Chapter 7
Base Menzies
South of Darwin, Northern Territory, Commonwealth of Australia
12 January 2016 S.E.C.
1 November 3058 I.S.C.
Built on the open spaces of Australia's Northern Territory in the area south of Darwin, near the town of Katherine, Base Menzies was named after the Australian Prime Minister at the opening of World War II; bunked in the base normally was the 2nd Royal Armored Regiment, recently raised by the strained Australian military budget to help protect Australia's Darwin coast from any potential invasion from UN-controlled Indonesia. Now Base Menzies held a new purpose, as could be determined by the large ComStar DropShip that was now landing on it's makeshift DropShip landing pad. Inside a shipment of surplus BattleMechs was being delivered, along with more equipment and supplies for the training battalion that was about to be assembled.
Captain Christopher Farrell stepped off the bus from the local airport with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Behind him a New Zealander, a Maori named Paora Manihera, stepped off the bus. They stood at about the same height, with Manihera's darker skin tone contrasting with Farrell's Caucasian complexion. Manihera's dark hair and oval face differed from Farrell's blond hair and round face, which included a pair of blue eyes. Manihera was the better of the two in physical strength with an obvious physique. In contrast, Farrell's body showed very little signs of muscular development, his solid form being quite flat as opposed to the curves of muscles seen on Manihera. Farrell raised his hand and blocked some of the sun out of his vision. "God damn it's hot," he muttered. "Bleedin' summer!"
"You complain too much," Manihera muttered, shifting his duffle bag as others stepped off the bus. "We're supposed to be at the 'Mech hangers in ten minutes."
"There's no fuckin' way we're going to get there," Farrell muttered as they walked through the base. "Bloody hell, this place is fuckin' huge!"
The tropical heat and humidity was almost enough to stifle the two men as they walked toward the nearest big building they could. They came upon a crowd of onlookers who were watching the massive ComStar DropShip secure from landing. "Buggers are big, aren't they?" Farrell clicked his tongue and noticed a pair of individuals in white fatigues carrying what looked like fancy laptop computers. "Hey!" He dashed up to them and asked, "You know where the 'Mech hangers are?"
The lead one, a young blond-haired man, smiled and nodded. He pointed to a set of buildings on the other side of the open landing area and said, "Over there," with a strange accent that Farrell found to be a cross of an American and English accent.
"Thanks mate." Farrell eyed the second person, a cute young brunette with an attractive figure, and winked at her. "Say, darlin', you had time to check out Darwin? Do a little sun-bathing on Casuarina Beach?"
"No, I have not," she replied. Seeing his grin, the ComStar Acolyte felt obliged to return it. "Perhaps you should take me one time."
"Sure thing. What's your name?"
The young woman bowed her head respectfully. "I am Acolyte Laura Pollard, of the Com Guard 312th Division."
"Chris Farrell." Farrell began walking away, ignoring Manihera's annoyed expression and the uncomfortable look on the male Com Guard's face. "Pleased to meet you, cutie."
Pollard blushed as Farrell and Manihera walked away; Farrell saw her cheeks turn pink and then a little red before turning his head forward. "And you were complaining that we did not have the time," Manihera said. "Yet you still stopped and flirted with the offworld woman."
"Why not?"
"I would consider it a waste. She is not remarkable in any way."
"Oh, come on," Farrell retorted. "She might not have huge jugs and that cape of her's might've hid her ass, but she's cute! I mean, beautiful cute. Nothing wrong with offerin' to show her the best part of Oz while she's here!"
There was no reply from Manihera; he simply shook his head and continued on.
"Ah, tropical heat." Christopher Radick drew in a breath and stepped out of the rented two-door sedan he had just parked near the 'Mech hangers and training barracks. "How I miss it," he muttered sarcastically. "I feel like I'm broiling here." He brushed one of his hands through his short blond hair and felt the heat on his skin. His light uniform felt uncomfortable yet protected his skin from the dry heat created by the sun and desert surroundings.
"Don't complain, it's better than the desert," a rough female voice called out from behind him. Clad in a tight sleeveless "desert camoflouge" shirt and brown shorts, Caitlin Tucker emerged from the passenger side of the car. Her muscular tanned arms straightened in front of her as she stretched herself out, prompting Radick to recognize his own body's stiffness and do the same. Reaching up caused her shirt to lift a little and reveal some of the developed abdominal muscles around her navel. "It feels like a damn blanket," she added.
