Chapter 9

 

 

BattleMech Training Facility, 3rd BattleMech Training Battalion

Orlando, Florida, United States of America

26 January 2016 S.E.C.

15 November 3058 I.S.C.

 

     Sweat created a haze in Penton's vision and distracted him a little as he pushed the solid metal bar off his chest, the bar laden with two hundred and fifty pounds of weight.  "Ten," he growled, prompting Farris to take the bar with his arms and help him up.  Penton sat up and flexed his stinging arms.  The muscles on his bare arms were visible but not quite as well developed as those on Farris, who was shirtless.  A tattoo just above his navel and below the lowest point of his chest hair depicted a red rose and the words "Nate and Michelle".  As Farris took a seat on the bench and Penton moved into a position to "spot" him, Penton asked, "A tattoo?"

     "Ah," Farris snickered, "nothing I really care about.  It was one of those peer pressure things, the entire team was getting them.  But there are worse tattoos than having one with the name of Michelle."

     "Your lover?"

     "Not technically, fiancee yes, but we haven't made love."  Farris rubbed his hands together and laid back.  "We're saving that for the wedding night."

     Penton, for a small moment, considered pointing out that they might not have a wedding night if the war turned south and one of them perished, but he decided that the couple must have already put that into their planning.  "Yeah."  He put his hands on the bar just inside of where Farris had gripped it.  He helped pull it up and over the hooks that served to hold it.  Farris lowered the bar to just above his chest and pushed it back up with less effort than it had taken Penton.  Penton looked across the weights section to see Barton and Hayal working on a couple of press machines, while the seven foot tall Shawn Wilson was standing in front of a mirror, doing some "squat" weight exercises.  A member of Beta Company, a young man named Matthew Schulter, was showing Danvers, Osmone, and a couple others some form of martial arts.  Virtually every member of the training battalion was somewhere in the gym or other areas, as one hour a day was allotted for physical exercise intended to keep them in decent physical form.  Penton's eyes traveled over to the boxing ring, where he saw Paravska wailing away at Victoria Taylor, with a small group of men and women around the ring either waiting for their turn to spar or talking casually.  Farris grunted, "Ten", and took Penton's attention just as he noticed Galvaeriz practicing on a punching bag.  Penton waited for him to straighten his arms before taking hold of the bar and moving it back onto the hooks.  Farris sat up and flexed his arms outward.  "Ah, that feels better," he muttered.

     "That's the daily lifting for us, then," Penton extended a hand and helped Farris to his feet.  "What next?"

     "I'll probably get on a treadmill or something."  Farris rubbed the biceps on his left arm.  "What will you be up to?"

     "I dunno."  Penton flexed his arms to keep the muscles loose.

     "Ah."  Farris's eyes twinkled when he noticed that Penton was looking at Galvaeriz more than the punching bags.  "Well, enjoy yourself.  I want to get the rest of my usual workout done before the hour is up."

     Penton nodded and walked over to the wall adjacent to the punching bags and boxing ring.  In the ring Taylor had finally bowed out and Paravska was now up against the elder Serbian woman, Mira Kojic.  Penton had found out that despite her appearance, Mira was well into her forties.  Physically she was fit, although obviously no match for Paravska, and Mira also possessed the most experience of any of the members of the battalion.  Her age had caused a handful to affectionately refer to her as 'Mom' or 'Aunt', titles reinforced by Mira's mentoring of the battalion's young women.  Even Paravska, in the few times she had spoken openly with Penton, had spoken highly of Mira's maternal side.  Not that her praise prevented Paravska from pummeling Mira mercilessly in the ring, the older woman barely holding her ground under the younger and more agile Paravska's onslaught.  At one section of the wall a few dozen pairs of boxing gloves of various sizes were hung; Penton found the largest size available and pulled them on his hands.  The fit on his large hands was a little tight but not uncomfortably so.  With a little apprehension he approached Galvaeriz.  Her light brown sports bra had a couple of darker spots to show where her exertion had led to profuse sweating, still launching jabs as quickly as she could at the battered punching bag.  Her lower body kept twisting and Penton noticed her legs were held together closely, making her adjust her body movements to keep her balance.  When he got within two meters he said, "You should spread your legs."

     Galvaeriz stopped punching and turned toward him.  She used her gloved right fist to move a strand of her dark hair out of her eyes, which twinkled mischievously as she replied, "I never do that on the first date."

     Penton chuckled at her gutter humor and replied, "Cute."  He pointed down at her feet.  "What I meant is, your feet are too close.  Spread them out so you have better balance, it'll help."

     "You a boxer?"

     "Not really, but I do have some common sense."  Penton assumed a boxing stance in the fashion he had recommended.  "Having your feet seperated improves your balance, you can swing more weight around."  He began punching at the bag to emphasize his point.

     Galvaeriz let her arms fall to her sides.  "You didn't just come here to help me with my balance."

     "Well, we've been here over a week and I haven't seen you around very often," answered Penton.  He lowered the strength of his punches to light jabs, making lighter impact sounds on the canvas punching bag.

     "That's because I had to finish basic training.  Just finished that a couple days ago."  Galvaeriz crossed her arms and looked up at his face while Penton continued hammering the bag.  "You know, you gave me a good lookover our first day here.  You wouldn't happen to be interested in me, would you?"

     Penton stepped back from the bag and shrugged.  "Interested?  Just as much as the next hetero male.  But it's not like I'm going to begin asking you out or anything."

     "Ah."  Galvaeriz nodded and grinned.  "That's re-assuring."

     "I'm sure it is."  Penton kept his eyes on her as Galvaeriz stepped back up to the punching bag, unable to help himself in admiring some of the more appealing aspects of her body.  "I didn't come here looking to get attached, after all."

