Every eye in the Cobalt Coil watched me as I made the changes on the Inner Sphere Map that hung behind the bar. The moment I took the latest updates from Tanian and moved to the map, conversation died and everyone turned to watch. I carefully marked off the latest Clan advances, color coding each fallen system so you could tell which of the invaders claimed it. As I wrote, I felt the weight of their eyes, each one watched with their own hidden feelings. Sometimes I heard a murmured word of relief or a curse of rage, but mostly this ritual passed in silence. I think it was a gesture of respect for the fallen for we all knew that each change reflected the deaths of countless warriors. Not until I was done and the pens capped did they being to talk. The Clan invasion had changed us all. Here in the Cobalt Coil on Solaris, that backwater planet of the InnerSphere that attracts the flotsam of known space, we always thought of ourselves as separated from the rest of humanity. The Successor Lords and their houses were a distant presence, something to be discussed dispassionately over drinks with friends. We were all cut off from our nations but we had each other and that was enough. But now something from beyond human experience was eating away at the nations that birthed us and then turned their backs for one reason or another. For some, it was enough to waken old allegiances. Some left in a swarm of words and promises. Others departed silently. All went to fight, and most probably to die. Those of us who stayed watched them go and wondered if someday a mark would go up on the board that would call us back to baffle. Tanian got the information about once every two to three weeks. She worked for one of the larger publishing companies on Solaris and so she got a look at the latest news releases. Nowadays most information passes between the stars on computer memory disks carried by JumpShip. ComStar trades in the critical stuff, information or messages that have to get somewhere in a matter of days or hours, rather than the weeks it can take on a JumpShip. But most information isn't that time dependent. News spreads slowly, like ripples in a lake. Tanian's company takes the raw information and produces news magazines and 'vids. They also produce some regular magazines such as the Janes Updates and BattleTechnology. She always brings in a damaged issue or two of any new magazine for general bar consumption. The regulars at the Coil are like that. They all give back whatever they can. In any case, I marked off the latest Clan advances and returned to the bar. This time, no one up and left so things quickly returned to normal, as normal as they ever get on GameWorld. Someone was commenting on a recent story in BattleTechnology, 'The Price of Honor'. Personally, I took that item with about a metric ton of salt. To me, it was just so much ComStar propaganda; but then no one asked my opinion. I gave it anyway. In any case, it stimulated discussion as to why people are willing to fight and die for something. And believe me, the opinions were flying thicker than slugs in a fire-fight. We all had our two C-bills worth to offer. I think that if you ask that question to a hundred different people, you're apt to get a hundred different responses. Mankind fights for countless reasons. Sometimes it's fear, fear for yourself, fear for someone or something you care about, fear of retribution or even fear of looking cowardly. Sometimes it's blind stupidity or overwhelming cause. Sometimes it's from ignorance or blindness. Vengeance is a popular favorite, as is greed. Then there is honor, that elusive concept that has damned so many to an early grave and destroyed worlds. Honor is the marching song leaders always strike up to motivate the masses. But like a summer fog, honor often evaporates in the heat of battle. "So, what about honor?" I asked as I filled a pair of mugs with draft beer and set them on the worn, syntha-wood bar. "Honor is a bird with bright feathers and broken wings," someone said. "A bird destined to be crushed by the fist of necessity." We turned to the door and watched Sarah walk slowly down the stairs. Sarah had only been coming in the Cobalt Coil for a few weeks. By her accent, we knew she was from the Combine. She moved like a 'Mech pilot and her maimed right arm and leg didn't slow her too much. I figured she was once right handed, you could tell by the way she'd start to reach for something with her useless right hand. She wasn't quite a regular yet, though she'd never broken any of the house rules (always pay your bills, keep the peace and don't bother the other patrons when they don't want to be bothered). It looked like tonight she might take the plunge. No one said anything as she crossed to the bar; they were waiting for an explanation to her cryptic comment. I mixed up a half-and-half, a lethal combination of sake and bourbon that I knew Sarah drank, and set it before her. She reached for it with her right, then took it in her left and drained off a third of it. And still we waited. "The bright feathers are the trappings of honor," she explained at last. I heard the acid in her words. "Regimental colors and traditions, tales of past glory and thoughts of serving a greater good, they use them all to draw men and women into the web. I bet nearly everyone of us at one time or another was