"Bored!" Mac declared aloud as he swung on the seat. The new facilities at Heroes main base still had a spartan, un-lived feel to them and it took some getting used to. The fact that as a senior pilot to a family that had six clans to its name and he was entitled to his own office went a little against the grain.
Still, at least it was better than the broom closet he had inherited while he was doing duty for the Galaxy Gathering.
"Bored, bored, bored." He heaved a heavy sigh, puffing his cheeks out as he huffed. Sucking on his top lip he reached across the desk and toggled the microphone on the inter-clan comm system.
"Any body on open channel? I'm bored." It was a forlorn hope to find anybody up, about and off duty, but it was worth a shot. Too many years pulling the night shift had left his sleeping pattern permanently out of sync with the bulk of the clan, but of course nowadays the watch was covered by senior duty officers and junior pilots on patrol. Rank may have its privileges, but adventure and excitement weren't apparently part of privilege package.
To his surprise, the speaker crackled into life.
<What do you want Mac?> The voice was Jay Dubya, commanding officer of Heroes Support.
Mac eyed the speaker and gave a petulant pout while his eyebrows furrowed into a frown. "Something to do. No Wars in sight, no incursions. Nothing to file for the media. Everyone's being quiet," he complained.
<Yeah, well I'm on duty so unless its urgent...?> came the testy response.
Mac seemed crestfallen to being so curtly dismissed. "Oh, sure. I guess I should let you go," he mumbled, then as a desperate afterthought added, "Say, whats going on up the Mountain?"
<Funny you should mention that,> replied the commander. <Skywise and Pete just checked their machines out for departure protocol. They are calling it 'Classics', what you keep calling Cruiserweights. Sixty five ton max.>
"Really?" Mac answered thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "I've been meaning to get around to that formation for a while."
<It should be an easy step down from your usual formation, and for once the end time is scheduled when you aren't on duty.>
"Maybe I should. At least it'll be something to pass the time... much obliged Jay Dubya." A smirk creeping across his face, Mac toggled the comm set channel over to make a direct call to the personal quarters of the Heroes head armourer. The speaker rang for a few seconds before it was answered to much couching and wheezing.
<hhrrmmmhhh... Q here, whats the emergency?> came the aging voice.
Mac beamed as he heard the tones, mischief already in the air. "Q, you old slug-abed. Rouse your minions, I need my squadron re-armed!" he commanded in good natured but overly theatrical tones.
There was a spluttering from the other end of the line before Q composed himself. <Is this your idea of a joke Mac? It's three in the morning and you aren't scheduled for an operational mission for days yet.> demanded the old timer.
"On the contrary Q, something just came up. If you could start with my defensive squadron and rig for sixty five ton maximum it would be greatly appreciated. I'll meet you in my hanger in five. Mac out," he concluded, toggling the communicator and swinging himself out of his seat as he headed for the office door.
****
The hanger was full of crumpled and grumbling figures, bleary eyed and trying to wake up through the use of various stimulants. Techs and pilots were arguing amongst themselves and most questions were being thrown towards the elderly gentleman with thinning wispy hair who looked the most harangued of all in the middle of the throng. Mac eyed the tableaux of pandemonium with a reasonable amount of wicked amusement.
The elderly gentleman at the eye of the storm calmed the chaos by the simple expedient of palming a mini flash grenade from his dressing gown pocket and triggering it in the middle of the complainers.
"And if you'll all be so good as to SHUT UP, we'll find the story from your senior pilot who has just graced us with his presence," concluded Q.
Those who weren't blind or deaf turned towards the indicated figure and started their verbal assault anew.
"Lieutenant, whats the story?"
"If this is a training alert I'm not gonna be happy."
Mac waved his hands palm downward as if to dampen the noise and raised his own voice over the furor. "Quiet, all of you!", then in slightly softer tones called, "Q, how are things going?"
The old gentleman pursed his lips as he regarded Mac coolly. "So Mac, sixty five is it? You're going up the Mountain," he stated disapprovingly.
Macs own tone became almost businesslike as he replied, "I'm certainly thinking about it."
The assembled crowd full completely silent at the news.
