"Valhalla Calling" - A Story of the Concertverse Inner Sphere
Posted: 2022-11-21 02:38pm
This is from the same alternate continuity introduced in "Emergence", set 92 years before the formation of the Looking Glass. It takes place at the onset of the Terran War, this timeline's rough counterpart to the Clan Invasion, and stars a character created by a friend of mine who goes by the SN of Oshay (and written with his permission and blessing).
It is not going to be a long story, I anticipate just 2 more updates, but I figured I'd get this opening bit out for your enjoyment.
"Valhalla Calling" - A Story of the Concertverse Inner Sphere
ShieldHall of the FolksArme
Bolsun, Faeroe Continent
Nox
Free Communal Republic of Rasalhague
10 October 3050
The gentle darkness of dreamless sleep broke from the sound. The tone was not the expected one of the alarm clock, warning that it was time to awaken, but the thrumming thunder of artillery shells pounding the ground above finally rousing a sleeping mind from their rest.
Rising from the cot in his makeshift office, Karl "One-Eye" Sleipson felt his usual morning sensations. They consisted of a stiff back, a dull ache in his forehead, and an itch in his missing eye that no rubbing would ever rid him of. His hands fumbled briefly until the right hand found the eyepatch that would spare him some of the itch. He sat up and fixed the patch in place, wrapping the elastic band attached to it around the long locks of light gray hair that hung in disheveled lengths around his head. The instinct for sleep yet lingered in his brain, stronger now with all of the years of life behind him, but he brushed that aside. His eye went to the clock on the wall and a fearsome growl came from his throat. An hour more. Damn that boy, he presumes too much!
The door to the office opened. His personal adjutant, Löjtnant Gregory Lundsen, entered. The welcome sight of a mug of steaming coffee would yet be insufficient to clear his sin of letting One-Eye sleep in, but it had won the young native of Altenmarkt a reprieve. "Gothi, I apologize for letting you sleep in, but no news had yet come and—"
"Stop." One-Eye snarled the word and brought Lundsen's plea to an end. "I am not an old man to be coddled." He smirked. "Though I admit I am old." Too old, I sometimes feel. He took the drink and guzzled half of it down, as if it were not one of the last mugs of the substance he would ever enjoy. The caffeine would do its work, but the mere smell of it, the memories it inspired, brought him to an early wakefulness. "What news do we have?"
Whatever cheer his young adjutant showed faded. "The 4th Helstrom Brigade's attack was repulsed with heavy losses. The Terran lines around Bolsun remain intact."
"I see. And the 21st Landgruppe?"
"Broken and scattering into the countryside. The survivors of the 1st Einherjar and those companies of the 21st that came to us are the only ones left." Lundsen swallowed. "I'm sorry, Gothi. We have failed Rasalhague. We have failed you."
One-Eye frowned and glared at the young officer. Lundsen flinched at the intensity of it. "Death and defeat are a part of war, Löjtnant. Our warriors fought with courage, and that still matters. What of Generalmajors Chase and Gunnarson? Dead, are they?"
"By reports, yes."
"They were brave men. They now feast with their warriors in the halls of Valhalla." That thought brought a grim smile to the old mercenary. "And they do not feast alone. What word have we received from the faxes?"
Lundsen consulted his data tablet. "Resistance on Skye and Tikonov has collapsed. Atreus has fallen, Tematagi and Arcadia struggle. First Prince Ian leads the Davion Guards in continued resistance on New Avalon, but he has lost most of the capital city and was forced to abandon Mount Davion. Director Masako is confirmed alive and still commanding the defenses of Galedon…"
The litany continued, full of besieged or raided Successor State capitals. Names of rulers and leaders passed through One-Eye's ears, a collection of warriors he respected and politicians he barely tolerated. Yet the news, regardless of the grim situation on Nox, was pleasing.
Despite their successes in battle, the Terrans had yet to secure any submissions beyond the outmatched Hindu Collective and the pacifists of Andurien. Even House Arano bitterly resisted the Terran ravaging of Coromadir. You expected less of us, didn't you, Director-General Kerensky? he pondered, letting the caffeine continue to bring his tired, beleaguered brain to full wakefulness. We neo-barbarians of the Inner Sphere weren't supposed to resist you. We were supposed to turn on one another, to accept Terra's domination if it meant our boots got to stomp on our foes. After all, we were but wolves beyond the borders, snapping and biting at each other for territory. You forgot that wolves are prideful beasts and do not submit to the collar and leash so easily… bah. I am getting whimsical in my dotage. "What of Rasalhague?" he asked bluntly.
