Battle of Goito, Part I

Battle of Goito by contributor Star Commander Druth.

“You are the strongest chain, and you’re not just some reflection

So never hide again

You are the driver, you own the road

You are the fire, go on, explode

You’ve got desire, so let it out

You’ve got the power, stand up and shout”

-Dio

2 September, 3152

Bergan Industries factory

Goito, Rasalhague Dominion space

Approx. 1400 hours

Druth wiped the sweat from his brow as he maneuvered the crane carrying a large load of armor plates into position next to a Grizzly Mark 2 battlemech, the labor crew of which he had been assigned to. It was just after lunch hour, and the factory interior was stiflingly hot.

The Grizzly was considered a flawed machine by many. Production on the original model had ceased before Druth and the rest of his sibko were even decanted, but he found a certain charm to this, the 2 model. The left arm ended in three extended range lasers, one large and two micro. An ATM-9 battery sat between the cockpit and left shoulder. Four more micro lasers dotted the right torso, and the right arm carried a formidable gauss rifle mounted above an articulated hand. A group of jump jets sat on the mech’s back. One of its main drawbacks was that it was difficult to maintain, particularly its joint actuators. Nevertheless, Druth liked it for its history as one of Clan Ghost Bear’s signature battlemechs. This one in particular was nearing completion of its construction. All the core systems, weapons, and targeting computer were integrated and only needed testing and fine tuning to be considered battle ready. The armor had been installed on the left arm and most of the torso.

“Looks like you’re ready for another round of work after the meal, buddy,” another laborer named Maxwell called to him, and waved in greeting. He was shorter than Druth, blond, and with a much narrower, more flexible frame. Maxwell was a very timid and nervous person at heart, but he was easygoing and easy to get along with.

Druth frowned a bit, but nodded. Clansmen of the Warrior Caste did not use contractions as Maxwell just had, but it was fairly common in the lower castes. He refused to use them himself.

“Aff,” he replied with a slight sigh. “Do you think we will get this entire mech done today, Max?”

Maxwell shrugged his right shoulder. “Who knows?”

“Maybe we could get a drink together afterwards,” Druth offered with a friendly smile. Disgraced as he was, he still wanted to make the best of the situation. He and Maxwell had grown close over their time working together. He was the first friend Druth had made here, and the one he most enjoyed talking with.

Before Maxwell could answer, the foreman called the workers together to give them their instructions. A portion of the crew would be fitting the Grizzly 2’s right arm and remaining torso with armor, the rest would start work on fine-tuning the leg and foot actuators. Druth was to be in the latter group. He grumbled. He had been hoping to be working closer to the mech’s weapons. It was as close as he would probably get to being a warrior of his clan anymore. He picked up the necessary gear and got to work. Warrior or not, he had a job to do.

At first glance, Druth looked like any other factory worker. He was a young man, aged twenty-one, of average height. His face was clean shaven, and he had a head of light brown hair that he kept slicked back. His frame was broad, stocky, and laced with muscle. However, anyone who looked more closely would notice he carried himself a bit differently than the other workers: with the gait of a man who had known discipline since childhood. However, he also would have seemed like he had a certain dejection, as if something he was hoping for with all his heart had not worked out.

As Druth worked on his task, his mind wandered back to how he had ended up here. Before now, he was, or had been, a trueborn warrior created from the Bekker genetic line. As he and his sibko trained and grew together as cadets, he had proved a talented candidate. Sometimes he even outshone all the others, and many fancied him a Ristar. Then came the time for his Trial of Position, when he would put all his years of training to the test and fight for a position in the Ghost Bear Touman. Success was all but assured in his mind, but the Shadow Cat he was using for the trial completely failed to even start up. He was utterly crushed because of this, and relegated to the Labor Caste.

