard duty for a rocket fuel refinery, a large assembly set up on a moon orbiting the gas giant Grimgerd VIII acting as base for mining operations nearby. The moon was of course airless so the whole thing was situated under a giant glass bowl, the refinery, the storage tanks, the decent sized town housing the workers and their families, everything.
The dome looked fragile but was surprisingly tough, he didn't really like being up here but that wasn't the big concern. While quite a decent sized operation there wasn't anything inherently rare about mining the components of rocket fuel, it was mostly just oxygen afterall, which was why it was odd that the Brucker Corporation had hired a full mercenary combat group to just sit and watch it for a few hundred thousand bills per day.
“Standby for airlock access.” A crackly voice announced behind a curtain of distorted static. “Cargo sled one, moving.”
The cargo sleds was how the heavy machinery was moved around the complex, a massive maglev rail network between several domes, facilities and launch pads. Normally they carried fuel tanks or parts for various drop ships but today their cargo was substantially more intimidating.
“Breaker Leader to Overlord, approaching airlock. Estimate six minutes to colony access.”
“Copy that Breaker Lance, deploy to pre-registered positions once you are clear.”
“Affirmative.”
He flipped the comms switch to receive only with a long sigh. This was becoming a chore, something he never believed could possibly happen. He was a mechwarrior, a career soldier who by skill and fortune had the honour of storming across warzones in the finest warmachines yet created by mankind. Not so vulgar as a nuclear missile nor as reliant on scientific method as a warship, the mech was the pinnacle of the warriors art. It was something which stirred the soul of any true blooded son or daughter of man, and yet here he was just waiting to get out again.
It wasn't a discomfort, his machine was as trusty as ever, the cockpit more familiar to him than anything else he had ever known. He knew every button by touch, every control and quirk, for four decades he had fought with this one machine and he loved it like family.
Maybe it was age, his hair was white, his skin becoming lined and heavy. Maybe at sixty years old without any of the longevity treatments available to the better elements of society he was starting to wear down? No, no it wasn't that. Perhaps he just didn't like talking orders from people half his age.
Right now though it didn't matter, he was a man with a job to do and a bundle of cash dangling in front of him for when he finished.
“Heidle Company heavy support, do you receive?” A new voice broke his dour musings. “This is west gate control, please send your authorisation.”
“Gate team stand by.” He inputted the six digit code each of the team leaders had been given. It was a bit redundant, he thought, afterall who else would be showing up at the airlock with four massive bipedal war machines? “Transmitting now.”
“I have it, Colonel Thomas Owens commanding Lance group Breaker. Welcome to Grimgerd Alpha.”
“Pleasure to be here.” He told an obvious lie and made no effort to disguise it. Guard duty inside a dome did not need this much firepower, in fact it was in his view a bloody terrible idea. The last thing anyone wanted was for someone to start popping off mech grade weapons inside a giant glass bowl filled with rocket fuel.
“Airlock cycling.” The voice said again. “Cargo sled moving.”
At least it was a hell of an entrance. The massive airlock doors parted for them allowing the sled to move forward with the four battlemechs of his Lance standing two by two upon it. The movement was smooth and steady requiring no effort to keep balance letting Thomas do a quick systems check while the airlock did its thing. Finally the inner doors ground open, massive steel slabs sliding apart with an almost universal squawk of alarms and flashing yellow lights.
The mechs were carried forward through this, the illumination dazzling like some sort of pop concert with his team as the main attraction. A good sized crowd was waiting for them made up of various off duty miners and workers along with their kids pushing at the edge of the cargo yard to get a look at these great mechanical beasts. Mechs were well known but not often seen, especially in a backwater like this making the arrival extra memorable.
“Take a look Colonel, we have fans.”
His second in command sounded a little gleeful as he eyed up the gathering.
“It's a mining outpost, they've probably never seen a mech before Sandy.” Thomas looked over himself, eyes dwelling on a man lifting a small child up in each hand for a better view. Admirable strength.
“They're hicks. They've probably never seen someone with all their natural teeth either, don't get too carried away.”
The barb was from his number three who was also scanning the crowd.
“Don't worry Henry, I'm sure there'll be at least one miner's daughter who'll be acceptable.”
“After three weeks on that jump ship I'm not fussy. I'll just put a paper bag on my head and think of Avalon.”
“If it wasn't for people like this we'd all be rowing between planets.” His number four mechwarrior interjected sternly. “Show some respect for the hard working men of the Commonwealth.”
“Yes mein herr Beck.” Henry made a slight bowing move with his mech. “Let it never be said Lyrans are anything but doughty men and buxom women.”
Thomas waited for the rest of it, he knew there was more.
“Who all possess a full set of teeth. Maybe even their own.”
This was his team, his own little band of brothers thrown together by circumstance but held together by comradeship. All of them were skilled warriors who had proven themselves in a dozen battles over the years and owed each other their lives several times over, they were in Thomas' view far too good for a mediocre merc group like this.
