Chapter 3

“Mazy, You take point, Grewwl, take up rear. Clara, you’re on over watch. “Klien listened to the acknowledgements. One was missing. “Clara? “Silence. “Clara. Do you copy? “The silence continued.

“I think she’s fallen asleep. “Grewwl said, only half joking.

“Does anyone happen to have DS4’s in their load-out? “Klien asked.

“Why would I be carrying that shite?”

“Your having a laugh. I thought this was a combat operation...”

“I think I have some... ”

“What the fuck Mazy? Why would you even carry that shite?”

“I think he likes having them. You know. For a bit of personal time. See how far up they can be loaded.”

“Fuck off Grewwl. Carry on, and I’ll shove my barrel up your arse and you can get up close and personal with my little blue friend.”

“Little blue friend? Are we still talking about training rounds here?”

“Do they come with battery compartments and a range of selectable vibrating, sorry, firing options... ”

“Fuck off the lot of you... “Mazzy lined the sight up on their sleeping mech and added a bit more elevation. Because DS4’s were training rounds, they had a smaller propellant load. Which meant a smaller range as well. Mazzy looked away from the sight to ensure trig had loaded a DS4 and not an actual live round.

The round that was being loaded was indeed blue, the shell made of biodegradable blue plastic rubbery like material.

Happy, Mazzy hovered a finger over the trigger. “Target acquired, round loaded.”

“Fire in your own time... “Klein confirmed.

Mazzy fired the tank’s main gun, the recoil no-where near as explosive as it usually was. One of the effects of a greatly reduced propellant charge, was that the shell travelled slow enough to be easily visible to the naked eye.

“You’re a bit high there, are you not? “Grewwl remarked amusingly as he followed the DS4’s lazy trajectory. After covering about three quarters of the distance, it started to lose height fast. The shell impacted square against the chest of the mech, exploding into thousands of tiny blue fragments which were supposed to degrade after a year of ultraviolet exposure.

“Nice shot.”

Klaxons awoke Clara from a sleep she had been unaware of falling into. She had just been shot, her hull still ringing to the echoes of the impact. Clara desperately looked around for her attacker as she hastily moved her mech to a new position.

“Klein! I am under contact, repeat I am under contact.”

The three tanks were not moving, one even had its gun pointed in her direction. Clara called up the sensor log, scanning the data, looking for the origin of the shot. She located it and stopped the mech. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” She screamed into the cockpit, before she squeezed her eyes shut and composed herself.

Clara opened coms again. “Sorry. “She felt so humiliated. The laughter that came briefly over the coms from the other tanks did not help. Clara opened her mouth to say more, then decided that all it would do, would be to make the situation worse.

It had all been a bit of a nightmare. Cooped up in the transporter, there hadn’t been much to do other than sleep or tinker with her father’s mech. Clara had been so determined to make a good impression, that she had forgone sleep in favour of making sure that her mech was as ready as it could be. Partly because she thought that her nerves would make sleep impossible, and tossing about on a strange bed seemed like a waste of time that she could spend doing other things.

Not that she had achieved much with her tinkering. Changing settings only to change them back again five minutes later. Besides, she would have a day or two to sort herself out before her first tasking.

Except that the mech drop ship had deposited her out on some prairie land next to a collection of tanks and APC’s. Now she desperately wished that she had gone to bed.

Never had she ever felt so tired before. Digging her fingernails into her palms only worked a few times before the tiredness overruled even pain.

When they finally arrived back at the small encampment that was ‘home’, she sobbed with relief. Parking her mech up in the hastily cleared and marked out area. The cold fresh air that swept into the small cockpit did not help her exhaustion, if anything, it made it worse. The improvised access gantry for her mech was the literal description of ‘rickety’, but it sufficed.

Feeling as though she was inebriated and a little confused, she found what passed as the operations room, found out where she was bunked and staggered there. Seeing the simple bed, all other thought left her mind and she collapsed on top. The darkness of sleep swept over her before the springs had even stopped moving.