"Yeah." Radick walked around the front of the car to the concrete walkway leading to the entrance checkpoint for the 'Mech training facility. "Where the hell did you get that stupid shirt anyway?"
"Some clothing shop in Darwin." Tucker walked up on his right. "I thought it looked funny."
Radick snickered and took her hand as they approached the checkpoint. He turned his head toward her. Radick was a good six foot one, while Tucker stood just about an inch lower than him at six feet exactly. Her crystal blue eyes gleamed back at his own blue eyes and she grinned widely. "You enjoying the view?"
"Well, the shirt shows your figure well," Radick commented, trying to dance around the fact that the tightness of the shirt showed the curved shape of her breasts. The material did serve to hide her developed musculature, much as his own uniform hid his, while the shorts went high enough to show her strong calf muscles.
At the entrance a pair of MPs, both Corporals, stopped them. They held their assault rifles, American M16s, in position while a third MP Sergeant took the identification cards that Tucker and Radick pulled out of their pockets. The smallest one, an Asian-descended male, eyed Tucker and grinned. "You look pretty buff, you work out?"
"You could say that," Tucker replied. "Work out everyday. So does Chris here. Keeps us in shape for the fun stuff."
"Fun stuff?"
"Y'know, slitting throats, running through jungle," Radick said after accepting his ID card back from the senior MP, who took Tucker's card and ran it through a scanner. "Standard stuff for Oz SAS."
The other, a brown-haired woman, asked, "You two are SAS?"
"Were SAS," Tucker corrected the MP. "They've assigned us here now."
"So they're going to put you in those big walking machines?" The Asian MP looked at his female comrade. "That ought to be fun to watch."
"I'm sure it will be." Radick handed Tucker back her card. The senior MP stepped back in his checkpoint's booth and pushed down on a button that opened the gate. Tucker and Radick stepped in and began walking toward the first hanger, a large building of about nineteen meters height. "So, what do you think of all this?"
Tucker rolled her eyes. "Chris, you know me. I'm still a grunt at heart, I don't think I'll ever get adjusted to this whole 'Mech pilot thing."
"I feel the same way." Radick took her hand again and checked his watch. "We've only got about five minutes until we're supposed to be there."
"Yeah, I know." Tucker wiped a little sweat off her forehead. "I just hope it's got some air conditioning, it's too bloody hot out here."
"Yeah, well," a smile crept onto Radick's face, "it's better than the desert."
The Australian heat was a particularly uncomfortable experience for Demi-Precentor VI Abel Rios, commander of the Level III unit "Towers of Truth" within the 312th Division. The 'Mech hangers that had been hastily constructed in the past two months were complete, each ready to receive a full company of twelve BattleMechs. ComStar had contributed some material to the effort of arming the "Scorched Earthers" and at the request of Precentor-Martial Focht, Precentor Dintaro had sent Rios' battalion-sized force to form the core of the trainers of Base Menzies.
Rios, himself a MechWarrior, had taken it upon himself to be a trainer as well. And the one individual he would be concentrating his experience on was now standing in front of the assembled ANZAC/Oceanic trainees, who were assembled in rows of six by six and at rigid attention. Clad in a field uniform of grass-colored camoflouge patterns, Brigadier Robert Omar Brown had a wolfish appearance. A barely-combed mane of gray hair, with tinges of black on the edges, matched perfectly the piercing gray eyes that now watched over his subordinates. He had a goatee and sideburns that were also gray and black, giving him a rough and ready appearance. And Rios mused that Brigadier Brown would have to possess such a personality considering that he was offering to cast aside his rank to learn equally amongst people of significantly lesser rank and age. Desk generals would never be able to bring themselves so low, but Brown had the appearance of a combat leader and Rios could identify with that.
When Brown saw Rios approach, he saluted before Rios could, a gesture that his subordinates quickly followed and one that established Brown's view of his position relative to Rios. Rios returned the salute and nodded. "Brigadier Brown, is everyone here?"
"They are all accounted for," Brown replied.
Rios nodded and let himself smile, if just a little. "Well, then we should get started."
"Your trainees await your instruction, Precentor Rios."