swayed by such voices." She surveyed the room, her gaze flat and cold as a frozen razor. No one denied it, we all knew the lives we'd lead. "But the wings are broken," Sarah continued, "because the bird cannot fly. Honor fails you in the only test that matters. To be effective and to survive, honor must be sacrificed." She downed the rest of her drink, motioned for another and tossed a handful of crumpled house bills onto the bar. I made change and poured her the next in what I felt was going to be a long string. This lady had some venom in her soul and it was time the venom was purged. "I served with the 4th Pesht Regulars, The Evening Warriors and saw action during the second wave of the Clan invasion," Sarah said. "I came from a middle class family who gave up nearly everything they had so that I, their eldest daughter, might serve the Combine. It had always been my father's and grandfather's dreams that someday, a warrior of their line would win honor for the Dragon. My older brothers died in school. So I gladly took up the task. We all believed in the promise of the bright feathers. "I graduated from a small 'MechWarrior academy shortly after the first contact with the Clans. My scores were impressive so I was drafted into the 4th Pesht and received a new BattleMech. I was pleased. It was a Kintaro, fresh out of whatever secret production center the combine has for those machines. The Kintaro is a 55-ton BattleMech with decent armor and speed and good mix of weapons. It carries a Magna Mark III Large Laser, a pair of Magna Mark II Mediums, a Holly-5 Long Range Missile rack and two HoverTec-6 Short Range missile launchers. A good machine, I named her 'LightGiver' and painted my family crest illuminated by a laser flash on her left breast. If it had jump jets and freezers rather than heat sinks it would have been perfect, but who was I to complain? I was living my family dream. I was a MechWarrior, charged with upholding the sacred honor of Draconis Combine. And I joyed in the knowledge that, soon I would have the chance to prove the honor of LightGiver and my-self. "That chance came on Coudoux." Throughout the bar, you could hear a general intake of breath and the muttering of curses. I'd marked off Coudoux months ago. It fell to the clan called the Smoke Jaguars in the Third wave of invasions and rumor held that the fighting had been particularly savage. By the third wave, the Inner Sphere forces were better organized and actually winning some battles, though the war still looked bleak. I shook my head, remembering the battles I'd lived through in the service of the Archon, and looked carefully at Sarah while I mixed a new round of drinks. She paused to let me finish, her face down cast as if looking for secrets hidden in the worn bar top. Though her face was young, I saw the streaks of gray etching her auburn hair. She held her body tense, all the muscles coiled, ready to fight or flee and challenging us to try her. As if sensing my gaze, she looked up and I saw anger, pain and confusion in her gray-green eyes. She looked away, and returned to her tale. "Cordoux isn't famous. It has some local industry, a few heavy factories, and large tracts of hard-wood forests. The 4th Pesht was part of the garrison force and we lifted towards it as soon as the unit was assembled. I spent most of the trip going over LightGiver in simulator runs. What little time I wasn't with her was spent sleeping or attending countless briefings. I can't remember any one of the many sessions; they all blend together. We went over everything the intelligence forces had on Clan equipment and tactics. It wasn't much. But at least, we had a few ideas. "The Clans fight as units, almost never breaking off and fighting as individuals. Their behavior in battle is actually quite predictable, they take the most direct route to any objective and don't react too well to surprises. I believe the main reason they are ripping through most units is that the Clan equipment is hellishly superior to everything the innersphere has, even with the rediscovered tech that's coming to light throughout the Inner Sphere. So all we could do was something unexpected. The high command had some things to try out. "We were dirt-side less than six weeks when the Clan ships showed up. It was the Smoke Jaguars and, as usual, they contacted us first and asked for our order of battle. As planned, the Sho-Sho in charge of defense told them who was garrisoned and what our level of experience was. Hours later, the Clan drop ships came in. "My lance was assigned one of the anticipated landing points. Our job was simple. We were to meet a Clan lance, engage them briefly, then fall back towards a dense forest, making sure the Clan'Mechs followed. There, screened by the trees, we would meet up with another lance and pair off, each pair of us taking on a separate Clan 'Mech. It was a tactical experiment to see if we could isolate the Clan units and bring roughly double their strength to bear. "It started as planned, most battles do. We spotted a recon group of Clan 'Mechs about fifteen kilometers out from their drop ship. We engaged, snapping off shots from long range. Instantly, the Jaguars countered and we ran using a pre-arranged route that offered plenty of cover. Still, it was a chilling experience. The Clan weapons are more accurate and have better