Turbo's eyes opened to a white ceiling.
"Fuck." He tried to say.
It sounded more like "Fwuh".
"Easy pilot. You're safe here. You were injured in the battle just now. But you're safe here." The woman in front of him said. She appeared right over his face like an apparition.
"???" He tried.
"Let's get that out of your throat. You've been out for a while." She said. "8 hours in fact."
He nodded. Then paused.
What about his lance? The attack? The pocket?
"The one in the cockpit with you is fine as well, she didn't need surgery. So she's been up and about."
He winced as the tube was removed from his throat.
What the fuck was that?
There was a flap of something in his upper mouth, annoying as all fuck.
His tongue worked at it.
"I'll go get her now okay?"
He ignored her.
His fingers went into his mouth, fuck this noise, gripped it and pulled it out.
Ha!
Woah.
It was... Like... All grey.
Like, a lump of dead flesh.
Ewwwww.
"Oh lordy, what is that?" The nurse asked.
He looked at her and shrugged.
"Oh, oh dear. I know what that is. Oh dear. The anaesthetist put the tube in too close to the roof of your mouth. The cold just caused some of your mouth to detach. Don't worry, I'll just dispose of that for you okay?"
He nodded and put it into the bin she held in her hands.
She was the professional, if she said it wasn't a problem then it wasn't a problem.
Then she turned and beamed at someone coming from his blindspot.
"Hey Turbo. How are you feeling?" Wacko asked, her eyes tracing over his body.
He couldn't feel much but he was sure he was still pretty awesome.
"Pwetty gowd." He said, his words coming out all weird. His tongue wasn't reaching the top of his mouth when he spoke, so everything came out… strangely.
"Yeah. You got lucky. Only needed to replace a kidney, the rest was flesh damage. They reconnected your nerves no issue." She said with a shrug.
Ah?
He lost a kidney?
"But we match! I've got to wait for them to reattach arm. And you've got your own attachments to do. They need to regrow yours." She said, pointing at the stump that ended at the upper shoulder. There was some sort of device on the end, like it was there to keep it wet or something.
She lost an arm?
He had lost an arm, leg? What did she mean 'attachments!?'
"Yeah, your legs and one of your arms. That last hit shattered the cockpit, and you caught the most of it. Your console kept your middle bits safe though."
"Hwow? He asked.
"That last hit you took, the one that broke the cockpit and knocked you out. It put a piece of your cockpit glass in my arm. Then I the Battlemech fell over and I landed weird after that and it kind of amputated it. They'll put it back on in a bit... Just after all the life saving surgeries are done. Got a lot of casualties." She trailed off, her words running into each other at the end.
He goggled.
Fuck.
He missed out on a lot didn't he?
If a lost arm was considered minor, what the hell had happened to everyone else?
"Wanxe?" He asked. What happened to his Lance?
"Yeah. Slurper and Kaiser... They didn't make it. That last push by the Academy Cadre... Some broke through and found the depot area while they were resupplying." She trailed off at the end but he could work out what happened.
"Yeah, it was quick. The ammunition went up and took the Cadre with it. The pits contained a lot of the damage, but Kaiser and Slurper were just too close." She said with a shake of her head.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
That left, what, 3 out of the original battalion?
Fuck!
"Yeah... But, the rest couldn't break out. The Kohima Dropships went in after they were bottled up and cleared the forest grid square by grid square."
"Whie nowt in begewning?" He asked, why couldn't they do that to begin with?
"They needed them locked down in one location for the bombing to work. The Kohimas are too big to hide. They see one and then they scatter. Consolidating them into a small enough area that they can't hide even if they wanted to." She answered. "They're mopping up the survivors now," she added.
He nodded, that made sense he supposed.
But, well, if it took that much to destroy one regiment of the DCMS, what were they going to do about the rest of them?
"Buht whyh yhou heere?" Like, why was she here with him exactly? They had met for all of… a few hours right?
"Well… you were hit, and there was damage and you were knocked unconscious. But then I called in air support… and they brought in the Kohimas, and we were only 50 metres away from the blast zone." She muttered, rubbing the small device around her stump.
Ah.
Friendly fire wasn't.
He snorted.
Right, don't, don't laugh. That hurt like fuck.
"Dhiid yoooh kihh-"
"No, no. Nobody died. We were the only casualties." She muttered.
So he looked at her and shrugged. "Ahh ghood," He said.
She looked at him with wide eyes.
"Hwee Wooon." Right? They had won.