His second was Major Alexander 'Sandy' Shaw, a man who had been at Thomas' side for almost his entire career as a mechwarrior. Both had fought for House Davion in the Third Succession war before arriving at Mercenary work and Sandy had always been ready to back his old friend. His mech was equally robust, a well worn Archer that served as the Lance ranged support component.
His Third man was Captain Henry Cross, callsign Dapper thanks to the excessive attention to appearance and appetite for debauchery. Cross was a little younger being somewhere in his forties unlike Sandy who was like Thomas past sixty. Cross piloted a Rifleman fitted out with a quartet of pulse lasers as its main weapon, an extremely impressive loadout for its job of keeping the skies clear and deleting smaller hostile mechs.
Last was Captain Johan Beck, callsign Helmut because it was the most Lyran name the rest of the team could think of. While the other three pilots had originated from the Federated Suns Beck was a Lyran sick of never getting to see real action under useless officers. Mercenary work had given him ample opportunity to fix that. He piloted a Warhammer with its classic twin particle cannons, a suitable heavy mech responsible for forming the core of the Lance's combat strength.
They were a motley enough crew with plenty of rivalry and banter, but when it came time to do the job they were a damn fine team.
At the head then was Thomas Owens himself also piloting a Warhammer which had been passed down father to son for five generations. It was a fine piece of art, an heirloom and walking record of his family's past glories. To deploy it here as an over sized security guard was almost degrading to such a proud machine but such was fate. Even the finest of warriors needed to eat.
“Alright Breaker Lance time to get to work.” Owens shifted in his chair and tightened his restraints. “By the numbers, after me.”
With a few taps to his controls the mech came to life whirring and humming its familiar symphony of activation. All systems showed green, no hiccups or problems, no obstacles. He settled in and advanced taking a deliberate step off the cargo sled and onto the loading yard. About two thirds of the dome's interior was a large city stretching a few miles across housing tens of thousands of people. Most were just transitory, contractors coming in for work before moving on after a few weeks or months. Some were permanent, the workers and families plus support businesses. There were decent bars, then not so decent ones out toward the edges of the dome. No doubt they'd be seeing plenty of business with mercs in town.
The remaining third was the refinery including a dozen massive storage tanks holding the components of the rocket fuel made here, mostly liquid oxygen but with some space set aside for liquid hydrogen and various mixtures of the two. Beside that was the loading yard and main cargo airlock the team had arrived through.
One by one the mech team stepped off the sled to cheers and waves from the civilian crowd, Sandy waving back with the massive metal hands of his Archer. The four mechs were still wearing plains and savannah camouflage from their last mission, a mix of dark yellows and greens which really didn't do much in the industrial surroundings they now inhabited. It didn't matter to the crowds of course who still cheered with every thump of a mechanical foot and whir of machinery.
“Do they look rich?” Henry wondered. “And bad at cards perhaps?”
“Remember what happened last time you tried to get rich playing cards?” Sandy moved up to follow Owens' lead. “We had to drag you put of that dumpster feet first.”
“Capellans just don't have a sense of humour, we all know this.”
“I thought it was funny.” Beck cut in.
“You're Lyran, you don't get to have a sense of humour either.”
“Sure we do.”
“Then why have you never laughed at my jokes?”
“Because they are terrible.” Beck scoffed. “I never understand why you Davion people think you invented humour.”
“Simmer down team.” Owens imposed a little order. “We're here, take up overwatch positions.”
With a chorus of acknowledgement the four mecha split up and spread out to assume guard positions on the edge of the refinery some five hundred metres apart. They each found a good spot, turned themselves outward looking over the town, and then went into standby mode.
“Overlord, Breaker Leader.” Owens connected to his company commander. “Breaker Lance in position.”
“Very good Breaker.” The voice returned. “Hold station until further orders.”
“Affirmative.”
And that in theory was that. He put his machine into standby mode and broke out a box of snacks.
“Tom?” His close range comms cut in.
“Yes Sandy?”
“Why the bloody hell are we standing here with thirty million Quid's worth of mechs looking at crappy housing blocks?”
“Because the boss told us to.”
“Right.” His old friend paused. “Permission to accidently step on him?”
“Not until we get paid.”
“No complaints here.” Henry made his own position known. “If they want to pay us for nothing let them.”
“According to the boss we are a deterrent.” Owens sought to clarify. “He thinks we will intimidate any ne'er do wells into turning tail and running away at the mere sight of us.”
“Same effect Dapper has on any normal woman then.” Beck took an easy shot. “He does know that we should be stood outside to intercept any trouble right?”
“I did suggest that to his eminence yes.” Owens smiled. “But he informed us we wouldn't be very intimidating if no one could see us.”
“So now we look scary but if we start shooting then we crack the dome and everyone dies.” Beck exhaled in exasperation. “I thought I'd left behind bad officers when I left the standing army.”