range than anything I'd even heard of. We lost a Jenner in the retreat. It was cut apart by PPC fire while in mid-jump. "I'll never forget that first combat, the taste of my own salty sweat, the murmur of voices over the comlink, and the ghost-like images of the approaching Jaguar 'Mechs on my magnetic image screen. Then the order came and LightGiver surged to her feet and spat three quick flights of Long Range Missiles. Only the second set hit but the feeling of joy that filled me as I saw armor shred from the warhead explosions was indescribable. At last, I was a warrior. It felt bitter to turn and run but we obeyed. From the comlink chatter, I knew the rest of the lance felt as I did. Still, morale was high and the songs of honor filled our minds. We made it to the trees with only the single casualty, and the Clan 'Mechs in hot pursuit. "Because of the lost Jenner, we had to change tactics slightly. Someone had to go solo with a Clan 'mech. Since my Kintaro was the newest 'mech in the lance, I was given the honor. In a twist of fate, I was assigned to attack the Clansman my missiles hit. It was a Ryoken. "The Ryoken weighs the same as the Kintaro, 55-tons. They have comparable armor, the Ryoken moves faster and can dissipate about twicethe heat. The one I faced was armed with a pair of medium and a heavy pulse laser and a heavy auto-cannon that used cluster rounds. Not exactly an even duel but I wasn't too worried. I had the honor of Kurita on my side. "Once I hit the woods and drew my assignment, I swung east to take an ambush position. The rest of the 'Mechs paired off and hid behind some artfully constructed artificial rock formations that contained hidden electronics designed to play hell with the Clan electromagnetic sensors. We waited, our seismic detectors tracking the Clan 'Mechs approach. I felt alive with tension, the blood singing in my veins as I preparedt o fight. This was why I'd been born. This was why I lived. The order to attack came and LightGiver responded to my thoughts. "I rolled to the side of my counterfeit boulder and launched another series of LRM shots. The range was a little close but enough of my shots hit to wreath the Ryoken in a cloud of armorand missile fragments. It staggered but did not fall. Its auto-cannon turned towards me and for the first time, I came under fire. "The cannon roared and a stream of cluster rounds chewed into the false rock. Dust filled the air and sparks snapped as the inner electronics blew. I scrambled down slope and dropped LightGiver into a narrow stream gorge about half way down the flank of the hill. I put the right arm of my mech over the lip and let it hang limp, trying to give the impression I was down and out of action. Then I waited. At last, the Ryoken came to investigate. Once he was in sight, I fired. "The twin ruby-red flashed of light speared the Clan 'Mech. One cut armor from its chest, the other struck its head. The Ryoken staggered as I fired again, ignoring the kick in LightGiver's internal heat. Both shots missed but they kept him off balance. Then I was up and dodging down the gorge, heading for the forest. Over the comlink, I heard garbled snatches of other battles. I ignored them, focusing inward, seeking my inner balance, knowing my fight had only begun. Then the Ryoken struck. "The heat sensors on my right arm suddenly flared as the heavy laser beam cut into LightGiver's armor. The heat came in washes as the laser pulsed through its cycle. Armor flowed like seared wax and I heard distant pops as myomer bundles near the point of contact ruptured from the heat. Another set of indicators told me I'd lost 7% of the effective strength in that arm. Then Lightgiver shuddered under a series of impacts as autocannon cluster rounds peppered her back. A buzzer sounded in my helmet as the glowing status display showed several breaches in the right arm armor. I started to turn LightGiver away, trying to shield her wounded side. More lasers caught me. "Heat flooded over me as scattered laser-light reflected into the cockpit. There was a shuddering crack as the beams chewed through the titanium alloy shoulder joint, then the missiles in the arm launching tubes blew. LightGiver fell and I screamed as a wave of feedback poured into my brain through the impulse helmet. I blacked out and didn't feel Lightgiver smash into the rocky ground. "I was only unconscious for a few moments. I awoke to the smell of burnt insulation and the vibration of the oncoming 'Mech. I was lying on my side and realized LightGiver's right arm was gone. For an instant, I felt physical pain as if my own arm were severed, then I saw how close the Clan'Mech was. It loomed over me, the muzzles of its lasers trained on my 'Mech. I reacted without thinking. "Twin volleys of short range missiles erupted from LightGiver as she rolled aside. They exploded across the Ryoken, blasting chips of armor free. I kept rolling, trying to evade the pulse lasers. One creased LightGiver's side, carving a furrow through her armor. Then I was up and running as I launched more missiles, not caring if they hit only wanting to distract the smoke-grey killer. It worked, for a few seconds. Then it recovered. "Lasers stitched their way up my side, slashing through armor and into the vital systems that powered her. LightGiver screamed in pain, her voice the wail of alarms. I felt each