Lundsen showed a small smile, full of pride despite everything. "Still standing. Överbefälhavare Keurig reports that General Miraborg's forces hold Reykjavik despite repeated enemy offensives and significant casualties, and he is still in contact with other forces across the Communal Republic maintaining resistance. Överste Magnusson is being singled out for defeating the last Terran advance on the capital."
"Ah." One-Eye smiled grimly. His old friend and long-time commander in chief, Hans Keurig, would be a crafty foe for the Terran invaders in their effort to subjugate the Communal Republic. General Miraborg was a tough and stubborn old Gunzberger, one of the few KungsArme senior officers One-Eye singled out for promotion in the unified FolksArme; he would outlast the Terrans if anything else.
As for that last item… whatever one thought of his father, Ragnar Magnusson was a brave officer and leader of men. One-Eye saw a bright future for their nation if Överste Magnusson remained alive to lead it. Then that leaves me, and my role in this epic. He chuckled to himself. I knew this was coming the moment the Terrans jumped in-system. Very well. It is time for the final verse.
"Leave the reports with me. Tell Överste Hardy I wish to see her immediately, and to have all our surviving pilots prepare to sortie." Over their heads another artillery barrage maintained a drumbeat of vibrations. The ShieldHall's subterranean levels were well-built and reinforced from these attacks even if the building itself was undoubtedly a pile of rubble by now.
"Yes, Gothi, sir." Lundsen stood. "Right away. And I'll make sure the Techs have everything ready."
Given how short they must be on parts and supplies — and sleep! — it will be quite impressive if they accomplish that feat. One-Eye gave his adjutant a final nod and saw the young man rush off. His eye went back to the tablet while he took another drink of his coffee, words and phrases forming in his mind.
Calm finality was long-settled on One-Eye's spirit when he arrived in the large 'Mech bay that serviced the ShieldHall. Ordinarily it was large enough to fit over a regiment. Now half of the stalls instead hosted armored vehicles brought in for secure repair. He stopped counting the stalls with 'Mechs still visible at the fifty mark. Each stall, whatever was in them, was being worked over by Techs in the service jumpsuit of the FolksArme. Each had a sidearm holstered, as if they might have to fight as well. It would not win anything but their deaths, though. Even conventional infantry forces had better armament. The Terrans, undoubtedly aware of their crippling manpower limitations, issued every single infantry soldier they fielded in battle with power armor suits. They lacked mounted weaponry and had barely a fifth the defensive potential of most regular battle armor suits, but carrying adapted crew-served weapons as personal armament, they now reaped heavily from Nox's defending infantry forces, save those in battle armor. They have sought every advantage they could claim in trying to subjugate us again. But it will not be enough!
The surviving MechWarriors of the 1st Einherjar and 21st Landgruppe were assembled towards the middle of the bay, giving the overworked Techs the room they needed. One-Eye tromped up to them before clambering on top of a pallet of armor plating. They turned to him and saluted. He nodded, smiling, at the fire in their eyes before saluting them in return. For weeks they'd seen the deaths of their fellow warriors. They'd lost friends, rivals, and lovers to the Terrans' quantity of superior weaponry and machines. But the spirit within them was not quenched. They were fighting for their nation and their kin.
He'd considered his planned words well, it seemed. There were none needed to stoke the fire, only to give it direction, and the brutal honesty to inspire every man to take his place in the epic of Rasalhague.
"Warriors of Free Rasalhague, we now see how the Norns carved our fates." One-Eye's voice boomed through the bay, and even some of the Techs stopped what they were doing to pay attention. "We will not live to see another sunrise. So let us seize that fate! For our people, for our way of life, for Rasalhague, we will show these 'Terrans' what real 'barbarian' rage looks like! My last order to you, my Einherjar, is to fight with every breath you have left! When next we meet, it will be at the feasts awaiting us in Valhalla!"