     An angry roar erupted from the boxing ring, prompting both to turn.  Paravska was on her hands and knees, her gloved right hand clutching her throat, and standing above her was Nielson, clad in a navy blue T-shirt that held a golden Navy seal on the front torso.  Penton stomped over, Galvaeriz coming behind him, and became part of a crowd of about fifty people who were watching the new development.  He heard Taylor shout "Cheap shot, Nielson!" in an angry voice, while Mira and a younger blond-haired girl Penton knew as Rebecca Rogers helped Paravska out of the ring.  Penton forced his way through the crowd toward Paravska as Nielson exchanged barbs with Taylor and a couple other spectators.  "What the hell?!"  He got up to them and heard Paravska struggling for breath.  "Alex?"

     "Lieutenant Nielson hit her in her windpipe," Rogers explained with a high voice that made her sound six years younger than she was.

     "Help me sit her down," Mira ordered Penton.  Penton responded by bending his knees enough to take Paravska's right arm, reliving the small and weaker Rogers of that burden.  Penton tried to take as much of Paravska's weight as he could, while Mira hid whatever strain she felt from Paravska's left arm and weight.  They brought her over to a nearby bench, where Mira began to visually examine Paravska's throat.  A bruise was appearing from the blow.  "Aleksandra, you must force yourself to breathe," Mira said firmly.  "I know it hurts but you must breathe!"

     Paravska clawed at her throat while her face began to turn a shade of blue.  Without hesitation Mira slammed her palm on Paravska's torso, striking the edge of Paravska's pitch black sports bra.  "Aleksandra, breathe!", she shouted before slamming her again, trying to force Paravska to breathe.

     Seeing that Mira had the situation in hand, Penton returned his attention to the ring.  Nielson was still standing alone, looking over at them with a cocky grin.  Penton took a step toward the ring as if to wipe the grin off his face.  Before he could challenge the Navy officer, someone else stepped into the ring.  Calvin Schulter was shorter than Nielson, at six foot one.  Well-kept dark brown hair was now slightly-disheveled by the day's activities; his light blue eyes concentrated on Nielson's six foot five frame as Nielson considered him.  Schulter was clad in a plain white gi with a black belt around his waist.  The gi hid his solid build but added a bit of distinction compared to the tank tops and muscle shirts, or the complete lack of a shirt, preferred by the other males.  "That wasn't a very decent thing to do," Schulter said to Nielson.

     "It was an accident," Nielson insisted.  "She shouldn't have had her guard so low."

     "You could have killed her," Schulter rebuked in a quiet tone.  "If you had struck her hard enough you would have crushed her windpipe."

     Nielson shrugged indignantly.  "Hey, what can I say, I play to win.  If nobody wants to do that, they should not try to get in the ring with me."

     "So you wish to fight not as practice but to prove yourself better than the others?"  Schulter kept his hands behind his back and calmly added, "I'm interested in such a fight with you.  No holding back."

     "Hey, good, I can go with that."  Nielson pointed to the boxing gloves on the wall.  "Want to get those?  And a teeth guard would do well."  He opened his hand to show his own teeth guard.

     "I won't need either of those," Schulter said dismissively.  He assumed a defensive fighting stance.  "When you're ready."

     "Your choice."  Looking forward to an easy victory over Schulter, who was dumb enough to fight without gloves or protective head gear, Nielson slipped his teeth guard into his mouth and moved into his own boxing stance.  Without waiting he advanced on Schulter, keeping his guard up while preparing for his first flurry of jabs and hooks.

     In a quick motion, Schulter's right foot snapped up and caught Nielson on the upper chest before he could move his arms to defend the attack.  The force of the kick startled Nielson and caused him to stop, leaving him vulnerable.  The instant Schulter's right foot hit the canvas of the ring he hopped into the air and struck it out again.  His right foot made contact again with Nielson's upper chest, this time with enough force to knock him back into the turnbuckle.  Schulter landed back on the ground and moved back into a defensive stance.  Nielson recovered and shouted, "This is boxing, not kung fu!"

     "I never said that I'd box with you," Schulter retorted.  "I said I'd fight with you, no holding back."

     "Bastard!"  Nielson didn't want to admit he'd been so easily outfoxed, and his personal need to maintain his "suave" stature amongst the other trainees forced him to stay in the fight.  He went back at Schulter with an intention to land just one punch on the younger and smaller man's face.  Schulter purposely maintained his defensive posture, deflecting Nielson's swings.  When Nielson went for a right hook Schulter ducked under it.  His right hand shot up and gripped Nielson by the right wrist.  Schulter's right foot sprung up again, this time kicking Nielson in the abdomen.  Balancing himself on his left hand, Schulter kicked higher up with both feet, catching Nielson in the jaw and sternum with a second kick.  Nielson fell backward and hit the canvas hard, knocking the wind out of him for the moment.  Schulter got back on his feet and again took a defensive stance.  The assembled crowd of spectators began clapping.

     Before the fight could resume, the door opened and one of Drasche's subordinates, a LAAF Sergeant named Daniel Thompson, barked, "Okay, all trainees are to report to their assigned simulator rooms in fifteen minutes!"

     The crowd already dispursing, Schulter extended a hand to Nielson.  "We'll have to resume later."

     "Fuck you."  Nielson pushed away Schulter's hand and helped himself up.  "You did that on purpose."

     "All you had to do was specify boxing and I would have faced you like that," Schulter replied.

     "I'll remember that next time.  And," Nielson looked over at Paravska, who was being helped toward the locker and shower facilities by Mira, "I didn't mean to hit her in the throat.  Really."

     "Hey, I'm sure you're right."  Schulter winked.  "I just wanted to see how good you thought you were.  You think you're pretty good, but you need to tone down on the aggression a bit.  That's how I caught you so easily."

     "Noted."  Nielson nodded at Schulter again and went to get out of the ring.

     Schulter jumped out from the other side and found Danvers and Osmone waiting.  "Delilah, Kim," he greeted them, "you liked the fight?"

     "You're great!", Osmone exclaimed.

     "Cat's been waiting for someone to put Republican boy in his place," Danvers giggled.  "I can only hope I learn to fight like that."

     "Oh, I didn't do that much."  Schulter walked on toward the shower facility.  "We'll do some more stuff tomorrow, if you like."