He was alive.
They'd regrow his legs, the Clan had the knowledge.
Wakako's eyes were tearing up.
What was the big deal?
+Break+
Alexander stepped into Huu's office and turned to face his desk.
The man was staring at a screen behind Alexander.
Then, appearing to just noticed him, he turned his head.
"Brigadier Alexander. Hauptmann-General von Randt." He said with a inclination of his head.
"We're here to talk about finishing the fight." Alexander said.
"Aren't you two the military ones? Why do you need me?" The Duke asked.
"Because you are the one that is basically bankrolling this. Not to mention you understand more than enough about the operations to weigh in." Alexander said.
Duke Vu looked at him and then said simply, "finish the fight."
"It's going to cost." Von Randt said.
"I know. So far I have, out of the 4 regiments I raised in the last three months, have lost essentially 3 of them within a day. 145 casualties, 96 dead. They are essentially gone. Their names are behind you." He said, pointing behind Alexander. "The only ones that haven't suffered casualties are the motorised infantry regiment and they've been clamouring to me to commit them to the fight."
Turning he had to stop. A list of names on a screen that turned as if it were like a page. 96 names.
"So I understand. We need to continue the fight. To finish it, or everything would have been pointless. We pull back now... And they will think that we don't have the guts to finish the fight. The fight we spent the last year and a half preparing for." He finished.
"We were worried that you would be concerned about the cost, in manpower and kroner." Alexander said.
"This is not something that we are used to. Even in the LCAF a battle of this size is not something that has happened very often in the last 50 years. Some of my officers are balking at the cost in man and materiel." Von Randt added.
"And if we don't finish it, every time we fight after this will result in the same situation. They will assume we do not have the guts to finish it and bleed our regiments dry." Was the reply.
Alexander looked at the other officer in the room and nodded his head.
They were if the same opinion, but wanted to make sure that he was truly on board before they went about reducing the Combine that were left in the Southern and North Western pockets.
The casualties would be great, but it would, with the soldiers, generate a spirit of victory. They would have the confidence going forward to repeat it again and again.
The Combine had landed on ground of their choosing with the forces of their choosing and had been stalemated by what could only be called regular and greener than grass troops.
That didn't even include the destruction. That had occured on space.
"Make their lives count." The voice of Christine as they exited Huu's office jerked the two out of their conversation.
"Pardon?" Von Randt asked.
"He's bad with names, you know that, he knows that. So he had those names permanently displayed in his office. So he can't forget them even if his brain wants to." She said while giving each of them a look.
"Don't add unnecessary names to that wall." She finished.
Alexander looked at von Randt who smiled fondly at Christine as she walked away.
There was a chuckle of appreciation from the general.
"Well, we better get to finishing this fight properly then. Our industrialist, for all he talks about not caring about other people seems to put a great deal of effort into doing so."
Alexander nodded, "true, if only a few other officers would learn from that then."
The two nodded and started walking.
They had a plan to execute.
+Break+
Sato Richard knelt before his Battlemech. A Jenner JR7-D. The workhorse of the Dragon is Combine Mustered Soldiery. A fine machine for the DCMS' doctrine of speed, ferocity, and firepower at the weakest point in the enemy's defence.
Unfortunately speed was not in their favour here, in this blasted hellscape of Tetersen.
His eyes traced the holes and pits on the once pristine machine's armour exposing the internal structure that, in some parts, was barely holding itself together.
The damage experienced was too much.
The enemy too numerous.
Their weapons having superior range.
Their fire support working with impunity in the skies above.
He had watched as dropships were used to deliver supplies to the fresh recruits on the front. Without them, there wouldn't have been an effective resistance. They would have broken through in minutes. They were green, so terribly green, as green as he has been when he had first received his Battlemech.
In the end it didn't matter how green they were, they were the defeated ones in every way that mattered.
His Lance was all that was left.
Or, at least he assumed they were the only ones left.
He could not risk sending a radio message out and alerting the Lyran warriors of his location and invite an artillery bombardment. He had been on the receiving end of more than a few such attempts at communication.
All he had were his orders.
To attack at 0600 and break through to the Dieron Regulars.
There was nothing else.
They would die, but, at the very least, their duty to the Dragon would be fulfilled.
He put brush to rice straw, the traditional scroll paper ready to receive ink.
The sun rises,
We charge forth with blades raised high,
We are ready to die
The characters were sloppy.
Like his state of mind.
He did not want to die.
He had a wife at home, he had sons to see and hold.