Q rolled his eyes askance as he noted testily, "You haven't tried the mountain in over 10 years. Its a very different place up there now."
"I'm a very different person Q," came the flat response. Then he brightened slightly and a smirk played across his lips. "What have you got for me?"
Q in turn lapsed back into his more normal put upon demeanor. "Well, what you don't have are your Infernos, Krampus or Freons. That's a full third of your squadron," he added worriedly. "What do you intend to replace them with?"
It was Macs turn to purse his lips as he considered. "I still have Aurora, so that's a big plus," he said referring to his command Smilodon. "I can back-fill with Ogguns where needed, but I don't like dropping that low on tonnage. How many Starfires are spare?" he queried.
"Eight in stock." It came as absolutely no surprise that Q would know the exact status of macs inventory without having to refer to a data slate.
Mac nodded as he came to a decision. "Then bring in the Avon and the Cally, and two of the Warg class. You know where to put them. Everyone else steps forward a rank to fill the gaps, then plug any remaining holes with Ogguns." Then as an afterthought he inquired, "Have we got anything that we can swap in for the Novum?"
Q frowned while Mac examined the gently bobbing mech. "Plenty with better armour, nothing with the armament."
Mac shot a glance at him and asked, "What about the Nerio or the Thunder Twonk?"
"Not yet," Q shook his head as he answered
The lieutenant nodded decisively. "Alright, the Novum stays. Post the changes on the board if you would please?" he requested with a raised eyebrow.
Then he turned to the waiting crews and raised his voice. "You lot, listen up. Seventy ton pilots, you can go back to bed. Check the board before you go and rouse your replacements before you hit the sack. I want them here in fifteen minutes."
He dismissed the grumblers, some because they had been roused from their bunks and the others because they weren't heading back to them in the near future.
Q finished punching information into his slate and raised his head again as something occurred to him. "Mac, working on your standard load outs, you are going to run short of equipment in the back rank. Auto repair and targeting," he informed the pilot.
Mac clapped the old tech on his shoulder and dismissed the concern. "Do your best Q. I can see if I can tap some funds if need be." With that, he headed for the ready room to suit up.
****
T -18 hours
"This is Aurora to Heroes actual. Formation Alpha Echo requesting a gate departure protocol."
<This is Heroes actual Mac. Your departure is cleared. I've got you dialed in for the Mountain. Transit at your convenience, and good hunting.>
Mac grinned. "Thanks Jay Dubya. Talk to you from the far side." With that, he reached forward to cut the comms circuit and gently tweaked the throttle that set the Mech forward at a slow trot, his squadron swinging into formation beside him.
The gate swirled and pulsed as the niode matrix activated and suddenly the horizon was entirely different. Almost immediately Mac's comm channel was chiming, and recognising the prefix of the caller Mac accepted the call.
<Heeey, Mac! Long time no see. I wasn't expecting to see your transponder pop up.>
Mac grinned at the familiar voice of Skywise, one of his oldest clanmates and the heroes won legendary pilot. "Hi Sky. Thought I'd pop in and give this a stab since I'm not too shabby around this weight. Hows it looking up there?"
<Pretty light,> came the response. <Not many pilots are that confident with middle weight mecha once they move past them. Too expensive a hobby.>
Mac shrugged, it was a fair enough summary of the situation. "So who else is around?" he asked.
<In your division? Pete camped in, and there's a few big names. Abbott is promoted from a previous victory. Hiller is there. Your old friend Himmelhan from the AFF is sitting up top at the moment.>
"Roman?" queried Mac as he powered up his active sensor array and took a note of the readout. "Scanner shows him out of formation..." he mused.
Thirty mechs locked their traction control to full, set low gearing on their drive train and threw their throttles wide as they thundered over the open ground of the mountain side, closing the distance to the summit before anybody could react. There were mechs on the summit, but none lighter than seventy tons and they were instantly hit with a suppression field that shut them down as adjudicators acknowledged the attack and disqualified the defenders.
"Sorry about that old boy," Mac said to himself as if apologising in person to the AFF pilot, "but don't sit out of formation when I'm on the hunt."
****
T - 17 hours
"Sky, you there?"
<Whats up Mac?> crackled the response.