     "Oh, we like, we like," Osmone assured him with a wide and girlish grin on her face.

     Danvers' grin was somewhat less wide but no less sincere; both enjoyed his company greatly.  "Last one to the shower will get to stink up the sim pods!", she laughed, rushing off to the female locker room with Osmone racing after her.  Schulter snickered at seeing them go before walking calmly to the male locker room.

 

 

     A simulated subarctic tundra stretched out over the false cockpit and holographic display in Simulator Pod 3, with nothing else in sight for Galvaeriz.  She blinked and kept her mind on the awkward task of maintaining the 'Mech's balance.  It was a part of her now, a strange and awkward feeling to have the 'Mech acting as her "second" body.  In either hand she had a joystick for controlling her weapons and targeting system, with a communication control console and computer system to either side of her front.  The neurohelmet felt blocky and cumbersome on her head.  Over her halter top Galvaeriz was donned with a cumbersome cooling vest that circulated coolant across the surface of her body, creating a strange worm-like sensation on her that would grow stronger as the cockpit's heating systems adjusted for the "proper" heat her 'Mech would be generating.  The worm-feeling was almost undetectable on her skin, the computer keeping her 'Mech cockpit at a likeable sixty five degrees Fahrenheit due to the subarctic environment that was being simulated.  Galvaeriz had already done one drone combat simulation in a desert environment; she preferred this cooler alternative.

     She looked at her weapon readout, displayed beside a 'Mech status screen that made a 2-D construct of her simulated Griffin BattleMech.  The Clan version of the venerable Griffin, which she had been told had been in service for over five and a half centuries, lacked the "gun" she had seen on illustrations of older Griffin models.  Instead it possessed a pair of small long range missile, or LRM, batteries on the two sides of it's chest.  In the center of the chest a single Clan-built extended range large laser sat, giving her forty metric ton BattleMech improved long-range accuracy.  To deal with infantry, or for an extra sting in close-combat, a Clan extended range small laser was mounted above her cockpit on the BattleMech's head.  Galvaeriz clenched her right cockpit control, which controlled her LRM batteries and large laser, as she imagined what it would be like in real battle in this machine.

     Galvaeriz made a mental command and the simulated 'Mech's spine and neck muscles turned to the right.  A simulated Enforcer BattleMech moved into her view, it's surface painted in the proper camoflouge colors for the tundra environs.  The warm voice of Kim Osmone crackled into her neurohelmet.  "Hello Rache.  Ready for the pair on pair combat?"

     "I just wanna see who we're up against," Galvaeriz responded.  "You've got a long range weapon on that thing, right?"

     "An extended range large laser.  But it's one of the Inner Sphere models, doesn't have the effective range of your's."

     "That doesn't make sense, Kim.  These are lasers, concentrated light, their range should be dozens of kilometers and with very little range difference."

     "Okay, let me rephrase, Brainiac," Osmone retorted.  "This Inner Sphere targeting system won't let me hit anything accurately from beyond five or six kilometers.  Jesus Christ you'd think that a society a thousand years in the future would have better targeting systems."

     "Well, they make up for it in other ways."  Galvaeriz spotted two more contacts, marked with red, show up on her 'Mech's sensor system.  She used her left hand joystick to "zoom out" on her holoviewer.  About three kilometers away she was presented with two contacts; a Gallowglas and a Clan Clint, piloted by Dane and Hayal respectively.  The voice of Hauptmann Gerts, their company's chief instructor, stated, "Okay, first combat test for your lance.  This is a two-on-two engagement.  Keep in mind that your Clan opponents adhere to an honor code in which battles degenerate into one-on-one fights, so you may want to experiment in fighting like this since it could give you an advantage in dealing with the Clanners."

     I just want to learn how to fight and survive, Galvaeriz answered in her mind.  She felt her heart pace a little.  Targeting unarmed sim-drones was one thing, but this was the first time she would have to try and fight an enemy that would shoot back.  She cautiously tried to center her crosshairs on Dane's Gallowglas.

     Osmone's voice crackled through again.  "Ready Rache?"

     "You may fire now."

     The instant Gerts' words reached her ears Galvaeriz's left thumb pushed down on the top trigger of her left joystick.  An emerald beam struck through the digital air and raked the surface of the Gallowglas's chest.  The Griffin's missile batteries each fired their full salvo, sending twenty missiles streaking toward the large Gallowglas.  Dane reacted by firing his 'Mech's jump jets.  His 'Mech lifted itself into the air.  The last ten missiles tracked the movement and began adjusting their limited guidance capabilities to turn upward.  Five of those missiles struck the Gallowglas, blowing small chunks of armor off of it's legs.

     Galvaeriz stepped to the right just before a red beam flew past her.  Osmone's Enforcer moved in the opposite direction as a green beam nicked her left shoulder.  The muzzle at the end of her left arm retorted with it's own energy beam, spearing the lower left leg of Hayal's Clint with green light.  The partial hit melted through a quarter of the leg's armor on the leg's side.  Still locked onto Dane, Galvaeriz triggered her small laser.  A thinner sapphire beam reached out and went wide right of the others.  Keeping her mind on moving her 'Mech and trying to stay on target made Galvaeriz's head begin to ache lightly.  Not as badly as it had the first time they had done endurance practicing with moving and shooting, but enough to be slightly discomforting.  A light tone in her ear alerted her that her missiles had a positive lock again, this time on the Clint.  Galvaeriz moved her left hand joystick to create a secondary targeting reticle, which she centered on the Gallowglas.  As she did so Galvaeriz's fingers tensed on the LRM firing controls again.  A salvo of five missiles emerged from the lower right launcher and raced over the ground.  Galvaeriz fired another launcher a moment later as the first salvo reached the Clint.  Hayal lifted the Clint's left arm to protect his head as he brought his mech into a ducking position.  He did so a moment too late, allowing the missiles' individual avionics system to track his movement and lower their altitude.  Two missiles crashed against the arm, doing surface damage to it's tough ceramic hide with their explosive packages.  A third missile skirted the top of the Clint's head but failed to explode, twirling off into the digital tundra.  The last two struck the chest, their explosions chipping away some of the armor.  Hayal's right arm raised slightly and spat a couple of autocannon rounds toward Galvaeriz.  She jumped to her side to evade the oncoming submunitions, which pecked at the Griffin's armor.