Brown stepped back into his place in the first row and saluted again, then maintained a strict stance. Rios nodded and kept his hands behind his back, wanting to get this over with as soon as he could so they could get to the air-conditioned simulator room. "I am Demi-Precentor Abel Rios of the Com Guard 312th Division. I have been assigned as Chief Officer of Instruction for this facility by the Precentor-Martial of ComStar, Anastasius Focht. Like you, I am treading into new territory. I have never been a training officer in my life. And, unlike the training my comrades and I went through, your's will be of a faster pace. We expect to turn you into combat-capable MechWarriors in ten weeks. Because of the smaller training window our schedules are very long and rigorous. Every day will be spent with at least eight hours of instructions, and sometimes we will be in training for as long as fourteen hours. That leaves very little time for rest and recreation, but as I am certain you are aware of, time is not a luxury we possess." Rios saw some of the heads of those before him nod grimly. He wondered if some of those present had already faced the Clans in New Guinea or, perhaps, had been some of the escapees from the Smoke Jaguar assault on East Timor.
One of his MechWarriors stepped up beside him, prompting him to turn his attention to her. Acolyte Pollard saluted and when Rios returned it she said, "Precentor, the simulators have been tested and are ready."
"Thank you, Acolyte." Rios turned his head back to the assembled. "We have only twelve simulators available, so we will train you on a company by company basis. The rest of you will be in the adjacent classroom, in which the specifics of BattleMechs and BattleMech combat will be explained to you. We will work on rotations of one to two hours. We hope to be getting you in your 'Mechs by the end of next week at the earliest. As each company's training progresses we will decide on whether you, as a unit, are ready for use of your BattleMechs." Rios looked up at the massive Nightstar Assault BattleMech in a nearby berth. He intended to give that 'Mech to Brown, although he considered that Brown's nature might prompt him to refuse it in favor of the trainee with the best or next best scores. Rios would have to speak with one of Brown's superiors to see about making the officer accept the Nightstar; the idea of the highest-ranking officer not being given the best available 'Mech was something that Rios' Inner Sphere mentality rejected. Rios looked over to the exit and drew in a breath before finishing with, "Let's get started."
Base Menzies had two barracks areas. One area, which had little more than a group of long halls with bunk beds and a large facility restrooms and shower rooms, was for the enlisted personnel and trainees in basic training. Officers, and now MechWarrior trainees, had been given slightly more hospitable billets in the nearby barracks structure, that housed it's own recreational room, shower facility, and two-bed rooms in which the occupants were pared off. Each was it's own self-contained building with a central hall and the rooms, rec room, and showers and restrooms branching off the central hall. Near each was the 'Mech Hanger where that company's BattleMechs were stored. As was custom, pairings were same genders whenever possible, but the restraints of keeping the companies in the same bunkings also caused mixed pairings.
And for Private Phillip Leeson, just now celebrating his twentieth birthday, nothing more could be asked for.
The young man had, ten years before at his tenth birthday, expected a far more joyous twentieth birthday party than had happened. Instead of a cake and presents he had eaten the standard meal that the rest of the troops had partaken in. His parents, an executive and head researcher at a prominent pharmaceutical company, had only been able to send him a watch and change of underwear and socks instead of their original promises for the occasion. Leeson wasn't too upset about it; the prospect of piloting one of the huge war machines in the hanger had taken precedence in his teenage mind and was something he found very "cool". The clock was flashing 21:00 on the joint nightstand between his bed and his roommate's, and the sheets felt decently comfortable for Leeson's bare back as he lay on the bed wearing only a pair of green boxer shorts, revealing a modest but well-kept physique blessed by the family's hereditary metabolism and dabbling in competitive sports prior to military service. At five foot eleven he was not particularly tall, and quite average. Leeson yawned, having been up since 04:30. He closed his brown eyes and felt sleep begin to tug at him.
The door swung open and Leeson's roommate entered, prompting him to look up. Private Tracey Hendricks was a twenty year-old native of Yorketown, a city on the Yorke Peninsula across the Gulf of Saint Vincent from Adelaide. She possessed a solid build, if not particularly athletic or muscular, and stood at five foot eight. Brown hair was combed nicely to the right side of her head and flowed down to the back of her neck, having been longer prior to basic training and just now beginning to grow back. Hendricks possessed a pair of brilliant light brown eyes that matched the color of her hair perfectly. Leeson's attention quickly drifted down to the white tank top draped over her torso, the lack of sleeves revealing her slender arms and fingers. The tank top was old, apparently, and a size or two too small, and as such they did not reveal more than the beginning of her cleavage. The tightness of the fabric on her skin more than made up for it, emphasizing her pert and rounded breasts to a degree that Leeson found sexy. The tank top ended at her abdomen, showing a portion of her belly and the navel and adding to the seductive hold her appearance had on Leeson. Just below her navel was where Hendrick's black shorts began. Looser than her tank top, they covered her legs down to the middle point of her thighs, leaving the rest of her legs bare down to where her ankle and shoes. Leeson sat up in the bed as Hendricks discarded a duffel bag slung over her left shoulder into a closet. She turned back to him and made a small grin. "Hello, you are?"
