Slackers of the Inner Sphere
Chapter 50: Cut And Run

DropShip Bulldog
Outbound
Early Dawn
New Colony Region
18th June, 3065

Early Dawn was already a slowly receding crescent on the aft view screen, and Swindelli was starting to allow himself to believe that they might just make it after all when alarms started sounding, the DropShips crew going from busy to frantic in an instant. They were talking too fast and using terminology the MechWarrior was unfamiliar with, but he started to pick up the odd word here and there, most alarmingly of all, the term 'being actively pinged' kept being repeated over and over again. He looked over to the main plot, and a gravity well formed in the pit of his stomach when he saw a flashing red icon appearing from behind the planet. He knew enough about astro-navigation to decipher the Delta-v and conclude that it was on an intercept course. He could also tell from the sensor readings that whatever it was, it was far bigger than any DropShip, and was pulling a solid 3-G's of acceleration, far more than the Bulldog could ever hope to achieve.

"Send a standard ID changeling and request for intent." Captain Penwald shouted, "Maybe our luck's about to change and it's just one big damn coincidence."

"We only have two types of luck," Swindelli muttered under his breath, "Bad... and worse."

"Sir, we are reviving a hail." the warrant officer at the communications console reported, "They're asking to speak to the Major, by name."

"Well now, this shit just got interesting." Penwald turned to look at the younger man, "The microphone is all yours."

"Thank you." Swindelli cleared his throat, then activated the pick-up built into the arm of his seat, "This is Major Ricardo Swindelli speaking."

"My dear Major Swindelli." An all too familiar voice responded, and an equal unwelcome face appeared on the main screen, "It is so good to see you again."

"Precenter Jamal." the mercenary nodded, "Imagine running into you all the way out here."

"Yes; you've led me on a merry chase, I have to say. But like all good things, this too must end." the Blakist commander signalled to someone off-screen, and the icon on the main plot flashed for a moment, then solidified as it started to revive an IFF transmission.

"By the Unfinished Book..." Penwald groaned under his breath as he saw the information displayed: WoBS Righteous Indignation, Vincent class Corvette."

"As your friend is no doubt acutely aware, I have you at quite the disadvantage." Jamal smiled, "I wish I could offer you the chance to surrender, but I'm afraid to say that we have long passed the point of such pleasantnesses. Your actions have brought us to this point, and all that remains is to say... goodbye, Major."

The communications link was cut at the other end, and the DropShips bridge was silent for a moment.

"We've been targeted!" One of the crew warned, "Incoming missiles!"

"All hands brace for impact!" Penwald shouted into the ships PA, "Helm; evasive manoeuvres!"

Swindelli felt like he'd suddenly been shoved to the side violently as the pilot fired the lateral thrusters, sending the DropShip lurching violently to one side. It was a desperate move, but it managed to spoof one of the missiles, which rocketed past than vanished into the outer darkness, but unfortunately the second remained doggedly on their tail. The ships weapons came to life, filling the void with flashes of laser light and bight flash of man-made lightning, until finally one of the autocannons managed to connect with the incoming missile, ripping through its light outer skin and causing it to spin widely out of control. The bridge crew cheered as the missile exploded at a safe distance, but their joy was short lived.

A bright flash on the viewscreen gave only a few moments warning before a 200kg shell passed within meters of the hull, a second flash following soon after. To Swindelli, it felt as if God had taken hold of the Bulldog and shook it violently, like a gambler shooting craps. Alarms rang from everywhere as several steam piped burst, only adding to the confusion.

"DIRECT HIT!" the crew-member at damage control screamed, naked panic in his voice, "Lower cargo bay compromised!"

"Close all internal hatches and shut all vents!" Penwald ordered, "Red-line the engines if you have to, but we need more speed!"

"Can we make it back down to the planet?" Swindelli asked, "Maybe try and lose them in the atmosphere?"

"Not with a compromised hull." The captain shook his head, "With the armour breached like that, the heat from re-entry would eat through the internal structure and rip us apart. No, we have to try and out-run them as best we can."

A fresh alarm heralded the launch of another pair of missiles, the DropShip lurching like a drunken spacer on shore-leave in a desperate bid to escape them. Thrusters fired seemingly at random, or at least so it felt to Swindelli, as the pilot attempted to break the weapons lock. One missile was taken out by the ships weapons, but the other struck a glancing blow along the outer hull. Thankfully the Barracuda was a kinetic weapon, rather than explosive, and the rounded hull deflected most of the damage, but it still left a chink in their armour.

"Wait, I'm picking up another signal." The crew-member on the scanner reported, "IFF is encrypted; running it through the system now..." she blinked a couple of times, "It's the Wildfire; 2,000km off the port bow!"

"What in the seven hells is she doing there?" Swindelli asked, "She's supposed to be at the pirate point where we left her!"

