MOHAMMED
05 December 3067Rural Route 92
Fox Province
New Avalon, Federated Suns
Mohammed dialed up a private line to Cruz.
“For frak’s sake, DJ, turn down the bass and pay attention to what you are doing! You are way out of formation. How the frak do you expect these greenhorns to learn anything from us if you can’t walk in a frakking straight line?”
“Uhh, sorry Playboy.” Cruz’s voice sounded adequately sheepish.
Mohammed watched as Cruz’s Vindicator abruptly shifted direction to bring it back into formation. He considered sending off a sharp response that the chain of command dictated the use of the term “ElTee” in the field, but decided to hold off. Who was he kidding anyway? Neither he nor Cruz had ever served in a true military unit, but here he was barking orders like some angry drill sergeant. Saying “frak” that many times in one sentence wasn’t really his style, but he thought it was what a lance commander was supposed to sound like. At least that is what they sounded like on the vids.
Mohammed had to smile at the farcical nature of this entire operation. Here they were training some green Micron security personnel in defensive tactics. A bunch of Solaris jocks with barely any real military experience between them doing cadre duty? The whole thing was laughable. When he had brought up the issue with the XO, Monk had just said “the best way to learn it to teach.” Monk was good with snippets of wisdom like that.
Mohammed reflected that his own situation was almost as comical. Born into a wealthy merchant family on Regulus, he had spent a childhood free of the material worries of most families, but had faced the dreadful prospect of the boredom of idle wealth. In response, he had become heavily involved in the extreme sports that were popular in the Free Worlds League. By the time, he reached adulthood, he had already established quite a reputation as a world-class rock climber and glider, not to mention a reputation for a wild nightlife. If only I had been content with that, Mohammed thought ruefully. But he had become quite the adrenaline junky and needed more. He decided that the ultimate adrenaline rush would be mech combat and had used his family money to train himself in mech piloting and finance his way into the Solaris circuits. A promising (and scandalous) career had been seriously hampered when his father was convicted of business embezzlement and the family wealth largely evaporated overnight. The Flaming Devil Monkeys had offered him a spot on their roster to cover some of his financial difficulties, but he was forced to downgrade from a sparkling Templar omnimech to an aging Whitworth.
And now here he was trying to act like a real military officer and keep a bunch of other misfit gladiators in line. By his own measure, he hardly seemed like officer material, but he supposed there wasn’t much material to go around in this outfit. In his own lance, “DJ” had spent more time actually doing that on Solaris VII than piloting a mech, Bishop had spent more time modeling than on her mechwarrior career, and Jackson was too much of a class clown for anyone else to take seriously. But he wasn’t as concerned about acting like an officer to them as he was in giving at least a basic appearance of professionalism to the Micron personnel they were supposed to be training. If only–
Mohammed’s own self-reflection was suddenly cut short as a bright flash of light seemed to quickly descend from the heavens in the far-off distance.
“What the hell was that?” Jackson’s question reflected his own unvoiced one.
“I don’t know. Everyone halt while I contact HQ.” Mohammed brought his Whitworth to a slow halt. Looking at his rear HUD, he saw that the convoy of vehicles they were “protecting” on this excercise had also come to a halt, as had the Micron mechs behind it.
“HQ, this is Playboy. We just saw an unusual flash of light in the distance. I don’t know how to put this, but it seemed to come from … above us. Do you have any information.”
There was a brief pause and then he heard Monk’s cool voice.
“Playboy, this is the XO. We have some initial reports of heavy damage to Avalon City’s infrastructure and communication system. Our best guess at this point is that someone is orbitally bombarding the city. Given the circumstances, we think its best to cut the excercise short and for you to return to base, ASAP.”
“Roger, returning to base.” Orbital bombardment on New Avalon? It just didn’t make any sense. He was about to open the comm to relay the return orders when another message came crackling through:
“Baboon Actual, this is Scout one. I have multiple mechs inbound on your position. According to the markings, it looks like NAIS cadets. At the speed they are converging on your position, I would say they mean business. I count two lances of medium and light mechs.”
This was just getting better and better, Mohammed thought. A bunch of nervous cadets ready to fire at the first thing that moves. He opened the comm to all of his forces.
“Ok, folks. We have multiple potential bogies converging on our units. Visually identified as NAIS cadets, but we do not know intent, so we are going to assume the worst. I want the convoy to circle around that copse of woods to the northeast and stay out of sight while the rest of the unit holds our ground. Assume defensive formation bravo. Lets go people!” As the members of this unit began to reorganize, Mohammed relayed their situation to HQ.
The first NAIS mech, a Trebuchet, rounded the crest of a hill in the distance and answered the question about intent by firing off an LRM salvo that missed Mohammed’s Whitworth short by about 10 meters, kicking up dust and rocks that bounced harmlessly off his armor. Despite the tenseness and danger of the situation, Mohammed found that all of his worries and anxieties suddently slipped away, replaced by an adrenaline surge that left him strangely calmer and more at peace. His comm crackled:
“Playboy, this is Monk. We are attempting to raise the NAIS now to call off those cadets, but communications seem to be down. Until then, you will need to defend yourself by any means possible. Minimize damage if possible and avoid casualties, but you are free to return fire.
Here we go, Mohammed thought.
Mohammed looked over the smoking battlefield. Two of the Micron mechs lay sprawled across the plains, along with two of the NAIS mechs. Two more NAIS Stealth’s had been destroyed by catastrophic ammo explosions, but Mohammed believed that their pilots had successfully ejected. Fortunately, there appeared to be no casualties and his own lance escaped relatively unscathed, although Corndog’s Enforcer had taken some hard hits. Given the FUBAR situation, it seemed like a better outcome would not have been possible. Even so, this was certainly not at all how he had expected his first real firefight to be. At least someone had finally gotten through to the NAIS and gotten those cadets to stand down.
The adrenaline rush was receding and Mohammed sighed as he realized he now had a great deal of work to do mopping up this mess. Suddenly he noticed contrails forming in the darkening skies above. Uh-Oh, he though. Time to get off this rock.