"And that, Major, concludes our report." The young, recently promoted captain in Intelligence finished with a rush, looking nervously at his new superior. The major gingerly placeda sheaf of flimsies down on the desk, then got up from his chair and slowly paced the small office, hands clenched behind his back as he walked. The silence grew. Turning to stare at his anxious underling, he responded slowly, 'Are you sure that this, this - warrior's journal - is all that remains of the Second Phoenix? Astonishing." "Quite sure," the captain replied defensively. "It's all in the report. Not only was the mercenary unit wiped out, but it's almost as if it were never there. Oh, there are a few pieces of light debris, numerous scorch and ballistic impact marks, and some Mech and tank tracks scuffed through shallows now into the ground. But hardly indicates a massacre. " The major stopped pacing. "Not very much to go on. "No, sir. The snow obliterated a lot of the evidence. "Hmm." The major resumed his movement. "A member of the salvage crew found the narrative quite by accident, in an improvised time capsule buried in dense pack snow half a meter or so beneath what appears to have been the site of the last confrontation. It was apparently dropped or jetissoned from the warrior's vehicle. As you saw, a hard copy script is included in the report. " "Why would anyone take the time to bother?" The major asked, frowning. "The salvage leader believes the author may have been trying to preserve some record - something - of the unit's history for posterity. It's obvious the journal wasn't finished, but he clearly believed his own end was near." "No indication of who the author was?" "We feel that it was a male mechwarrior, likely not an officer. Except for that, the point of view used in the narrative makes it impossible to be certain. My own hunch is that it was a Dervish pilot with the Fire Lance, but it's only a hunch. " "Astonishing. What else do we know?" The captain looked down at a hand-held microcomputer, then looked up again. "It wasn't easy, but the Re-enactment Team thinks they can simulate the battlefield conditions that led to the massacre of the Second Phoenician Irregulars, based on what little data is included in the journal, and some related technical data. plus what is known of the attacking force. The holographer has already been programmed, and we can project the image in here. "How good is the simulation?" "Best estimate is eighty-seven point three percent accuracy. The major sat down once more, put his feet up on one corner of the desk, and fixed his eyes on the opposite wall. "That's something I want to see." 1 Jan 3045 A new year, a new world, a new assignment, and a new journal. There's a sense of newness here, as I begin with "Day One" in this volume. It's funny. Though we can't really feel or observe it in a literal way, we could almost sense the dropship and jumpship that landed us here when they departed the system. Sepulveda won the betting pool on the exact hour when our transports left the system; I was a close second. 5 Jan 3045 I don't like this planet. At least I don't like being cold, and this is the heart of the winter season in this world's northern hemisphere, on this fifth day of January, 3045. Brrr. Major Grizok has reorganized what's left of the Second Phoenician Irregulars. Not too many weeks ago, we were a mixed mercenary force three full companies strong. Since then, we've lost four BattleMechs, thirteen armored vehicles, and all of our organic air support in defense against a series of raids launched at the last planet we were guarding. Now that we are here, everyone is hoping for a long quiet period of rest. We can use it. The Command Lance now contains an Orion, a Phoenix Hawk, an UrbanMech and a Patton tank. (We would be a laughingstock among merc circles, if anyone knew we were forced to include a tank in our Command Lance, but times are hard - and they aren't getting any easier.) The Fire Lance contains four Dervishes. The Recon Lance has one Locust and two Pegasus scout tanks. The Medium Tank Lance has two Vedettes and two Strikers, and the Light Tank Lance has four Scorpions. That's it. This garrison assignment is a godsend, if anyone cares to believe in such things. I still do sometimes. 9 Jan 3045 Even though we've landed and everyone is settling into their regular routine, there is still one question on everyone's mind: where exactly are we? This is what some of the company is saying: - "I still say we're in the Gotterdammerung system!" "And I still say you're crazy. That's halfway across the Commonwealth!" "No, no. We gotta be on either Outpost or Richmond." "Could be some little dirtball planet not shown on the ComStar charts" Couldn't it?" "Can't be Richmond. I've been there , and the air composition here isn't right for Richmond." "Aaaghl I don't give a raxx' rear what planet we're on. All that matters is that we're stuck here." "Who ever heard of dropping a merc garrison without telling them where they were landing?" "Weird times we live in." "Thank you for that profound philosophical insight!" "Oh, get pickled!" We hope the Old Grizzly will tell us soon. If he knows. 