“We probably just can't fathom his genius.” Henry reasoned. “That's why he's the boss. Nothing to do with his daddy owning the company.”
“I miss the last boss. Dieter was a proper soldier.”
That got murmurs of support from the whole team.
“Since he bought it and the firm got bought out it's gone downhill.” Owens agreed entirely. “Been thinking of getting out.”
“Must be some better groups hiring.” Beck agreed. “If you go I go.”
“Same.” Henry added his voice. “It would be no fun without you chaps.”
It was something to contemplate as he opened a second pack of snacks. Owens watched a pair of sentries walking the perimeter as the actually meaningful component of this security detail, the two soldiers glancing up at the mechs every so often. Heidle was a fairly well balanced mercenary group with a decent sized mechanised infantry component, its own drop ships and even some covert agents in addition to its mech unit and had earned a decent reputation under its last director, Dieter Lindemann. Unfortunately Lindemann had been killed a year ago and the new owners were not nearly so talented.
Many of the better members had already left for better opportunities and there weren't many of the old skilled mercs left. Fortunately there were enough left among the infantry to ensure that the three hundred or so troopers were deployed sensibly to protect the refinery.
“What are we defending from anyway.” Henry piped in ruining the silence.
“Didn't you read the briefing?” Beck fielded. “Pirates.”
“Why would they bother with this dump?”
“Because pirate ships need fuel too.”
“So they're going to steal it from inside the dome?” Henry returned. “That's stupid. They're pirates, rob a ship. I mean that is sort of their point isn't it?”
“Mark this on a calendar but Dapper is right.” Beck remarked. “It is stupid.”
“Brucker who owns this place has been having disputes with some rival corporations.” Sandy offered his theory. “Was in the news, been some sabotage. Odds are these pirates we're looking for are being hired by his rivals.”
“So its not theft, they want to sabotage this place?”
“Blow up some pumps, smash the docks.” Sandy guessed. “It would delay business and drive them to bankruptcy.”
“At which point the rivals buy out Brucker's assets and take over.” Beck realised. “Sounds right, and if they have friends in Lyran high society...”
“The authorities do nothing and it is up to we noble cash hungry mercs to fix it.” Owens rounded up. “A very dangerous game because I don't think the boss is smart enough to handle this.”
“So these pirates are just crunchies right?” Dapper checked. “No mechs?”
“I don't know but better hope so.” Owens looked over at the huge spherical tanks containing tens of thousands of tons of fuel. “We really don't want to be shooting in here.”
The lines went quiet again giving Owens time to appreciate the view. The housing blocks and buildings were dull of course, just standard concrete tower blocks and cheap structures, but up above it was incredible. The dome gave a clear view of spac e beyond, the tapestry of stars which never gre old or any less mesmerising to him. More than that though was the blue gas giant of Grimgerd VIII itself cresting the horizon as it slowly began to cross the black sky.
He'd seen a lot of things in his life and travels, some good, a lot bad, and every now and then something that was still breathtaking.
*
“All teams, Overlord, be advised unauthorised access detected at airlocks one, two and three.” The voice of the Company Commander shook Owens from his daydreaming. “Local security is responding but be on alert.”
He did a quick check of his map uploaded earlier that day and overlaid with his sensor screen identifying the airlock locations.
“Far side of the Dome across the city.” Owens saved his team the hassle of looking it up. “Passenger transport access.”
“Not big enough for a mech then?” Sandy checked.
“No, nothing for us to worry about. The infantry can handle it.”
Outside alarms suddenly began to sound, the ubiquitous long droning howl unchanged in centuries of use. The sound was almost culturally wired to get an immediate response from anyone who heard it without any possibility of mistake. Find shelter now.
“Sounds like its the real deal then.” Henry fidgeted. “If they had deployed us outside we could have vaporised those fools by now.”
Owens could see a column of smoke rising up on the other side of the dome marking where business was in the process of getting interesting.
“All teams, Overlord, standby to engage hostiles. Air units deploy and identify targets. Anton Company load up and advance. Breaker Lance prepare to advance and support Anton.”
“What?” Beck stuttered on the Lance frequency. “Was that for us?”
“Sounded like it.” Sandy sounded equally bemused.
“Let me check.” Owens connected to the command frequency. “Overlord, Breaker, did you order us to advance?”
“Affirmative, advance and support Anton Company.”
“Overlord, we're a heavy mech lance armed with the biggest guns not mounted on a battleship. We kill other mechs and heavy armour, we're not set up for anti infantry work.”
“You have machine guns on those things don't you?” His commander was getting irate.
“Machine guns are best used to sweep from ground level, from an elevated position they are far less useful.”
“You have your orders. Advance to support Anton, no heavy weapons.”
“If those infantry have anti armour weapons and you send us into an urban environment without heavy weapons...”
“Just do it or you can say goodbye to your pay packet! Am I clear?”
Owens bit back his initial response.
“Affirmative. Breaker Lance on the move.”