But he was here and he would die.
They had married late, 15 years he had been to her 14. It had been a love match, he had seen her and fallen in love instantly. She had been pleasingly plump.
It had brought dishonour on the family to have a son married so lowly.
But his entrance into the Sun Zhan Academy and graduating to the Academy Cadre had more than wiped away that shame.
He knew that in joining the academy he would likely never see how family again. But he had done so willingly, to regain the family honour and to ensure his wife received the respect she deserved as a wife of a samurai. His children would find it easier to join the different military academies of the DCMS and elevate the family honour in their own ways.
All of that however, was predicated on his maintaining the family honour here, today.
If he lived, all of it would be for naught and his family cast into the streets for his failure.
Thus, he must die and die well.
He folded the poem into a strip of cloth with the Dragon's sigil upon it.
He then wrapped it around his forehead so that the dragon was on his brow facing his foes.
He took in a deep breath and stood up.
It was 0540.
He turned to the other 3 samurai that stood in this gully. This place obscured from sight by the wreckage of other machines and trees displaced from their roots.
"Are you ready?" He asked them.
They nodded back to him.
One however, asked the question, "is anyone truly ready to die?"
Richard looked at him, wondering if he needed to kill the man to retain his honour. He would, of course, place his body in his Battlemech and then destroy it before they left. This way his family would not have the dishonour of having a coward for a son.
"We're not going to survive the next few minutes. I think that's pretty clear. I just wanted to know why you are willing to forward with this." The man asked.
Richard's inclined his head, knowing the death wish of a comrade was honourable indeed. To carry out his final request.
"I serve the Dragon, and my family." Richard said.
The other man nodded.
"I serve the Dragon, and, well, I am an orphan, the Claws of the Dragon raised me and now I give back what I have received." In other words the DCMS had raised him when his father and mother had died, if he did not die here, he would effectively be dead in their eyes regardless.
"I serve the Dragon, and if I don't go forward into their lines, I'm going to die anyway." Another said, echoing Richard's earlier thoughts about the fourth man.
"I serve the Dragon, and I am going to die for the Regiment. The Brigadier-General is a fool, a stupid and blind fool. I am going to die regardless and I do not feel shame in saying this. We will die because of one man's inability to read a map and to plan a campaign. We will die, but the honour of the Regiment will live on. They will not be able to say that the Sun Zhang Academy Cadre ran or gave up when the going got tough." The fourth man said with a shrug at the end.
Richard nodded, truly honourable.
He saluted them.
"To we who are about to die. May your deaths bring honour to the Combine and the Dragon. We shall go first upon this journey with hopes you will follow." He said, repeating a prayer said by so many other Combine soldiers on their death march prior.
It would be said by so many others on other worlds, on other campaigns, an unbroken lineage of honour.
He turned and climbed into his Jenner.
It was 0555.
He needed to put on his cologne and wash his face.
He would die in the most presentable state possible.
He would not do his killer the dishonour of removing a filthy body from his machine.
+Break+
Leutnant Wanneroo looked down at the machine beneath his feet.
A Jenner from the bulbous head.
The combined alpha of 15 infantry guns had torn it in half and then those halves had broken up further.
The cockpit below was pristine despite the damage it had received.
"What do we have?" He called down.
"Got a Drac sir, death poem and everything."
He nodded, not that anyone could see that.
"Right. Get the body out and cremated. Send that death poem to the archives would you. Always makes the weirdos happy when we do that. Oh, and make sure to take pictures of the body, they don't clean themselves for no reason."
He shook his head.
What a damned waste of life.
"What intelligence do we have?" He called down.
"Got letters, a diary, and his orders. Hid the diary in a loose panel in the cockpit." The call came up through the hatch.
"Right, get them back to base and to the intel team." He called down.
"Yes sir!"
"Get the rest of them cleared up, we need to secure the area and move on. Got the rest of the Dracs to clear up and we can't do that if you're lolly gagging!" He yelled at the rest of the platoon as they wandered around the clearing littered with dead machines.
13 of them had emerged from the gloom of the dawn for one last suicidal charge.
13 pilots in walking wrecks more hole than armour. But they had charged forward regardless.
"What a damned waste." He muttered.
+Break+
House Kurita, The Draconis Combine, FASA
Though military training takes up much of a warrior's time, many of them are serious students and practitioners of haiku, the classic poem of 17 syllables. Often, they compose special battle haiku beware going into battle and place these in their neurohelmets, in case they are killed or taken prisoner