Now here he was working in a Bergan Industries mech factory. The factory itself was in a fairly out of the way place on the planet Goito. It was not exactly close to any conflict zones, and especially not Terra itself. Phi Galaxy of the Ghost Bear Touman was working as protection from possible raids thanks to their relationship to Bergan. Being a state-sponsored corporation of the Rasalhague Dominion, Bergan requested heightened security, which Phi provided. Even though he could not see them from inside the factory, Druth knew that one of Phi’s Provisional Garrison Clusters was keeping watch over the place. There was one present in nearly every system with Bergan facilities, and they were made up of mechwarriors called solhama. These warriors were too old to fight in the regular ranks of the touman, and their purpose (and often fondest desire) was to die honorably in battle in the name of their clan.

Druth clenched his teeth in anger as the memory of that failed trial came back to him. He had gone through all the pre-battle checks and all systems had been good for launch. There was no way at all that should have happened! I was set up, I know it! Someone WANTED me to fail! But he could not say who, nor could he prove anything. So he had no choice but to accept the misfortune thrust upon him. Druth fumed silently, the memory still fresh in his mind. It made him furious, but because there was nothing he could do, he only felt dejected and ashamed in the end. Forcing himself to keep his chin up was often harder work than any he had done in this factory.

He was so lost in thought that Druth almost did not hear the alarms begin to sound. It was a warning that the factory was under attack! The laborers stopped their work and looked around. Some were confused, wondering what they should do. A few who took safety and evacuation procedures seriously began to make their way toward the emergency exits. The foreman barked instructions for others to do the same, but then there was a tremendous crash, shaking the walls and ceiling of the factory. The factory’s windows allowed sound from outside to enter, and Druth recognized what had hit them immediately: a battlemech’s autocannon blast. The massive shells an autocannon fired could wreak havoc on armor and buildings alike. Seconds later, there was the sound of a large laser and a flight of missiles streaking past. It was undoubtedly the PGC returning fire. Druth nodded to himself, silently wishing the warriors success. But then he remembered he needed to evacuate himself.

Panic was beginning to set in among the factory workers, despite the foreman’s best efforts. The ones who had not already left were running back and forth, while others stood stupidly in place, freezing up. Druth scanned the room for Max, but the other man was nowhere to be seen. He briefly thought about escaping without him and hoping he would make it.

No, Druth decided. A Ghost Bear believes in family and mutual support for his brothers and sisters in the clan. While the others began to stumble towards the exits at last, Druth searched the area for his friend. Finally, he found him hiding behind a stack of crates.

“Hey!” Druth called to him. “What do you think you are doing here? We must escape!”

Max sat on the concrete floor, legs drawn up to his chest, shaking. “I-I can’t…” he stammered. “Too…too m-much…” He was overcome with fear and anxiety at being attacked, and Druth could tell he would not be going anywhere unless he did something.

Druth dropped to one knee and grabbed his friend by the shoulders. “Get a hold of yourself, man!” He said. “You cannot just sit here! You will likely be killed if things get bad!”

Max was unmoved. “I’ll likely get killed no matter what!”

Druth took a breath. Inhale, count to four, exhale, count to four. It was a breathing technique for keeping calm and focused that he had learned from one of his sibko’s instructors. “Listen, Maxwell,” he said firmly. “You are my friend. And no Ghost Bear would leave a friend behind, quineg? As far as I am concerned, we are family, no matter our caste.”

Max locked eyes with Druth.

“Demand of yourself the courage of Tseng and the foresight of Jorgensson.” Druth recited an old adage that invoked the names of the wife and husband who had founded their clan to drive the point home. “Stand up and walk.”

Maxwell nodded. “Okay,” he said. “We can do it.”

Druth helped Maxwell to his feet, and the two men rushed to join the other evacuees. That was when the wall above the emergency exits crumbled inward before their very eyes. An Archer mech fell through the wall, skidding across the floor and tearing up concrete as it went with a horrible sound. It came to rest on its back, completely out of the fight.