He cut the channel and waited a few moments in silence, the rest of his team already aware of what was happening.
“Colonel?” Sandy was first to speak. “I request again permission to step on that silly bastard.”
“Should have done it while we were unloading.” Beck voiced his regret. “Getting accidentally on purpose squished by a giant robot is a leading cause of death among Lyran officers.”
“This is going to go to hell and is going to happen fast.” Owens gritted his teeth. Sending heavy mechs unsupported into an urban setting was virtual suicide. The buildings offered cover and concealment to mech hunter troopers, small hard to spot infantry hauling armour piercing missiles. One or two good hits from nowhere could really ruin their day.
Standard procedure was to remove the urban environment with prodigious amounts of firepower, can't ambush you from a building if the buildings are all smoking ruins. Sadly this was not an option.
“Alright we'll do this carefully. Avoid the tower blocks, we'll deploy near the warehouse and retail districts. The buildings there are fairly low and close to the ground, we should be able to see over them.”
He brought up the map and assigned a position to each of his team.
“Advance in broad line formation, keep visual contact with each other, slow and steady. By the time we arrive Anton will probably have mopped up anyway.”
He exhaled, this was not how professionals did things.
“Machine guns and melee only. The civilians are evacuating so if you have to punch a house or step on a shop go right ahead.”
“Here we go again then.” Sandy chuckled darkly. “Charge of the Light Headed Brigade.”
His mech rumbled as its systems engaged, the bands of synthetic muscles tightening up as the joints moved. He was in no hurry so didn't push beyond a steady walking pace keeping alert to civilians dashing around. Last thing he needed was to be scraping miner out of his heels.
They left the refinery via the main gate following the main road out toward the town. It was fortunately wide enough for mechs though not really designed for them, the maintenance teams were going to have plenty of overtime filling in the dips and cracks in the asphalt the Lance was going to leave imprinted in the surface. A lot of mechs in urban settings used rubber on their soles to minimise damage but nobody here had actually expected to go trampling along a highway today.
One thing the Dome had an abundance of was shelters, some underground, others sitting on the surface encased in steel and concrete. All were particularly hardy and airtight designed to resist the possibility of an asteroid or badly piloted dropship cracking the dome or falling into the city. While not designed to keep people safe in a pitched battle they would probably work pretty good provided people could get themselves inside.
There were a few vehicles dashing about, civilian cars and buses dropping people off at shelters. They were at least well practiced in emergency drills and wasted little time in finding safety clearing the way for the Heidle Company to go do its thing. While Owens' attention was on the ground ahead of him he did note a trio of helicopters thrumming into action as the mobilisation continued, the air support component of this mission.
Again it wasn't ideal, helicopters like most VTOLs wanted a lot of space to manoeuvre in which just wasn't happening inside this oversized birdcage. Like their mech brethren the pilots were probably cursing the Commander with as much creativity as they could muster. Two of the aircraft were gunships with a shark like profile laden with missiles and a respectable autocannon, the third was a scout chopper armed only with advanced sensors and whatever blessings the pilot could coax out of his god.
They were in the same predicament Owens faced, urban settings were bad for gunships with the similar possibility of man portable missile launchers or a cluster of light autocannons hidden among the structures ready to ambush them. Unlike the mechs though the gunships had very few options to handle it, their normal routine of dumping flares or chaff and then accelerating away was severely hampered by the Dome above them which although quite tall in the centre was much too close for comfort out on the fringes. Consequently the gunships were dragging their heels and lurking more toward the middle of the Dome until the Scout confirmed what the opposition looked like.
The Lance meanwhile reached its deployment point and spread out, each of the four vehicles fanning out with about a hundred metres between them. The town was built on a neat grid system meaning the roads and streets were all mostly parallel, that would make it easier.
“Hold here.” Owens ordered. “Lance Leader to Anton Company, we're in your sector ready to support.”
“Taffy?” The Captain of Anton Company answered. “I thought heavy weapons were restricted? What you gonna use? Harsh language?”
“Might come to that McMurdock.” Owens grinned. Like him Anton's commander was a veteran who knew the game inside and out and had little faith in the overall field Commander. “Overlord wants us out here, so here we are.”
“Overlord. Bet he gave himself that callsign self important prick.” McMurdock sneered in a harsh Scots accent. “Well at least you get a ringside seat to watch how actual soldiers do the job.”
“I'll break out the popcorn.”
The bulk of the mercenary force consisted of three companies of infantry designated Anton, Bruno and Caesar. The latter two units were pure foot soldiery and deployed around the refinery in fixed positions, Anton Company however was a mechanised unit taking its hundred men into action in the back of wheeled APCs. Under Captain Ian McMurdock it had proven to be a very effective force and was the usual support element for Owens' mech team in most engagements. They both knew how each other operated and made for a damn fine combined arms team, though this time it was going to have to be mostly infantry work.
