The solitary figure adjusted the sleeve of his combat fatigues and spoke into his wrist communicator, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the peaceful darkness.
“Personal log, Lieutenant Davey Mac of the Heroes”, he paused, gathering his thoughts as he used a stick to stir the coals of the campfire that fought back the night-time chill. A cool breeze rustled the trees overhead, creating odd light patches in the undergrowth from the twin moons above. He settled back against a moss covered fallen log.
“Guess it’s been a busy year. Started out as a jobless bum, and found myself somehow in the cockpit of a mech.” He smirked to himself, “That was a life changer. Hole up overnight in the wasteland in what you think is an abandoned hover-car and then the damn thing wakes up, shakes off the rubble and starts walking around. Who’d have thought I was one of the small percentage of people the things will respond to?”
He pursed his lips, trying to formulate the various recollections, staring sightlessly into the jungle night as his mind’s eye replayed long ago images.
“I remember my first contact with another pilot, back when I was scrabbling for salvage and learning the trade. Being introduced to the pilot exchange network, where we could swap drugs, drink and other tech. My first foray into dueling, and scraping enough to buy my first new mech… well, not exactly new, it was a clapped out second hand Red Ant, can’t even remember what I called it now… that was a mistake when I sold it, of course I didn’t know it at the time. Who the hell would know that low tonnage mechs would be a major part in Clan Wars now…”, he shook his head and chuckled.
“I’m getting ahead of myself. Oh yeah, dueling. Must have done something right because I got noticed, probably when I outstripped the Highlanders top dog on the Galaxy Wide daily kill table that time. Damn, but I was mercenary back then; first come, first served. Heroes put their hand up first….”
A rustle in the undergrowth made him glance up sharply. “Pause recording,” he murmured, scanning the shadows for signs of movement. The camp fire had played havoc with his night vision and he wasn’t well enough acquainted with the terrain to know what movement or sound was out of place. Stare too long at an object in shadow and it would always look like something else.
It took a good minute for him to be half satisfied that there was nothing untoward. There was always the possibility that wildlife could be too dumb or get too ambitious for things to get interesting in a very quick and nasty way.
“Ok, resume,” he murmured, still keeping a wary eye on the jungle. “Heroes, right. Well, H2 to be exact, under Jay Dubya. Couldn’t find my arse with both hands and a map back then. Completely missed the muster for my first Clan War. Turned up at the free for all and came out with a spanky new Cindron… that went down like a cup of cold puke,” he grimaced at the recollection.
“So back to school, learning how to do this job properly. Resource gathering, force configuration, large force battle prep, all under the watchful eye of our beloved Colonel Todger, ‘insert deity of choice’ bless him…” he muttered. “Anyway, he must have done some good, because I did far better in the Clan War I did actually turn up for.”
His brow furrowed as he tried to sort the time frames out. Less than a year but more than a lifetime ago.
“We must have picked up Trav and Sheila back then, because I served alongside them in Brigade during the First Faction Wars… well, the Trav clones at least after he had his run in with Drake and we rescued the resulting offspring from the gestation tanks. The others got shipped up to the Legion with H Prime. Except Big Col who got lost and ended up with us of course. That was a big learning curve for all of us, courtesy of our new found friends in the Brotherhood. Came out like a bandit with the loot from that job. Those mechs are still in the line now, thanks to a top 5 kill rating. That was pretty cool.”
“We picked up The Don after that. Sharpened up on the tricks we’d learned, and came out big. Took our first Clan War gold. Real shame the final match up was against the Exiles who trained us up in the first place, because they deserved it just as much as us. Ah well, they aren’t doing too shabby now so I guess it all comes out in the wash.”
He took a moment to throw another piece of wood on the fire, enjoying the way the damp caused sparks and sputters, watching new flames caress and dance across the fuel.
“That earned us all a promotion up to Prime. What honor does that give you? Well, it’s the honor of getting your ass shot at with bigger and more powerful weapons… oh, and the honor of getting shouted at by Todger face to face rather than across a vid-link. Life’s like that sometimes.”
“Almost didn’t make it to the next fight. The Specialists. Half our drop ships got lost in transit, I only arrived at the eleventh hour, most of us had jumped 3 divisions with the promotion and nobody knew what the hell was going on. We came out of nowhere and took another gold against the odds.”
He paused to glance up at the nearby mech standing sentinel over the small clearing, the same Red Ant he had piloted in that conflict. Then stopped sharply, catching the untoward ground movement again out of the corner of his eye.
Keeping his voice low, he whispered into the wrist link, “Pause recording. Dolly? I need an active scan of the immediate area. What’s out there that I need to know about?”
“Sorry Sugar” came back the female voice in its sultry tones. At least the A.I. had picked up on his voice tone to use low volume. “Y’all got your Ant with you. Best I can do with the cockpit gear is make a cappuccino”
“Yeah, like I just said, life’s like that sometimes,” he grinned mirthlessly, shifting his weight to ease the large caliber sidearm from its holster. The safety catch was just sliding off as the undergrowth exploded in a spray of leaves and snapping branches…
Submitted by David McCallum#701548