Headquarters of the 17th Skye Rangers
Mariah's Pinnacle, Barcelona
Chahar Province, Federated Commonwealth
Leftenant Margaidh Lewis cursed, and ran her fingers through her sandy-coloured hair. She was lying on the floor in the cockpit of her Battlemech, with her head in a panel. Components of the weapons control system were scattered on the floor around her. Angie, her Tech, popped her head into the hatch, with a broad grin on her face.
"Got one, Margaidh," she said.
Margaidh sat up to look, and banged her head on the overhanging panel. "Och, shit," she swore, in a broad Scottish accent. Rubbing her head, she breathed in hard and wriggled into the space behind the seat to let Angie in. While Margaidh was not overweight, she was tall and well-built, and the Shadow Hawk's cockpit was a tight fit even with only one occupant.
"It's the laser that does it," Angie said as she squeezed herself into the bottom of the cockpit and started to install the new circuit board she had brought with her. "The Shadow Hawk control circuits are made for autocannon, not heavy lasers. I'll have to re-wire it."
"I don't understand it," Margaidh said with a frown. "This Mech's had a Magna Mk. III in place of the autocannon for the past sixty-odd years. My mother never had any trouble with it."
Angie grunted. "If your mother wanted Magna-threes, she should have had a Rifleman." She struggled with the circuit board for a few minutes, then gave an exclamation of satisfaction, and closed the panel with a bang. "That should do it," she said. "Let's give it a go."
Margaidh slid into the seat and powered up the weapon systems. A row of amber lights turned green one by one as each weapon in turn came onto standby, and she smiled. "A-1, Angie, you've done it again."
The Battlemech, of which Margaidh's blue Shadow Hawk was a typical example, had been the mainstay of warfare for over six hundred years. The majority were vast bipedal machines, either humanoid or bird-shaped, averaging twelve meters tall and ammassing up to a hundred tons. Looking like vast robots but controlled by a single warrior in a cockpit, they bristled with weapons that were capable of incredible destruction.
Since the fall of the Star League three hundred years ago, the technology required to build new Battlemechs had been gradually lost in the mists of time. Now it was possible only to repair existing Mechs, and while many parts were still manufactured, others could be obtained only by cannibalising other, more badly damaged Mechs. A good Technician was one who could keep a Mech in good working order with the minimum of resources. 'Spit and baling twine' was a phrase Angie used frequently.
Angie grinned, and started collecting her tools together, while Margaidh turned off the weapon systems and let them cool. "The Blue Skye is a fine Mech," the Tech said as she ducked out of the cockpit. "Just look after it. Remember, the less I see of you, the better."
After Angie had gone, Margaidh headed back to her quarters, to change out of her overalls and into her uniform. She had already missed morning simulator practise; if she didn't show up for her scheduled afternoon patrol, she would be in deep trouble.
Not that there was any need for afternoon patrol out here on Barcelona, a backwater place on the periphery of the Commonwealth, where nothing ever happened. At least the weather was good, which was a bonus. Margaidh was more accustomed to the dull grey skies of Summer, her home planet. It was home too of the 17th Skye Rangers, the regiment whose badge she wore with pride, as had her mother and grandmother before her.
She had just turned the corner on the way to the junior officer's mess when she heard a stern and familiar voice behind her. "Lewis!" Margaidh stopped mid-stride, and screwed her eyes shut in anticipation. Then with her nicest smile, she turned around.
"Yes, Sir?"
Hauptmann Joe Pritchard stood leaning against the wall, his bare arms folded. "You missed practise this morning."
"I was in the repair bays, Sir," Margaidh said. "Weapons control circuit burnt out."
"I see," said Pritchard, his eyes narrowing. "Did you fill out a repair log?"
"Um… no," said Margaidh, feeling herself blush. "…Sir," she added, as an afterthought.
"Make sure you do," Pritchard said. "I want it on my desk in fifteen minutes. Don't be late for patrol. You're with me this afternoon."
Margaidh groaned inwardly. "Aye, Sir," she said, snapping to salute, and Pritchard nodded dismissal. Just as she turned to go, Pritchard called her back.
"I understand you had a letter from your mother this week," he said, less sternly now.