The command suite in Owens' Warhammer let him tap into the various data feeds allowing him to watch video filtering down from the scout chopper. Apart from a few bursts of machinegun fire there hadn't been much anti air action so the scout was able to go about its business in relative peace watching events unfold.
This gave Owens his first look at the opposition as they secured the loading docks and freight yards around the airlocks. While smaller than the big cargo dock and rail sleds near the refinery there were still a lot of containers and boxes stacked up in multiple yards and warehouses. These were mostly deliveries for the town, food fuels and other day to day resources offloaded from the closest inhabited planets closer to the sun. They were less volatile but still quite important so naturally Anton Company was going to have to be careful.
Unfortunately 'careful' was not a word McMurdock paid even the slightest attention to.
The apparent pirates were moving quickly and with a plan. Their gear appeared varied but was functional and by his guess the inbound platoons were arranged by weapon type to give at least roughly uniform ability across each squad. It was a little like securing a Landing Site, once the infantry was secure the rest of the force would roll in and begin the real attack. Break this perimeter and perhaps they could curtail or avoid more fighting entirely.
McMurdock certainly seemed to think so and decided to get stuck in with as much gusto and fury as possible, which was a lot. The APCs thundered down the roads leading to the loading yards and smashed through the chainlink fences before squealing to a halt in a particularly loud and impressive display. Subtlety was also apparently alien to the Skye born wrecking ball. Even as they slid to a stop the APCs opened up with roof mounted heavy machine guns, the thud and clink of heavy calibre rounds disappearing downrange toward the invaders.
While it would be nice to think the gunfire alone would fix the problem mostly it was just to keep heads down while the infantry unloaded and scattered left and right throwing themselves flat and looking for cover. A few shots met them but quickly stopped when they drew fire from the armoured taxis.
“Move up, move up.” McMurdock ordered over the radio. “Kick them loose before they get dug in. No hanging back, just get in there and start killing!”
His men were as good as their orders and stormed forward weaving from cover to cover taking the fight into the maze of containers and buildings. It was a bad place to try and execute a battle and the best bet was to attack with such speed and fury that the enemy had no idea what was happening. From his vantage point half a mile away Owens could see the puffs of grenade smoke and hear the clatter of gunfire mixed with a hiss and whiz of laser rifles. His sensors could tell him very little as the infantry melted into the yard beyond any reasonable vision but Anton Company knew their game and seemed to be nudging forward.
This was when the airlocks began to open again.
“Murdo, Owens here.” He quickly voiced a warning. “Second wave on the way.”
“Copy that, composition?”
“Scanning.”
He had to wait a while for the gates to open but as soon as they did a veritable swarm of vehicles rushed out from all three.
“Where the hell did they all come from?” Henry snapped over comms. “Don't tell me they just smuggled those in on container ships!”
“Keep it down.” Owens rebuked, this was the time to get real. “Murdo, multiple technicals, twenty plus on the move.” He described the swarm of fast moving wheeled vehicles veritably pouring from the airlocks, barely a metal frame of a chassis with a machinegun or missile pod mounted on top. “I'm seeing armour too. Oh, tanks.”
“Tanks?” McMurdock checked.
“Affirmative, look like Chevaliers. Twelve so far.”
“Copy that.” Came the answer, those two words delivered with the tone of a man no longer enjoying himself. “I might need some back up afterall.”
It didn't matter how they had managed to get a squadron of wheeled tanks down here, who they had bribed or paid off, all that mattered was they were about two minutes away from ripping into Anton Company who had precious few options to respond with. Sure they had some anti tank missiles but with most of their number engaged sweeping the freight yard they wouldn't be able to redeploy fast enough to meet the new threat.
“Breaker Lance, time to get busy.” Owens didn't have to weigh the options, measure the consequences. He was going to be in trouble no matter what he did, if he acted he'd be hammered for breaking orders, if he stood still a lot of people he liked were going to die. No contest.
“Sandy, Helmut, flank left and engage enemy armour on that side. Dapper, flank right with me. We clear both sides and meet in the middle.”
“This mean we're going weapons hot?” Beck asked pointedly.
“It does, I'll take responsibility.” Owens confirmed as team leader. “Keep your shots low and double check before you shoot. The Dome can take a few holes melted in it but not too many, it'll probably come out of our paycheck anyway.”
“Ready on your order Colonel.”
“Very good.” No turning back now. “Commence.”
Time was short and if he'd learned anything from his decades of experience it was that it was better to act than second guess himself. With a shudder the mech broke into a run from a standing stop, not an easy feat to pull off without falling flat. Up ahead things were on the brink of getting bad, the video feed from the scout chopper showed one of McMurdock's APCs erupting in a flash of light as one of the inbound Chevalier tanks cooked it with a direct laser hit. The team was responding, moving to a better defensive position, but they wouldn't make it alone.