     "Get closer," Gerts ordered from the control room.  "You're fighting beyond effective targeting range, you're not going to get any hits from there, and your larger autocannons can't utilize their full firing rate."

     That's strange, I thought I got a couple myself.  Galvaeriz ignored the Lyran officer's comments and pushed her 'Mech into a run across the digital tundra, keeping her distance to minimize the effect of Hayal's autocannon.  She turned to her right and tracked Dane's Gallowglas.  Submunitions from Osmone's autocannon sprayed over the larger 'Mech, adding to the damage Galvaeriz had created with her laser.  Dane responded with his PPC and large lasers even as Osmone leapt her Enforcer into the air with it's jump jets..  Only the PPC managed to connect; it's azure fury tore through the hip of Osmone's Enforcer and flayed off the armor on that side of the limb.  The simulator systems forced Osmone to adjust for the loss of half a ton of armor.  Galvaeriz watched her struggle to keep control of her Enforcer in mid-flight before she felt the strike of a HEAT round on her Griffin's shoulder.  Hayal's Clint was charging toward her, now in mid-air as he sought to close the distance to make his autocannon more effective.  Galvaeriz struggled to keep the reticle on the Clint and made the Griffin jump.  The jump jets on the 'Mech fired and raised her several meters into the air.  She began to fall down again as she reached an altitude of seventy meters.  Galvaeriz cursed at her slowness because their movements simply would not allow her to keep a stable lock on Hayal's Clint.  Galvaeriz kept her eye on him, easily evading his autocannon at their range and fighting with her controls to get a lock with her missiles.  The laser crosshairs turned gold for a moment and prompted her to pull the firing triggers.  The large laser struck him in the upper left hip and melted away some of his armor; the small laser missed completely.  A sharp jolt hit the pod as she landed and stumbled a bit, having been distracted by her efforts to target him.  Galvaeriz fought to regain her balance and plunged forward as she did.  She looked back to see Hayal still chasing her, having used her slowing pace to close to just over fifteen hundred meters.  Hayal's autocannon fired again, this time on a higher rate of fire, sending a round every three seconds.  The first struck the Griffin in it's right leg, tearing off armor from the impact.

     Galvaeriz centered her missile reticle on the Clint and fired just as the indicator indicated a targeting lock.  She unleashed her Griffin's full missile salvo against Hayal's Clint even as the Clint spat another round toward her, this one missing her by a meter.  Galvaeriz's missile salvo had a better effect this time.  Too slow to avoid the attack entirely despite a quick move to the right, Hayal lifted his left arm again to protect his head as the missiles flew at him.  The first two missed by virtue of his sudden move, but the latter eighteen acquired and hammered home on the Clint.  The onslaught of the missiles battered the light Clan 'Mech and nearly knocked it down.  Armor was blown away in several chunks and along the left hip she thought she could see the beginnings of an armor breach as a trio of missiles aggravated the damage caused by her laser.  Galvaeriz allowed herself a grin at the sight of Hayal's damage.

     Her simulator pod rocked suddenly and her damage display began blinking red in the center torso.  Galvaeriz could see the weakened laser beams and particle beam from Dane's Gallowglas, which had just shot right through her back.  The sim pod suddenly shut down on her.  "You're dead, Private," Gerts said to her through the radio.  "Reactor damage caused a meltdown.  You should've been watching your back, Lieutenant Dane had a clean shot even at that distance."

     Galvaeriz pulled her neurohelmet off and exclaimed, "Fuck!"  Not one to curse, Galvaeriz bit down on her lip to prevent the stream of angry profanities she wanted to scream.  She took a deep breath and went to work removing the medical sensors and cooling vest before putting them away.  She stepped out of the simulator pod and pushed her hair back.  Galvaeriz walked across the sim hall to the main room.  She entered and stood at attention, saluting to Hauptmann Gerts.  Gerts saluted back, turning away from the displays and the handful of his staff that were observing them.  "You showed some good maneuvering," he informed her, "and promise in your gunnery rating, but you still need to work on your situational awareness.  Lieutenants Hayal and Dane had that planned out."

     "How is Kim doing?"

     "Holding out.  But it's a two-on-one now, and..."  Gerts looked over at a holographic "map" of the simulated combat zone in time to see Osmone's Enforcer blinke out.  "Well, there she goes.  Managed to critically damage Hayal's Clint but that's about it.  She needs to work on her piloting and gunnery."  The Lyran MechWarrior sighed and scratched the back of his neck.  "This wasn't too fair, I imagine.  You and Private Osmone have very little combat experience compared to the Lieutenants.  I would prefer pairing officers and enlisted.  But I wasn't the one who arranged for roommate-based teams."  Gerts softened his expression and grinned a little at Galvaeriz.  "You look tense, Private."

     "I was hoping I'd succeed today, sir."  Galvaeriz kept her spine stiff.  Perspiration had started to form on her forehead and chest from the stress and heat buildup in the simulator.

     "We can't all do well the first time out, Private Galvaeriz," Gerts reminded her in a friendly tone while reviewing the battle readouts.  "You showed promise, I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out to be one of the better MechWarriors in the battalion."

     "Thank you, sir," Galvaeriz replied.  "I hope to live up to your expectations."

     "I noticed that you tend to engage from extreme range," Gerts added.  He looked over at her.  "All of you do.  You're engaging from three to four times the distance that we do."

     "Well, sir, combat's at that distance.  At least, for us it's been."

     "You do realize that at those distances the targeting systems can't maintain a hard lock and your accuracy suffers?"

     "Well, we're working on it."