Margaidh nodded. "Yes, Sir."
"Is she well?"
"She's fine, Sir," Margaidh replied. It wasn't entirely true, but as far as she was concerned, her mother's health was none of anyone else's business. "Sir, may I ask you a question?"
Pritchard spread his arms. "Sure," he said, smiling now.
"How well did you know her?"
He rubbed his chin and frowned. "Not especially well, really. Eleanor was a good couple of ranks above me, and it wasn't the done thing for a young officer to get to know his seniors. I remember she was good, and I remember the Blue Skye; it's good to see it back again." He smiled at Margaidh. "She was a hard woman, as tough as old boots with a tongue like a PPC. She only had to look at you in a certain way, and you knew you were in trouble."
Margaidh nodded. She was familiar with that stare, but she could not imagine Hauptmann Pritchard getting into trouble. "Were you there? When she had the accident, I mean?"
The senior officer nodded, the smile gone as quickly as it had appeared. He rubbed his temples, as if trying to get rid of a headache. "Yes, Margaidh. I was there. It was the only time I ever saw her look really scared. I think she knew right then that it was going to be bad."
Margaidh nodded slowly. That prediction had been right at least. Every Mechwarrior accepted the possibility of serious injury or even death, as an integral risk of the job. But every Mechwarrior hoped that if it was to happen at all, it would be in the cockpit of a Mech, in the heat of battle. Eleanor Lewis had lived with that risk for all the sixteen years she served with the Rangers. Then her career was cut short by a ten-meter fall from a gantry in a Mech repair bay; a fall that broke her back, and forced her to trade in the Blue Skye for a wheelchair.
"She never really came to terms with it," Margaidh said quietly. "Even after all these years. It isn't fair."
"Life never is, Lewis," said Pritchard. "And if it was, you'd be bored." He glanced at his watch. "You have ten minutes to get that repair log on my desk."
"Aye, Sir."
********************
Four hours later, Margaidh was back in the cockpit of the Blue Skye, marching over the hills some forty kilometres from the garrison base. Ahead of her she could see the back of Pritchard's Crusader, and to her rear, the lighter and faster Phoenix Hawk and Jenner. These last two were visible only on her display, as images picked up by the Shadow Hawk's magnetic and infra-red sensors.
As she predicted, the patrol had so far been intensely dull. The sun shone warmly down from an azure blue sky, as was typical on Barcelona, and the rolling, sandy hills rippled with a rough, grey-green grass. In the distance the sun silhouetted a needle of orange rock known locally as Mariah's Pinnacle. Nothing moved save the occasional rodent, most of which were the size of small dogs. Margaidh vaguely wondered whether she shoud test out her heavy laser by shooting at one of them, but decided that Hauptmann Pritchard would be unimpressed. She was relieved when at last the order was given to turn round and head for home.
The lance was only ten kilometres from the base when the Blue Skye's sensors bleeped their warning signal. She glanced anxiously at the display, and saw fifteen black dots moving in. Sergeant Steve McKernon in the Jenner saw them too, and his voice crackled over Margaidh's headset. "Sir, I've picked something up on the long range sensors," he said. "Fifteen Mechs, I think."
"Roger that, McKernon," Pritchard replied. "Range… twelve kliks. No, ten."
"Anybody got an ID on them yet?" Margaidh asked, frowning at the display that flickered between Marauder and Catapult before finally settling on Configuration Unknown.
"Negative on that," came back the reply from the other three Mechs.
"Pirates, I expect," said Sergeant Shelly Lee from the Phoenix Hawk.
If they're pirates, thought Margaidh to herself, why can't we tell what Mechs they've got? She gritted her teeth and turned the Blue Skye to face the oncoming Mechs. She heard Pritchard alerting the base, and a shiver ran down her spine. The afternoon patrol looked as though it would be an exciting one, at least.
The patrol lance did not have to wait long for the fifteen incoming Mechs to come into visual range, and by the time they did, Margaidh was horrified to see dozens of other unidentified black dots on her display. But what caught her attention more than anything else were the Mechs they could now see. They were like nothing Margaidh had ever seen before, and not one of them, she calculated, was less than sixty-five tons.