"Phillip Leeson," Leeson replied, still coming to grips with the identity of his roommate. "Private. You can call me Phil."
"Tracey Hendricks," Hendricks replied before pulling off her tank top and discarding it into the closet. "Private. You can call me Trace." She turned back toward Leeson and the beds and watched Leeson's eyes track to her bra. Smirking she pulled a white silk nightgown out. "No peaking," she warned him before turning toward the door and removing her bra, showing the curves of her back to him. She pulled the sleeveless gown over her body, and the looser fit of the gown did more to hide her body's shape than the tank top and shorts had done.
It was better that Hendricks had changed into more modest clothing, as Leeson's heart had begun to pound and arousal set in by seeing Hendricks, a prime example of the Western idea of physical beauty, or so it now appeared to her roommate. A hundred words ran through Leeson's mind, and none he chose to say for fear of offending what he now saw as the woman of his dreams. Love at first sight was an exaggeration of Leeson's newfound feelings for his roommate; his intentions were not gentlemanly but lustful, he wanted nothing more than the experience of sex with Hendricks. It was a credit to Leeson's growing maturity that he did not put his desires into words; he instead tried to control his breath and said, "I wouldn't dream of peaking, Trace."
"Your eyes lie," Hendricks replied as she sat on her bed and put her hands on her head, stretching her arms out.
"They do?"
"You don't need to lie, Phil," she said to him. "I'm used to guys being interested. It's not going to make me mad at you if you have any desires, it's perfectly natural."
"Oh, um, good..."
"But," she continued as she laid down and put her hands on her stomach, still looking over at him, "it doesn't mean I'm going to let you do any of it. Just remember that and I'm sure things will be fine."
"Oh, yeah. So, where you from?"
"Yorketown, South Australia. You?"
"Melbourne, Victoria." Leeson layed back on the bed and put his arms under his head again.
"Yeah, Melbourne." Hendricks turned on her right side to look straight at Leeson. "So, Phil, did they draft you or are you an enlistee?"
"Draft. And all because of that neuro-testing thingie." He cracked a smile at Hendricks. "I was one of the first to be tested here in Oz. Went through eight weeks of basic training and ended up here."
"Only eight weeks?"
"Yeah, they hurried me up so I could be here. Still got to finish my rifle range certification, but that'll have to wait, judging by what the ComStar guy said today."
"Ah."
"What about you?"
"Me? I enlisted."
Hendricks' words interested Leeson, prompting him to set up so he could see her face better. "You enlisted?"
"Yeah." Hendricks used her crooked right arm and hand to hold her head up, causing some strands of brown hair to flow between her fingers. "My brother is MIA, I figured I could make my way into the SAS or something and hopefully be in a position to find him. Stupid teenage fantasy, I realized that after I was halfway through basic and barely able to crawl to my bed at night."
"Yeah, basic's rough. Especially out here where we're almost in the jungle." Leeson found it easy to envision Hendricks, who didn't appear very physical, having a tough time in basic, where even he had found himself strained to his limits despite being a part-time athlete since his tenth birthday. "Take it you weren't ready?"
"Nope. I'd never done more than school PE and some warmup stuff for a few months before I went into basic." Hendricks groaned. "I'd rather die than go through that again."
"I second that." Leeson sighed. "Well, at least being a 'Mech jock doesn't look as hard as being a grunt. You've got tons of composite armor protecting you."
"Hell yeah."
"I got a light one, they called it a Wolfhound. You?"
"Weird-lookin' one," Hendricks responded. "A Nightsky. One of the arms has a sharpened surface so I can hit things with it."
"So they stuck us with the lights." Leeson's face curled up in a sneer. "I heard the Brigadier's getting the biggest one."
"Yeah," Hendricks laughed. "Some of the officers are also getting heavies."
"Oh well, enemy will probably aim at them first." Thoughts of battle went through Leeson's mind and made the fear of death crawl into his throat. "Um, Trace, I..."