The Earth was moving. Was she in a transport? What felt like the deepest pothole in existence shook her body.

“Clara!”

“Ugh...” Clara opened her eyes, and moved her tongue around a dry and parched mouth, trying to summon up or find some form of moisture. They hit another pot hole. Only it wasn’t a pothole. The strange man shook her again.

“Clara. Up you get. We move out in five.”

Clara rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Get the fuck up time. Seriously. This isn’t a holiday camp. Get your fucking arse into gear.” The Jovial tone quickly turned serious.

Clara sat up and swung her legs over the side of the simple, and now that she was fairly awake, uncomfortable bed. There was a disposable cup of something that steamed and a square box clearly marked ‘24hr ration pack.’ She was still in her clothes from yesterday. Clara grabbed the cup and took a sip. The taste was foul and didn’t trigger any known flavour to her taste buds. “Ugh, what is this?”

“Field coffee. Made from the ground up beans of hopes, dreams and innocence. Four minutes.” The man who her befuddled brain had attributed the name ‘Klein’ to, left the room. Clara leapt from the bed and quickly emptied bladder and bowel. She managed three gulps of the ‘coffee’ before she tipped the remainder into the toilet where it belonged and flushed.

The sound of heavy engines roared into life outside. There wasn’t time to change, so she grabbed a bottle of water, the ration pack and a stick of deodorant out of her yet as unpacked luggage. The gantry was every bit as rickety going up as it had been going down.

The tanks were leaving the compound as she hit the hatch close button. Slumping into her seat she reached for the harness restraints and stared stupidly at the items still in her hands. “Shit!” she stowed the items into cargo nets and flicked switches on the instrument panel without thinking. The mech powered up as she pulled the restraints across her chest. There was a long list of checks she should do, but she skipped the lot. “Sorry, Dad.”

Clara had no idea if there was a maximum speed for going through the camp, and there were a lot of warm bodies wandering around. She plumped for a speed that hopefully wouldn’t land her in trouble and tried to avoid stepping on anything with a pulse.

The mech’s sensor suite easily picked up the departing tanks and once out of camp, she quickly caught up, falling into a following support position as befitted her role.

Clara slowly walked her mech between the two sentry posts. A soldier standing outside one of the reinforced bunkers waved his hand in friendly greeting. Not having a hand of her own to return the gesture, and not wanting to come over as stand offish, Clara dipped her closest main weapon in acknowledgement. The guard nodded his head, and she entered the camp.

“Don’t be a dick.” Her father had always said to her “There are enough of them already.” She walked her mech back into its gantry a set the alarm on her chronograph. During the patrol Klein had quietly, but pointedly, mentioned that there was an evening meeting that she was supposed to attend. It outlined the next day’s duties, potential threat assessments and other information deemed pertinent by the chain of command.

She had just over an hour to spare, so she sought out the communal shower for women and joined the queue. The water was tepid and the knowledge that others were waiting outside, along with the quick turnover of women inside, made her aware that dawdling was frowned upon. After drying herself, she dressed in a fresh pair of farm work trousers, t-shirt and over shirt. She would enquire about washing facilities after this meeting she was supposed to attend. She had a few days’ worth of clothing yet, so it wasn’t a priority.

Clara asked as to the location of the building that this meeting was held in and bimbled over, drawing curious looks from everyone else, who were all dressed in combat fatigues of one description or another. She arrived bang on time, by her watch, but the room was already full. All the seats were taken and several soldiers were stood relaxed around the walls. All heads turned to look at her and the soldier at the front, standing behind a podium, who looked like he was about to start speaking, glanced up at her briefly and then equally quickly discounted her.