Mac frowned as he summed up the situation. "There's crews clocking in, and I know I'm in range of a lot of them, but nobody's attacking."
<Yeah, well its not the last hour. Plus you get a lot of campers that just want to clock in for bronze loot and not accrue kill ratings.>
Mac shuffled in his seat as he worked through what he'd been advised of. "The ratings aren't massive for this event though," he pointed out. "Its only a seven point spread between gold and silver placings."
There was a slight pause before Skywise answered. <True, but there's another reason as well. It's not the last hour yet, so no need to rack up kills and waste ammo.>
"You already said about the last hour thing," noted Mac sarcastically.
<Yeah, but it was worth saying twice.>
Mac shook his head resignedly. "Well if its going to be this quiet, I may as well grab some rack time. Mac out."
****
T - 3 hours
Mac relieved his substitute pilot and surveyed the position. "Allrighty then. I see we lost a few spots during the night. Let's have the sitrep."
The sub held the harness straps clear as Mac settled himself into the Aurora's cockpit. "Himmelhan called up his proper formation and took the top spot back, then we got bumped again. Not a huge amount of combat otherwise, but there's some new arrivals you should be aware of. Travis Retherford's here. Ron Frye and Joel Parras from the Brotherhood. Yanto Thong's another upgrade from the lower divisions. Nancy Singe. Chong jumped in for our guys and is holding a silver spot and the Colonel has staked a bronze alongside Peter."
Mac's fingers flew across the controls, quickly and automatically running the mech through its pre-combat checks. "I get the feeling that you've left the worst till last," he observed.
"Mainer clocked in with his wife."
"Mainer..." His hands paused in their work as he savored the name, then hurriedly powered up the targeting systems and brought the engines on line.
His relief pilot had concern written all over his face. "Boss, he's got ninety tons on us and a level ranking nineteen higher than you. You sure about this?"
Mac looked confused as he glanced at the other man. "Hmmm? Oh, you mean John?" he queried as realisation dawned, then continued without waiting for the answer. "Bugger him... I've waited years for a crack at the Cruiserweight Queen."
Waving the relief pilot out of the way he hit the switch to lock the canopy into the closed position and activated the intra-squadron comms channel as he gunned the Aurora's engine in neutral.
"Power up, target is Christine Mainer. Lets see what she's made of."
The combat was short, loud and violent.
"Well, I'd prefer not to have to do that every day," observed Mac. "She's good. She's very, very good," he acknowledged half to himself. Checking to ensure the squadron had repaired sufficiently and that everyone was back in their correct formation spacing he continued, "Alright people, let's try Roman and stake our claim."
The Heroes stormed the mountain's slopes and were met with a veritable wall of high powered defensive fire. As a primarily defensive formation, they had perhaps forgotten just how difficult it could be to try and overrun a well armed opponent in a well defended position.
The result brought them crashing back to earth in more ways than one.
"That could have gone better," Mac noted as he coughed through the smoke obscuring his cockpit. "Alright, let's reform and storm again. Properly this time," he added.
Perhaps it was embarrassment that drove them to a better result or simply a reminder of how to perform offensive operations. Whatever the reason, the result was different.
"OK guys, we've got a crack at gold from here. Stand down and we'll grab some lunch before the real fun begins. I'll call the mobile crews and get them to bring up some better targeting systems and trample shields. I get the feeling we'll see more than just Roman rolling out wall to wall Nephilax, and that's just going to be a pain."
****
T -20 minutes.
Mac wiped sandwich crumbs from his flight suit as he strolled down the mountain pass to where his squadron was now laagered. "So," he declared as he approached his huddled and dejected pilots. "Mainer walked up the ladder hitting everyone on the way. Looks like he was testing to see who has what and how easy it is. Bum." Then shaking his head, he motioned then back towards their machines. "OK, saddle up. Lets see what he's got."
The battle for the summit was violent. Bunnies and Heroes had a long history as both ally and foe, and there was also the fact that his wife had recently suffered defeat to add into the mix for the blind drunk Bunny Chieftain. The battle should have been concluded, but had a coda as empty beer bottles were thrown down from above.
