TEXT: BattleCorps
  CASE WHITE:
  TO SERVE AND 
  PROTECT
  Herbert A. Beas II
  
  BattleCorps
  To Serve and Protect • Page 
  “The Voice of Terra interrupts your regular programming to bring 
  you this important news bulletin from TerraSec C-and-C in Geneva: 
  At approximately 1500 hours TST, hostile forces bearing the insig-
  nia of ComStar reportedly entered Terran airspace on multiple 
  attack vectors and have engaged the planetary space defense 
  network. At this hour, it has been confirmed that DropShips have 
  entered Terran atmosphere in multiple areas.
  “Precentor TerraSec David Alsace has declared a state of emer-
  gency throughout the following provinces: [In Europe]: Bavaria, 
  Latvia, Normandy; [In North America] Coahulia, Tex-Austin, Tex-
  Peco. All civilians in these areas and all neighboring provinces are 
  advised to proceed to the nearest shelters in a calm and orderly 
  fashion. Do not bring personal effects beyond necessary medica-
  tions. Police units are already on scene to assist in evacuations.
  “Be advised that TerraSec Special Security units and local Word 
  of Blake Militia have scrambled to these regions as well. Civilians 
  are advised to not impede these forces, who are deploying for our 
  collective defense.
  “Repeating: The Voice of Terra interrupts your regular program-
  ming ... ”
  
  BattleCorps
  To Serve and Protect • Page 
  Near Carentan 
  Normandy, Terra 
  Word of Blake Protectorate 
  14 March 3068
  Tearing across a landscape already scarred by countless lasers 
  and gouged by the running feet of multi-ton metal warriors, the 
  bone-white Raijin looked for all the world like a giant, armored 
  headless chicken.
  But this bird bristled with weapons—weapons that even now swung 
  about to unleash manmade lightning and a trio of scarlet energy darts 
  at its target. Less than one hundred and fifty meters downrange, an 
  Irian Technologies ITW-80 Inquisitor suffered the particle cannon 
  blast in mid-stride. The bolt of hellish energy slashed a deep gash 
  across the SecurityMech’s blue-and-white paneled torso, while the 
  Raijin’s three medium pulse lasers seared even more armored flesh 
  from its upper body, vaporizing more than one ton of armor in less 
  than an eyeblink. The thirty-five-ton SecurityMech staggered, nearly 
  overwhelmed, but miraculously remained upright.
  Lumbering forward, the Inquisitor raised its right arm menacing-
  ly, but even as its twin machine guns revved up to fire, a deafening 
  roar announced a powerful burst of autocannon fire unleashed 
  from off to the SecurityMech’s right flank. Bursting from a hedge-
  row, the ComStar Champion followed up its blistering assault with 
  a pair of ruby bolts from its Magna Mk II medium lasers, scoring 
  deep into the hide of the battered TerraSec machine.
  Barely built well enough to withstand confrontation with even 
  a single BattleMech—let alone two—the Inquisitor shuddered 
  as an explosion blew its right-side SRM rack clean off its mount. 
  The gout of golden fire that followed threw the machine onto its 
  left side like an unwanted rag doll. Wracked with explosions and 
  spewing fire and smoke, the TerraSec machine—and the warrior 
  inside—died in a heartbeat, blackening the earth.
  Almost a kilometer away, TS3 Sergeant Alec Lancey winced at 
  the piercing scream in his neurohelmet. 
  “’Mech down! ’Mech down!” a voice exclaimed. “Son of a bitch, 
  Sarge! That was—!”
  “I know, Driscoll! I know!” Lancey snapped into his microphone 
  as he fought the controls of his lurching KTO-19 Kintaro. The ma-
  