"Hold your position, and move in on my command," Pritchard ordered. "Lee and McKernon, you have the faster Mechs so you'll move round on a wide curve towards those hills. Lewis, engage with your long-range missiles as soon as you can."
"Aye, Sir." Margaidh watched the range counter carefully. The strange Mechs, an assortment of stocky, bird-like shapes, came towards Margaidh's lance at a run. Then, abruptly, they all stopped, just outside the range of Margaidh's LRMs.
For a while, they stood there, motionless. Then, out of the tense silence, one of them spoke, his voice stern and sharp over Margaidh's communications headset. "I am Star Captain Brigman Hazen of the Trinary Bravo Star, 9th Talon Cluster, Gamma Galaxy. What forces dare defend this world against the steel talons of the Clan Jade Falcon?"
"Clan Jade Falcon?" Pritchard replied. "That's no pirate outfit I've heard of before."
Brigman Hazen repeated his question, his voice now betraying a trace of irritation. "What forces defend this world?"
"We're the Seventeenth Skye Rangers, the Boys of Summer," replied Pritchard defiantly. "And unless you get the hell off this planet, we'll kick you off ourselves." Hazen did not reply, except to let loose a flight of missiles that struck Pritchard's Crusader in the left torso, stripping off most of it's armour. "Shit! How did he do that? He's out of range!"
No-one took the time to try and work it out. Margaidh punched her jump-jets and the Blue Skye roared upwards, landing neatly in a gentle hollow, concealing her position from most of the Jade Falcon's Mechs. From that position, she could hit with the shoulder-mounted heavy laser as well as the LRMs, and this she did, firing on one of the smaller targets. Five missiles streaked towards one of the strange 'Mechs. Two missed and sent up a cloud of dirt and sand but the others, and the laser, found their target. Armour melted on the Mech's front, but Margaidh's weapons did not penetrate.
The Mech turned towards Margaidh, raised a Marauder-like arm, and fired with what she could only guess was some sort of particle-projectile cannon. Azure lightning hit the Blue Skye full in the chest, stripping off a large portion of it's armour. Another one like that, and it would be through.
Lee and McKernon were also leaping, in Lee's case quite literally, into action. Like Margaidh, however, their weapons seemed to have very little effect, as though these Mechs carried more armour than they should have, even for Mechs of their size. More armour, better weapons; Margaidh's excitement was rapidly changing to fear. A medium lance like theirs stood no chance of taking on fifteen heavies like this. And yet, strangely, most of the fifteen Mechs seemed to be taking no part in the action. Margaidh noticed that only those Mechs which had been fired upon were firing back. The others merely stood watching.
Lee made the first mistake. Taking advantage of the Phoenix Hawk's greater speed, she leaped past the front row of Jade Falcon Mechs at close range, firing two medium lasers at one Mech and the heavy laser at another. Abruptly the two Mechs turned their own guns onto Lee, and fired back even before she had come back down to the ground. Margaidh heard Lee's terrified scream cut short as two beams of laser fire pierced the Phoenix Hawk's torso, and it landed in a ball of flame, it's engine core breached and belching out nuclear fire.
"Pull back!" Pritchard ordered, coming forward with the Crusader and putting himself between the Jade Falcons and the surviving two Mechs in his own lance. Running away was not Margaidh's usual first choice of tactic, but she was smart enough to know a hopeless cause when she saw one.
But Steve McKernon gave a shout of joy. "Here comes the cavalry!" he yelled. "Yeeee-hah!" Margaidh turned and saw what looked like the whole of the Rangers, in attack formation, closing in to support the patrol. About time too; the fifteen Falcon Mechs were about to be joined by what Margaidh guessed to be the rest of the 9th Talon Cluster Hazen had mentioned. She counted over fifty Mechs, apparently organised into lances of five rather than four. On top of that were thirty airbourne fighters, and a whole swarm of…
"What the hell are those?" Margaidh exclaimed, to no-one in particular. It was a while before she realised they were men, wearing what looked like incredibly heavy powered battle-armour suits, and carrying an assortment of weapons on their backs. Swarm was right; they scurried about like ants, even climbing up the legs of the Rangers' Mechs in order to plant explosive charges or rip into breaches of armour. Sometimes they stayed back and fired short-range missiles, guns or flamers that could rapidly send a Mech into shutdown through overheating. Margaidh discovered the hard way just how difficult they were to hit.