The result were several cheers or hoots of agreement, with most heads nodding. Grim, determined eyes met the Gothi's. He'd only declared what they already felt, given their situation.
He had more to say. "If you worry that we are going to blunder into death like a pack of rabid Kuritan dogs, settle your hearts. The enemy will think us berserkers, but we are out to do more than simply kill invaders. We will strike a blow for our people that will aid the defense of Rasalhague. Our target is General Showers and his command staff!"
Vicious smiles were the reply.
"The command officers of the Terrans' 22nd Brigade have moved up toward the front, undoubtedly to oversee their final lunge at our base. They are within striking range. Your Kaptens and Majors have your assignments for the coming battle. Whether you join the central strike or fight on the flank, know this. You are forging your place in the Epic of Rasalhague. So long as there is a Rasalhague, the skalds will sing of this day! All MechWarriors, fall out, and mount your machines!"
After a final roar and cheer, they obeyed. In the end, only three other figures remained with One-Eye as he clambered down from his place. They were his handpicked few, the warriors who would fight directly at his side. The youngest of them, Löjtnant Sigurd Minamoto, was a son of Mannedorf. He had Japanese ancestry, Kuritan ancestry many whispered, but his heart and soul was for Rasalhague, and he'd been a top cadet at Holmgang on Tukayyid with several victories in the invasion with his Höggspjót heavy 'Mech.
Beside him was Kapten Yvonne Stralsund; short, stocky, built tough as a woman of Vipaava and its higher gravity. She was the veteran pilot of a Rasalhaguan-built Viking assault 'Mech. It was a bruiser of a machine, relying upon friendly support fire and intentional heating to trigger the triple strength myomer that would let it run faster and deliver crushing blows with the axe in the right hand.
Overseeing them was Major Jan Haclev. A brilliant field commander and pilot during the War of Rasalhaguan Reunification and the Oberon War, Haclev served as chief aide to One-Eye. Once the pilot of a Battlemaster that made its way into the ranks of the old NordArme, he currently enjoyed one of the handful of Jarl 'Mechs in the unit. It was a hundred ton OmniMech configured with twin Gauss Rifles and, for foes who drew too close, six medium-caliber pulse lasers. A stub jutted out from the pod space in the head module, reflecting the extended range small laser that would provide an extra sting in close quarters.
Haclev saluted once more, out of respect, prompting the others to do the same. Not a one of the group said anything, they didn't need to say anything. They were as ready as anyone else and they were going to follow One-Eye into the deaths he'd promised.
With pride One-Eye returned the salute. "Mount your machines. I will be in mine shortly." They walked on while One-Eye awaited for the approach of Överste Claudia Hardy. The dark-haired Arcturan commanded the Einherjar regiment proper and despite her rank was present in cooling vest, undershirt, and shorts, the traditional BDUs of a MechWarrior. She would be joining the warriors of the Einherjar in their final battle, leaving the minutiae of command in the HQ to her chief of staff and other aides. "All is ready?" he asked her.
"We will only get a few salvos before enemy counter-battery fire hits us," Hardy replied. "But I have assurances from Major Hendriksson and the others that the guns will keep firing until they are out of ammunition or destroyed. Any surviving gun crew will take up arms and report for duty as infantry."
"If they cannot, they should disperse and form the cells the Republic will need to support our eventual liberation," One-Eye said, his voice brimming with absolute faith in that prospect.
"I will pass that on," Hardy assured him. She gave him a final salute before walking towards her machine, another of the Jarls, this one sporting a pair of Mjolnir Class 2 PPCs on one arm and a pair of Rasalhague Arsenal autocannons on the other. It stood out among the others for the laser mounted to each hip, the only potential pod space available for them.
With all other business attended to, One-Eye completed his own final journey. His Stalker's battle damage was repaired. The STK-3Q was a unique variant built right here on Nox. The "arms", nothing more than extensions of the torso with no elbow or hand actuators, carried Odin's Eye SRM launchers with streak technology for preserving ammunition. They were the short range punch of the 'Mech, complementing the pair of Mjolnir Class 1 PPCs built into the torso frame. These were old model PPCs, lacking the range or hitting power of the Class 2s and 3s, but still quite respectable punchers in a fight. Lastly, in the housing below the cockpit of the colossal machine, a pair of M2 extended range lasers from Rasalhague Arsenal Co-Operative rounded out offensive firepower, while above the cockpit a single chaingun mount held a RACO CIWS weapon, an anti-missile gun for downing incoming enemy volleys.
