4: Mount Up

Firebase “Sherwood”

Alleghe Wilds, Ver Sayles

21/7/-1

-Technician Lucas “Scooter” Sczatovsky-

-Head Mechanic, Allegheny Irregulars-

Daylight had not yet begun to break over the hills of the Alleghe Wilds, but the fluorescent lighting flickered and buzzed to life as chief tech Lucas Sczatovsky brought the cavernous vehicle hangar online. “Scooter,” as the unit’s head mechanic was affectionately nicknamed, was all smiles on the hazy August morning. He took great pleasure his morning routine, humming to himself as he powered on the repair bays. The smell of coffee mixed in the air with the lingering background fragrance of oil and petrol, a distinctive musk that had been calling to mechanics for millennia. After grabbing a mug of coffee from the freshly brewed pot, Scooter had a seat at his desk and booted up the hangar’s computer terminal. A quick scan of the company’s work orders came up empty, not out of the ordinary since they’d arrived on Ver Sayles. “Nothing to fix when we’re laying low… not that I’m complaining,” the tech muttered to himself, gingerly taking a sip of his still-scalding coffee. Scooter enjoyed his work, but despite the heavily automated repair facilities it was still quite exhausting. Nobody would ever have reason to accuse Lucas Sczatovsky of turning down an easy workday, he was determined to make sure of that. Despite having no major repair projects, daily maintenance was still needed, and Scooter preferred to start things as early as possible. “Might as well get it out of the way, right? More time to relax later… maybe cook some bacon…” Trailing off in thought, he began making his rounds.

Most of the mechs fielded by the Allegheny Irregulars began life as civilian machines, little more than metal skeletons designed to mimic human labor on an enlarged scale. Standing between roughly eight and twelve meters tall, these industrial mechs had been refitted with armor plating and whatever assortment of weapons the mercs could get their hands on, tailored as closely to their pilots’ preferences as possible.

First, Scooter gave Kreiya’s mech a once-over. Formerly used for excavation purposes, boxy missile pods sat on its shoulders where a backhoe and dump bucket were once mounted. Flamethrowers on its arms, slung under claw-like “hands,” were originally for clearing brush, but remained now to deter infantry from venturing too closely with anti-vehicle weapons. Okaanen had installed a modified target acquisition system to Kreiya’s control system as well, allowing her to “take her time” and engage the enemy from an unexpected distance.

Serah’s preferred machine was the second on today’s maintenance list. The largest of the converted civilian vehicles, her mech was originally intended for urban demolition work. It was now outfitted with an array of lasers slung along its torso and a large mortar for lobbing shells from cover, but its most drastic modification was a significantly more powerful reactor. This allowed Serah to close with enemies faster, often utilizing the massive pile driver replacing its left arm to bludgeon opponents in melee range.

After Technician Sczatovsky ran all the diagnostics and visually checked the “technicals” (the nickname assigned to the repurposed civilian machines), he approached Remy’s command mech with a groan. Most mechs actually designed for combat had low maintenance requirements, but Azrael had been torn down and rebuilt so many times at this point that it needed to be inspected daily. Remy usually did it himself, but when the CO was otherwise occupied, the job fell to Scooter. He nearly breathed a sigh of relief when the proximity alarms began blaring, sending the mercs scrambling toward their machines. He grabbed the Commander outside of Azrael, if only to offer a word of caution.

“Remy! Didn’t get your checks done… watch your ammo feeds out there.”

“You know me, Scoot… if something goes wrong, I’ll get creative.”

—————

Remy slid down into Azrael’s cockpit through the open canopy in the head of its humanoid form. As it closed above him, he settled into the command chair and placed his feet into the harness-like pedals that controlled his jump thrusters and leg movement. He gave the pedals a couple quick pumps, testing the sensitivity before they came online and became his only control over nearly fifty tons of metal and synthetic muscle around him.

Before buckling his harness, he thumbed a series of breakers on a panel above his viewport. Several displays mounted in his peripheral vision flickered to life. Most displayed additional command data and unit tracking in real-time, as well as the Irregulars’ secure comms channels. One small side monitor, however, displayed a carefully curated music playlist. Remy claimed it helped him focus to have music in the background, that it calmed his nerves. Okaanen had surprised him with the onboard stereo as a thank you when he was brought on with the unit, and Remy made sure to put it to good use ever since.