What had at first seemed like an immovable object eventually began to move under the force of the Rangers. The Falcons, although posessed of superior firepower, were horribly out-numbered, and just as it seemed the battle would go on all night, the enemy Mechs withdrew. But the price paid by the Boys of Summer was a high one. The equivalent of almost a whole battalion of Mechs lay crippled or destroyed. Twenty mechwarriors, and over a hundred infantry, were dead and many more were injured. The heart and spirit of the Seventeenth Skye Rangers was shatttered.
Margaidh was one of the lucky ones. The Blue Skye was still able to walk back into the base, albeit badly damaged. More than half its armour was gone, the left arm's lower actuators were frozen, and the weapons control system was playing up again. Margaidh was exhausted, trembling but relieved to be unhurt. She took her Mech into the repair bays where Techs were working frantically to get the Rangers' Mechs fixed as quickly as possible, while mechwarriors stood in quiet circles, thinking of friends and colleagues who had not made it back. Colleagues like Hannah Lee, and Hauptmann Joe Pritchard.
Mariah's Pinnacle, Barcelona
Chahar Province, Federated Commonwealth
Margaidh awoke early the next morning, and first called upon the Mech repair bays, where Angie was busy with the Blue Skye. Most of it's blue colour was now replaced with assorted panels of green, brown and grey where damaged armour panels had been replaced with panels salvaged from the damaged Mechs, and with anything else that could be found in stores The short-range missile reloader was in pieces on the floor and the left arm had been stripped down to the chassis. Margaidh bit her lip, and hoped Angie would be able to find all the parts she needed.
On her way back, she heard her name called over the base PA system, with a summons to the Regiment Commander's office right away.
Leftenant General Mitchell Simmons was an imposing figure of a man. He was well-built and well over six feet tall, with muscles of steel despite his fifty-odd years. Normally to be seen in his formal uniform with jacket of emerald green as was common among regiments from the Federation of Skye, Simmons now wore a field uniform and a mechwarrior's cooling vest hung open revealing a strong and somewhat hairy chest. Beside him was Colonel James Heaney, Simmons' First Officer. Heaney was studying a map of the region, covered in green arrows. A smaller number of blue arrows representing the defending forces seemed hopelessly inadequate.
Margaidh did her best to ignore his state of dress, and snapped a salute. "You asked to see me, Sir," she said with trepidation. The last time she had been called into this office, it had been to receive a barrage of criticism for recklessness and disregard for orders. She wondered vaguely if she had done something wrong during the attack of the Falcons.
"Leftenant Lewis?" Margaidh nodded. "Good. Sit down." She did as she was told. "Have you ever commanded a lance, Lewis?"
"Aye, Sir," Margaidh replied confidently.
Simmons narrowed his eyes at Lewis. "Your Mech is the Blue Skye?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Is it functional?"
"I… think so sir."
"Excellent. Now, listen carefully. I am reorganising the remaining Mechs into two battallions. The first battallion will defend the capital at Su Filla, while the second will be posted to the manufacturing centres on Vacuum Ridge." Simmons punctuated his words with stabs of his index finger on the map. "I'm putting you in the first batallion, in command of the Second Company."
Margaidh's jaw dropped. "You're giving me a company? Sir?"
"Of course I am. You're one of my best junior officers. Don't let me down."
"Thank you sir."
Simmons nodded, and Margaidh took the cue to stand. "There will be a briefing tomorrow, eight hundred hours."
"Aye, Sir," she said, trying her best to conceal her fears. Junior Leftenants with less than twelve months experience in the field do not normally command Companies.
After she had gone, Simmons stood and poured himself a large bourbon from the drinks cabinet beside his desk. He drank half of it down in one, and looked over Heaney's shoulder at the map. A map that had far too many green arrows on it. Slowly, he shook his head.
"Am I doing the right thing, Heaney?" Simmons asked, draining his glass.
"Sir?" Heaney replied with a frown.
"Sending kids like Lewis out with no preparation for whatever it is they might face. Dammit, she's less than a year out of the academy. I feel like I'm sending them to their deaths." He sat heavily down in his chair and closed his eyes. "Losing a battallion like that might just kill us all."