burning blow through the neural impulse helmet. Linked, I experienced her pain and panic filled me. LightGiver was dying. I fell again as the right leg actuators froze. Clods of rocky earth rose around me like offrings to the gods of war. I hit and let gravity take hold. LightGiver tumbled down slope, careening of boulders until she snagged in a stand of trees. I lay still, tears staining my face as the warning lights flickered, telling the tale of ruptured armor and failed systems. I knew I would soon die. "The Ryoken closed cautiously. I kept expecting it to simply shoot me apart from a distance but something drew it closer. By then, blind panic drove me. It loomed over me, its armor battered but still intact, like some vengeful spirit. In my mind, I began to compose my death haiku. Then the will to live burst up from the depths of my mind. Screaming in rage, I triggered all weapons. LightGiver responded with the full battery of her lethal tools. "Short range missiles erupted from all twelve ports. With only ten meters to fly, most hit. The Ryoken staggered and twisted to the right, exposing the left flank. All three of my lasers hit it square inthe arm. They punched through and cut into the body of the 'Mech. More importantly, they detonated the remaining Autocannon ammo cassettes. There was an explosion that I heard even over the warning scream of my interior heat alarms. I hit an over ride switch and narrowly avoided an engine shut down as I staggered to my feet. Fragments of the Ryoken's arm pelted me as the CASE packed ammo took out the entire limb and further damaged the body. The Clan 'Mech fell. An interior coolant line in my cockpit ruptured. Sarah lifted her maimed right arm and stared at it for a few moments. I had to look away. I've seen what a blast of superheated coolant can do to a human body. Not many people survive the experience. If the burns don't kill them, the flourocarbons do. She was an exception. "The pain nearly finished me," Sarah continued with only seconds lost. "Then I saw the Ryoken move. Like some unkillable insect, it was trying to stand. I lost control. Lightgiver lashed out with her armored foot and metal crushed under the impact. The Ryoken fell again, sparks dancing around the new scar in its torso. Then it tried again. I screamed and bent down. With Lightgiver's remaining hand, I picked up a boulder the size of an aircar. It made a ghastly crunching sound as I smashed it into the Ryoken's cockpit. It took three blows to finish it." A moment of stunned silence filled the bar. A lot of faces filled with disgust at her admitted crime. Most MechWarriors subscribe to at least a rough code of honor; it's bad karma to kill a downed opponent. That code is a major part of bushido, the almost mystic belief that most Combine warriors follow. It's rare to find a Dragon who doesn't at least claim to subscribe to it. Rarer still to find one who admits breaking it. It took a few moments, then most of us put aside our prejudices. I don't think any of us could honestly deny we might have done the same. "I climbed out of LightGiver then," Sarah said, her voice a low whisper that still managed to fill the bar, "and looked at the fruits of honor. My BattleMech was a ruin. She was a twisted, smoking wreck. My family crest was gone, erased by a cannon shell. The countryside around me was devastated, the land ripped out by our battle and littered with refuse Century-old trees were torn from the earth, their dying roots clawing at the air. Chunks of ripped earth and broken, melted rock stretched like a carpet around us and the huge prints of our BattleMechs wove like the steps of some crazy dance. There was my honorable opponent, his cockpit crushed to fragments by my final, enraged attack. Black and green fluid leaked like blood from the smashed head, poisoning the ground. It was too much for me. I fell to my knees and wept." "This was 'honor'l realized. No bright banners or martial music, just two savages ripping at each other in a killing frenzy. Despite centuries of progress, when it came down to the final call, I beat my enemy to death with a rock. The killing ape stood supreme, all else was empty dreams and self delusion. The race of mankind has no right to claim the mantle of 'civilization'. I wonder if we ever will." With that, Sarah drained her drink in a single, savage gulp that must have stripped raw her throat. She set her glass down with a crack, and glared around as if seeking someone, anyone who might refute her question. Silence answered her. She looked at me and we stared at each other. I saw such pain and anger in her eyes, I almost looked away. I didn't. "We can keep trying," I softly said. I meant it. "It's the struggle that matters. It's not about winning or losing, it's about trying. That's why I always hated the thought of seppuku; it stops you from trying again." Sarah looked down, but not before I saw the gleam of moisture on her cheek. I said nothing, only picked up her glass. Her healing had begun. The venom was draining. Back to BattleTechnology 17 Table of Contents Back to BattleTechnology List of Issues Back to MagWeb Magazine List © Copyright 1992 by Pacific Rim Publishing. This article appears in MagWeb.com (Magazine Web) on the Internet World Wide Web. Other military history articles and gaming articles are available at http://www.magweb.com