There were bigger 'Mechs that he might have taken, but One-Eye knew this machine. It'd been rebuilt from the Stalker he piloted in the years of chaos before the Second Age of War, when most of the Inner Sphere was a collection of independent star systems under warlords, pirates, oligarchies, communes, and all sorts of combinations of the above. He'd fought on many of those systems in his mercenary days, staying one step ahead of enemy 'Mechs and Terran creditors alike, until he'd found the fulfillment of his ideals with the founding of the Rasalhague Commune on Nox and its later merger with the Principality of Rasalhague.
And now here, at the end, his enemies had finally caught up with him. He would make them regret it.
He took the bay lift up to the hatch and entered the cockpit area. The faint smell of smoke still wafted here, courtesy of the fire fight a few days before where they'd stamped down a Terran probing strike. The Techs had everything in working order at least. He went through the usual startup procedure by rote instinct, from throwing the lever to put the fusion plant into ready mode to the final checks. The neurohelmet was an older model that restricted shoulder movement. That weight felt strangely appropriate, a sensation stretching back through the many years and battles of his life to this moment.
His alphanumeric checkphrase was nothing fancy like some pilots, it was meant to be a security password after all, and it brought the Stalker to life. The feminine voice universal to such machines spoke. "Reactor online. Sensors online. Weapons online. All systems nominal." "Bitching Betty" was the common term he'd heard for the voice, but he preferred the simple title of "shieldmaiden". It was a better fit in his mind.
Other 'Mechs were already in motion towards the 'Mech bay doors. The tunnel beyond would take them to the surface of ravaged Bolsun, where so many of his people were fighting and dying against the sheer power the Terrans had brought to bear. They could not win this battle. He could not. But they could lose well, and even in defeat, light the way for the peoples of Rasalhague to win the final triumph and assert their independence against the grasping tyranny of Terra.
"Come, my old friend," he murmured quietly to his Stalker. "Our last battle awaits."
It is not going to be a long story, I anticipate just 2 more updates, but I figured I'd get this opening bit out for your enjoyment.
"Valhalla Calling" - A Story of the Concertverse Inner Sphere
Sails a swaying on the crimson rivers
Blood and glory in the fighting fields
Shields a' shatter into splintered timbers
Iron and steel
Fires are rising and the bells are ringing
Glory take us into Odin's halls
Golden glimmer and the sound of singing
Asgard's call
— "Valhalla Calling", 21st Century work by artist "Miracle of Sound", Terra
ShieldHall of the FolksArme
Bolsun, Faeroe Continent
Nox
Free Communal Republic of Rasalhague
10 October 3050
The gentle darkness of dreamless sleep broke from the sound. The tone was not the expected one of the alarm clock, warning that it was time to awaken, but the thrumming thunder of artillery shells pounding the ground above finally rousing a sleeping mind from their rest.
Rising from the cot in his makeshift office, Karl "One-Eye" Sleipson felt his usual morning sensations. They consisted of a stiff back, a dull ache in his forehead, and an itch in his missing eye that no rubbing would ever rid him of. His hands fumbled briefly until the right hand found the eyepatch that would spare him some of the itch. He sat up and fixed the patch in place, wrapping the elastic band attached to it around the long locks of light gray hair that hung in disheveled lengths around his head. The instinct for sleep yet lingered in his brain, stronger now with all of the years of life behind him, but he brushed that aside. His eye went to the clock on the wall and a fearsome growl came from his throat. An hour more. Damn that boy, he presumes too much!
The door to the office opened. His personal adjutant, Löjtnant Gregory Lundsen, entered. The welcome sight of a mug of steaming coffee would yet be insufficient to clear his sin of letting One-Eye sleep in, but it had won the young native of Altenmarkt a reprieve. "Gothi, I apologize for letting you sleep in, but no news had yet come and—"
"Stop." One-Eye snarled the word and brought Lundsen's plea to an end. "I am not an old man to be coddled." He smirked. "Though I admit I am old." Too old, I sometimes feel. He took the drink and guzzled half of it down, as if it were not one of the last mugs of the substance he would ever enjoy. The caffeine would do its work, but the mere smell of it, the memories it inspired, brought him to an early wakefulness. "What news do we have?"