To his approval and mild surprise the gunships ripped past too at low level travelling much faster than the Mech team. They swept in and over the freight yard blasting missiles as they went and spitting fire from their autocannons leaving ragged chains of smoke behind them. At least three tanks were hit and put out of action before the helicopters peeled off and popped flares as a fistful of missiles chased the gunships roaring over the rooftops.
It was a damn ballsy move and put the gunships largely out of the fight until they could re-arm. They were lucky not to eat a faceful of tracer fire on the way in or missiles on the way out, the shots made against them unable to track against the clutter of buildings and flares. It helped, but two choppers weren't going to stop a full tank squadron even on their best day.
“Range six hundred, designating targets Alpha one through nine.” Owens ran through the data from the scout tagging each blip and making sure everyone knew what and where to shoot. “Once we clear the buildings engage at will.”
That took only a matter of moments, Owens and Henry breaking clear and into the maze of containers, the multicoloured cubes and spheres representing modules from across the sphere. There wasn't time to be gentle about it and if something got stepped on then so be it, he just hoped there was nothing volatile hidden in them.
“Tank, bearing three zero low!” Henry called. “Make that three!”
Owens rotated his mech's torso to face the threat without altering his path, the targeting computer picking out the incoming vehicles and blinking a warning. Against relatively light vehicles like this his odds were good, but nothing was ever certain and those laser cannons rolling his way could still kill an overconfident mech.
Henry was closer and opened fire an instant before Owens, the chatter of his four medium pulse lasers crackling across the freight yard. Most chewed into various containers the tanks were weaving through, but several caught the lead tank punching through its side armour with minimal effort.
The first vehicle swerved hard as the crew were flash fried by the laser cannons, the incandescent vehicle bouncing off a concrete barrier before digging into a loading platform and coming to a stop. Bright flames jetted from the holes melted in its flank as its interior was consumed.
The rest was up to Owens, the remaining two tanks turning away from Henry's attack which put them on course for the bigger and nastier Warhammer Owens' was putting in their path. The tank crews weren't fools and they took evasive action launching missiles and engaging with their turret mounted laser cannon as they accelerated, perhaps seeking to storm past the mech and get into the relative safety of the town.
Against a less experienced warrior it may have worked but not Owens, not a man with four decades in the field. The missiles and lasers were both a threat if they connected, that much concentrated fire wasn't necessarily lethal but it was certainly going to sting. The attackers had so far being exploiting the terrain for their own advantage, now it was time to turn that around.
He ably dodged the first salvo of laser fire, the crews rushed and shooting on the move hurting their initial attack. The hefty Warhammer skidded to a stop then shifted its weight and swept an armoured leg round to connect with a stack of containers, the strength of the kick lifting and throwing the metal boxes and whatever was in them into the path of the incoming projectiles. The hail of boxes didn't go far enough to hurt the tanks but did neatly screen the Warhammer from a second salvo of lasers and the inbound missiles, the munitions detonating in clouds of smoke and vapour as they obliterated the containers, half a luxury hovercar bouncing off Owens' flank armour a sit was explosively redistributed.
He didn't have time to work out how much that was going to cost him in damages, the torn containers dropped with a squeal and crash to the ground clearing the line of fire. Now it was his turn and he took it, the mighty PPCs mounted as each arm were already ready and waiting for their chance to make themselves known. Before the smoke even cleared the bulky warmachine opened up, crackling blue particle beams swirling and stabbing one each into the incoming pair of tanks. It was a perfect shot, the light vehicles succumbing to the direct hits immediately and rolling to a burning stop.
“Left flank clear!” He called out, the adrenaline still pulsing despite his age. Whatever questions and doubts he had about his future he couldn't deny that here and now he was living for this.
“Right flank clear!” Sandy echoed moments later. “Advancing on the centre.”
“Murdo, status?” Owens checked in with his infantry brethren.
“Still in the fight but enemy mobile units are breaking through.” The response game. “Two tanks and some technicals, sorry Taffy, couldn't get them in time.”
“I better go mop it up then.” He grunted a slight laugh. “You owe me a bottle of Scotch for this one.”
“Sounds fair, I have some real Northwind blend with your name on it.”
He twisted his mech and began to head back into the town, the scout helicopter following the events and shifting to track the invading light tanks.
“Sandy, keep Helmut and back up Murdo. Nothing else gets past.”
“Affirmative.”
“Dapper, stick with me. We'll cut off their advance.”
“Are they going for the refinery?”
“Looks like.” A glance at the map seemed to confirm it. “Nothing else worth shooting around here. At the bounce Dapper, best speed.”
Both mechs took off at a gathering sprint digging their heels into the concrete surface beneath them sending crumbled stones and aggregate into the air behind them. Despite their size and rather ungainly nature the machines could move when they had to and right now they really had to.
The flickering map display on the screen to his left showed a pair of blips representing the last two tanks, both running down the main highway between increasingly tall buildings.
“I can't get a clean shot, too much in the way.” Owens cursed under his breath. Normally he would have blasted through the buildings but he couldn't guarantee all civilians had evacuated. “I'm getting closer.”