"I have no idea, but it doesn't do us much good right now." Penwald gestured towards the main display, where the Wildfire and the Righteous Indignation were clearly displayed relative to the Bulldog, "Even if we manage to stay ahead of that bastard, she'd be able to bring her weapons to bare on us long before we can dock and be ready to jump."

"That's not exactly what I had in mind." London's voice crackled over the radio, "You may want to get out of the way..."

A second NAC round struck the Bulldog, ripping a long gash down the ships side, opening several compartments to space. Many held crew or passengers, and they themselves suddenly exposed to the cold, unforgiving vacuum of space. Debris, metallic and organic, spilled out of the ship like blood from a wounded animal, the mains lights blinking out as the damage control system sort to re-rout power around the point of impact.

Far ahead, the Wildfire spun round almost gracefully until its nose was pointed away from the other ships. Armoured doors, normally hidden from sight, opened and a pair of Barracuda missiles spat forth. They passed the Bulldog and continued on towards the Righteous Indignation. The Blakeist ship ignored them, seeing the anti-fighter weapons as little threat to a warship. The ships few point-defences opened up on general principle, striking down one of the incoming missiles, but the other struck home, and that was when the Blakeist's realised the folly of their hubris. A light as bright as any star erupted for an instant against the Corvettes outer hull as the 5-kiloton Alamo warhead detonated a fraction of a second before it would have been crushed by the force of impact. While much of the force of the weapon was wasted against the uncaring vacuum of space, the intense heat was still enough to boil and melt the ships Delhi 9800 Ferro-carbide armour. The metal bubbled and spat before re-cooling just as quickly, absorbing much of the radiation of the weapon. The Righteous Indignation rolled slightly, temporarily out of control, one of her forward Naval autocannons a burnt and twisted heap of dead metal.

The Wildfire fired again, another pair of missiles streaking out just as fast as they could be loaded, only this time the Righteous Indignation reacted to the threat, rotating to present fresh armour as she sort to bring her enemy under her own guns, ignoring the fleeing Bulldog. Lasers and autocannons spat out at the incoming missiles, striking them both down short of their target, but by then the Wildfire had reloaded, and a fifth missile leapt out across the void. And try as it might, the Corvette could not bring its weapons round fast enough, and the missile struck true. A second flash of nuclear fire enveloped the forward hull of the Righteous Indignation, already weakened armour cracking like an egg, thrusters firing madly as the electro-magnetic pulse overloaded their controls. Propellent charges for autocannons rounds still in the magazines started detonating, further damaging the ship before still working emergency systems jettisoned them into space.

"...my god." Penwald watched the main display as the ship that had threatened to blast his own command out from under him was reduced to a blackened, twisted ruin.

"How the..." Swindelli swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly painfully dry, "How the hell did she even know about those warheads?"

"It's my job to know these things." London laughed over the radio, "Now hurry up and dock so we can get the hell out of this system before any more surprises pop-up."

"Helm, lay in a course for the Wildfire," Penwald ordered, "I want to be as far away from here as possible when anyone official starts asking what just happened here."

WoBS Righteous Indignation
Early Dawn
New Colony Region
18th June, 3065

"NO! NO! IT CAN NOT BE!" Jamal pounded the unresponsive controls importantly, "We can not let them get away again! I'll chase them round Heidrunn, and round the New Delphi Compact, and round the Aquila Rift, and round perdition's flames before I give them up! I will not let them..."

There was a high pitched whine, and the Precenter's rant stopped suddenly mid-sentence.

"Eternal life, grant unto him," Hawksmoor's gaze remained locked on the dead body in the command chair, a small hold-out laser held tightly in her hand, "and let perpetual light shine upon him."

The rest of the surviving bright crew looked at each other and nodded; Lazarus Jamal would be forever remembered as a hero who killed in action against enemies of the Word of Blake.

SS Wildfire
Interstellar Space
New Colony Region
20th June, 3065

As many of the surviving member of the unit as could be spared filed into the ships mess hall, finding whatever space they could. Too many faces were absent, those that remained pale and stricken. All eyes were on the front of the room, hoping for answers.

"So here's how it is: we've poked the hornets nest, and something tells me that the Word of Blake aren't exactly the 'forgive-and-forget' kind. They're going to be coming after us with a powerful vengeance, and I for one don't plan on making it any easier for them to find me than I have to." Swindelli looked at the battered and battle-weary survivors of his command, "So here's my last order to you; run. Run as far and as fast as you can. And when you can't run any further, dig the deepest hole you can... and then hide in it. And if you're very, very lucky, maybe you'll find a way to die of old age before they catch you. Good-luck everyone."

The End

The Slackers of the Inner Sphere will return in
Slackers of the Inner Sphere 2:The Mechnificent Seven!