Anywhere
Tamar March
Federated Commonwealth
4 March, 3050


     Fiona pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, her hair still damp with moisture from the cockpit. She took a breath, readied herself, and walked through the door of what had once been some kind of office or meeting room at the abandoned quarry that was serving as an ad hoc rally point for whatever resistance forces remained on the surface of Anywhere.

     A host of people sat and stood around the elongated table. A few of the faces she vaguely remembered from her regiment. Most were unfamiliar, clad in a motley assortment of uniforms, but bearing the insignia of the Anywhere Militia. A few glanced in her direction, but most spoke among themselves.

     At the head of the table sat two men, both wearing militia uniforms and the rank insignia marking them as Hauptmanns, presumably the highest ranking officers left on the planet. One leaned back in his chair. He could best be described as non-descript. Probably in his late thirties, he was of average height and build, had hair halfway between brown and blonde, and could probably disappear into any crowd, anywhere. The other man looked like something out of a holovid. He was probably in his fifties, his dark hair thoroughly mixed through with grey.  He sat leaning on the arm of his chair, chewing on a smoldering stub of a cigar, and wore a cowboy hat.

     On noticing her, Cigar Man took the nub of the cigar from his mouth and gestured in her direction. "Everyone, this here is Leftenant Kendrick. Near as we can tell, she's the ranking officer left on the planet from the Second New Ivaarsen that didn't turn tail and run."

     Her eyes darted around the room, taking in a mixture of sneers and looks of disinterest. "Strictly speaking, sir, that's not true. There's a combat surgeon in the MASH unit I escorted in, he carries the rank of Kommandant."

     Cigar chuckled. "Yeah, well I ain't takin' my order from a doctor, so for all intents and purposes, what I said stands. I'm Hauptmann Clay, this here is Hauptmann Hallick. We're glad to have your people on board. It's going to be a long slog trying to get these Falcons off our planet, we'll take any help we can get. We've just been taking store here, it will be a few days before we can start getting off any real raids. We're pretty short on supplies, so we'll have to hit one of the bigger supply dumps before these clanners can get their paws on them."

     She paused a moment before speaking up. "Begging the Hauptmann's pardon, but we should get moving as fast as we can. Grab supplies before the Jade Falcons can get settled in. These guys are big on single combat, that gives us a chance to hit them in multiple places."

     Clay raised an eyebrow. "No offense missy, but are you crazy? These guys, whoever the hell they are, they're tough as nails. We have to gang up, hit 'em fast and hard where it counts. You want to split up?"

     "They're over the top on these duels, even more so than the snakes. They'll fight prize fights, 'trials of possesion' they seemed to call it. You fight them one-on-one over a prize and beat them, they'll just let you walk away with the prize. We can use that. Hit multiple supply dumps in multiple trials. We launch six attacks, even if we only win half of them, we've won three whole supply dumps."

     The Hauptmann stood up. "Girl, I've seen people fighting honor duels before. I've been fighting the dracs since you were in nappies. I'm telling you, fighting on their terms isn't the way to go. They like duels, you use that to your advantage by making it a junkyard fight."

     Fiona shook her head. "With all due respect sir, if I'd fought that way, we wouldn't be here right now. I only got my people out because I won the right to escape in a duel."

     Clay stabbed a finger in her direction. "That's all well and good. Just because you got lucky, doesn't mean you're the next incarnation of General Kerensky."

     "I didn't get lucky, sir. I was just better than them. We all can be."

     Clay shook his head, "Enough, Leftenant. This is our world, and our fight. You're welcome to help out, but you'll follow orders and do it our way. Understood?"

     She gritted her teeth. "Yes Hauptmann, understood."

     He smiled and put the cigar back in his mouth. "Good. Now, take a few days to get your people repaired and rested. We'll all meet up for a strategy session in a few days."
     

Anywhere
Tamar March
Federated Commonwealth
4 March, 3050

     "I am Mechwarrior Greer of the 8th Falcon Regulars. I pilot the Kit Fox that stands before our lines. I have won the bidding for the right to seize your rabble of a force in a trial of possession. Do not flee like the cowards we have seen so far, and I promise you a quick death in battle that will fulfill your obligations as a warrior. Our trial will commence as soon as you signal your readiness."