“Be advised Breaker Lance, enemy technicals also on the move.” The scout chopper issued a further warning. While they were less dangerous some of them still carried assorted missiles which couldn't be easily ignored.
“Understood, keep me informed.”
He slowed a little to make a turn digging up more sections of road as the massive machine swung about. With buildings in the way he was going to need to be almost on top of the tanks to engage. It wasn't going to be pretty.
“Target coming up on your three.” Dapper called, Owens already on it. “You'll intercept in a few seconds.”
The Chevalier tanks were faster but the mechs had a head start with the two groups about to converge. Henry's Rifleman was somewhere behind moving to try to drop on the enemy from behind while Owens hit from the front, but he already knew he wasn't fast enough to head them off. Instead he turned parallel to the main road and pushed up his speed rotating his torso right to aim at where the tanks would be. He focused charging down one street with only a single line of buildings between him and the hostiles, his only chance to engage presented by the gaps flashing by between the tall structures.
The tanks had no such restraint swinging their turrets left and blasting laser volleys at the rushing mech. Most tore into the buildings in jets of steam and dust accomplishing little with only one landing a glancing blow turning a strip or armour bright yellow with heat. Owens didn't react, didn't wildly shoot back. He held up using the brief glimpses of his opponents to line up his guns, time his attack, wait for the last building to pass by and only then did he shoot.
The instant the side of the building passed by he opened up, the stream of blue particles hitting the tank on its forward quarter blasting off its forward wheels and punching through the weak armour behind. The tank reared up, its return shot missing completely, then crashed down and dug into the road flipping the vehicle over onto its roof where it skidded to a halt.
He barely registered the spectacular crash, chunks of road half a burning wheel bouncing past as he focused on changing direction. The Warhammer's heel dug in hard cutting a furrough in the asphalt and pulverising an abandoned car left in the middle of the street. The machine complained at the sudden force, its joints trembling like an olympic runner approaching his limit as warnings urged caution. It was enough, Owens knew the mech could take it, he bled off the speed and kicked into a halt levelling his guns as the second tank skidded to a stop to avoid slamming into the shattered hull of its comrade. It stopped exactly where Owens predicted staring down both of his PPCs, the two beams lashing out in unison before the enemy vehicle could throw itself into reverse. It was almost cruel.
“Breaker Leader, all units destroyed. Report status.”
“Breaker Two, freight yard under control.” Sandy replied. “Mopping up now.”
“Breaker Three on your flank, no contacts.”
“Breaker Four, looking good. Gunships are finishing hold outs.”
Owens checked back to see the helicopters circling and swooping like vultures using their cannons to pick off any last resistance. That was good enough, they didn't need mechs for the mopping up.
“Breaker Lance return to stations.” He changed channels. “Overlord, area secure, returning to overwatch.”
“Negative Breaker Lance! Negative!” A panicked voice responded immediately sharpening Owens' senses. “Enemy contact at the loading bay! Main airlock!”
That was where they had entered the dome, an airlock big enough for a mech. That was not good.
“Breaker Lance, move on the Main airlock! Make it quick!” He threw himself around, only he and Henry were going to be in position to intercept whatever was at the airlock, it would be another couple of minutes before his two comrades could join them. In a crisis that brief time could be an eternity.
“Overlord, do you have a visual on the new contact?”
“It's another tank, missile tank!”
Within seconds the scout chopper was overhead and swinging around giving Owens a look at the vehicle entering the dome. It was a tank only in the loosest sense of the word, its boxy upper hull marking it as an SRM carrier loaded up with a massive stockpile of projectiles that could fill the sky with high explosives. They deserved respect but weren't the most dangerous of vehicles especially in an urban environment where buildings would absorb most of the missiles.
Unfortunately it wasn't targeting the mechs.
“It's going for the refinery.” Owens watched it begin to turn toward the facility and its rocket fuel storage tanks. “Where are the infantry? Who is in range?”
“There's no one near the gate!” His commander responded frantically. “You're the closest! You have to stop it!”
Owens swore harshly, there was no way he could get a clean shot from his current position with so much clutter and structures between him and the missile truck and no way to run past them in time. The gunships were throttling up to join them but had the whole dome to cross first, it would only be seconds but it was seconds they didn't have.
“Dapper, jump jets!” He made the call. “Get airborne and hit it on the bounce!”
“Going for it!”
Owens didn't wait, his mech was bigger and heavier than Henry's Rifleman and much less easy to handle in a jump, especially one that was going to be almost purely vertical, but if he didn't try and those missiles hit the refinery the results would be disastrous.
He braced, exhaled, then hit the activation switch launching the mech a hundred metres straight up. It wasn't gentle, he had no time for a controlled ascent and even in the fairly low gravity of the moon it was still a brutal feeling crushing him down into his chair. It got him above the buildings and after a couple of seconds orientation he spotted the target, the missile truck raising its launchers on the brink of firing. He had one chance, one shot and he wasn't going to blunder into it. He waited, waited until his mech reached its apogee when upward momentum was perfectly cancelled by gravity. That moment, that heart beat between rising and falling, that was when he would take the shot.