The mech had barely missed Druth and Maxwell, who stood stunned for a moment. Druth recognized the roaring head of a Ghost Bear in front of the old Greek symbol for Phi painted on the mech’s hull, the symbol of Phi Galaxy. The mech itself had been horribly damaged. One arm was disabled, the other was blown off, and the left torso was nearly disintegrated, taking all its missile battery with it. The cockpit ferroglass was cracked and caved inward. There was a good chance the pilot had not made it. The evacuees certainly had not. The falling Archer had crushed them dead, leaving Druth and Maxwell alone in the now breached building.

Before either of the two could act, a group of four men dressed in combat fatigues and carrying ballistic rifles made their way through the newly created hole in the wall. Sensing they were not friendly, Druth grabbed Maxwell by his collar and pulled him into cover with him behind the Archer’s ruined frame. They watched as the strangers spread out. One covered the breach, and the other three started a sweep of the area, looking for survivors.

Druth’s mind raced, but he forced himself to focus. They would not survive if they stayed put. He and Max would need to take matters into their own hands.

One of the three searching for survivors drew steadily closer to their hiding spot. “Max,” Druth whispered. “Can you shoot?”

“I’ve never even held a rifle,” Max responded.

“Then stay here, and do not come out until I say so.”

Tension mounted as the stranger approached them. The only sounds to be heard were the battle still raging outside. Once he had gotten within five meters of them, Druth charged, body tucked. He hit the intruder with a shoulder barge, knocking him to the floor. Before the man could react, Druth grabbed the rifle out of his hands and struck him in the head with its stock. He was out cold.

He whirled around just in time for the one watching the breach to notice him. “There are some still alive,” he called before raising his own rifle and firing. Druth raced for cover, the shots whizzing over his head. He dove behind a chunk of rubble, then rose and returned fire. The first two shots missed, but a third caught the man in his arm, causing him to drop the weapon. The fourth and fifth struck him in the chest, killing him.

It was odd that these men were not wearing bulletproof armor. Druth guessed they must be from a generally poorly equipped group of people.

The remaining two strangers found their own cover and began to fire on Druth’s spot. Good, Druth thought. They have not noticed Maxwell. He peeked over the cover and shot back at them. He dispatched one, but the other could not seem to be hit. This one was better than the other three. Druth checked the gun’s magazine, and only a few shots remained. He cursed himself for not thinking that through. Looking up, he saw a thin steel beam suspended in the air above the enemy’s hiding spot by a hook and wire. Taking a breath and aiming carefully, Druth sent his last few shots into the spot where the wire met the hook. It worked, and the beam fell. It landed on the last man’s head and crushed him.

Druth rose to his feet and dropped the now empty gun. “Okay, Max, you can come–”

His words were cut off by a sudden weight on his back. The first intruder had woken up from his knockout, and was now behind Druth, and began to choke him. Druth flailed and spun to throw the other man off, but it did not work. Breath cut off, he fell to his knees as his vision tunneled and darkness began to get closer. So this is it, he thought. How ironic…

But then he heard a thud, and suddenly his attacker’s cried out in pain. Druth opened his eyes enough to see Maxwell standing nearby, a wooden two-by-four in his hands. He had struck the attacker right in the lower back.

The intruder was only distracted by Maxwell’s blow for half a second. But that was all Druth needed. In a single lightning-quick move, he grabbed one of the intruder’s arms, shrugged his shoulders to create a larger gap, slipped out of the hold, and shoved the other man face first onto the concrete floor. Druth told Maxwell to get some wire, and when Maxwell brought it, they tied him up.

Druth doubled over on all fours, gasping for air as his sight fully returned. “You saved me,” Druth said, smiling at Maxwell. “Thank you, my friend.”

The smaller man shook his head sheepishly. “You give me too much credit.”

“Neg. I give you all you are due, Maxwell. You were a quivering mess just a few minutes ago, but you stepped forward and took action. I owe you, and I am grateful,” He looked at their captive and stood up. “But I am also curious about what is going on here…perhaps this man knows,” Druth cracked his knuckles.