Whatever cheer his young adjutant showed faded. "The 4th Helstrom Brigade's attack was repulsed with heavy losses. The Terran lines around Bolsun remain intact."
"I see. And the 21st Landgruppe?"
"Broken and scattering into the countryside. The survivors of the 1st Einherjar and those companies of the 21st that came to us are the only ones left." Lundsen swallowed. "I'm sorry, Gothi. We have failed Rasalhague. We have failed you."
One-Eye frowned and glared at the young officer. Lundsen flinched at the intensity of it. "Death and defeat are a part of war, Löjtnant. Our warriors fought with courage, and that still matters. What of Generalmajors Chase and Gunnarson? Dead, are they?"
"By reports, yes."
"They were brave men. They now feast with their warriors in the halls of Valhalla." That thought brought a grim smile to the old mercenary. "And they do not feast alone. What word have we received from the faxes?"
Lundsen consulted his data tablet. "Resistance on Skye and Tikonov has collapsed. Atreus has fallen, Tematagi and Arcadia struggle. First Prince Ian leads the Davion Guards in continued resistance on New Avalon, but he has lost most of the capital city and was forced to abandon Mount Davion. Director Masako is confirmed alive and still commanding the defenses of Galedon…"
The litany continued, full of besieged or raided Successor State capitals. Names of rulers and leaders passed through One-Eye's ears, a collection of warriors he respected and politicians he barely tolerated. Yet the news, regardless of the grim situation on Nox, was pleasing.
Despite their successes in battle, the Terrans had yet to secure any submissions beyond the outmatched Hindu Collective and the pacifists of Andurien. Even House Arano bitterly resisted the Terran ravaging of Coromadir. You expected less of us, didn't you, Director-General Kerensky? he pondered, letting the caffeine continue to bring his tired, beleaguered brain to full wakefulness. We neo-barbarians of the Inner Sphere weren't supposed to resist you. We were supposed to turn on one another, to accept Terra's domination if it meant our boots got to stomp on our foes. After all, we were but wolves beyond the borders, snapping and biting at each other for territory. You forgot that wolves are prideful beasts and do not submit to the collar and leash so easily… bah. I am getting whimsical in my dotage. "What of Rasalhague?" he asked bluntly.
Lundsen showed a small smile, full of pride despite everything. "Still standing. Överbefälhavare Keurig reports that General Miraborg's forces hold Reykjavik despite repeated enemy offensives and significant casualties, and he is still in contact with other forces across the Communal Republic maintaining resistance. Överste Magnusson is being singled out for defeating the last Terran advance on the capital."
"Ah." One-Eye smiled grimly. His old friend and long-time commander in chief, Hans Keurig, would be a crafty foe for the Terran invaders in their effort to subjugate the Communal Republic. General Miraborg was a tough and stubborn old Gunzberger, one of the few KungsArme senior officers One-Eye singled out for promotion in the unified FolksArme; he would outlast the Terrans if anything else.
As for that last item… whatever one thought of his father, Ragnar Magnusson was a brave officer and leader of men. One-Eye saw a bright future for their nation if Överste Magnusson remained alive to lead it. Then that leaves me, and my role in this epic. He chuckled to himself. I knew this was coming the moment the Terrans jumped in-system. Very well. It is time for the final verse.
"Leave the reports with me. Tell Överste Hardy I wish to see her immediately, and to have all our surviving pilots prepare to sortie." Over their heads another artillery barrage maintained a drumbeat of vibrations. The ShieldHall's subterranean levels were well-built and reinforced from these attacks even if the building itself was undoubtedly a pile of rubble by now.
"Yes, Gothi, sir." Lundsen stood. "Right away. And I'll make sure the Techs have everything ready."
Given how short they must be on parts and supplies — and sleep! — it will be quite impressive if they accomplish that feat. One-Eye gave his adjutant a final nod and saw the young man rush off. His eye went back to the tablet while he took another drink of his coffee, words and phrases forming in his mind.