  BattleCorps
  To Serve and Protect • Page 
  chine’s fifty-five-ton bulk pitched violently, threatening to skate 
  out of control as he took another corner at more than eighty kilo-
  meters per hour …
  Hot on the trail of a white Beowulf.
  “Goddamn it, Sarge!” Driscoll said, panicked outrage bleeding 
  through the static. “They’re creaming us! We’ve lost both the 
  Inquisitors and these guys aren’t even dented! We’ve got to fall 
  back!”
  No shit, Jerry! Lancey thought, grinding his teeth. He forced his 
  ancient BattleMech to an earth-pounding run, eyes focused on the 
  tracking reticle that even now wavered over the Beowulf’s fleeing, 
  goat-legged form.
  On the sensor map, the invader glowed red hot as it wove its way 
  through the cramped residences of Carentan, shattering roads 
  and crushing parked cars in a determined race toward a gather-
  ing of five more red icons less than half a kilometer ahead. Facing 
  them—nearly six hundred meters from Lancey and his quarry—
  there were now only three blue icons.
  All that remained of the elite Special Security forces assigned to 
  TerraSec District FR-40. 
  “Hang back, Jerry,” Lancey growled into the mic as he jerked 
  his crosshairs over the Beowulf. Training told him to wait for the 
  crosshairs to flash gold before he fired, but the seconds were 
  ticking by too quickly. Six Com Guard ’Mechs against his squad’s 
  motley collection of armored vehicles and outdated BattleMechs 
  wasn’t a contest.
  It was a slaughter.
  These Com Guard bastards had already trashed District FR-30’s 
  command at Cherbourg, and now they were in Carentan, doing the 
  same to his men. Lancey sucked in a breath, held it, and thumbed 
  the trigger.
  Storming across the cracked pavement at a run, his Kintaro spat 
  twin beams of crimson from its right arm Magnas—
  And missed.
  The target kept running, as if he wasn’t even there.
  What the hell am I doing here? Lancey wondered…
  
  BattleCorps
  To Serve and Protect • Page 5
  L’Chat Bleu Lounge 
  Le Mans, Terra 
  Word of Blake Protectorate 
  11 January 3068
  Still grinning from the noisy reception, Officer Alec Lancey shook 
  his head as he took in the crowd surrounding him at the L’Chat 
  Bleu Lounge. The self-described home away from home for the off 
  duty members of Precinct 111FR was crowded with bodies tonight, 
  basking in the low-intensity glow of fluorescents and projections 
  from holovid sets anchored to the ceiling corners. A haze of gray 
  cigar and cigarette smoke lingered overhead, filling the room with 
  an acrid bouquet that Lancey thought he’d never forget.
  Looking up, Lancey could hardly stifle a laugh as he noticed the 
  banner and did a double take. There, in the center—smack in the 
  middle of the capital “O” in the words “Congratulations, Officer 
  Lancey!”—was the crude silhouette of a BattleMech.
  “Cute!” he said to the brunette beside him.
  “Thanks!” Officer Celestra replied, her brown eyes dancing. “I 
  drew it myself!”
  “Hey, ’Mech jock!” someone shouted from the bar. “You’re outta 
  uniform!”
  Instinctively, Lancey looked down, and scanned the familiar 
  navy blue fatigues and badge of office that came with his job—the 
  uniform of a TerraSec Civilian Sector patrolman. Arching an eye-
  brow, he looked to Celestra, just in time to see her forcing her way 
  through the crowd and up to the bar. A row of men and wom-
  en—most in their off-duty “civvies”—greeted her as she barked an 
  order at the balding man behind the bar. 
  “C’mon, now, Hastings!” she shouted toward the voice. “We’ve 
  all already seen Lance in his underwear!”
  The roar of laughter was nearly deafening.
  Lancey laughed with them.
  Officer Brandon Hastings, a lanky man equal to Lancey in both his 
  185-centimeter height and twenty-four years of age, broke ranks 
  with the barflies and rose from his stool. Dressed in simple blue 
  denim jeans and a baggy gray shirt—rather than his usual bulky 
  