He sat back into his chair, and checked his vicinity. Personal preference had him keep a packed cone or three and a lighter within arms’ reach, in case he got overstimulated in the heat of combat. Kreiya and Serah always gave him hell for smoking in the cockpit, but he laughed it off. The problem for Remy was never moving too slowly, and the CO was better off relaxed than an anxious wreck. He checked the cooler under his seat, making sure he had plenty of water. Finally, he checked the mount behind his seat where his sawn-off lever action carbine rested. He worked the lever, catching the bullet in hand, and secured it back in its place as he strapped himself into his four-point harness. Remy reached above his chair for the tactical augmented reality visor that provided his heads-up display and put it on, then slid his arms into the full-sleeve frames used to control Azrael’s arm actuators and weapons systems.

As Remy, the "Aasimar," squeezed both of his glove-like controls into fists, Azrael’s reactor spun and whirred to life, the mech’s fists now mirroring its pilot’s gestures. The final check required a vocal confirmation, and the commander provided the authorization phrase from his favorite fictional literature. “The Souls of Greynor will rise again”

Articulated wings flexed and legs shifted slightly as the control computer calculated its position. The artillery piece slung over Azrael’s shoulder groaned as its stabilizers activated, and as the final systems came online, mercenary and machine moved and acted as one. 

No time to put him through his paces, Duciel… gonna have to shake that rust off in action.

Aasimar didn’t give the old hangar doors time to open. He jammed the thruster pedal to the floor and turned his vision skyward, letting the computer-guided controls angle his wings just right. In an instant, he leapt out of the VTOL bay roof, looking down from above on the forces assaulting the Irregulars’ hangar.

“Irregulars, mount up. We’ve got two dozen infantry and a handful of smaller mechs. They got the drop on us, but they couldn’t come heavy and quietly. Keep those soldiers off the militia, and their mechs won’t be able to maintain the fight.”

Remy sprinted forward, overlooking the hangar doors as the rest of the unit advanced to meet their enemy. He scanned the tree line for targets, ignoring the rifle fire of the infantry squadrons bouncing off Azrael’s armor. As volleys of missiles from Kreiya’s mech rained down on the foot soldiers, Remy found a hostile mech lurking near the far end of the battlefield. He centered his targeting crosshairs, and braced his mech’s legs. A quick gesture of his right wrist fired the cannon slung over Azrael’s shoulder, and an artillery shell tore through the opposing mech, sending it crashing to the forest floor in a smoldering heap.

“That’s one! Keep that infantry busy and pick off the support when they try to push the issue!”

Remy repositioned from side to side on the ridge line above the Irregulars’ firebase, drawing fire as much as possible while looking for targets. His targeting computer screamed out an alert as a trio of enemy mechs crested the hill behind his firing position, climbing directly into his rear arc. He spun to face the approaching attackers, reaching for the massive glaive on Azrael’s back as he whirled around. The first assailant caught the full force of the spinning blade, as the mech’s legs were chopped out from under it like a tree felled with one axe blow. The bulk of the machine continued forward as it skidded into a rocky outcrop just beyond Remy. The two remaining foes had a clear shot at the CO. However, as they lined up to fire, bolts of plasma slammed into the closest of the pair. The second got a single laser pulse off at Remy before being pelted by a barrage of autocannon shells, and Mama Bear Duciel could be heard over the comms laughing.

“Goddamnit, Remy. You know how to make a girl feel needed. Don’t go getting yourself killed just to give me something to do though, babe… I might just leave you there and run the company with Kreiya.”

Leah Duciel’s mech was a top-of-the-line military model, and by far the most powerful in the Irregulars’ arsenal of misfit toys. A pair of plasma cannons split between each arm mounted in armored weapon housings were the main weapons. They were backed up by a rapid-fire autocannon, most effective for suppressing soft targets but capable of shredding anything that caught the full burst of shells in its salvos. She had destroyed two fresh foes in a matter of seconds, and almost immediately after the scene played out, the forest began to calm. If anyone had survived the initial counterattack, they did not want to stick around and press the issue any further. The Allegheny Irregulars were a unit built on using strange tactics and stranger machines, but there was sometimes no substitute for an overwhelming show of force. This was what Mama Bear provided, and the missing piece in Remy’s schemes to free Ver Sayles from occupation.

Once the wreckage had been properly carried inside to salvage and the handful of wounded militia were stabilized and properly addressed, Remy brought Azrael back into the hangar and powered down his war machine. He lit a joint and patted technician Sczatovsky on the back as he left the hangar to wash up and rest.

“Appreciate the blade, Scoot. Ammo feeds didn’t even come up.”