BattleTech: The Anvil by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Author:Blaine Lee Pardoe
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs
Published: 2018-08-01T05:00:00+00:00

Six hours later…

The weather cleared slowly, with the sun breaking through more often. The rays of light gleamed as moisture evaporated from the Dales. Roderick had organized the event carefully, deliberately designed it for maximum impact. He walked to a small collapsible table that had been brought out to the hilltop overlooking the large natural bowl of the ground. In some areas, the sod had been churned into mud by BattleMech footprints, which were now large puddles of water. In other places, tracks from tanks snaked through the grass and dirt, leaving a distinct river-like pattern on the hillsides. BattleMechs and armor had been placed along the hillside like silent sentinels.

Roderick surveyed the survivors of the three regimental combat teams. Their faces were weary, drawn, almost devoid of expression. Many were covered with lubricant, dirt, sweat, and mud, and all wore masks of exhaustion and fatigue. Their eyes were all locked onto him, staring dully at his every move. He could feel the presence of each remaining man and woman, as if their breaths were his own.

At Roderick’s side stood General Ross. While both of them had managed a quick field shower, Francine had changed the most in appearance. She looked ten years younger than she had just a few hours earlier. It is important for them to see us here, recovered, shaved, refreshed, and ready to fight. It will help give them strength to see us this way. It shows them that things can and will change.

As he faced them, an unspoken command was transmitted, and all of them snapped to attention. “At ease,” he ordered, and a wave swept the Lyran soldiers as they resumed their casual, weary stances.

Also standing on the hilltop were the two highest-ranking survivors of the Fifteenth Arcturan Guards: Major Troy Cowell and Captain Krzysztof Krecislaw. Their jumpsuits had been washed, and the men themselves were presentable, although Krecislaw was heavily bandaged. His ’Mech had been destroyed, and he had been burned during punchout. Roderick had honored him by telling him he would pilot Jasek’s Templar as soon as it was repaired. The grizzled Krecislaw had nearly burst into tears. Major Cowell wore a grim expression that mixed angst and anger.

The General of the Armies adjusted the mike on his jumpsuit and surveyed the survivors one more time. Thanks to large speakers that had been placed, he knew the crowd would hear his speech, his conviction. These were good soldiers, good Lyrans, one and all. Now was the time to turn their grief and depression into furious rage.

He had made notes on the back of a supply requisition form. Ross had asked him what he was going to say, but he kept the words private. He had rehearsed the speech twice while the memorial was being arranged, mostly to ensure he could drive home the key points with respect. Roderick had filled Francine in on the rest of his plans, but not the speech itself. The words would come from him—from the depths of his heart.

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