Mac regarded the hail of shattering glass. "Dammit. Well, it was worth a shot. I guess we were just giving away too much tonnage and rank. I'd say he has this one sewn up," he sighed resignedly. Then as an afterthought added, "Tell you what, catch your breath and we'll take another shot. We only have to get him once and then we know we have a shot."
Once again, the Heroes went over the top. Perhaps Mainer was not expecting such a fast follow up attack. Perhaps it was overconfidence from the initial result. Whatever the reason, when the smoke cleared there were no Bunnies left hopping.
Mac nodded in satisfaction. "Okay, scratch my earlier statement. Mainer can be beaten. We can still do this."
****
T -30 seconds
"Alright, wait for the countdown. I'd have rated Mainer stronger than Singe, so I think we have a good shot against her.... Ready... Ready... and... NOW!!"
Defensive mechs powered their weapons as the heroes machines hove into sight over the rim of the summit. Concentrated ice weapon volleys made the footing treacherous and more than one machine tumbled back down the slope simply due to loss of traction. But the assault was... practicable.
"Oooh, she's a sneaky one. Solid Warg formation, and we aren't especially rigged for ice defence. Good job guys, now reform and wait for the counter attack!"
<Erm, Mac, its Sky here.>
Mac frowned at the unexpected call. "Whats up old chap?"
<You know when you made gate transit, did you reset your chrono to take into account local daylight savings?>
"Bugger."
****
T -30 seconds (no, he got it right this time...)
"Right, lets try this again. Hiller has the mountain, but we know there isn't anyone here that we can't take, and a few that can get us at least some of the time. Level and tonnage are out the window, this comes down to who is on top at the lucky time. We just need to try and stay there for as long as we can to maximise the chances." He paused and took a deep breath. "Now... lets do this."
Once again Mac and his crews stormed the mountain, giving as good as they got.
Almost.
"Ok, that could have gone better, but we know we can take him more often than not. Reform, and storm again."
This time they carried the fight, and the final, vital, variable hour began with the Heroes claiming the summit.
"Good job guys, now dig in and prepare to repel."
No sooner had the instructions been given when long range missile fire raked their positions and the flanking mechs came under laser and hard munition fire. The squadron tried in vain to wheel and regroup but was forced down the opposite slope.
"Where the hell did Lachance come from and what the hell did he hit us with?" roared Mac. "Counter charge, retake the summit!"
The Heroes pilots threw their mounts into overdrive and stormed the ridge, but the responding fire cut them down as soon as their hulls cleared the ridge-line.
"Not good," summarized Mac softly. Then in a louder voice, "Take a breath, then reform ready to storm again. I want everyone's camera playback fed to me so I can see what he has."Data streams flooded into the command systems of Aurora and merged to give a 3D image of the enemy formation. Mac played the footage through at three times actual speed to get a quick appraisal of what he was facing. "Vizis in the front two ranks, then scattered Nephs and a back line of Namtar," he summarized aloud. "Well this is going to be subtle."
Checking the squadron status lights he called over the comm-link, "Ready? Storm again!"
This time the Heroes punched through the left flank of the defenders and rolled them up piecemeal.
"Wheel about and prepare to repel!"
The summit was held for an average less than a minute at a time before the incumbent force was knocked off once more. Time passed in a blur as forces readied then launched themselves towards the summit in a hail of munitions and fire, ice and explosion. No sooner had the adjudicators acknowledged a victory when the next wave of attackers came in and the dominant position changed hands again.
Singe
Mac
Hiller
Mac
Lachance
Mac
Hiller
Mac
Hiller
Mac
Lachance
"Chongs making a run.. he got him!" bellowed Mac over the squadron comm. "Somebody get Chong on the blower! I need to know if he needs the gold, my long range comms are down. Everyone, take your Hatorade's now so we're relatively fresh."
<Isn't it a bit early boss?> came a crackled reply.
"Almost fifteen gone, so we are pacing OK," Mac reassured the speaker.
<Hiller just took Chong!> another pilot reported urgently.
"Then storm again!" snarled Mac in response.
Engines gunned and weapons barked, but the defenders were determined and the Heroes fell back once more.
