Part 65: Political Vote 3 Results and Combat Theater Vote 3

Political Vote 3 Results (sorta):

Sam blinked in the harsh daylight—when had Somerset’s sun become ‘harsh’? She knelt quietly with the other 2nd Donegal prisoners, arms on her head. The sunlight was agony to her lightly-burned skin; and like pitons driven straight into her eye-sockets. Her head hadn’t even hurt this much after the first time she’d snuck an entire bottle of whiskey from her father’s liquor cabinet back when she’d turned thirteen. That had been to celebrate her induction into the Somerset military academy—and the resulting hangover had kept her sober through the entirety of her schooling.

If that headache was a symbol of the start of her life as a ‘Mechwarrior, it was only fitting her career ended with a worse one.

She blinked again, cast about her with bleary eyes. The whole of first battalion was here, it seemed. She counted a few missing—still fighting, she hoped, since the alternative was dead. Dead seemed far more likely with the speed the Clanners had simply overrun them. Her mind whirled, protesting the whole time. She pushed through it, counting; scratched her left wrist.

A Steel Viper soldier wearing a bizarre yet strangely serviceable serpentine camouflage set of body armor prowled past, an unfamiliar automatic rifle cradled in the crux of his arm. Sam was in no position to offer any real resistance.

He turned, facing away from the captive Donegal Guards. Over the tree line, the towering forms of ‘Mechs—second Donegal ‘Mechs—rose like leviathans. The Assault company! She counted eight, nine, ten still-functioning assault ‘Mechs, and felt her heart swell—for the briefest of moments.

A dark shadow blotted out the agonizing sun as a colossal, misshapen Clan design loomed over the collected prisoners. Assault Company made no move to fire—they simply filed straight into the killzone. The Clanners held their fire. What the hell?

“Your people have surrendered,” the Clanner said, turning to face his prisoners. Sam wanted dearly to punch the self-satisfied smirk off his face. Probably would’ve, if she felt there was a way she could get away with it without his fellows gunning her down before she got close. “You should be proud. Your regiment has been granted Hegira by the Fourth Viper Guards’ inestimable Star Colonel. You fought well.”

Nobody responded. With a resounding metal shriek, the doors of the Tigris ground open. The Clanner frowned. “… Such waste,” he growled under his breath. A dark figure loomed from within the dropship’s bay. Colonel Steiner’s Atlas, mammoth and threatening, had to crouch to fit through the tiny Leopard-class ship’s door. A misshapen Clan machine approached, stopped about three-hundred meters distant. Sam did her best to memorize it—heavy autocannon in one arm, lasers and a fist in the other. A face that seemed to parody the Atlas’ skull-like grin.

The Atlas’ loudspeakers crackled. “So… my people’ll go free whether or not I fight you?” Colonel Steiner asked, sounding perplexed.

“For the last time, Aff,” a female voice replied, her voice much clearer. Samantha frowned, either Star Colonel Dusk’s technicians were very thorough, or even the Clan speaker systems were more advanced. “They have disarmed and surrendered; they can leave unmolested.”

There was a pause. “What’re the stakes for this duel, Star Colonel?”

“If I win,” Dusk replied, “and you survive, you will become my bondsman. You will share with us your knowledge of the Lyran Commonwealth, freely. You will instruct us in the proper methods of these ‘Steiner Rules’ for dueling.”

“If—when I win,” Colonel Steiner declared, “I want information—”

“—Anything you care to know,” Dusk replied.

Caeser continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “—I want one of your ‘Mechs—”

A Clan machine stepped forward; a heavy design. Sam blinked—it looked like a fire support platform, with two boxy missile pods on the end of a massive, wedge-shaped body. She swallowed—the Clans were willing to throw away a piece of assault-weight machinery to satisfy Dusk’s ego?

“—and a night with you.” Caeser finished, apparently unshaken. He was trying to unnerve the Clanner, she thought. A demand like that would’ve been met with instant refusal from a Kuritan (provided, of course, that it was one of the more liberal regiments that let mere women fight in ‘Mechs).

Star Colonel Dusk just laughed. “Bargained well, and done.”

“I only regret,” Caeser added darkly, “that we do not have a forest fire in which to duel.”

His Atlas kicked into gear as he and Dusk closed to about a two-hundred forty meters or so. They circled, well out of each others’ charge range. “How necessary is the fire,” Dusk asked calmly. “It seems a waste.”

“A good question,” Caeser countered, circling. Sam estimated—still at two-hundred forty meters. An odd range, but one Dusk was working to maintain. The Atlas wasn’t anywhere near quick enough to cover a distance that long. Did they really intend to just talk? “Are you the Children of Kerensky?”