     Fiona's palms were already sweating, only the fingerless gloves she wore kept her grip on the control sticks secure. She glanced down at her targeting monitor, which still struggled hopelessly to identify the enemy mech, whose pilot had referred to it as a Kit Fox. Sensors pegged it at about thirty tons. It's one arm ended in a barrel of some sort, which at that weight class must be a very small bore autocannon. Other than that, she was blind to its capabilities. At the very least, she outmassed it in her Wyvern. 

     She raised her mechs arm in a salute. "I stand ready to fight you, Greer. I assure you, you're in for a surprise."

     With that, she kicked her mech up into a flank speed run. She didn't know what that little mech could do, but there had been reports of the enemy mechs having very long ranges. She wasnt going to risk it. Get in close, hit hard and fast, and put her weight advantage to good use. 

     The enemy mech advanced toward her, though not at what looked like a run. She was pondering triggering her jump jets to launch herself into range for her LRM rack, when suddenly a silvery flash twinkled into her vision just before a tremendous force smashed into her mechs torso. The impact of whatever the shell was nearly spun her around, having not been braced for the shot.

     What the hell was that? I cant even get a lock on him with my LRMs, and he's hitting me with a cannon that hits at the range of a light AC but punches like the big cannon on a Hunchback. 

     She waited a few seconds, then triggered her jump jets, just in time to see another of the silver cannonball fly beneath her. She rode her jets to their maximum height and readied herself for landing. As soon as she hit the ground she flexed her Wyverns knees to absorb the landing. As soon as she was under control, she jerked to the right hard, avoiding yet another shot from the enemy cannon, although just narrowly. A sharp crack pierced the air after the supersonic slug passed her. 

     Greer was being free with his shots, seemingly firing as soon as his cannon recharged. She only had a handful of seconds between volleys, and she knew that her mech was not going to take many hits from whatever that gun was. 

     She didn't yet have a hard lock on the enemy mech for her missiles, but nonetheless she triggered a salvo that sent ten missiles streaking towards the small enemy mech. They impacted a short distance in front of him, but it must have been enough to throw off his aim, as his next shot drilled into the ground in front of her. 

     Another burst of her jump jets brought her to within range for her heavy laser. She crouched on landing, and snapped off a shot from the large laser. The beam scored a hit, scoring armor from the small mechs leg. 

     The enemy reply came in the form of yet another shot from his cannon, which struck her shoulder, but luckily at a glancing angle, lessening the damage. Two medium laser also clawed at her mech, one hitting her arm, and the other a leg. 

     She glanced down at her damage readout. Shit. Those medium lasers hit almost as hard as my heavy laser. 

     It was now clear that range wasnt going to be her friend. She continued her strategy of trying to get close. If she could bring her heavier weight and all of her firepower to bear, she might stand a chance. 

     Her heat was beginning to spike, and she knew with the strain she would soon be putting on her heat sinks, she dared not risk another jump just yet. Instead, she stood and charged yet again, her mental clock ticking the seconds by until she expected another volley from her foe, and just before she felt it would come, she juked her mech, this time to the left.

     The enemy pilot had anticipated her move, but not the direction. A silver slug, followed by two lancing laser beams blasted wide of her as she realigned her charge on the enemy light mech. She pulled the trigger on her large laser, which scored yet another hit on the squat Jade Falcon mech. As the beam finished it's work on the Kit Fox's torso, a target lock tone sounded in her helmet, and instinctively she triggered a blast from her LRM's. Soon she would be inside their range, and they made this volley count, eight of the missiles pounding across her foe.

     This time, his reply was true, his cannon striking her Wyvern squarely in the chest, nearly stopping her momentum. The enemy lasers followed up, tearing two gashes in her torso armor. Even though she was trading shots with a light mech, she knew she was getting much harder than she was giving, and her protection was growing terrifyingly thin. She was praying that she would make it close enough to count before that protection began to fail.

     She waited until she hit the outside range on her short range missiles. As she stepped within range, she pulled into a salvo from the six-pack, simultaneously with her Nightwind large laser, coring more armor from the small enemy mech. She didn't have time to watch her handiwork to check for internal damage, as she slammed her booted feet down on the thrust pedals, sending her mech soaring into the air, and a wave of heat smashing into her.

     The enemy pilot was good, tracking her leap. While the cannon slug missed low, the two lasers cored precious armor from her right leg, slightly unbalancing her mech in the air. Coughing for oxygen in the stifling heat, she managed to right her trajectory and inject the spin that she desperately wanted to the jump. Her mech pirouetted in the air, and by the time she found herself over the clan mech, the two war machines facing's matched. A second more and her momentum carried her behind her opponent as she dropped to the ground.