"You what?"
Thinking better of introducing a morbid topic, Leeson shook his head. "Never mind. I was just thinking of something." He eyed the clock. "Oh man, we've got to be up at 0500 tomorrow for the first training session."
This drew a nod from Hendricks. "Sucks, doesn't it? One thing about the military, you never get enough sleep."
"Yeah, that does suck." Leeson yawned and turned his back toward Hendricks. "Good night, Trace. See you in the morning." He closed his eyes and let sleep tug at him, thinking, My God she's so hot, this is either going to be fun or a living hell thinking about her.
Hendricks watched Leeson turned away and grinned mischievously. She rolled onto her stomach and set her right cheek on her pillow with her arms under the pillow, staring at Leeson's bare back and posterior as she felt sleep tug at her. Hendricks found Leeson breath-taking, admiring just how well he had hid the lust Hendricks knew Leeson felt for her. Yeah, he's different. Someone I can like...
Hendricks closed her eyes. She was of humble origins, with working class parents who always seemed so busy working that they barely had time for her. She had not grown up with any brothers or sisters save for Charles, her parents had taken to contraceptives because they simply could not afford another child with their tight budget. Despite some childhood feelings of loneliness stemming from having to be raised by babysitters and schoolteachers, Hendricks remembered brightly how her parents strived to give her and Charles the attention they deserved, and the love they showed them.
When she was ten Hendricks' father had finally gotten a large promotion, and a rise in wages. Such a rise that her mother was able to change to part-time work and spend more time with her, and not too soon, for Hendricks was a growing girl at the time, and had to be shown and taught some essentials related to growing into a woman.
Hendricks opened her eyes again for a moment and rotated onto her back. Her final school years had been more lonely than the rest, with her brother off to war and her parents becoming increasingly worried about him. And when he disappeared, well, that was a burden on the soul of an entirely new nature. Hendricks worried daily about Charles, who had protected her as a little girl and acted as her guardian when they were in primary school together, defending her from improper advances and making sure her boyfriends always treated her with proper respect, in addition to school work and the other duties a "big brother" takes upon himself in defending his younger siblings. When he left Hendricks had to learn by herself about weeding them out, and school became harder without Charles' steady presence to set her straight. But she had still graduated, and silly her, had let her daydream fantasies of finding Charles carry her away.
And now here she was, in the military, with her life on the line.
The clock was flashing 22:50 when Hendricks finally sat up in the bed, unable to sleep due to her anxiety and thoughts of the past. She stood to her feet and looked down at Leeson, who was fast asleep. She stepped out into the silent hall. The tiled floors felt cold to Hendricks' bare feet, the lights in the ceiling reflecting off of the floor's polished surface. It was late and there was not a soul in the hallway, so Hendricks moved on and toward the recreation room.
The rec room, which had not even been used yet from the day's activities and getting settled in, was a square-shaped room with a bar at the south end and opposite the 40" projection television, which itself was connected to a database with a collection of digital videos and TV shows that the occupants could enjoy. Multiple chairs and couches filled the interior, as did a large table, and on the west wall a refridgerator and kitchen set for the use of the occupants.
Hendricks, with the others, had been told by Brigadier Brown that they would be making very little use of this room considering the strict training schedule. Hendricks wanted to groan at that thought as she stepped into the room. She found that she was not alone, a pair of women were seated at the bar. They both had colored skin. The taller and larger woman seemed older than Hendricks, close to thirty, and was wearing a black T-shirt and black shorts that matched closely to her bronze skin, which was curved with the lines of her muscular build. She possessed a strong jawbone and sunken cheeks, making her face seem narrow. Chocolate brown eyes looked over at Hendricks as she entered, and the woman pushed a strand of her short black hair out of her eyes. "Hello," she said to Hendricks in a Papuan accent. "You are?"
"Tracey Hendricks."
"Natalie Mukuka." The tall woman stood, emphasizing her six foot four height by towering over Hendricks. She looked at her smaller companion. "This is..."
Hendricks looked at the other woman, closer to her age, and surprise came to her features. "Christine Bennington?"