“Yes,” Dusk replied calmly. Sam filed the information away, she wasn’t sure how useful it would be; or who would care.

“The fire is only vital for the truly important duels,” Caeser lied, believably enough. “It signifies both pilots’ resolve to die fighting.” Sam smirked, and was grateful that the Assault Company was recording this. If the Steel Vipers were willing to engage in patently insane duels—duels that would force them to give up their massive range and speed advantage… Sam blinked, her eyes widening in horror. A feeling of hopeless terror had just clutched her heart—and where the spirits of Caeser’s Legion seemed to swell at Caeser’s appearance, her own spirits sank.

“So it could be dispensed with,” Dusk replied. “That is fortunate. The loss of resources alone would quickly cripple the Lyran Commonwealth.”

Caeser paused. “It is a new custom,” he admitted. “We are still… working out some of the problems.”

The vile witch, Dusk, laughed maliciously, “That is also good to know, Colonel Caeser Steiner. I shall enjoy making you my bondsman.”

A sharply rising buzz filled the air, and Dusk’s ‘Mech lunged forward with impossible speed. Surprised by ninety-odd tons of assault ‘Mech, Caeser’s warding punch was a bit too slow. The Colonel’s Atlas rocked as Dusk plowed into it at over eighty kilometers-per-hour. Sam thought it would fall—but the Colonel was better than that. Throwing off his surprise, he delivered a pair of rabbit-punches to the Clan ‘Mech’s kidneys.

Dusk’s response was more brutal, less pugilistic. Her ‘Mech’s big fist slammed square into the Atlas’ shoulder; sending shards of armor clattering to the tarmac. The Colonel shifted, his right arm hanging broken and useless; the shoulder smashed beyond recognition. Dusk’s ‘Mech grabbed the limb on the backswing, smashed her foot into the Atlas’s lower leg, and tore the arm from its shoulder housing in the span of a few seconds.

Colonel Steiner staggered, his Gyros struggling to compensate for the ‘Mech’s sudden and very lopsided diet. His counter-kick caught Dusk’s machine in the knee—it buckled, robbing her—Sam hoped—of her speed advantage.

Dusk brandished the Atlas’ arm like a club, pulverizing only armor with her first swing. Her second found something more vital, crushing the Atlas’ heavy autocannon. She followed it up with a jab of her previously-unutilized right arm; punching the barrel of her heavy autocannon through the Atlas’ center torso. The weapon, punished by forces it was never designed to experience, exploded in a flare of electricity that made Sam’s hair stand on-end. Clearly, it was no autocannon. Worse—the explosion seemed to have damaged the Atlas’ gyro.

The Colonel’s machine staggered back, smoke pouring from the hole in its torso. Sam cringed—the Atlas was losing more than smoke. Shards of metal flew from the hole as the Assault ‘Mech’s gyro spun itself apart. The Atlas toppled, landing flat on its back.

Star Colonel Dusk’s ‘mech straightened, turned to face the prisoners. Sam smiled faintly—Dusk’s front armor was only barely recognizable as the same unblemished machine that had begun the fight. “Take the bondsmen,” Dusk commanded the guards. A firm hand closed on Sam’s upper arm. “Allow the other prisoners to return to the Donegal Guards. Perhaps they will fight better next time.”

“… We had a deal, Dusk,” Caeser’s voice echoed from the ruins of his ‘Mech. “My people go free.”

“So we do, and so they are,” Dusk replied coldly. “The rest are bondsmen. Isorla. The rightful property of Clan Steel Viper. As you yourself have become.”





Combat Theatre Vote 4:

ComGuards
Precentor Deiron Pro Tem Sharilar Mori has dispatched the assembled ComGuards under her control for an assault deep behind the Hell’s Horses lines. Their target, the planet Richmond, the last known location of Precentor Myndo Waterly.

Northwind Highlanders
Discontent among the Highlander regiments continues to grow as House Liao continues to focus their efforts on the Free Worlds League.

8th Scorpion Uhlans
A small force of elite DEST operatives, backed by a lance of Mercenary battlemechs, has misjumped into a system held by Clan Goliath Scorpion. Can the few Scorpion forces remaining on the world crush this threat before it can go to ground and become a thorn in their sides? (This mission was planned with the assistance of Bobbin Threadbare)

Operation Himinbjörg
The terrorist organization Heimdall has launched a surprise offensive with an unknown objective. Outgunned and outmanned, can they possibly succeed?



Voting is Open for:
A) ComGuards
B) Northwind Highlanders
C) 8th Scorpion Uhlans
D) Operation Himinbjörg