Calm finality was long-settled on One-Eye's spirit when he arrived in the large 'Mech bay that serviced the ShieldHall. Ordinarily it was large enough to fit over a regiment. Now half of the stalls instead hosted armored vehicles brought in for secure repair. He stopped counting the stalls with 'Mechs still visible at the fifty mark. Each stall, whatever was in them, was being worked over by Techs in the service jumpsuit of the FolksArme. Each had a sidearm holstered, as if they might have to fight as well. It would not win anything but their deaths, though. Even conventional infantry forces had better armament. The Terrans, undoubtedly aware of their crippling manpower limitations, issued every single infantry soldier they fielded in battle with power armor suits. They lacked mounted weaponry and had barely a fifth the defensive potential of most regular battle armor suits, but carrying adapted crew-served weapons as personal armament, they now reaped heavily from Nox's defending infantry forces, save those in battle armor. They have sought every advantage they could claim in trying to subjugate us again. But it will not be enough!
The surviving MechWarriors of the 1st Einherjar and 21st Landgruppe were assembled towards the middle of the bay, giving the overworked Techs the room they needed. One-Eye tromped up to them before clambering on top of a pallet of armor plating. They turned to him and saluted. He nodded, smiling, at the fire in their eyes before saluting them in return. For weeks they'd seen the deaths of their fellow warriors. They'd lost friends, rivals, and lovers to the Terrans' quantity of superior weaponry and machines. But the spirit within them was not quenched. They were fighting for their nation and their kin.
He'd considered his planned words well, it seemed. There were none needed to stoke the fire, only to give it direction, and the brutal honesty to inspire every man to take his place in the epic of Rasalhague.
"Warriors of Free Rasalhague, we now see how the Norns carved our fates." One-Eye's voice boomed through the bay, and even some of the Techs stopped what they were doing to pay attention. "We will not live to see another sunrise. So let us seize that fate! For our people, for our way of life, for Rasalhague, we will show these 'Terrans' what real 'barbarian' rage looks like! My last order to you, my Einherjar, is to fight with every breath you have left! When next we meet, it will be at the feasts awaiting us in Valhalla!"
The result were several cheers or hoots of agreement, with most heads nodding. Grim, determined eyes met the Gothi's. He'd only declared what they already felt, given their situation.
He had more to say. "If you worry that we are going to blunder into death like a pack of rabid Kuritan dogs, settle your hearts. The enemy will think us berserkers, but we are out to do more than simply kill invaders. We will strike a blow for our people that will aid the defense of Rasalhague. Our target is General Showers and his command staff!"
Vicious smiles were the reply.
"The command officers of the Terrans' 22nd Brigade have moved up toward the front, undoubtedly to oversee their final lunge at our base. They are within striking range. Your Kaptens and Majors have your assignments for the coming battle. Whether you join the central strike or fight on the flank, know this. You are forging your place in the Epic of Rasalhague. So long as there is a Rasalhague, the skalds will sing of this day! All MechWarriors, fall out, and mount your machines!"
After a final roar and cheer, they obeyed. In the end, only three other figures remained with One-Eye as he clambered down from his place. They were his handpicked few, the warriors who would fight directly at his side. The youngest of them, Löjtnant Sigurd Minamoto, was a son of Mannedorf. He had Japanese ancestry, Kuritan ancestry many whispered, but his heart and soul was for Rasalhague, and he'd been a top cadet at Holmgang on Tukayyid with several victories in the invasion with his Höggspjót heavy 'Mech.
Beside him was Kapten Yvonne Stralsund; short, stocky, built tough as a woman of Vipaava and its higher gravity. She was the veteran pilot of a Rasalhaguan-built Viking assault 'Mech. It was a bruiser of a machine, relying upon friendly support fire and intentional heating to trigger the triple strength myomer that would let it run faster and deliver crushing blows with the axe in the right hand.
Overseeing them was Major Jan Haclev. A brilliant field commander and pilot during the War of Rasalhaguan Reunification and the Oberon War, Haclev served as chief aide to One-Eye. Once the pilot of a Battlemaster that made its way into the ranks of the old NordArme, he currently enjoyed one of the handful of Jarl 'Mechs in the unit. It was a hundred ton OmniMech configured with twin Gauss Rifles and, for foes who drew too close, six medium-caliber pulse lasers. A stub jutted out from the pod space in the head module, reflecting the extended range small laser that would provide an extra sting in close quarters.