     She didn't even wait for a lock, roughly aligning her crosshairs and snapping off a shot from all her weapons except her LRMs. The large laser, along with the pair of small lasers she had yet to use cored into the thin rear armor of the enemy mech. The six pack of missiles peppered the rear torso further, opening rents in the armor.

     She paid the price in heat. Her reactor struggled to meet the demand of the jump as well as the volley of weapons fire, and the raw heat dumped into her mech's innards was simply too much for her heat sinks to handle. She tried to inhale, but the incredible ambient heat seared her throat and lungs, the lack of oxygen pulling at her consciousness. She no longer felt sweat running down her exposed flesh, and as her head bobbed down for a moment, she imagined she could almost see the few meager drops of moisture evaporating off her leggings.

     She willed herself to retain consciousness, pulling her head back and slamming forward on the control sticks by instinct. Only muscle memory allowed her to complete the maneuver she had envisioned at the start of this particular attack. Her mech took two stumbling steps forward, then she drove her fist into the back of her shocked enemy, punching through the already savaged rear armor, her mech's right hand flexing open and then closed on some internals or another. She could almost feel the enemy mech die in her clutches as it went limp, then fell forward.

     She had no idea how much time had passed. She had simply leaned back in her command chair and tried desperately to breathe. Finally she blinked herself back to awareness, an unfamiliar voice sounding in her ears.

     "Leftenant Fiona....are you conscious?"

     She shook her head, trying to shake off the fatigue weighing her down.

     "Leftenant Fiona. Can you respond? This is Star Captain Terrence Mattlov."

     She tried to steady her pulse and took a deep breath. "Yes, Star Captain. I am here, I hear you, and I am the victor."

     She could hear an almost light tone to the Star Captain's voice. "Indeed, Leftenant, you won the trial, and your fight showed some skill. But do not gloat too openly, for your victory is a hollow one."

     She furrowed her brow. "What do you mean? You better not renege on our deal, Star Captain, or I will have your hide myself."

     "Relax, little Inner Sphere warrior. I will not violate the terms of our rede. You are the winner of the trial, and you shall have your prize. You, your lance, and those lesser forces that you protect may withdraw from the field of battle. But you cannot run far. As we speak, your cowardly comrades are lifting offworld. Look to the skies in front of you, and you can see them fleeing now like rats from a sinking ship. You are stranded here." She cut off his laughter with a slap of the comm switch, and tried desperately to fight back the tears as the clan forces withdrew, leaving her small band abandoned and alone.

Anywhere
Tamar March
Federated Commonwealth
4 March, 3050





        The pace was frenetic. As the smoke of combat, and the frantic mess of comm channels clouded her view of the actual picture of combat, Fiona could only try to make sense of the scattered and fragmented transmissions coming across her comm link. The RCT was in chaos. Disparate elements were shouting and clamoring for support across the net as the situation spun out of control.

     These Jade Falcons were running roughshod over any and all opposition they faced. They were apparently honor driven like the samurai of the Draconis Combine, trying to coerce their opponents into single combat whenever and wherever they could.

     "Leftenant, all our parent elements are pulling out. We have no direction, but should we follow?"

     She slammed her fist against the console of her Wyvern."No, we are not going to bail out and leave this M*A*S*H truck to fend for itself. Our orders from Battalion and Regimental were to support these elements, and we are going to damn well hold the line and support these elements. "

     "But leftenant, they'll chew us to bits. How do we hold with just a lance and a few infantry against the whole damn lot of them?" Markey asked. 

     The truth was she didn't know. She didn't have a clue. She looked down at her tactical display, the few friendly blue dots that appeared were painfully far away to the north, and rapidly moving off. To the south, more and more red dots were appearing. Her computer was struggling mightily to identify the enemy units, flipping madly back and forth between disparate designations and the all too common 'unknown battlemech' tag that was applied to many of them. Unknown attackers, unknown mechs, her support fleeing rapidly, and a truck full of wounded soldiers protected by a few dozen infantry relying on her somehow for protection. 

     She flipped her comm filter over to include general open frequencies,  and bas bombarded immediately by a host of angry voices on various open channels. "Stravag! Stand and fight, freebirth cowards!", "By the founders, there is not a drop of warrior blood among any of your pathetic genetic legacies. Even bandits face their fate more honorably than you!"

