BattleTech: Shrapnel, Issue #12: (The Official BattleTech Magazine) by Philip A. Lee

Author:Philip A. Lee
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs
Published: 2023-03-13T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

TIERAPOLVO: TRAUSSIN

TAURIAN CONCORDAT

11 JUNE 2581

1933 HOURS

“Toma!”

He’s alive, lying on his back in the dust, blinking. His right arm is several meters away, torn completely from his body.

The echo of the single gunshot echoes around us.

Carcieta. Diamos. Sniper. Near.

I drop, scanning the horizon. I can’t see anything; no ’Mechs, no vehicles. But they’re out there somewhere. At least one sniper team, well-concealed.

I low-crawl to Toma and try to get my arm under him. “Can you move?”

Toma’s expression is dazed. “Ixy…?”

He’s too big. Another shot sounds, clanging into the leg of my ’Mech. Instinctively I go flat, breathing in Tierapolvo dust.

Toma reaches for me. Grabs a handful of my shirt. His grip is like steel.

“Trap,” he says as the color drains from his face. “Go.”

“Not leaving you!” I pull him hard toward the ladder of my BattleMech. His family screams above us as my Erobern team hustles to close their canopies.

Toma coughs. “Go. Now.”

“No!”

I drag him another few centimeters.

A third round blasts against my Griffin, just over my head, forcing me down.

“Trying to…pin you down…while their ’Mechs come. You have to go.”

I lick my lips free of dust and blood—and realize he’s right.

It hits me in a flash. The tactical reality we’re in.

I’m strong, but not strong enough to pull someone his size up a vertical ladder. Even if I had the raw power, I couldn’t do it quickly enough to avoid getting shot.

If I stay, one or both of us gets killed. Even as the other Erobern ’Mechs spread out in search of the shooter, they’re relying on visual targeting—thermal won’t help for another hour or more, after full sunset.

If I don’t get into my Griffin and run, the Diamos will get Toma’s family. They’ll get these three special operators. They’ll get me.

Toma’s right. Who knows what kind of Diamos resources are headed our way?

“Toma…”

“Save them,” he says, still clutching me.

“I’m coming back for you.”

Toma’s breathing becomes labored. “Three…ways home.”

I take his hand off my shirt and squeeze it. “Three ways home.”

Then I race for the ladder, screaming hate and rage at this damn country. What it does to people.

What it’s doing to me.

A shot lands to my right. Then to my left. Then below me. Then I’m in. It was no trained gunman after all; an Erobern sniper would’ve killed me two minutes ago.

I yank the canopy shut and strap in. My radio crackles immediately.

“Ixy, you hurt?”

“No! Toma’s down. I couldn’t get him up, I couldn’t—”

Rev breaks in over the radio. “Cor’, I’m counting five—correction, seven—seven bogeys to the south.”

“Make that ten,” Doc follows. “Dust me, here they come. The fightin’s commenced.”

I move my Griffin away from the tree. Away from Toma. And spin south.

Now I see the carcieta ’Mechs. Dark shadows on the horizon, closing fast. No less than ten war machines.

“Cor’?” Doc says.

“Move out,” Reina orders. “Fast as hell. Go!”

Fighting against the last image I have of Toma burned into my mind, I push the Griffin hard to the north. Everything I’ve got—everything I am and have been trained to be, I must focus on to get Toma’s family to safety.

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