Haclev saluted once more, out of respect, prompting the others to do the same. Not a one of the group said anything, they didn't need to say anything. They were as ready as anyone else and they were going to follow One-Eye into the deaths he'd promised.
With pride One-Eye returned the salute. "Mount your machines. I will be in mine shortly." They walked on while One-Eye awaited for the approach of Överste Claudia Hardy. The dark-haired Arcturan commanded the Einherjar regiment proper and despite her rank was present in cooling vest, undershirt, and shorts, the traditional BDUs of a MechWarrior. She would be joining the warriors of the Einherjar in their final battle, leaving the minutiae of command in the HQ to her chief of staff and other aides. "All is ready?" he asked her.
"We will only get a few salvos before enemy counter-battery fire hits us," Hardy replied. "But I have assurances from Major Hendriksson and the others that the guns will keep firing until they are out of ammunition or destroyed. Any surviving gun crew will take up arms and report for duty as infantry."
"If they cannot, they should disperse and form the cells the Republic will need to support our eventual liberation," One-Eye said, his voice brimming with absolute faith in that prospect.
"I will pass that on," Hardy assured him. She gave him a final salute before walking towards her machine, another of the Jarls, this one sporting a pair of Mjolnir Class 2 PPCs on one arm and a pair of Rasalhague Arsenal autocannons on the other. It stood out among the others for the laser mounted to each hip, the only potential pod space available for them.
With all other business attended to, One-Eye completed his own final journey. His Stalker's battle damage was repaired. The STK-3Q was a unique variant built right here on Nox. The "arms", nothing more than extensions of the torso with no elbow or hand actuators, carried Odin's Eye SRM launchers with streak technology for preserving ammunition. They were the short range punch of the 'Mech, complementing the pair of Mjolnir Class 1 PPCs built into the torso frame. These were old model PPCs, lacking the range or hitting power of the Class 2s and 3s, but still quite respectable punchers in a fight. Lastly, in the housing below the cockpit of the colossal machine, a pair of M2 extended range lasers from Rasalhague Arsenal Co-Operative rounded out offensive firepower, while above the cockpit a single chaingun mount held a RACO CIWS weapon, an anti-missile gun for downing incoming enemy volleys.
There were bigger 'Mechs that he might have taken, but One-Eye knew this machine. It'd been rebuilt from the Stalker he piloted in the years of chaos before the Second Age of War, when most of the Inner Sphere was a collection of independent star systems under warlords, pirates, oligarchies, communes, and all sorts of combinations of the above. He'd fought on many of those systems in his mercenary days, staying one step ahead of enemy 'Mechs and Terran creditors alike, until he'd found the fulfillment of his ideals with the founding of the Rasalhague Commune on Nox and its later merger with the Principality of Rasalhague.
And now here, at the end, his enemies had finally caught up with him. He would make them regret it.
He took the bay lift up to the hatch and entered the cockpit area. The faint smell of smoke still wafted here, courtesy of the fire fight a few days before where they'd stamped down a Terran probing strike. The Techs had everything in working order at least. He went through the usual startup procedure by rote instinct, from throwing the lever to put the fusion plant into ready mode to the final checks. The neurohelmet was an older model that restricted shoulder movement. That weight felt strangely appropriate, a sensation stretching back through the many years and battles of his life to this moment.
His alphanumeric checkphrase was nothing fancy like some pilots, it was meant to be a security password after all, and it brought the Stalker to life. The feminine voice universal to such machines spoke. "Reactor online. Sensors online. Weapons online. All systems nominal." "Bitching Betty" was the common term he'd heard for the voice, but he preferred the simple title of "shieldmaiden". It was a better fit in his mind.
Other 'Mechs were already in motion towards the 'Mech bay doors. The tunnel beyond would take them to the surface of ravaged Bolsun, where so many of his people were fighting and dying against the sheer power the Terrans had brought to bear. They could not win this battle. He could not. But they could lose well, and even in defeat, light the way for the peoples of Rasalhague to win the final triumph and assert their independence against the grasping tyranny of Terra.
"Come, my old friend," he murmured quietly to his Stalker. "Our last battle awaits."