     The channels were filled with a chorus of such insults. But it was more than taunting. The challenges were filled with a genuine anger that the Fed-Com forces were now fleeing rather than fighting. The voices were strange, and definitely not from the Combine. 

     She was about to flip the filter back, her spirit sagging and her mind void of any idea that might offer hope. Then, in the angry cries of the enemy warriors, the spark of an idea flashed in her head. 

     She clicked her comms back over to her lance frequency. "Markey, rally the troops in a tight perimeter around the hospital truck. Get everyone ready to move out at a moment's notice,  but dont move yet."

     "Leftenant, are you nuts? We might barely get back to our lines if we run now. But if we hang around?" She could hear the fear in his voice. It was a gear she shared, possibly even more so. But she could not allow herself to surrender to it. The lives of the whole group were depending on her keeping her wits, her fighting skill, and some false bravado. 

     "I know what I'm doing, Markey. Follow orders. I'll get you out of this. All of you. Just trust me on this." Without waiting for a response, she flipped over to a general frequency. 

     "I am Leftenant Fiona Kendrick, of the Ivaarson Chasseurs. Though my comrades may flee, I do not fear you. I will stand and fight in single combat against any you care to offer. I ask only that we fight over a worthy prize. Reply if you dare."

     With that, she closed her eyes and rested her head back. This would either pay off incredibly,  or be the last and most foolish mistake she ever made. 

     There was nothing but silence for a few seconds, then a deep male voice came over the line. 

     "I am Star Captain Terrence Mattlov, Commander of Trinary Charlie, 8th Jade Falcon Regulars. Your batchall is crude, but understood. You wish a trial of possession, quiaff?"

     "Call it whatever you want. I'm offering you a fight. Me against your champion."

     "Even a challenge as weak as yours is a welcome sight on this pitiful rock. Over what do you wish to fight this trial?"

     She took a deep breath. This was it. "My comrades are fleeing, and in doing my duty, protecting this mobile hospital, I find myself cut off from my parent command. When I am victorious, you will allow safe passage for me, my lance, the hospital truck, and its supporting forces."

     The enemy commander laughed. "Bold words for someone who has yet to fire a shot against us Falcons. What is the prize when you are defeated by whatever token force is needed to put you down?"

    "If I am sefeated, then I will be dead. But should this happen, my entire force will surrender to you, men and material alike."

     There was a brief pause before Mattlov replied. "A pitiful prize, but we must take what we can get. Well bargained and done, Leftenant Fiona. My warriors will bid for the small honor of defeating you. The trial will commence in five minutes."

     It was done. Now all she had to do was win.

Anywhere
Tamar March
Federated Commonwealth
4 March, 3050




     "Leftenant, why are we just sitting here? Our armor elements are getting cut to pieces somehow out there by these pirates.!"

     Fiona took a deep breath before answering. "Can it, Markey. I don't know what's going on, I just know the general's plan seems to have hit a snag. But we can't go off half-cocked. Regimental will get it under control. Battalion says we'll be moving soon. I want a piece of these guys as much as you do."

     Holding her lance back was hard. They all wanted a shot at these raiders. Somewhere along the line, the plan had gone wrong. While they might not be at the top of the battlefield pecking order, the tanks of the RCT were still a huge chunk of guns and armor. They should have been enough to hold these raiders in place. That they seemingly were unable to do so was worrying.

     "Company, move up to grid 3-1-9. Looks like we've found trouble again, First and Second battalions are engaging the hostiles and we're to move up to support any breakthrough."

     She keyed an acknowledgement of the order and kicked her Wyvern up into cruising speed, keeping her lance tight to her as the company moved up, hopefully into some action. They advanced at a solid pace, and what they found was not good.

     Once they broke out of the woodlands into the gently rolling hills of the Brigham Rollo, they stumbled into the battlefield that had become a graveyard for the majority of their armor. In most cases, the hulks of the tanks were still burning. The medics had barely had time to start tending to the wounded, and rescue teams were still swarming over many of the destroyed vehicles.

     The enemy had apparently smashed through the armor regiments and simply kept moving. They were now somewhere ahead, locked in combat with the other two Chasseurs battalions. But the level of destruction she saw formed a pit in her stomach. The armor regiments had been hurt, and hurt badly. There was more to this than a simple pirate raid.

