BattleTech: Broken Promises: A Battle of Tukayyid Story, Part Nine by Jason Schmetzer

Author:Jason Schmetzer
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs

MOUNT KLINE

TUKAYYID

FREE RASALHAGUE REPUBLIC

20 MAY 3052

Minka never thought she’d be back inside the precentor martial’s Tamo Mountain bunker, but here she was. Standing in the same place, this time in a filthy, sweat-grimed combat suit she knew had to smell like six days down a chemical toilet, even if she could no longer smell it. The noteputer folio she tapped against her leg had dried blood on it; Phuc’s blood, Minka knew, from when the Toad had decapitated him.

A precentor walked by, nose down in a noteputer. “Sir,” Minka said, but the officer just walked past. She glared after him, until movement in the master holotank caught her attention. When last she’d been here, the tank had shown a system view. At the moment, it showed a tabular column of data. Minka squinted, trying to read the row headings…they were division names.

She was looking at a readout of the Com Guard army.

It was mostly red.

Uncaring about the technicians and acolytes in the room, Minka stepped through a door until she could read and confirm what she saw. It was a list of divisions, and their damage after the fighting. She looked down the list… there. The Fiftieth Division, her old division.

It was red with a line through it.

“Well, that’s pretty final,” she muttered.

“Can I help you, Adept?” a voice asked. Minka turned and found a precentor with epsilon tabs—a MechWarrior—standing just outside the door. He had a bandage glued to the left side of his head. Where his divisional insignia would be, his uniform was torn. He regarded her with a frown, arms crossed.

“Adept Woloczak, sir,” she said. “Fiftieth Division.”

“There is no Fiftieth Division anymore,” the precentor said. “Hasn’t been one since day three or so. As I’m sure you just saw. Where have you been hiding yourself?”

“More fights than I can name,” Minka said, ignoring the spike of red rage triggered by the word “hiding.” She hadn’t spent the war in this air-conditioned bunker. She stepped forward and held out the noteputer. “My report, sir.”

The precentor made no move to take it. He opened his mouth, but before he could an alarm beeped. He stiffened and looked behind him. Minka looked with him, confused. The fighting was over. Were the Clans trying to make one more last-ditch assault?

Commandos—familiar commandos—appeared in the hallway, and a hatch opened in the far wall. A man stepped out, haggard, dirty with sweat. His face was deeply lined with exhaustion. His eyepatch looked loose, as if he’d lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time.

Minka realized, even over the stench of herself, she could smell him.

“Attention,” a quiet voice whispered.

Minka braced automatically. The precentor martial must have heard the command, because he glanced up, gray eye flashing, then straightened himself. Some of the exhaustion disappeared from his face. “Stand e-easy,” he said. His voice half-cracked on the last word. His one eye flicked around the room, onto Minka and then back off. She felt electrified. She felt more so when the steel gray eye flicked back.

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