14 Jan 3045 A major named Lelkino has arrived. Major Grizok said he's with Military Intelligence for our employer, but that's off the record. I have my doubts, though: Lelkino doesn't look bright enough to even have intelligence, let alone be with them. After Grizok met with Lelkino, I asked him when we could know "the big secret." Commander looked almost pained. Said he didn't know yet where we were. Really got him torqued too, I could tell. 15 Jan 3045 We had a big meeting today. Lelkino held an open briefing, and even the tankers got to attend. It was a big disappointment. According to some very small print in our mercenary contract, the unit was to be informed of its exact duty station and nature of its assignment only: "when such information is of significance, or when the absence of said information would prove detrimental to morale or might otherwise impede or hinder the unit's effectiveness in accomplishing said or hinder the unit's effectiveness in accomplishing said assignment." Sounded like garbage to me. Someone stood up (Two-Guns, I think) and asked what our actual mission was, said morale was becoming a problem. Everyone has been assuming standard garrison duty, but you know what "assuming" can do. Especially to mechwarriors, and in spades. Lelkino hemmed and hedged and futzed around, finally agreeing that we were in fact on garrison duty - after someone else said it aloud. I didn't believe Lelkino for a nanosecond. Then Captain Behr demanded to know why our contract called for about double the regular pay rate for a garrison contract. Lelkino made some more noises, like calling us an "elite mercenary unit with unique combat qualifications." Imagine that. Everybody left the meeting with their tails dragging. 19 Jan 3045 We had a minor ground tremor early this morning! Half the unit didn't know what was happening, and the other half couldn't believe it was happening. I had been in a quake before, but no matter how many times you're in one, it still catches you off-guard. Fortunately, there was no damage. The biggest surprise was that there was no mention of seismic activity in Lelkino's briefing on this still-unidentified planet. That should have been in the report. I guess it's just one more thing we don't know about what we're doing here or why. After Lelkino, Old Grizzly and Two-Guns Sepulveda decided to keep the troops busy by making busy-work for everyone. In the last four days we have staged defensive perimeter drills, inspection drills, no-Tech breakdown drills, parade formation drills, and a half-dozen field tacsims (tactical simulations). About the only thing we haven't tried is an "Abandon dropship" drill! It's all a waste of time, but at least it keeps our hands and minds occupied. Word came down that there would be no more exercises for a couple of days. To celebrate, a few of the gang are planning a little party for this evening. 20 Jan 3045 Don't remember much. Got stinking drunk last night, and I woke up on report. Called Captain Behr "Sugar", and I think I made a pass at her. She didn't respond very favorably to either. For tonight's mess, I'm peeling about 15 kilos of the local winter tuber, some sort of cross between an onion and a turnip. They make my mouth and eyes water at the same time. 22 Jan 3045 Another 14 cm of snow fell today. I can't wait until summer. 27 Jan 3045 We began maneuvers again today. Something very weird is going on, though - we are spending an awful lot of time practicing combat tactics against really big Mechs. I mean it's ridiculous; where is anybody going to come up with an entire Lance of Marauders or Warhammers out here? (Wherever 'here' is.) Late that night I asked Christy Wellington (the new Medium Tank Lance Leader) if she had heard anything interesting. She said these tacsims were Major Lelkino's idea. I said, "So surprise me already." Shortly after that, she did ... but it had nothing to do with what we had been discussing. 28 Jan 3050 Another day of maneuvering, both on and off the f ield. We practiced making recce surveys, trying to get the most information about an unidentified vehicle near the edge of the horizon, using visual and remote contacts. This was actually sort of fun (I hope no one ever learns I said that), as each Mech and tank crew took turns trying to spot and check randomly-selected 'enemy' vehicles as they popped up over the hill. Then the weather turned nasty, with light snowfall, but a driving wind. Couldn't see or identify anything until it was within a couple hundred meters, and by then it'd be too late. But, all in all, it wasn't too bad. In fact, today we even christened our bivouac area "Happy Valley". Skippy and Renegade Chang and I were just being facetious, but Captain Behr thought we were serious. I didn't have the heart to tell her differently. Isn't life joyful? 