     A thin smile crossed Gerts' face.  "It will be interesting if you engage the Clans from that range, even they aren't used to combat from beyond a kilometer."  He walked back over to her.  "Make sure you use that to your advantage, Private."  He looked behind her and saw Osmone toward the door.  "You're dismissed, Private, go take a shower and get some rest.  You're going to need it tomorrow."

     "Who are we up against this time, sir?"

     "Arguably the best two MechWarriors in the company.  Penton and Paravska."

     Galvaeriz's jaw dropped.  "The lawyer?"

     "He's no ordinary lawyer," Gerts chuckled.  "He and Corporal Paravska handed Nielson and Farris a bad defeat earlier this morning.  That was after taking down Devon and Taylor.  They're a great team."

     "I can understand Hayal and Dane doing well as a team, but those two?"  Galvaeriz shook her head increduously.  Paravska is a cold-hearted girl and Penton just strikes me as the egotistical type sometimes.  They're a match made in Hell!  "They never get along."  She did not turn when Osmone opened the door and stepped in.

     "Their success isn't so much their cooperation as their lack of it.  They're competing against each other it seems."  Gerts shook his head and chuckled.  "It's funny to hear them argue over the comms."

     "I can imagine."  Galvaeriz saluted again and stepped out.  "See you in the room, Kim," she said to Osmone before going through the door.  She heard Gerts begin to address Osmone before the door closed and blocked out the sound.  She exited the simulator building and walked out into the narrow walkway that led to the barracks area.  Winter air struck her bare skin and created a pleasing cooling sensation when combined with the sweat that had been created by the simulator exercises.

     The night sky was uncloudy.  Ordinarily Galvaeriz would be able to see the stars and constellations of the winter sky but the lights of the base obscured that beautiful view.  It did not stop her from looking up into the sky.  Galvaeriz drew in a breath and shook her head.  One year ago I was an academic.  Now I'm a soldier.  She clenched her fist at the change.  I didn't ask for war.  I don't want to fight.  Why should we have to fight?  People try to paint the other side as evil, but how different are they to us?  Truly?  We used nuclear weapons before they ever did, we used our economic and political power to dictate over other governments...

     "It'd be more beautiful if not for those damned lights."

     Galvaeriz turned around and saw Hayal walk up behind her.  "Lieutenant Hayal?"

     Before she could bring up her hand to salute, Hayal waved his hand down.  "No, please, out here it's Chris.  Your name is Rachel, right?"

     "Yes, it is."

     "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."  Hayal stepped closer to her.  "The night sky is different up in Gopherland..."  Hayal caught himself.  "Sorry, I suppose you don't..."

     "I had a classmate from Minnesota," Galvaeriz replied.  "So I get the whole joke.  Damned tired of it, actually."

     "Well, I won't bore you with it."  Hayal stepped up beside her along the walkway.  "You look preoccupied."

     "I guess I am."  Galvaeriz drew in a sigh.  "I was in college.  Not really looking for a degree, I just wanted to learn everything I could.  But this," she waved her hand over the expanse of the visible military base.  "This all called me away from that."

     "A school girl.  Hmm..."  Hayal snickered and scratched at a scar under his blue muscle shirt.  "I was a computer geek myself."

     "Computer geek?"

     "Computers, and science fiction.  And don't forget paintball."  He grinned at his old memories.  "Yes, Cat, Dannie, and I learned infantry tactics in paintball games.  Well, the rudimentary stuff, we didn't have to worry about getting killed after all."

     "Yeah."  Galvaeriz tried to laugh but couldn't.  "I... I don't think I could ever fight like that."

     "Dannie said the same thing.  But she does what she has to."

     "No, I mean..."  Galvaeriz rubbed the back of her neck.  "I don't want to kill people.  It's not right."

     Hayal drew in a sigh.  "You wouldn't happen to be one of those, y'know, pacifists?"

     "You say that as if it's an insult."

     "Because, in a way, it is, Rachel."  Hayal looked back toward the 'Mech hanger, where a Black Hawk was being guided into a storage position.  "Like it or not, the nation's in a fight for it's life.  Meaning we can't afford to not fight, otherwise we're dead.  And pacifists, well, I admit I'd love a world where nobody fought, but in the real world, it's just painting a big target on yourself."

     "Killing is wrong."

     "Maybe so, and I've done a lot of wrongs that way, but sometimes it's a necessary evil."  Hayal drew in a breath and began to think of something.  "Rachel, think of it this way.  What if someone was trying to kill you?"

     Galvaeriz crossed her arms.  "I'd run."

     "But then you get in a situation where you can't run, it's either kill them or die.  What would you do?"

     "I'd try to find another way."

     "Rachel, life doesn't always have an out option," Hayal told her.  "There can be such a thing as a no-win situation, you simply have to choose the lesser evil.  Now, what is a lesser evil?  Dying and leaving your killer behind to kill others, or killing your would-be killer?"

     Galvaeriz opened her mouth to speak but remained silent.  Her reason told her that Hayal made sense.  But Galvaeriz's emotions still detested the idea of killing.  "I suppose killing the killer."

     "I'm not proud of killing people," Hayal admitted.  "I've seen too many people die, on both sides.  But when it comes down to it, I don't want to see my way of life die out.  I've heard all of the apologists for Giuseppe and I think they're so full of shit they stink.  The man's looking to create his own civilization and do it on our corpses.  I'm not going to stand for that.  I'm going to fight to prevent it."

     "Y... yeah."  Galvaeriz turned away and began walking to the barracks.  Hayal came into a slow walk behind her.  "Still following me around?"

     "We're going to the same place, so it's purely unintentional."

     "Sure it is."  Galvaeriz chuckled.  "Come on, Chris, I can see that look in your eyes.  I've dealt with my fair share of frat boys looking for a quick fuck."

     "Well, I'm not looking for that.  I'm just looking at a young woman who has caught my eye with her intelligence and beauty."  Hayal winked at her.

     "Ah."  Galvaeriz noticed she was unconsciously swinging her hips a bit in her stride, and began to control her movement to remove that.  "I figured you were an item with either Danvers or Barton.  I mean, the way you three act, you're pretty open with each other."