"The city has to be defended at all costs," Heaney responded.
"And so does the manufacturing plant, and the port. But I can't defend them all with only two battallions." Simmons shook his head, then slammed his fist down on the table, sending papers and pens flying. "Dammit, Heaney, who are they? Where are they from?" Heaney said nothing. He had no answers to those questions.
"We did inflict considerable damage to the Jade Falcons Talon, or whatever they call their battallions," Heaney said with optimism that was at least half genuine. "It may take them a while to regroup. Weeks, perhaps, even months. By then we will be ready for them. We've beaten them once, Commander."
"But at what cost, Heaney? At what cost?"
Su Filla, Barcelona
Chahar Province, Federated Commonwealth
Heaney was wrong. Clan Jade Falcon returned in less than a week, and as predicted their targets were Barcelona's capital city of Su Filla, and the industries of Vacuum Ridge. Only this time, they included not just the Ninth Talon Cluster, but the Third Falcon Cluster of the Jade Falcon Guards too. The Clan was back, and this time it had brought reinforcements.
The First Battallion of the 17th Skye Rangers was entrenched in defensive positions around and within the city, with half a million civillians to protect. Margaidh with them, sat in the cockpit of the Blue Skye, waiting in silence. Around her, the rest of the Second Company; eleven other Mechs poised for the appearance of the Clans. She glanced to where Steve McKernon's Jenner crouched behind a factory wall and allowed herself the faintest trace of a smile.
I hope I get to see your face again, Steve.
For the fourth time in an hour, Margaidh re-checked the weapons control, and ensured that everything was standing by and ready to go. Angie had done well to repair the Blue Skye in such a short time, when there were so many other damaged Mechs demanding their share of the limited parts available. The missile reloaders were fixed, as were the weapons control circuits. Parts for the left arm's actuators could not be found, so the arm now hung stiff and useless, but since a Shadow Hawk's left arm carried no weapons Margaidh was not unduly worried.
Here they come!
Black dots on the Magscan display revealed the arrival of Clan Mechs on the hills outside the city. Margaidh watched their position on the range scale, knowing the Clan's weapons had a greater range than her own. Engaging them in open country outside the city would be suicide; the Rangers' only hope was to lure them in where buildings could provide cover.
After what seemed to Margaidh to be hours of tense waiting, the Clan Mechs took the bait, and began to close. A barrage of LRMs from the Rangers posted furthest out signalled the start of the battle. The company was well-briefed and knew it's task. Margaidh gave them only one further reminder. "Remember, the Clans duel. Only engage with one at a time."
The first Mech to come into range of Margaidh's weapons was one that had been nicknamed Loki. It's weapons looked like a hotch-potch of pieces bolted on almost as an afterthought. A PPC on each arm, an SRM Six-pack on one shoulder, a machine gun and three medium lasers in the torso. Unlike most of the other Mechs it walked on human-like legs rather than bird-legs. It seemed apt that such a crazy-looking Mech should be named after the old Viking god of trickery.
Margaidh launched a flight of long-range missiles, but stared in horror as a panel on the Loki's head opened up and a weapon resembling a big machine-gun picked off each missile before they reached their target. Not perturbed for long, she brought the heavy laser to bear and a ruby beam sliced armour from the Loki's right arm. The Loki replied with both PPCs; the right one, still rocking from the laser hit, missed but the other crackled into the Blue Skye's right side, melting armour plates into ceramic sludge.
A wave of heat surged as Margaidh punched the jump-jets, and the Blue Skye soared over a building to land on the other side. Heat scales on her control panels shot from blue to the top end of the green range, but soon fell again as heat sinks in the Mech's belly absorbed the excess heat. Margaidh waited for the Loki to come searching for her. She smiled to herself. One thing she had always admired about the Blue Skye was that it could fire all it's weapons together and still suffer only minor overheating. Those heat scales would not hit the red zone unless the Mech became damaged.