29 Jan 3045 Another big surprise today in the briefing hut. Major Lelkino unexpectedly announced that we were only the vanguard unit for a large garrison, and our reinforcements should be here by the end of next month. He added that he would be leaving us sometime before then, but that he was "very pleased with the quality and professionalism exhibited by the Second Phoenix during its specialized training." Half the time nobody knows what he's talking about, and we don't think he knows during the other half. At that point everyone spoke up and insisted on being told what our real mission was. (He blew it. I mean, NO one sends in a vanguard unit for a frontier garrison.) Lelkino did his regular dance until Major Grizok came stomping in, madder than I'd ever seen him, with a fistful of papers in one hand and a microdisk in the other. I surreptitiously flipped my pocketcorder on. "Garrison duty, eh? The Second Phoenix, a unit with special skills, eh?" Grizok yelled, pointing accusingly at the intelligence officer. (Grizok never yells at officers. Well, hardly ever ... and never at majors or above.) "How long did you really expect me to believe that kulungwhap?" (I should explain: the word "kulungwhap" is a slang euphemism used on some of the Marik border worlds, and it's not a very nice term. Let's just say it has something to do with a substance not highly sought after, except in certain limited agricultural and energy-synthesis applications.) Lelkino turned around to face the irate commander. "Major, heh, I don't know what you mean." His lackluster expression never changed, but his voice wavered a half-tone when he caught a glimpse of what Grizzly was holding. "Uh, what do you have there?" "Just a magnetic copy of our mercenary ticket, a version of which I had never seen before, let alone endorsed. I found it among your possessions." Lelkino almost showed a little honest emotion, and it was hate. "By what right do you go through my personal-" Grizok grinned the grin of the victorious. "You are welcome to file a protest with the Lord of your choice, Major." He turned to address us. "Officers and noncoms, I have a little newsflash. We aren't on garrison duty at all -- this contract refers to our own assignment here as part of a defensive campaign!" The internal mike on my 'corder blew Out under the ensuing noise load, and the sergeant-at-arms had to regain control with a bullhorn. Lelkino was lucky to leave the room intact. Morale is now at its lowest point since a few years back, when a certain petty, conniving Lord in the Draconis Combine deliberately defaulted on our merc contract and left us without ready funds or a way to get off-planet. Good thing he was off-planet at the time, or we might have completed one more little assignment. 4 Feb 3045 To give things a chance to cool off, everyone was granted the last five days as rec leave, subject only to base restrictions. It meant we couldn't go anywhere, but we were free to do whatever we liked in the barracks. Some wild card games have broken out in the past hundred hours, only to die down briefly before breaking out again. It's just about the only good thing that has come out of all this; given the resources at hand, an unauthorized 'vacation' was the most generous and compassionate act Major Grizok could perform. To commemorate the end of our 'quality leisure time' with a fitting climax, my lancemates saved the longest, hairiest bull-and-cards session for this afternoon: what is to be the fate of the Second Phoenix? "Another few weeks or months at most, and we'll be rotated. No sweat." "What about Lelkino's reinforcements?" "They fudged the numbers. Our pay is wrong. Everything about this job is wrong." "Who could possibly believe anything that liar might have said?" "I pass two." "I think we're dead. Some huge wave of BattleMechs is gonna come through the system and wipe us right off the planet." "From where? Where you gonna get that wave?" "Lelkino had us practicing against heavy Mechs for some reason, didn't he?" "Who could put together enough mass firepower to justify a full-fledged defensive campaign? Where would the attack come from?" "Another prince? How many prince cards you got in this deck, anyway?" "I don't think one of the Houses could do it. Everyone is still too worn out from the last war." "And who does that leave? The Bandits?" "The Second Phoenix wouldn't have a chance defending against a major assault." "Oh, I don't know. We aren't as big as we used to be, but I bet we'd still give a pretty good account of ourselves." "I'm not talking a garrison repulsing some piddly little diversionary raid ... I'm talking about keeping this world away from someone who would want it pretty bad." "Yah, you wait until a company of heavies comes knocking around." "Well, you can't blame ComStar for this one." "I wouldn't be surprised if Lelkino was a ComStar plant." "I call and raise a dec." "Did you know he's been confined to quarters since the Phoenix went on rec leave? I bet he's under close arrest." "I'll see your bet." "I wasn't talking to you." "Oh, and what makes you the expert?" "I haven't seen him anywhere in bivouac, and Major Grizok looks almost like his old, semi-sour self." "Hah! You haven't been out of here for two hours in the last five days ... you've had your nose glued to those sticky cards." "Maybe, gimme one card, that fink left, just like he said he would." "If Lelkino leaves here, he'll be lucky not to do it feet first." "I'll drink to that." "Here too. And by the way, I just double-trumped." "What rotten luck." "Really. That makes a total of two years'pay you now owe me." "Fine. Every C-bill I earn in thirty-seventy and 'seventy one are all yours." "Very, very funny." 