     "Company, apparently the boys in First Battalion are getting their hats handed to them, we're going to reinforce. Kendrick, your lance is to stay back and provide mech support to the protection detail. I guess these guys have some kind of super infantry or something, and the Kommandant wants to make sure the medics and recovery crews don't get caught without protection."

     "Aye sir." She acknowledged the order as she slammed her fist against the console. Fate was doing everything possible to conspire to keep her out of the fight, it seemed. As the rest of her company moved off, she posted her lance at various intervals around the field of carnage. She knew the order made sense, her lance was mainly configured as an urban defense lance, relatively slow but packing significant firepower. This wasn't ideal ground for them to defend, but they were better suited to it than the rest of the company.

     "Leftenant, what are we supposed to do here, twiddle our thumbs?" Always it was Markey with a wise crack.

     "We have to watch the recovery teams. I've got you guys positioned, just keep your eyes open. I'm going to climb out of the cockpit and see how they're doing on the ground."


     Ten minutes later, and she found herself on her knees, spewing her guts onto the ground outside of a M*A*S*H unit. Her heart was still pounding in her ears. The blood, guts, and general level of chaos had overcome her seconds into her visit to the mobile medical van. She had tried to steel herself and overcome it, but the physical sight of so many men and women torn apart and in agony had just overwhelmed her. She had managed to rush out of the door to the unit before the nausea overcame her and she fell to her knees.

     She had just managed to control her breathing, overcoming the reflex to expel more, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Normally she would have tried to brush it off, but her spirit was sapped.

     "It's ok, kid. Ain't a one of us who hasn't spilled our guts on the ground the first few times we saw a battlefield for real."

   "I just....I don't know what I was trying to show myself." She ran her hands through her hair, pulling it back out of her face to observe the person who had happened upon her. He was an infantryman, a sergeant from the looks of his uniform. "I told myself I wanted a feel for what was going on. Guess I got more than I bargained for."

     The groundpounder looked towards the horizon for a moment. "Yeah, well I think that's par for the course today. I've seem my share of pirate raids, this isn't one of them."

     "What do you mean?"

     The sergeant shrugged. "These raiders, they're sharper than any pirate I've ever seen. Got these god awful big armored infantry too. Their mechs were tearing our guys apart from ranges they had no business shooting from, and that was bad enough, but I tell you, when those damn armored infantry ran through us....I've never seen anything like it. Not even spec ops shit. Hell, these guys might as well have been miniature mechs for all the good our small arms fire did against them. Took mech grade weapons to put any kind of hurt on them at all.

     Fiona sat back against the stump of a tree. "So who do you think they are then? If they aren't pirates?"

     "Some kind of super crazy Dracs if you ask me."

     She shook her head to clear her mind and shake the nausea. "Can't be the Combine this far out. Why would you say that?"

     "The open comm channels were clogged with challenges to one-on-one fights, honor duels,  the kind of shit the Snakes eat up with their Bushido code. If you'd have heard it, they'd have all agreed to line up and fight a bunch of staged fights. Like it was all a big game. 'Course it ain't a game to all the boys they tore up when they swarmed all over our lines."

     "We'll get a handle on it. Even if it's Combine raiders, we'll get things under control." She was already trying to recover from her stumble and steel herself for the conflict to come.

     The sergeant smiled as he shook his head. "Ma'am, no disrespect to the rank or anything, but you're still wet behind the ears, aren't you?"

     She cocked her head, sure she could deal with anything this presumptuous veteran gropo could deal out. "Sergeant, this might be my first official combat assignment, but I'm a damn good Mechwarrior, near top of my class at the Robinson Battle Academy, and I know what I'm doing. We will get this under control, do you hear me?"

     The sergeant chuckled. "Leftenant, sir. I know this probably don't mean much, but I've got a few years of reading people. When you've seen as many people wear the uniform as I have, you pick up a thing or two. I can get a read on people. My family, we're 7th generation Lyran Commonwealth Armed forces, and damn near all of us have been groundpounders. I've got two girls in the service probably close enough to your age. And they're both groundpounders. Tough as nails and built like softball players. You, you're from a noble family I'd wager. You're built like a dancer. Ain't nothing against you, I'd wager you're a fine mech jockey. But I've got a finger a hell of a lot closer to the pulse of this shit than you, ma'am. This.....this is something big."

     She wanted nothing more than to dispel the man of his notion, but she knew in that moment that she had no case at all. And it scared her.