As soon as it came into view, Margaidh reacted with lightning speed, aiming at the Loki's already-injured right arm with both heavy and medium lasers. This time, the red beams sliced through the skeleton and the PPC fell to the floor. The Loki turned it's left-hand cannon and fired, again striking the Blue Skye's right torso. Armour melted and the blue lightning sliced into internal circuits. Margaidh cursed as a red light warned her the LRM launcher was no longer operational. A single, terrified thought raced through her head. Please, God, don't hit the ammo!
********************
From his command position in the city, Leftenant-General Mitchell Simmons watched the battle unfold, and with each passing minute, icy claws gripped tighter and tighter into his guts. The First Battallion were hopelessly outnumbered as well as being out-gunned. Courage and determination they had in plenty, but it was not enough.
He turned to his First Officer, whose face wore a deathly pallor. "Heaney, send a message immedeately, to Area Commander Hauptmann-General Bissell." Heaney stared, his eyes wide. "Ask her… no, tell her, to send us a jump-ship ASAP. I'm pulling out, before there's no-one left."
Heaney's eyes widened even more, and he started to sweat. "But… Sir," he began.
"It's an order, Heaney," Simmons said, his face a mask of anger and frustration. "Tell her I'm sick of watching those kids die."
********************
Anxious to avoid further onslaught from the Loki's remaining PPC, Margaidh dodged through a doorway into a large factory. As soon as she was inside, she noticed the heat scales rising and realised the building was in fact a foundry. Although most civillians had abandoned their work, either to seek shelter or fight with the militia, the building was awash with orange light from vats of molten metal.
The Loki followed her inside the building and Margaidh crouched her Mech behind a large vat of metal. She raised the medium laser on the Shadow Hawk's right arm, but the targeting system refused to pinpoint the Loki's exact position in the confusion of machinery and hot steel. So I'll have to do it without, she thought to herself, squinting through the steam and the darkness, and pressing the trigger.
The laser-light illuminated the Loki in it's red glow and narrowly missed, spearing into some unidentifiable machine with a fountain of sparks. What it did achieve, however, was to show Margaidh more clearly where the Clan Mech was, to get better aim with both the large laser and a flight of short-range missiles.
As before, the Loki's anti-missile system activated but it too seemed confused by the environment and the missiles slipped through, knocking chunks of armour from it's chest. The large laser hit the Loki's left side, again damaging little more than armour. Margaidh's heat scales now notched up into the amber zone.
The Loki replied to Margaidh's attack with one of its own. Three medium lasers slashed towards her but she dodged and watched them pass less than a metre from the cockpit. Then came a flight of short-range missiles, of which all but two damaged nothing but foundry machinery. More armour fell from the Blue Skye, this time the right arm.
"Leftenant Lewis, this is Command," came Leftenant-General Simmons' voice over her headset.
"Roger, Command," Margaidh replied a little breathlessly. "I'm a wee bit busy right now. Can I call you back?" she joked, watching anxiously as the Loki stalked around the foundry looking for her.
"Negative, Lewis, we're bugging out. Repeat, pull your company out of the city immediately."
Damn. "Roger, Command." She hesitated, then gave the command to the rest of her company to retreat from Su Filla. Then she continued to creep, as quietly as a fifty-five ton Mech could manage, to where she estimated the Loki to be.
Perfect! As Margaidh emerged from between two giant lathes, she saw the Loki just a few metres ahead, with it's rear quarter towards her. "Got you, you Sassunach!" she said aloud, letting fly with both lasers and the SRMs. As the Clan Mech's weak rear armour melted away, the Loki abruptly stopped and started to rock slowly sideways.
With one last effort the Loki tried to twist its torso to bring it's one PPC to bear on the Blue Skye, but instead it seemed to buckle at the waist and overbalanced, the blue flash from the cannon powering instead into the floor. The Loki, its gyros frozen, lay toppled on the floor, unable to move. Margaidh turned on the Blue Skye's heels, and ran.
Area Command - Bone Theater, Blackjack.
Charna Province, Federated Commonwealth
Hauptmann-General Frances Bissell stood at the window of her office with a glass of the finest Donegal whiskey in one hand. In the other hand, she held a crumpled piece of paper that had just come through the Black Box from Barcelona. It contained details of an unusual invasion from the Periphery, along with a request from the commander of the 17th Skye Rangers for a jump-ship to evacuate his troops.