As everyone else turned back to the front, Clara was aware, but not quite understanding, that she had just put another foot wrong. The man at the front started speaking. Clara listened but didn’t understand most of what came out. It just seemed to be a collection of acronyms, to which those around her either acknowledged with nods or a “Yes, Sir.” Which implied that some of those acronyms were unit identifiers that pertained specifically to them. He also pointed with regularity at the large screen behind him which displayed an aerial map of what Clara at least managed to work out as being of the surrounding area. Again, the map was labelled with two letter initials at various points. One of which appeared to be the camp she was currently in. All those around her, were studiously writing God knows what on a variety of mediums. Some wrote on electronic slates, some on small paper pocket note books, some on large A four sheets within fancy looking camouflage folders. She was the only one in the room with neither writing implement or surface on which to write.

Eventually, the one way conversation stopped and he asked if there were any questions. There were a few and he answered those.

“That’s all till the next O group. I’m glad to see that you were able to join us tonight Miss Karlsson.” There were a few chuckles and the man nodded towards the assembled soldiers. “Dismissed.”

Clara couldn’t work out if the comment directed at her was passive aggressive, just plain sarcasm, or both. The room waited till the man had left and then erupted into action as some left and some huddled together to discuss something beyond her current understanding.

Clara desperately caught Klein’s eye, indicating that she wanted an urgent word. He was dressed in clean uniform, which was adorned with symbols she didn’t understand. He nodded and Clara hung around as he chatted briefly to various individuals unknown to her.

“What’s up?” Klein asked.

“I need advice...”

“Okay. Follow me. We can talk on the way. What advice do you need?”

“Well. Everything.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Everything?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know why I’m here. In fact. I don’t even know where ‘here’ is.”

“How green are you exactly?”

“Like, really really...”

Klein let out a huge sigh as he held a door open for her and they entered a restaurant of some description. The smell of food made her stomach rumble loudly and he raised an eyebrow at her. “Have you eaten yet tonight?” Klein stepped in front of hot drink dispenser and placed one of the nearby ceramic mugs under the spout and made his selection on the screen.

The liquid gurgled into the mug, sounding not unlike Clara’s stomach. “That’s one of the things I need to ask you about. I don’t have much money on me and I don’t know how or where to access my bank account. I don’t know where to pay for the food here,” she looked hungrily at the hotplate. “or even what the denomination is...”

“You really are green, aren’t you?”

“Umm, yeah.”

“The food is free. Go get a plate full before your stomach deafens me.” Clara nodded and quickly headed over to join the small queue. Sure enough, those in front took a selection from the hotplate and headed off to various tables. Clara filled her plate high and re-joined Klein who took a bemused look at her plate.

“You’re not pregnant are you?”

“What! No! why do you ask?”

He just shook his head, a small smile at the edge of his mouth and Clara yet again felt she was missing a joke at her expense.

“Christina said you had some, limited, but some combat experience in a mech?”

“One battle. I took out a drop ship and some of its crew.”

“You killed them?” he asked simply.

“Yes.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“They killed my parents. So if you are asking if I regret killing them, then no. They fucking deserved it.”

He took a sip and she stuffed a fork full of food into her mouth. “How much military experience do you have?”

Clara chewed, swallowed. “None.”

“Any knowledge of rank structure, weaponry, military doctrine?”

“No, some, no. I know how to fire a hunting rifle and I know mechs. That’s basically it. I don’t have a complete load out for the mech. No missiles or anything, just the energy weapons that run off the reactor. I don’t know where to go for re-supply or anything. I don’t even know what my role here is.”

Klein took another sip. “You don’t need to worry about re-supply. You are not here in an official capacity, nor will you be loaded out. We don’t have the munitions here to do so, nor technically, are you expected to be utilised in a combat role.”

“Then why am I even here?”

“You are here for me to assess if you are any good. If you are capable of learning. If you are capable of working, as a team, with armour.”

“If I am not?”

“Then most likely your contract will be terminated. ’services no longer required’.”

“And if you feel that I am ... competent?”

“If you can work with my team without getting in the road and or kicking, or stepping on one of the tanks, then you are being shipped off to learn/work with infantry.”

