BattleTech by Loren L. Coleman

Author:Loren L. Coleman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs
Published: 2010-06-05T04:00:00+00:00

• • •

When Defoe awoke, it was in hospital. The pale green walls and overly perfumed air (undercut with old decay and new antiseptic) were giveaways. Along with the bandaged arm hanging from a rack on his left side, its purple fingers sticking out of the end of the cast. Defoe wriggled them, to make sure they were his.

The fingers wriggled and his arm suddenly felt like it was on fire. They seemed to be his.

A young man’s face hovered over him for a few moments, then a cool hand stuck a thermometer patch on his cheek and the face disappeared.

An eternity later, a different face appeared, the patch was peeled away, and another face replaced that one.

This last face hovered above a uniform tunic, with colonel’s tabs on its collar. Chairman Fitzroy Candly. Defoe had seen him once before, at a full muster of the Alliance Borderers. Colonel of the whole damn Regiment.

His voice was low and gravely, as if he needed to choke down something in his throat. “You did well, Protector. We smashed them flat. The Third Air Wing took out the lot, before they had a chance to damage the plant. We think it might have been a raid for engines. But, thanks to you, none of them got away, though we missed their DropShip.

“We couldn’t find any markings on the scrap we recovered. Do you recall any markings on the one that hit you boys?”

Defoe made one attempt to shake his head and quickly gave that up as a bad idea. He tried to speak, to say, “No” but he couldn’t get out more than a croak. A very inarticulate croak. He’d barely seen the one that had seemed right on top of him. He sure as hell was not looking for markings.

The colonel snapped a very quick smile. “No matter. You will be debriefed when you are better able to talk. In the meantime, you rest. Get well and we’ll get you back in the Line.”

Defoe tried to croak again. “Hutchins?” This sounded a little better than the last attempt. Still Candly only looked at him and Defoe tried to repeat himself. “Hutchins?”

The colonel grimaced and shook his head. “No. You were it. And you were pretty torn up yourself.”

Defoe said. “I tried to run.” When the colonel’s face screwed up with confusion, he tried again, slower. “Run. Tried to.”

The colonel leaned back and nodded. “You probably should have. I might have, in your place. When I was younger. But you didn’t and we hurt these people badly. Twelve dead ’Mechs that we’ll part out.” He tapped Defoe’s cast lightly. “Get well, soldier.”

And his face disappeared.

Someone stuck a straw in his face and Defoe sucked feebly at it for a few seconds before giving it up. At the edge of exhaustion, he concentrated on breathing.

Had the colonel said “back in the Line?” And “protector?”

Defoe felt an itch on the back of his left hand, the one hanging in the cast in front of him. The itch grew worse.

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