5 Feb 3045 Today was just routine. BattleMech maintenance and service checks; sighting and test-firing weapons; clocking revs on the main gyro; verifying thermal conductivity of all heat sinks. Even so, I'm just going through the motions, like a man sleepwalking. For me it's sort of been a calm before the storm, except maybe there isn't any storm coming. Or maybe there is. I had a scary dream last night; a nightmare, to be more exact. I dreamed I died. I'm in my Mech. moving in formation on the field of battle, when a huge 1000-ton BattleMech jumps straight up and stomps my Mech right into the ground. Only the ground doesn't stop me, and I keep falling through the snow, the soil, and the rock beneath it, and I can't stop failing until I reach the center of the planet. When I reach the center (I'm still alive, in the dream), I see a bright fire-lit sign. On one side of the sign, it reads: The Name Of This Planet Is On The Other Side. I turn to look at the other side of the sign, and it reads: But You're Dead. And Dead Men Can't Read Signs. After reading that, I fall instantly dead. That's when I woke up. And knowing that there is no such thing as a 1,000-ton BattleMech is strangely not comforting at all. 6 Feb 3045 Less than a half-minute remains before elements of the Second Phoenician Irregulars make contact with a hostile force of unknown origin or intentions. I've turned on the Mech 'corder. "Recon Lance to Command. Have sighted two Lances advancing, range three-zero-zero meters, located due north and north-northeast, respectively." "Identify." "First Lance contains Victor and three Catapults. Second Lance contains exact opposite. Repeating, four assault and four heavy Mechs approaching at maximum speed, heading due south." "Look, they're all white!" "Repeat?" "Uh, the attacking BattleMechs are completely white in coloration. They look like mechanical polar bears." "Polar bears?" "A large, omnivorous, semi-aggressive species of thickly-furred mammals, known to inhabit polar regions on certain planets." "Never mind. All units, close to optimum and open fire." "I'm hit! Aaagh!" "Look out! Incoming!" "Where's the rest of the Phoenix when we need them?" "There's more than one sector to patrol; we can't risk everything on defending just this one area." "Watch out for those twenties on the Victors.!" "Hit him! But it isn't having much effect!" "Damage critical now, power plant on auto shutdown." "I'm on fire, what should I do?" "Punch out! Punch out!" "Did you hear something?" "Earthquake! Oh my god, earthquake!" "Keep firing - maintain laser tracking!" "I'm getting out of here!' "We can't stop them if we run away!" "I don't think we can stop them no matter what we do!!" 7 Feb, 3045 (Morning) Everyone who survived the night is exhausted, physically and mentally, after what happened yesterday, but this has to be logged. We got hit badly, being horribly outclassed by some really first-rate heavy BattleMechs and mechwarriors. Maybe Major Lelkino wasn't as far off as everyone believed (or hoped). Some units fought, some units retreated, some units were crippled or destroyed, while some underwent a combination thereof (my own unit included). And that doesn't even count the earthquake. We never really had a chance. As late as 1030 hours this morning, no one knows exactly how many Mechs and tanks were lost yesterday. The lances got pretty spread out, and they are still regrouping and counting noses. We do know now why yesterday's attackers were in such a hurry; they were targeting our supply cache. We lost our ammo and POL depots completely. Whatever is left in our magazines are all the missiles and bullets we have in the entire system. We pray the same is true for their side. Everyone knows one other fact for certain: if this attack was part of a general offensive to seize control of this world, they will be back to finish off what's left of us. By all appearances, we'll still be here. 7 Feb 3045 (A fternoon) I never thought I would live to see a lance of new, spotless Atlases sweeping majestically across a battlefield, firing and systematically destroying everything within range. Now I realize I will live to see them, but I also realize that will be the last thing I will ever live to see. Major Grizok has ordered us to stand fast, and we will obey; there shall be no retreat... and no survivors from the Second Phoenician Irregulars. Trapped squarely between that lance of assault Mechs and the other Mechs returning from yesterday's attack leaves much to be desired. Yet with so much death so near at hand, for some peculiar reason, all I can remember is a snatch of doggerel, very old: "I've never seen an Atlas and I've never seen a Lord; But with Atlases, I know at least, I never would be bored." You should know I fought well, Mother, or at least as well as I could. My only regret is not knowing on which planet I gave my life. And for what it's worth, it was true: I was never bored. Back to BattleTechnology 12 Table of Contents Back to BattleTechnology List of Issues Back to MagWeb Magazine List © Copyright 1990 by Pacific Rim Publishing. This article appears in MagWeb.com (Magazine Web) on the Internet World Wide Web. 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