“And If I don’t learn, or I step on some infantry, then its ’services no longer required’?”

“No. You just won’t be deployed with infantry. Which will hinder your usefulness and ultimately your ability to earn money for both yourself and the company.”

“So how am I doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I need to do, to learn? How am I doing at the moment?”

“Well, if you had been in a group, then I would be currently ranking you bottom third.” He fell silent and Clara tried to process his words and the implication.

“So not good then.”

“No. But furnished by the new information that you have just provided, and which hadn’t been disseminated in the first place, your more trending middle.”

“Yay!” she said ironically.

“So no military experience at all then?”

“If the last couple of days don’t count, then no.”

Klein snorted. “How did you come to owning a mech?”

“It was my father’s, apparently.”

“What unit or units did he serve in?”

“I didn’t even know he had served.” Clara rubbed the tears away from her eyes. “It’s turning out that I didn’t know my parents at all. It’s a lot to process.”

“Were you never curious about where the mech came from?”

Clara let out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t even know it existed until a couple of weeks ago.”

Klein raised an eye and nodded in the direction of the unseen mech “It’s quite the cupboard that you can hide that at the back of...”

“I grew up on a wheat farm, so there were several large silos, that, well, I never paid any attention to. They existed to store the grain.”

“Hidden in plain sight.”

“Yes.”

“So how did you learn? You don’t learn to pilot a mech as well as you do overnight. Or even over a year.”

“Dad had a simulation rig in a spare room. I always thought it was, just, you know, a hobby taken to extremes. He was happy to let me play on it, and I could, whenever he wasn’t on it.”

“You said, your parents were killed in a raid? How did you find out about the mech?”

Clara felt her bottom lip quiver and clenched her fists to stop the shakes that threatened her body. “Dad gave his life to save me. He pushed me aside and took the shots that I would have taken.” she pulled out the key from around her neck to show Klein. “He gave me this and some cryptic words and then. And then he was gone.”

Klein reached over and took her hand in his “It’s not easy being with someone as they pass.”

“No. No it’s not.” Clara took a deep, steadying, breath “Anyway, long story short, I followed his last instructions and found his mech and a note on the controls for me. Rage. Rage like I have never ever felt before, took over. It was so easy just to fire it up and go hunting.”

“And you took out a dropship?”

“I knew the land, and in hindsight, I don’t think they were expecting resistance.”

“And the mech was functioning?”

“Yes. Though it was, still is, missing most of its weapon load out, but everything powered by the reactor was still functioning.”

“Your father was obviously a meticulous man. I have things to organise, Clara; but if you have questions, one of the tank crews will, I’m sure, help. Or pass it on to me. If required.”

“Okay. Thanks, Klein”

Klein finished the last of his drink and left. Clara loitered for a bit before heading back to her small room.

There was a big difference between operating a mech in a computer game, compared to one in real life, as Clara was finding out. No matter how good the simulator, it was the little details. The creaks and groans of the actuator joints, the smells that never seemed to settle on one specific scent, changing on the state and position of the mech. The weird motion of a moving mech that played havoc with your inner ear. The more serious and regimented communication protocols. All with underlying knowledge that there would be no reloads. No re-spawns.

Death was a onetime, permenant experience.

Whilst she didn’t have much knowledge of military life and protocol, operating a mech was easy enough and she had no trouble in combining the movements and procedures of the mobile armour with her own.

The mech’s impressive - to Clara’s eyes at least - communications capabilities did not mesh properly with that of the armour, though she could see how effective the symbiosis would have been if it had. The scanners, even though they appeared to be older than that used by the armour, benefited from the greater power afforded by the mech’s reactor. What her scanners lacked in recent innovation, they made up in sheer power. She could see how the armour could use her scanner information to increase accuracy, target acquisition and increase range. Especially when they were firing blind. If only she could match her system
up with theirs. “Computer says no...” Clara muttered.

