Lieutenant Sinclair, please stand by…

Luck to us all.

* * *

APCs were no match for a BattleMech.

Right hand easy on the Bushwacker’s control stick and his left nudging the throttle, Connor Sinclair turned his back on the burning vehicles and the oily smoke they trailed skyward over the fishing village. The Bushwacker’s left foot sideswiped one building, tearing a gaping hole into the wall and collapsing the covered porch. A flatbed hauler parked in his way was crushed flat beneath the other foot, then he was free of the village and moving into the valley which ran roughly parallel to the coastline. He throttled the ‘Mech into a run, keeping part of his attention on the HUD and the red icon which showed a Firefly closing on his position. A light ‘Mech and an older design, the Firefly’s trio of medium lasers still demanded a modicum of respect. He would smash it from range, and then move on toward rendezvous.

The comm system crackled to life with an abnormally loud burst of static. “Leave it? …hauling explosives…Commander.” A long pause. “Aff…bridge.”

He’d set his system to scan known Clan civilian frequencies, though the receiver was having difficulty pulling in more than a broken signal. Thomas Sorenson had apparently picked it up as well. “Lieutenant, did you receive? Laborer caste frequencies, but something about explosive charges? Watch your step.”

As if to underscore the caution, threat indicators screamed for attention a split-second before the Bushwacker lurched to the left. A flight of missiles had slammed into the BattleMech’s right shoulder, blasting away precious armor but not near enough to upset the massive gyro which balanced the humanoid war machine.

Sinclair hauled the control stick over, tracking his targeting reticle into the corner of his main screen. The Bushwacker twisted at the waist while continuing to run forward. Through the ferroglass canopy, the lieutenant spotted the Firefly as it angled in behind him. The lighter ‘Mech had arced over a low range of nearby hills on jump jets, closing faster than the lieutenant had anticipated to score first with its long-range missiles. Still, a five-pack of LRMs weren’t enough to threaten him, unless he let the Clan warrior into the Bushwacker’s rear arc and at the weaker armor protecting his back.

Drifting his reticle over the Firefly’s outline, the cross hairs turned from red to the bright gold of a hard weapons lock. The targeting system also gave him an audio cue, a soft tone which promised a good missile firing solution. Connor squeezed into the shot, smiling his victory as his large laser burned away armor over the Firefly’s right leg. His twin LRM racks added to the other MechWarrior’s^® misery, peppering the head and upper body of the light ‘Mech.

Waiting for his weapons to cycle, Sinclair checked his screens with a practiced glance. A quarter mile further along, the valley ended at the foot of a four-story bluff. A ramp gave access to the upper plateau, and against the skyline above it a second Firefly now moved to engage. The light traffic scattered quickly, caught between a running BattleMech firefight and the second Firefly ready to defend the ramp. Only a tractor-trailer rig remained on the bridge, apparently abandoned. Sinclair guessed that the first Firefly would now circle further afield and avoid him until it could join up with the new arrival.

Except he had forgotten to take into account the Clan practice of single combat.

In their quest for ultimate glory and honor, Clan warriors tended to fight alone, spurning help even as it stood nearby. Although outmassed by 25 tons, the first Firefly was not about to share the kill. He cut back inside the Bushwacker’s firing arc, pouring on the speed in an attempt to close and bring its medium lasers into play.

With the Damocles Commando ‘Mech still at a full run toward the ramp, the Firefly never stood a chance of making it in close. Conner Sinclair’s autocannon cut too low, churning the ground with a hail of 80-millimeter slugs. Cursing silently, the Inner Sphere warrior toggled again for missiles and lasers. The ruby beam of his Bushwacker’s large laser splashed over the Firefly’s left shoulder, stripping it down to titanium skeleton. The first missile flight was picked off by the anti-missile system riding in place of the light ‘Mech’s right arm, but the following quintet slammed into the already-weakened right leg. The knee joint bowed outward, rolling the leg out over the ankle actuator. The Firefly stumbled and went down, right leg snapping off at the knee and forward-thrust torso burying itself lasers-first into the valley’s soft earth.