     "Nah.  We're friends, but there are a few things that stand in the way of a relationship."

     "Like?"

     "Well, for one thing, I'm their superior.  Big no no there."  Hayal lowered his head a little.  "But I'm afraid the second thing is too personal, I can't talk about it."

     "Oh, that's smart," Galvaeriz giggled.  "You're piquing my interest."

     "Well..."  Hayal stopped and turned toward her.  "I might let you in on it for a kiss."

     The offer brought a smile to Galvaeriz's face.  Briefly she considered it, after all, he was handsome and attractive, and the wide grin on his face was decently seductive.  But if she was anything, Galvaeriz was a woman who did not like being viewed as a sex object, which meant she put major effort to prevent herself from getting caught up in such antics.  She walked up to him and looked him straight in his blue eyes before pushing her right index finger up against his wide nose.  "Tempting offer," she said with a sly grin, "but I'll have to pass."

     Galvaeriz stepped in and left Hayal at the door.  Hayal watched her walk into a side corridor leading to the ladies' locker room and showers, and began shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he stepped through the doorway.

 

 

     The second floor rec room was quiet when Galvaeriz stepped in.  Behind the door, Rogers was standing with her arms stretching over her head.  Rogers yawned as she brought her arms down.  "Tired?", Galvaeriz asked her.

     "Oh, yeah, I'm tired."  Rogers brought her arms down.  "I was on my way to bed.  "I can tell."  Galvaeriz had already noticed that Rogers was pretty much undressed; a standard white bra and thigh-length shorts were the only things she were wearing, and dress regulations would forbid her from wearing such clothing anywhere save the barracks floor.  But what interested her was why Rogers had left her room.  "You're bunked with who again?"

     "Jessica Driver," Rogers answered.  "She was using the toilet and I really had to go, so I used the public one.  It's, well, after that..."

     The door opened behind Galvaeriz and admitted a short and stocky male that, upon recognition of his face, made Galvaeriz's skin crawl.  Dalton Nathaniel Forrest, an ex-Air Force member like Dane who had been a noncom in charge of a maintainance detail.  And, Galvaeriz had learned some time ago, an avowed white supremacist.  He glanced their way and sneered.  Rogers returned the sneer with her own cold gaze.  "Hello Dalton," she muttered.

     The sneer disappeared from Dalton's face, replaced by a dull expression.  "Do I know you?"  His voice was thick with a Southern drawl.

     "Maybe, in one time, you did," Rogers responded.  "But that was a long time ago."

     "Yes."  His glare hardened.  "I do think I recognize you now.  And I do not care for what I see."

     "And what do you see?"

     "I see a girl who betrayed her race by lying in bed with a nigger boy," Dalton accused her.

     "Ah."  Rogers returned the accusing glare he gave her.  "And I see a racist asshole who still can't see beyond skin color."

     "Can I ask just what the hell is going on here?", Galvaeriz interrupted.  She watched the two of them glare at each other continually.  "This had better not erupt into a fight.

     Dalton looked over at Galvaeriz.  "I thought they minded their own business in Puerto Rico?"

     A sly grin came to Galvaeriz's face.  She replied, "I wouldn't know, I've never been there.  I was born and raised here in the continental United States.  I don't even think I have any Puerto Rican ancestors, just Venezuelan, Italian, a bit of Greek..."

     Dalton raised a fist.  "Mongrel bitch, I oughta..."  He took a step toward her, prompting Galvaeriz to step back to the wall.  Rogers went to move between them just in case Dalton took a swing.

     "You ought to what?"

     Before Dalton could even consider attacking Galvaeriz, a second male stepped between them.  As young as Rogers and Galvaeriz, he had a pair of baby blue eyes and well-combed brown hair.  Clad in a muscle shirt and shorts, he possessed a solid build that outstripped Dalton's own build.  "Leave the young women alone," he told Dalton in a Slavic accent that Galvaeriz found similar to Mira's.  "If you wish for a fight I will give you one."

     The angry Dalton glared hate into all of their eyes before backing off and stepping through the door, muttering racial slurs and obscenities under his breath.  Rogers seemed to recognize the young man while Galvaeriz didn't, which prompted Galvaeriz to say, "Thank you, can I ask you for your name?"

     "I am Branislav," he answered.  "Branislav Kojic.  I hope the brute did not trouble you?"

     "I've seen blowhards like him before."  Galvaeriz smiled and offered her hand for a handshake.  She recognized that he held the same surname as Mira, not suprising since 'Kojic' was a fairly common Serb surname from what she knew.  "Rachel Galvaeriz.  You're in Becky's company I take it?"

     "Yes, I am."  Branislav looked at Rogers, who grinned at him with girlish admiration in her eyes.  "Becky is quite fond of me, I have found."

     "Of course I am," Rogers giggled.  "You're my knight in shining armor."

     Branislav shook his head and replied, "I do not think so," a blush forming on his cheeks.

     Galvaeriz looked over at the bar, and when she saw that the only person sitting at it was Mira, she turned to Branislav and said, "Want to sit down and have a little drink before going off to bed?"

     Branislav looked over at Mira, who looked back, and seemed to become a bit pale.  "No, no thank you," he said.  "I must be getting to sleep.  Shawn and I have a sim to run early tomorrow."

     "Oh, okay."  Galvaeriz stepped back and watched him go.

    Rogers made another girlish giggle.  "He's dreamy, isn't he?"

     "He's sweet, but too closed for me."  Galvaeriz grinned slightly.  "You know, Becky, you're acting like a love-struck sixteen year old."

     "Well, I don't think I ever got to be a sixteen year old when I was that age," Rogers confessed.  "So I'm making up for lost time."

     Galvaeriz nodded in agreement; despite the closeness of their ages Rogers acted much like Galvaeriz knew she had acted at that age.  Well, somewhat close, Galvaeriz had always been an intelligent and academic minded student, but in high school even the smartest girl was prone to a little boy-hunting.  When Rogers began to yawn again Galvaeriz commented, "Going to go to bed soon?"