"Call me Chrissy." Christine smiled at her and stood up herself. Hendricks had seen Christine before, indeed, most of Oceania knew the half-Maori half-white Christine Bennington; she was the captain of New Zealand's womans' football team, and having reached that position at the age of 19 after years of fierce football competition and, her opponents charged, the dilution of older talent due to the war and New Zealand's decision to draft women for the military. Despite that "dilution" New Zealand's football team had conquered all in the pseudo-World Cup tournament played by the Oceania states and the Western Hemisphere in 2014, and Christine had been made a national sports hero.
So it was to some surprise that Hendricks was meeting such a hero in a military barracks. "My God, how did you get here?", Hendricks asked in a hushed tone. "I mean, you're a football player."
"And now I'm a soldier," Christine replied. Height-wise she was a bit taller than Hendricks, at about five foot ten, although not nearly as tall as the dominating Mukuka. Christine's body was athletic; that much was determinable by the dark blue bra she was wearing, which emphasized her tight stomach and the curves of her abdomen muscles. Her arms were long and muscular, much in the same fashion her legs were. The dark blue bra emphasized the size and shape of Christine's breasts, kept comparatively small at just over an A size, compared to Hendricks' C, with the transparent material of Christine's bra showing her nipples underneath the fabric.
If there were anything truly remarkable about Christine, it was some of her facial features. She had an oval face, with her cheeks and chin narrower than her forehead. Christine's eyes were a bright blue color, twinkling in the light of the rec room. In a complete clash with her tanned skin pigment, Christine's hair was a firey red, cut down to the back of her neck like Hendricks' hair. These features brought by her Caucasian heritage made Christine Bennington a very exotic-appearing woman, giving her a truly unique appearance.
"Why?"
"Because I hate Giuseppe." Christine's blue eyes flashed angrily. "Don't get me wrong, I'm a pacifist at heart. I hate war and violence. It disgusts me. But I hate Giuseppe even more. He used people like me to get into power, promised us peace, then brought World War Three down on us. He's murdered millions of people in the name of his bloody peace."
Mukuka nodded in agreement. "My country supported him, until he became murderous. Then he murdered our ambassador and her family. And now his armies ravage New Guinea trying to defeat us."
Hendricks could not blame either for their anger, but she wondered why she didn't feel the same vigor in her own rage. Hendricks didn't like Giuseppe and the UN obviously, and they may have cost her the one sibling she had, but the malice that oozed from Christine and Mukuka vastly outstripped Hendricks' own feelings. "Chrissy, Natalie, you haven't lost anyone in this war, have you?"
Christine shook her head in reply. "No, I haven't. I'm an only child and my parents are still alive. But I feel for those who have. What about you, Tracey?" Christine put her hands on each hip and into the pockets of her thigh-length dark blue shorts.
Hendricks nodded silently. "My brother is MIA."
"I see." Christine's expression softened. "I didn't sign up until the middle of last year, after the government ordered the team to disband because of the crisis in America and all that. By the time I finished basic training the 'Mech people had arrived, and I passed their test. So here I am, I've gone from football player to, what the hell was that term again?"
"MechWarrior," Mukuka stated.
"That's it," Christine responded, snapping her fingers.
"You two are bunking together?"
Christine nodded. "Yeah. Who'd they put you with?"
"Phillip Leeson."
Christine and Mukuka exchanged amused glances. "So, they stuck you with a guy." Christine began giggling. "Has he hit on you?"
"Amazingly enough, no. But then again," Hendricks winked at Christine, "I don't go around wearing transparent bras."
"Good point," Christine laughed. "A gift from my old boyfriend."
"Oh, don't get me started on..."
Before either of the younger women could say anything more, the elder Mukuka glanced at the clock. "It is past twenty-three hundred," she said. "We should be going to bed now."
"Yeah. See you all tomorrow." As Hendricks walked out of the rec room just ahead of Christine and Mukuka, she yawned, and grinned. She was finally going to be able to get some sleep.
And considering the schedule they had, she'd need every second of it.
The heat had turned to cold as night fell upon Base Menzies. The cooler air felt more comfortable on Tucker's bare arms as she strolled around outside the 'Mech hanger, only just beginning to get uncomfortable as the night continued. It was not something Tucker minded particularly; there was no comfort in combat, nor in the prolonged missions she was used to performing. Tucker felt a small pang of pain in her soul at the memories of combat, the loss of friends and comrades, and the deprivations that her duty demanded of her. There was also the death. The enemy soldiers she had killed, sometimes with her own bare hands. But it was the life she had chosen for herself. Since she was a young girl Caitlin Tucker had wanted to be something special. She had sought a calling, something she was good at, and she had found it in the military. Even when her pacifist parents had rejected her she had stuck to the calling she felt in her heart. Once she was in the military, the Australian Special Air Service had provided her the chance to be special, and in combat she had distinguished herself as a warrior. Her love of the blood and sweat of battle was a far cry from the traditional Western view of women but it was what made Tucker feel alive.