Bissell downed her whiskey in one, and started to laugh to herself. At first the report from Barcelona had been alarming, with the revelation that a new bunch of pirates calling themselves Clan Jade Falcon seemed to have equipment far superior than anything the Federated Commonwealth possessed. But having given it some thought, she decided the information could be useful. Her one main comfort was that the message had come through the Commonwealth's own Black Box communications, which meant that ComStar would not yet know anything about it. She may yet be able to use this information as a bargaining chip with their Blessed Order.
"Blessed Irritation, more like," she said aloud.
"Pardon?" replied Gavin Hall, her civillian aide, who was busy working at another desk in the long, oak-pannelled office.
"Nothing," Bissell replied, tugging at the bottom of her jacket. She sat down at her own desk and read the paper again. So the Rangers wanted to pull out did they? Maybe she would just let them sweat a little. Bissell had no sympathy for the whingeing seperatists of the Isle of Skye, and the Boys of Summer, as they still insisted on calling themselves, were probably the worst. Once the house troops of the late Duke Aldo Lestrade of Summer, the 17th Skye Rangers had been sent to Barcelona after Lestrade's death, to keep them out of the way. Frances Bissell would rather they stayed there.
"Hall, I want you to send a message to Barcelona straight away."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"The message is for Leftenant Generall Mitchell Simmons," she said, a smile on her lips. "Just tell him the answer is No." She smiled more broadly. "I also want to issue the following general order to all Jumpships in the province. Due to hostile presence in the region of the Periphery, all requests for aid from Barcelona are to be ignored. The Federated Commonwealth will accept no responsibility for the protection of merchant ships in the vicinity of Barcelona, and any military captain breaking this order will be subject to immediate disciplinary action."
She took another glass from the cabinet, poured a good measure of Donegal Whiskey into it and poured a similar quantity for herself. The first she handed to Hall.
"I wish to propose a toast," she said, raising her glass and waiting for a confused Hall to do likewise. "To information."
Mariah's Pinnacle, Barcelona.
Charna Province, Federated Commonwealth
It was late evening when the remains of the Seventeenth Skye Rangers straggled in from Su Filla and Vacuum Ridge, minds numb with the shock of the carnage they had witnessed. Of a hundred and twenty Mechwarriors, only thirty-two remained, and barely two dozen Mechs were still able to move under their own power. Margaidh's only comfort was that the Blue Skye was one of them.
But no sooner had she arrived in the repair base back at the base near Mariah's Pinnacle, than she was met by an anxious Hauptmann waving his arms at her. She opened the cockpit hatch and stood on the seat, leaning out over the Mech's battered torso.
"Head for the launchpad!" the Hauptmann yelled. "Stow your Mech and yourself in the Overlord."
Margaidh saluted and did as she was told.
The Dropship Overlord had already been prepped for launch, and it sat like a huge silver bird's egg on the pad under banks of powerful halogen lamps. Techs were scurrying back and forth, loading it with any tools and spare parts they could lay their hands on. It was a gigantic vessel, the largest class of Dropship posessed by any of the Successor States. After supervising the Blue Skye's safe installation into one of the Mech bays, Margaidh saw the Hauptmann whom she now recognised as Hauptman Elliot, with a haggard look on his face. She hurried over to him.
"Excuse me, Sir," she said, a little breathlessly.
"Yes?" Elliot looked hard at her. "Leftenant Lewis isn't it?"
"Aye, Sir. I… um…" she paused. "I was wondering what's happening."
Elliot shrugged. "All I know is we're pulling out."
"We're surrendering?" Lewis exclaimed incredulously. "Where are we going?"
"I don't have the faintest idea. Now, I suggest you get off to the crew quarters, and strap yourself in." Elliot turned away to supervise the arrival of two more battered Mechs.
"Have I got time to go to my quarters? There are a few things I want."
Elliot turned back to her and opened his mouth, on the verge of saying 'No.' Then he shrugged. "We batten down the hatches in ten minutes. If you're not back, we leave without you."
Margaidh smiled. "Thankyou, Sir!" she said, and sprinted off. She returned with a minute to spare, with a holdall that contained a few changes of clothes, her diary, a bottle of scotch and some correspondence from her mother. Then, with some trepidation she strapped herself into one of the launch-seats on the crew deck as the Dropship doors closed with an ominous clang.