     "Yeah.  I really should."  Rogers stepped up to the door.  "Bye."

     Galvaeriz nodded in reply.  She didn't want to tell Rogers that her girlish attitude was annoying.  She thought about getting some sleep when she noticed that Mira was still seated at the bar, staring into space.  Galvaeriz walked over and slid into the stool beside her.  "Mira?"

     "Yes?"

     "You look a little down in the dumps."  Galvaeriz put her arms on the table and let out a quick yawn before adding, "Branislav's got the same surname as you, I take it Kojic is pretty widespread in Serbia?"

     "Somewhat."  Mira crossed her arms over her chest.  Like Galvaeriz she was in a halter top and shorts, having just ended another late training session.  At this closeness one could see that her skin was slightly tanned, mostly as a result of living in Florida for the previous two years.  Galvaeriz inwardly hoped she would still look as fit and nice when she reached Mira's age as Mira did now.  Mira turned her head and faced Galvaeriz, allowing the younger woman to see her blue eyes.  Galvaeriz realized that the baby blue color of Mira's eyes was virtually the same as Branislav's.  Those blue eyes seemed a little dull from internal pain even as Mira made a weak grin and patted Galvaeriz on her partially bare right shoulder.  "You look tired, Rachel.  You should get some sleep."

     "I will soon.  And I could say the same for you, Mira."  Galvaeriz made a grin that matched Mira's.  "Did the guys ever flirt with you when you were in your prime?"

     Mira chuckled lightly.  "In their own way, yes," she replied warmly even as her grin disappeared.  "But, you have to remember the times back then."  Mira's grin vanished.  "Yugoslavia was in terrible turmoil following the fall of the federation.  The collapse of our socialist economy and the wars, the killings, it was so terrible."  Mira's eyes stared off into space again, tears beginning to appear at the outer edges of her eyes as old memories returned.  "My parents had siblings and cousins who were living in Croatia, they were lucky to escape with their lives.  I used to pray to God to thank him for letting me live in Serbia, where I was not in danger."

     "I can only imagine what it must have been like," Galvaeriz murmured.  "I took a course on East European politics during my sophomore year, they let us watch all of the old news reels, we read a lot of the reports that were made on the entire thing."

     "Yugoslavia was a mistake," Mira said.  "A horrible mistake.  It was a fantasy to believe that all of the different groups could live together in peace forever, it was inevitable that another war would break out."  She sighed.  "I believe that is why the West calls our home the 'Balkan powder keg'."

     "That's just what our geopolitics professor said," Galvaeriz said quietly.  "But how did it end up?"

     "I ended up meeting a young soldier in the Yugoslavian Army who was passing through my town," Mira answered.  "He was brash and full of pride, believing that he could get anything he wanted with ease.  I quickly made him realize that he was wrong."  A grin crossed her face.  "He was quite the romantic in his early days."

     "And this nameless soldier, what happened to him?"

     "Oh, I married him."  Mira crossed her arms and placed them on the table.  "And a week after the wedding his unit was called in and sent to Kosovo.  It took me three months to get to him a message that I was pregnant with our son."

     "I bet that was a shock."

     "It was.  I could not believe it myself."

     "I assume he survived Kosovo?"

     "Yes, he did."  Mira lowered her head a little.  "He was wounded by Albanian terrorists and was given a discharge.  His father helped him get a plot of land near the Sava River, just west of Belgrade."

     "Oh."  Galvaeriz leaned back in the stool to straighten her back.  "So, where is your husband?"

     "He... is gone," Mira answered sadly.  "He died making sure I could escape to America."

     "Mira, I'm... I'm sorry."

     "We had a good and full life together, I have no regrets."  Mira swallowed to hold back some tears she felt coming on; the chunk of her soul that her husband's death had carved out ached.  To distract herself she asked Galvaeriz, "And why did this subject come to your mind?"

     "Well, I'm lost," Galvaeriz admitted.  "I mean, I... I want love as much as the next person.  Sex is fun and all but I want a relationship that means something outside of who gets to be on top next time."

     "I can sympathize.  We all want a meaningful relationship."  Mira grinned at her and stood from the stool.  "But I am confident that a young woman as smart as you are can find such a relationship."

     "That's easy for you to say."  Galvaeriz turned in the stool as Mira walked by her and toward the door.  "Mira, what about your son?"

     "My son?"

     "Yes.  I mean, your son would be about twenty right now, right?  Where is he?"

     Galvaeriz was surprised to see that Mira was visibly trembling in anger.  Her fists clenched into tight fists and she bit on her lower lip.  "Mira?"

     "My son went to Belgrade on the 18th of June in 2011 on an errand with his father," Mira revealed.  "The next day he vanished and never came back."

     The dates made Galvaeriz's heart jump.  "Oh my God," she gasped.  "The 19th of June, the attack on the Swiss Embassy."

     "Yes."

     "The attack that eventually started the war between Giuseppe's UN and Russia.  The war that led to..."  Galvaeriz swallowed hard at the recollection of the events.

     In June of 2011, years of tensions between Montenegro and Serbia exploded and finally led to the secession of Montenegro from the Yugoslav Federation.  This effectively caused Yugoslavia to cease to exist, with only Serbia remaining as a member.  The Serbs had reacted violently, guaranteed of aid from the militaristic and resurging Russia.  But neither of them, perhaps not even the Montenegrans, had expected for Armand Giuseppe, Secretary-General of the UN, to get involved.  Giuseppe used peacekeepers in Bosnia, Kosovo, and Macedonia to reinforce the Montenegrans.  The crisis mounted as UN forces, most of them from the European Union, actively clashed with the Serb-dominated Yugoslavian Army.  The crisis eventually exploded in Belgrade, where a mob attacked the Swiss Embassy before it could be evacuated.  What had happened on that day was an event that still made Galvaeriz's stomach turn; the enraged Serbian mob massacred the embassy staff in a fit of rage after the embassy guards had killed a number of the mob in self-defense.  It wasn't just murder; with their bloodlust in full gear and all prohibitions removed, the Serbs had methodically gang-raped the female occupants of the embassy and then murdered them.  They had even taped themselves doing it, and sent that tape to the other nations of the world in their vain belief that Russia would defend them.