Mac wiped blood from his nose and shook his head to try and clear the ringing. "Damn," he muttered, then louder, "Reform and prepare to storm again!"
One of the second rank pilots interjected before Mac could give the order to attack once more. <Boss, we need help up here, somebody to run interference. I'm suffering dump shock that bad I've puked three times and we aren't even a quarter of the way in.>
Mac paused and examined the blood smeared across the back of his glove, then shook his head as a wry smile crept across his face.
"You've turned soft, for the same reason there isn't going to be any help. Decent cruiserweights are a rarity for any clan, that's why we tend not to get attacked that often in wars, and we get beaten even less often. All we have in the way of help are already on the mountain, and the bulk are stuck down the hill in bronze or worse. On the plus side, there's no Rabbit Runs, Smurf Camps or Zeon Colony Drops to contend with."
He took a deep breath to steady himself then continued. "There's just us against the handful of other mad cruiserweight bastards that strap into mechs too heavy to one-shot and too light for open battle. We are the last of the duelists and we stand alone, and today, this is the duelists mountain."
"Now STORM AGAIN!"
Thirty mid tonnage mechs roared up the mountain and crashed over the defending Vizi and Nephilax. Once more, the Heroes held the mountain
<Lachance is coming up again.> called out a sentry.
Once more the Heroes were pushed from the summit.
"Reform, and storm again!" growled the Lieutenant.
Despite repeated attacks, Mac's force could not retake the peak.
<Nice speech boss, but this is going to get real old real quick.>
Repeated concussion from enemy fire was taking its toll. Blood was streaming freely from his mouth and nose, hearing was gone from his left ear and it felt like the crash harness had popped a few ribs.
"Understood," Mac croaked, then hawked and spat to clear his mouth. "Mac to all pilots, reach under your seats and grab the package marked EPH. Open it and apply the contents if you would."
<Party Hats?>
Mac chuckled wryly. "Emergency Party Hats. I've been saving them for a special occasion... seems as good a time as any. Now, if you're all set, lets take the party to the top of the Mountain."
The Heroes gunned for the ridge-line once more. This time the opposition buckled in the centre and they dove through, dividing the opposition and defeating the flanking mecha in detail.
"Alright, you know the drill. Dig in and prepare for a counterattack," ordered Mac, the prospect of another 45 minutes of continued hell not looking appealing.
<Hiller looks like he's preparing for another run...>
Mountain valleys resonated with the echo of a klaxon. The pilots looked confused as the suppression fields played over their mechs, EMP effect shutting down all offensive systems as it spread.
<Is that it? It's over?>
Mac was as caught off guard as the rest of his pilots and realisation of their finishing position had not yet quite sunk in.
"Well that was unexpectedly short... makes you wonder how many were waiting until later on to make their runs. Ah well, get the medics and mobile engineers up here and get everything checked out."
Rising from a cunningly hidden recess in the ground on its own elevator was a very large box with 'Craftsmen' markings across the outside.
"I'm just going to check the contents of that crate. Oh, and guys? Nicely done..... very nicely done indeed." With that he cut the circuit and clambered down from the Aurora's cockpit.
He climbed the short access ladder and reached inside the cockpit, quickly identifying and activating the comm systems. He dialed in a familiar trans-gate frequency by rote and keyed the microphone.
"Mac calling Heroes actual, come in base."
The speaker sound was crisp with a deep resonant bass effect. <This is base, I read you Mac.>
"Request inbound transit clearance for squadron Alpha Echo plus an additional. Am sending transponder signal information now." He took a few seconds to orientate himself with the unfamiliar controls and keyed in a sequence.
<Roger that Mac, I read your additional and have recorded it with provisional callsign Nephilax 1. Way to go up there.>
Mac grinned and replied, "Many thanks base, however I request call-sign change for Nephilax 1. New call-sign is Cruiserweight Bastard." He waited a moment, half expecting some form of protest.
<Roger that Mac, your change has been recorded. How did it feel being back on the mountain?>
Mac raised his head and turned to view the blighted landscape, ravaged by too many firefights in too short a space of time.
"Nice to visit, but I wouldn't want to live here. I guess maybe in another ten years, I might visit again."
Submitted by David McCallum #701548