Margaidh took a cautious look around the faces in the Dropship. No-one spoke, except in hushed voices. She recognised only two from her Company, and their faces were pale and haggard. Only three survivors from a Company of twelve. Margaidh felt a sudden wave of panic as she wondered just how many of those nine deaths had been her fault. The welfare of a Company was the responsibility of its Commander. Was there something else she could have done? Something that might have brought even one more of those nine back home safely?
Only as the Dropship's engines rumbled and Margaidh felt the lurch as it lifted off did she realise that Sergeant McKernon was not there.
In-system, Barcelona
Charna Province, Federated Commonwealth
As the Dropship left the azure-blue of Barcelona behind, and entered the blackness of space, Margaidh felt a sudden relaxing of gravity. It was not weightlessness; the Dropship's internal gravity was maintained at just below one G, but in contrast to the strain of take off, it made Margaidh feel suddenly heady. She unbuckled her seat straps and stood up, heading for one of the little round windows from where she watched Barcelona slipping away like a shining disk of blue and gold. From this distance it looked so tranquil and beautiful, with no trace of the carnage that had occurred there over the past two weeks. With the defeat of the Rangers, the first world of the Inner Sphere was now in the hands of an unknown and powerful enemy.
Ahead of the Overlord was nothing but a black sea of stars lighting the way to the unknown future. One such star shone much more brightly than the others, and as the Dropship pulled closer Margaidh recognised it not as a distant star but as the kilometer-wide solar sail of a Jumpship, extended to collect solar radiation that would recharge the Jumpship's drives. Margaidh frowned, wondering where the Jumpship was from, and where it would take the surviving Boys of Summer.
"It's beautiful, isn't it, Leftenant?" said a voice behind her. Margaidh turned round and looked straight into the face of Sergeant Steve McKernon. She let out a cry of relief and threw her arms around him.
"God, Steve! You're alive!"
"Hey! Ow! Steady on!" he said, twisting away from Margaidh's grip. She noticed then that his arm was bandaged and hitched up in a sling. "I got sliced up by a shard of glass when my cockpit blew," he said.
"Why weren't you on the crew deck when we launched?" Margaidh asked with a frown.
"I got on board just before we took off, so I stayed with what was left of my Mech until the floor stopped moving." He paused, and looked around the cabin. "Not many of us left, is there?"
Margaidh shook her head and looked at McKernon's face. For a moment, she found him rather attractive. He was a year older than she, and although he was no taller he was fit and muscular, as most Mechwarriors were. A lock of dark brown hair hung over his left eye, and Margaidh noticed with a sudden stab of pain just how haunted those pale blue eyes were. Like herself, McKernon had seen too much of death.
"What about the Commander?" Margaidh asked. "I haven't seen him here yet."
"He chose to stay behind."
"Why?" Margaidh asked incredulously.
McKernon shrugged. "Maybe he thinks he can negotiate with them or something."
Margaidh shook her head. "He must be crazy." Or he couldn't face the rest of us, knowing we'd lost. Knowing he'd let us down. She felt the sharp sting of tears in her eyes.
"Was it my fault, Steve?" she asked quietly. Steve McKernon just frowned. "Three quarters of my Company didn't come back. How many of those deaths were my fault?" She looked at him with pleading in her eyes.
McKernon shook his head. "No, Leftenant. None of those deaths were your fault. If you must blame someone, blame Clan Jade Falcon."
"I can't help thinking that there might have been something more I could have done. I spent half the battle running round the foundry dodging a Loki, and by the time I finished, the battle was over."
"That's not quite what I heard, Leftenant," McKernon said. Margaidh looked at him sharply. "I heard that you lured it away from the rest of your lance, and after the retreat was called, you didn't pull out until you killed it."
Margaidh allowed herself a faint smile. "I guess I could be on charges for that," she replied. "It won't be the first time I've been pulled up for reckless disregard of orders."
"They'll be calling you a hero, Leftenant. "And I'm proud to serve under you." He extended his good hand for Margaidh to shake, but instead she embraced him again, more carefully this time. McKernon held her until she stopped crying.