There were similarities between the game world and reality. The sense of achievement when a co-ordinated movement or faux assault went well. Clara found herself reading the surrounding topography, trying to guess the route the armour would take. Adjusting her own position to maintain formation. Secretly pleased with herself when she guessed right. It was something she had never considered before. For her, few things were an obstacle. The main ones were cliffs and steep slopes along with deep water. She hadn’t tried to see how deep she could wade the mech. Mainly because if she became stuck, there didn’t appear to be any realistic means for recovery.

There was recovery equipment for the armour she had seen, but nothing that could cope with her mechs size or weight.

It had been fun, the first time she had walked through the forest. The feeling of invincibility. The trail of shattered trunks she had left behind, had tempered her amusement somewhat. People who had wronged her were fair game, but the smashed trees had triggered the innate farmer in her. The same way watching someone walking through a crop field, damaging the plants, would have done.

Clara had also tried giving a boulder a tentative kick. The noise had been quite something and far from soaring gracefully through the air, the boulder had simply burst asunder in a cloud of dust and fragments. Quite the anti-climax.

“Yes, can I help you?”

Clara snapped out of her idle musings back to the task at hand, looking around at the full shelves arrayed in front of her. “Umm. Do you have any jumpsuits or coveralls?”

“You’re the mech lass.”

It was more statement than question. The storeman put the sealed packet of something back in a box next to him and placed his pen on the countertop. He leaned over the counter to look at her feet and gave her a slow look all the way up her body.

The searching gaze boiled her blood, but she held her tongue. “I take it you will be wanting boots?”

“If you have any...” She was perfectly happy with her boots, though the ones she had seen everyone else wear looked sturdy enough and as a farm girl, she was loath to turn down a pair of decent boots “If you have any in my size.”

The man wrote down on a form, seemingly ignoring her. Clara fidgeted quietly as his pen danced across the forms. She wondered if that was it, should she leave, or was she supposed to stay. He coughed, bits of spit landing on the sheet in front of him. He scribbled what looked like a signature and pulled over another form.

What was an awkward silence to Clara, dragged out.

Eventually, she could take no more of the fruitless standing about and turned and headed back to the door, pushing open the door and stepping out.

“Don’t you want your gear?”

With her back to him, she rolled her eyes. He was one of them, then. Clara headed back to the counter.

“Sign here, here, here, here and here.”

She expected him to offer his pen. He didn’t.

Petty little fuck. “Could I?” she pointed to his pen. He didn’t move. “Or do I have to sign for that as well?”

He just looked at her blankly for a second then pulled out another form.

Seriously!

More scribbling and then he turned away from her into the racks of shelves behind. Boxes were pulled out, items retrieved.

He eventually came back with an arm full of plastic shrink wrap items. He placed one single pen in front of her, and spun the last sheet he had written at so she could read it.

“Sign here.” Clara signed where indicated, reading the print as she did so. She was signing for the issue of one pen. As soon as she had finished signing, the sheet was whipped away and replaced with another.

Clara kicked the door shut behind her and dumped the packages in her arms onto her bunk.

She wasn’t sure of the reason for shrink wrapping every item, but shrinked they were. Clara started pulling open packets she had signed for. She had been given, issued, she corrected herself. Two sets of trousers, shirts, underwear and one field jacket in Disruptive Pattern Material. One cargo bag, now why hadn’t she opened that up in the store, where she could have put inside all the other items. It would have made the walk from the store to her room considerably easier. Two pairs of boots and four pairs of socks. She tried them all on and all fit well. Even the boots. Though they were a little stiff, she knew they would loosen up with wear. There was even a pair of work gloves with inbuilt knuckle protectors.

As much as his personality sucked, he was, Clara admitted grudgingly, a damn good judge of size. Unlike everyone else she had seen around camp, she hadn’t been issued headgear - beret, peaked cap or otherwise. Not that she was bothered, as she preferred her hair to dangle freely in its ponytail. All the women she had seen so far had short hair, or hair tightly collected into a bun at the back of their head.