What Tucker was not sure she could accept was the change in the way she was to fight. She was comfortable as a warrior of silence, accustomed to striking quickly and with great daring, and getting out alive after causing maximum disruption for the enemy. She had been taught how to be as silent and stealthy as possible to avoid enemy detection. But these massive walking tanks were a different prospect entirely. Especially the BattleMech she had been assigned. Tucker looked up at the 'Mech, a heavy design called Flashman, and felt disasstisfied. The thing was too large, too tall, and too noisy. Every fiber of her being rejected it. Even so, Tucker was a soldier and she followed orders, and she would learn to pilot the large and cumbersome BattleMech just as she had learned every other skill in her pursuit of her calling.
A pair of strong hands gripped Tucker's upper arms from behind, warming her flesh at the contact. "Cold out here, Cate?" Radick grinned as Tucker turned around. "I can still sneak up on you."
"You always could," Tucker agreed. She matched his grin and raised a hand to touch his cheek. "The only one who could."
"Obviously." Radick's eyes fell in disappointment. "I'm bunked with Captain Farrell."
"Sergeant Marika for me."
"Yeah." He looked out at the night sky. "Gettin' late. Came out for a walk?"
"Just trying to make sense of things." Tucker pointed upward to the stars with her left arm. "They're out there somewhere. Those tears in space and time, bridging our world to their's. It sounds like something out of a science fiction show but it's true."
"I don't think it's just one world, though." Radick curled his left arm around her back and her left side, keeping her close. "I mean, these are supposed to be hundreds of worlds and billions and billions of people. A millennia of time for humanity to grow and change."
"Humanity never changes," Tucker corrected him. "We'll always try to oppress and dominate each other. Giuseppe isn't the end of it." She drew in a breath and realized that her close proximity to Radick was making her heart beat rapidly. "But who am I to talk? My parents still think he's just a misunderstood visionary."
"You've spoken to them recently?"
"If you consider getting called a killer and a lot of other insults to be 'speaking', yes, I've spoken with them." Tucker lowered her head. "They don't understand me, Chris. And I don't understand them. It's strange."
"Things like this happen, you can't help it." Radick grinned. "Don't let them get you down. You are who you are, that's how I've always approached it."
"Yeah." Tucker put her head against his neck and looked down at his uniform before closing her eyes. "I'm not proud that I've had to kill people. But that's what I'm good at, and I'll continue doing it if I have a good reason."
Instead of answering verbally Radick put his right hand on her cheek and brought Tucker's head up to face his. He gently pushed his lips against Tucker's mouth and began to kiss her, something that Tucker responded to with equal passion.
As a result of traditional ideals involving the sexes, it was easy for the misguided to look upon women in combat as masculine in some way or another. Tucker was no stranger to this. Her height and her physical build made such individuals see her as "butch", a female who possessed aspects of a man's personality. But this was false; Tucker was very much a woman. A fully-developed woman possessing of feminine personality with a disciplined mind and strong body. Tucker was the true definition of a warrior woman.
A warrior woman deeply in love.
Caitlin Tucker had met Christopher Radick in SAS training. They had trained together, becoming friends in the physical and mental trial that led to their winning positions in the elite SAS. They saw combat together on Mindanao, Sumatra, Java, Borneo, the entire East Indies. Both had suffered combat wounds and had lost their fair share of comrades. The deprivations they had endured together had brought them closer, and in the fires of battle an intense love had been forged between them. Opposites might attract naturally but mutual hardship could be just as powerful a force of attraction. Where their love would take them did not matter. There was a war to fight and they would get that out of the way before seeing where the future led.
The kiss ended as it began, with Tucker slowly pulling her mouth away. "Shame we're not bunked together," she said in a lamentful tone.
"Well, no distractions for the late nights," Radick sighed. "We'll just have to find a good time to be alone together if we want. Work first though."
"As always," Tucker agreed. "Going to lead me in, Lieutenant?"
Radick nodded with a grin. "Of course, Corporal." He wrapped his right arm around her waist and walked her out of the hanger and toward the barracks.