     And they had been wrong.

     It was a widely accepted theory that it was that horrible tape that drove Armand Giuseppe into madness, and had prompted him to attack Russia with nuclear weapons from the onset of hostilities.  Which, by extension, meant that the indiscriminate savagery and cruelty of the Serb mob had led to the most savage and cruel war in human history, one that had consumed entire nations in bloodletting.  The war that had forced the academic Rachel Galvaeriz to become a MechWarrior-in-training.

     Galvaeriz stood up as Mira walked up to the door.  "Mira?  Was your son there?!"

     There was no verbal answer from the elder woman.  As an answer, Mira nodded stiffly.

     "And, where is he now?"

     "I do not care."

     "Mira?!"

     "He betrayed everything I taught him as a boy," Mira replied coldly, still refusing to face Galvaeriz.  "I taught him to be noble and kind, and instead he helped brutalize young girls and women.  I taught him to love and he decided to hate instead.  His actions helped lead to his father's death and the deaths of countless more."

     "Mira, he's still your son."

     Galvaeriz saw the older woman bow her head.  "Yes.  He is.  His sins are my sins too.  Which means that I cannot stand talking about him, because when I do I feel blood on my hands."

     "Mira..."  With only some inspiration brought on by a slight suspicion, Galvaeriz asked, "Mira, can you at least tell me his name?"

     This finally made Mira turned from the door.  Her face was a mask of anger and sadness, directed at herself and the son she had given birth to.  "My son's name?"

     "Yes."

     Mira's eyes flashed with anger.  "His name is Branislav."

     Without another word, the elder Serb woman stepped out of the rec room, leaving Galvaeriz to consider what she had just been told.

 

 

     Silent darkness pervaded the room Penton occupied with Paravska.  His head still ached dully as an aftereffect of the strenuous simulator exercises.  To go with the headache, Penton began to wonder just what they had gotten themselves into.  The Lyran instructors on the base constantly chatted up about the Clans, and their comments were not exactly full of confidence for Penton.  The MechWarriors of the Clans were supposed to be genetically engineered to perfection, built with resistance to the high-temperature conditions of a BattleMech cockpit and with superior mental coordination and speed.  Penton had a headache from maneuvering and using his weapons at the same time.  He felt it impossible to hope that he and the trainees could ever overcome such a difference.

     The voice of reason within him spoke out.  The Lyrans are terrified of the Clans, but how much of that is deserved and how much of that is hyperbole?  I've read many times in military history where one side was considered inherently superior by the other without good reason, merely conjecture and circumstance.

     Penton turned on his side and felt the sheets curl around his skin.  He felt a bit grimy, he had not been able to shower after his last sim run.  He was cramming as much sim time as he could into his daily life because whatever happened, he wanted to be ready for the day when he would actually be sent into combat.  That day still seemed far off but it made his stomach twist.  The mere thought of death was something that made him begin to sweat and, in turn, kept sleep from him.

     Finally fed up with the dirty feeling he held, Penton got out of the bed and went around Paravska's bed.  Paravska was curled up in her sheet and in a fetal position on the bed.  She was muttering unintelligibly in her sleep.  When Penton flipped on the light switch for the bathroom she groaned aloud at having the light shine on her, and turned herself around.  Because she was clutching that end of the sheet she pulled it partially off, exposing her bare back down to the top of her posterior.  Penton thought about fixing the sheet for her before he dismissed the idea and stepped into the shower.  He let the warm water flow over him while running a small bar over his skin, washing off the sweat that had so annoyed him.

     While in the shower he began to think of the one person he was missing.  "Leah," he muttered to himself.  He had heard that MacIntyre was going to be transferred to a JAG office in Portland and promoted to Colonel.  It made him feel sorry for his old staffmates in the Orlando JAG office since that increased their workload yet again, but he could not help but feel happy for MacIntyre, who was getting to return to her kids and the ex-husband she still loved deep down in her heart.

     Whatever his feelings for MacIntyre, Penton knew he wanted a woman who was independent-minded but not domineering.  He didn't want a slave and he didn't want a master; he wanted an equal.  An intelligent and respectable woman with beauty and imagination to match.  He didn't know many outside of MacIntyre who met those qualifications, and most of those he did know where either passed on or already taken.

     Penton gripped the shower nozzle and turned it off.  He looked at the time and shook his head.  I'm going to be bushed tomorrow.  He quickly dried himself with a towel and stepped into the main room again, pulling on his dark blue and black cube-patterned boxer shorts.  Paravska had completely discarded her sheet now; with her arms spread to either side and her legs partially spread she was laid out naked on her bed, whimpering something in Russian over and over in her sleep.  Tears seemed to be rolling down her cheek as she continued to whimper pitifully, something very out of character for the strong-willed Russian teenager.

     Penton was not given to embarrassment.  Only the slightest hints of a blush appeared on his cheeks as he beheld Paravska's nude form.  Sighing at the sight, and specifically at the scars that marred her otherwise attractive body, Penton knelt over at the foot of her bed and retrieved the sheet.  He brought it up and over her, leaving it just below her neck.  Paravska began to ease her seemingly frightened crying at the feeling of the sheet again covering her.  Penton stepped up between their respective beds and picked up Paravska's discarded pillow, which he placed back under her head.  As he eased her head down onto the pillow she muttered, "Mikhail" and then began to speak in Russian again.  He took a moment to look down at Paravska's settling expression before easing back into bed.  He wondered just what was going on inside the Russian girl's mind, and came to the conclusion that he probably ddn't want to know.

     As Penton faded into sleep he felt something press onto his bed.  An arm slung over his left side and warmth pressed against his bare back.  The muttering in Russian was louder now, as if it were behind his ear.  Penton thought to turn but decided against it; with the sleeping and peaceful Paravska wedged behind his back Penton faded into sleep.