One thing she hadn’t asked for, but had been given (and had signed for -she noticed when she looked at her copies of the forms). Was a DPM folder in the same pattern as her clothes. Opening it up revealed a blank pad of paper on one inside half, clear plastic leaf pockets in the middle and pockets for somethings in the other inside half. Still only one pen though. She slipped it into a loop whose function appeared to be as a pen holder.

Food at meal times, when she was around for them, consisted of simple but filling fare. Otherwise it was ration packs. Now she understood one of the purposes of the two water heaters in the mech’s crew compartment.

After several weeks of manoeuvres with the armour, evening briefings made more sense to her. She could relate to the map on the wall, now that she had seen and traversed the terrain for herself. She still kept to the back of the briefing room and turned up ten minutes early like everyone else. She was starting to realise that the military had some peculiar traits which none of the games she had ever played, had touched upon.

Clara didn’t understand the etiquette of who sat, or stood where, other than those of seniority or importance sat and the juniors and underlings ’made the walls look untidy’ as she had heard one of the seated remark.

The commander entered, gave the room his cursory once over and started with a status update about the current situation in the area and the tasking’s for the day.

“Miss Karlson?” Clara looked up from her doodling on the sheet in front of her. “Your performance has been satisfactory and your chain of command has decided to move you on with your training. As such, a hauler is scheduled to pick you up at fourteen hundred hours local. Make sure you have your admin squared away for then.” He stopped to laugh for a moment. “Your pickup is being used as a training run, so I hope your straps are tight and you don’t mind a few G’s.” He had a few more tasks to give to his subordinates and finished with a somewhat ominous “Mr Bellsrood. Would you like to meet me in my office at your earliest convenience.” The temperature in the room palpably dropped.

“Yes, Sir.” answered a suddenly nervous looking junior officer.

“Excellent. To your duties gentlemen and ladies.” The room stood as he left the room. A few officers came over to wish her well as their duties would be keeping them away when her transport arrived. The rather white Bellsrood scurried out of the room in the direction of HQ. Some followed his progress with amusement, some with the shared wince of having been in his position.

Thirteen fifty, according to the chronograph on the console in front of her. The armour she had accompanied on patrol over the last few weeks, was lined up on a nearby hill.

“I hope you are strapped in tight Clara... ”

Clara listening into the radio chatter checked her harness for the tenth time. “All good.”

“Relax your muscles. It hurts more if you are tense.”

“God! Remember the combat drop on Sirious Four?”

“What a fucking buzz that drop was. Isn’t that the one where Zoran sneezed and pushed down on the right track by mistake? Spun the tank to the left on the exit ramp, fell off broadside to the wind... ”

“And was spun round like the ammunition drum on a 09 during sustained fire... ”

“All the way to the ground... ”

“The stupid twat was lucky his chutes deployed.”

“I saw the inside afterwards. Oh god, the smell. There was puke everywhere And I mean everywhere. They were all covered head to toe.”

“Fuck ... It must have stunk in there for weeks after...”

“Incoming. South East!”

“Fuck me!. They are coming in hard... ”

Clara looked at her screen. An object was indeed coming in, and coming in fast. She didn’t understand. Wasn’t the hauler going to land, spit out a mech mover, and wheel her into a cargo bay?

“This is going to be a corker... ”

“Combat Mech 345A, this is Valkarie 42. Please confirm readiness for collection”

Clara turned her attention the new female voice “Valkarie 42 this Clara of Combat Mech 345A Confirming collection and orientation as instructed”

Proximity alarms started to sound in the mech as the systems logged the incoming object and deduced that its current trajectory put it on a collision course. Clara silenced the alarms. ‘Unknown approaching craft. Alert. Unknown approaching craft on collision course.’ flashed up urgently on her screens in big red letters. She cancelled that as well. She needed to update the mech’s identification protocols, but didn’t know how to do so, or even where the facilities were to do so.