Chapter Text
Jehan came too with a fit of coughs that would have had him bent double if it weren’t for the four-point harness holding him in the command chair of his Kodiak, and a sensation of overwhelming agony. He shook his head to clear it, hearing dimly a faint clinking or tinkling as he did. That couldn’t be good. The last thing he remembered was a Blakist Highlander. It had gone over the top of the low warehouse. Lacking jump jets, he had gone through it, and...
Oh. Basement. He blinked. Well, at least the roof hadn’t fallen on him. Between the PPC hit earlier in the fight, and the missile volley his cockpit had caught the fringe of, he’d been fighting without a ferroglass canopy; not ideal, but Blakist resistance had been stiffer than had been expected, and while the Capital Grade Particle Cannon that was – had been – the central focus of this AA battery could not depress low enough to engage ground targets, the Missile and Flak batteries could. The Clawtake could not afford to have an Assault ‘Mech withdraw, and so he had stayed. Until he fell.
He glanced at the various readouts, all dark. Nothing showed on the HUD visor of his Neurohelmet. Experimentally, he flipped the ignition toggle. Nothing. Again. Nothing. Well. That was that then, he was out of the fight. He raised his gaze to peer through the hollow gap where his canopy had been. Maybe not as out of the fight as he thought. It appeared some Blakist Purifiers had decided to make sure of the job, and one of them was just turning towards where he was.
Reaching down the side of his chair, he pulled the release on the strap holding his Wolverine. His was the bullpup variant designed for urban fighting – or Mechwarriors who needed something compact in case they had to eject behind the lines. Pulling it to his shoulder with a grunt of pain, he reached back down for a magazine, feeling the markings embossed on the surface until he found the one marked for armour-piercing rounds, slotting it into place with a click. Then he settled back and flicked off the safety.
An armoured claw hooked over the lip of the cockpit, and then a helmet like a grinning skull. Jehan sighted along the barrel and emptied the magazine into the visor as quickly as he could account for the recoil. The first few impacts accomplished nothing beyond making the armoured trooper rear back, but before it had much of a chance to react one of the tungsten-tipped rounds punched through and the huge figure slumped, the tiny hole in it’s helmet oozing red and grey.
Jehan reached for another magazine, reloaded, and then slapped his harness release. Harness loose, he twisted round and disconnected the leads for his neurohelmet and cooling vest. Reaching around behind the chair, he grabbed the survival kit, dragged it loose, and then froze. He recognized that hum. Ducking low, he hunched as close to the floor of his cockpit as he could. The hum gave way to the roar of hyper-velocity flechettes and a ringing in his ears. As the roar gave way, he peeked carefully over the edge of his cockpit. So. His Guardian Angel had a HAG. Good to know. He pulled himself from the cockpit, grimacing as shattered ferroglass scraped his bare legs, and scrambled off the Kodiak, onto the rubble of the collapsed warehouse.
Slipping into some cover, he removed his helmet and vest and dug into the survival kit. The jumpsuit went on first, over the rest of his uniform. Then the belt, with the holster for his Wolverine and a Shrike, and the long-bladed hunting knife. Next was the radio. Twisting the knob till he found the right frequency, he hit transmit.
“Clawtake Units, Clawtake Actual. Sitrep.”
“Aff, Star Colonel.” He breathed a sigh of relief at Rauda’s voice. “Fire Star, three effectives. Striker Star, zero effectives. You are the only ineffective in Battle Star. OpFors in retreat or disabled, no pursuit. Battery reduced.”
“Aff. Request pick up.”
Another voice came in on the channel; Jorge in his Dire Wolf.
“Star Colonel. Suggest rendevouz. I am due east of your position, immediately adjacent to the warehouse.”
It took several minutes for Jehan to get himself out of the basement, and to climb the technican’s ladder to the Dire Wolf’s access hatch, but eventually he settled into the jump seat. Peering over Jorge’s shoulder, he considered the results of the engagement.
The Shadow Cat was a write-off. Something had set off Lasse’s ammunition, and the combination of Inferno and High Explosive warheads meant there was nothing to salvage. Both Stormcrows and the Black Hawk needed either significant repair work or new gyros. The Mist Lynx would probably be fine, once the water was drained. He remembered seeing Shagufta go through the ice trying to outflank the Blakists – She would be fine, her cockpit hadn’t been breached and so she avoided hypothermia and the water was fairly shallow. The Dragonfly was also probably a write-off. It had taken significant damage to both arms, and had been cored by a well-placed gauss slug from the Blakist Highlander.
Tapping Jorge on the shoulder, he waited for the young Warrior’s attention.
“I need a channel to Command.”
“Aff.” a moment later “Channel open.”
“Touchdown Actual? Clawtake. Reporting Battery RANGER reduced. Clawtake at 53% effectiveness. We will require reinforcement or repair before we can further engage Blakist forces.” His piece said, he slumped in his jump seat. There was nothing to do now but wait.