He couldn't wait for the target lock to align his guns he would be firing from the hip making this a difficult shot. Once he engaged recoil would throw him off so he only had one opportunity. The mech slowed, the force on him lessened, the moment arrived.
Calmly, coolly he cleared the safeties, lined up and fired both PPCs at once. More than enough power to kill the SRM carrier outright especially firing down into its launcher and ammo storage.
Except he missed.
He missed.
How did he miss?
He watched in disbelief as the two blue beams dug into the ground in front of the missile launcher carving up the concrete just a couple of metres short, the heat scorching the paint but nothing more. He had a clean shot, something he'd done countless times before and he'd never missed. He didn't miss. Yet he just had done, it didn't follow.
There wasn't time for another shot as his mech dropped back toward the ground giving him a grandstand view of the SRM carrier ripple firing a dozen missiles at its target. He had the only window to stop it, just a few seconds of opportunity and he failed. The vehicle didn't survive for long, a storm of pulse laser fire chewing it up as Henry got airborne and made the shot that Owens had failed to but it was too late. Killing the vehicle didn't stop the dozen swirling missiles it had managed to launch first as they arced over the factories and dropped into the massive fuel storage tanks.
“All stations! Take cover!” Owens hit the broadcast button on his comms and sent the frantic warning. “Brace for heat and shock!”
He didn't know exactly what was going to happen but following the protocol for a nuclear blast sounded like a good precaution. His mech hit the ground and he immediately dropped getting as close to the surface as possible and protecting the machine's cockpit. The other mechs did the same throwing themselves flat with as much speed as several dozen tons of warmachine could manage flattening whatever happened to be beneath them at the time. There was no time to be careful.
What happened next was something like the gates of hell opening, a brief glimpse over the threshold into the inferno. It was over in moments, surprisingly fast indeed as the missiles struck their targets and caused a detonation of spectacular scale. The expected fireball and blastwave barely materialised, the air that would have transferred that energy consumed in an instant by the conflagration and unable to be replaced. The dome was shattered, armoured glass fractured and metal supports twisted and ruptured like they were nothing. Whatever atmosphere that wasn't consumed by the flames vanished into the airless void of space leaving the colony as cold and desolate as the rest of the moon.
After the adrenaline and relentless movement of the last several minutes the sudden peace was extremely disconcerting. It was absolutely dead silent, there was nothing except the usual background whir of the fans keeping the control panels in the cockpit working. Owens hung in his seat harness, the Warhammer still prone waiting for the blast that never materialised. Slowly he began to move, the seals keeping his machine pressurised apparently undamaged.
“All stations, Breaker Leader.” His voice was quiet but sounded thunderous. “Report status.”
He waited for a response as he climbed back to his feet. There weren't any fires in the town, just a few puddles of burning rocket fuel that carried their own oxidants. Everything looked crystal clear with no atmosphere in the way distorting his view, the buildings mostly still standing though many seemed hollowed out with their contents scattered across the town. Furniture, possessions, some bodies.
“Breaker Leader, this is Two. Shaken but operational.”
“This is Three, sensors damaged but otherwise operational.”
“Four here, no damage.”
“Very good, begin searching for survivors.” Owens felt sick like his stomach was entirely empty. Whoever wanted this facility destroyed had got their wish but at immense cost. His hands were trembling on the controls and he lost track of how long he had just been stood there. Seconds, minutes, longer?
“Overlord, come in.” He tried. “Overlord?”
No answer.
“Murdo? Anton Company? Bruno? Caesar?”
Nothing.
“Any stations?”
He started to move, sweeping back and forth to look for any signs of life. None were visible.
“Think the civilians got to the shelters in time?” Johan called in as much to break the silence as anything else.
“Not all of them.” Owens had seen enough bodies to know that. “If they did they should be fine, they were built to survive asteroid hits.”
“None of our guys had pressure suits.” Henry showed up beside Owens. “The choppers didn't have a chance.”
“We need to get some help over here Colonel.” Sandy tried to push them forward. “Colonel? Taffy?”
“Yes, yes I heard.” Owens eventually answered. “Minerva, this is Breaker Leader, are you receiving?”
“This is Minerva.” The commander of their assigned Dropship replied. “What happened over there, did we see an explosion?”
“Affirmative. Contact Grimgerd system control, declare an emergency and request any ship in the vicinity assist with rescuing civilians.”
“Is the dome damaged?”
“The dome is gone.”
“What happened over there? Where is...”
“Just send the distress signal.” Owens cut him off. “There must be some survivors here and we can't waste time.”
“Alright, but whatever happened the boss will want to know.”
“I'll tell him in person and take full responsibility.” Owens resolved, it was all he could do. “Send the signal, then get us out of here.”