  BattleCorps
  To Serve and Protect • Page 
  TerraSec fatigues and gear—he looked practically naked himself. 
  Reaching out, he shook Lancey’s hand as Celestra returned with 
  two foaming glasses.
  “Congrats, you hound,” Hastings said. “Looks like you made it.”
  “Thanks, Brand,” Lancey said. “Still couldn’t believe it when the 
  chief gave me the word.”
  “I’ll say,” Celestra added, motioning to a table that cleared before 
  them with little more prompting than the batting of her eyelashes. 
  “He froze so long in the chief’s office, we all figured he’d had a 
  stroke.”
  Hastings shook his head and chuckled. “That figures, Lance,” he 
  said. “Why’d you go for the position if you didn’t think you had a 
  shot?”
  “Blake’s Blood, Brand,” someone else piped up from behind 
  them in a gravelly voice wrecked by years of too much tobacco 
  and screaming at cadets. “You have to ask that, you’ll never make 
  sergeant in this outfit!”
  Lancey caught Celestra’s eye-roll as he took the glass from her. 
  As he sipped the lager, he felt his stomach churn at the sound of 
  Lieutenant James Roget’s disdainful tone.
  “Hey there, Officer Lancey,” Roget drawled. “Mind if I join you 
  kids?”
  Lancey turned and looked at the lieutenant. The dark man was 
  only edging past forty-five, but looked ten years older. His short, 
  curling hair thinned around his scalp and grayed at his temples, 
  while the wrinkles of his leathery skin and the sag of his cheeks 
  made him look perpetually tired.
  But his gaze was intense and now fixed on Lancey, dark pools 
  of oblivion staring into the deep blue of Lancey’s own eyes. His 
  question hung in the air for just one more awkward moment.
  “Why not, Lieutenant?” Lancey finally said. “We’re all family here.”
  Roget managed something close to a smile—Lancey reckoned 
  it as more of a sneer—and claimed one of the four metal chairs 
  surrounding their cluttered table. A waitress, winding her way 
  through the noisy mob, cleared away the bottles and glasses left 
  by the table’s previous occupants as the older officer launched 
  into his speech.
  
  BattleCorps
  To Serve and Protect • Page 
  “You got your big break today, Lance,” Roget grumbled, and 
  Lancey caught an unmistakable smell that reminded him of a 
  German brewery he once visited. “MechWarrior training. Prestige 
  job. Hope you’re up on your scriptures.”
  “Scriptures?” Lancey asked, over the brim of his glass.
  Roget nodded. “Blakie Scriptures, of course,” he said. “You 
  know the Word don’t like it if you start up your ’Mech without quo-
  tin’ one. I hear they score extra points for finding something truly 
  obscure and meaningful.”
  Celeste groaned and Hastings scoffed, and Lancey chewed on 
  his bottom lip for a second.
  “Jesus, El-Tee—” Celeste began.
  “Nope,” Roget cut her off. “None of them include that name.”
  “Last I checked, Roget”—Lancey reveled in the fact that the trans-
  fer meant he didn’t need to stick with the pleasantries of titles—“I 
  was accepted to TS3, not the Word Militia.”
  “Think so, eh?” said the lieutenant. “You really think MechWarrior 
  service is a cushy gig the Blakies threw us out of the goodness 
  of their own white-robed hearts? Huh? Seriously, Lancey. First it 
  was this ‘Precentor TerraSec’ business, and now we got ‘TerraSec 
  Special Security’? Anybody here remember that ComStar never 
  felt it necessary to impose their rank structures on us, or for SWAT 
  forces to pilot BattleMechs to preserve the peace?”
  “So?” Hastings asked, thin fingers spinning his glass around on 
  the table. “Seems to me that ComStar never trusted TS or the BTA 
  to handle its business without sending someone along to watch. 
  Allowing Geneva a little more latitude’s hardly subversive.”
  “The motto’s ‘Serve and Protect’, Hastings,” Roget snapped 
  without taking his eyes off Lancey. “BattleMechs don’t do either 
  very well. Seen the DE-85 District’s force? Two Atlases and a Thug, 
  with a pair of Manticores and one of those Leaguer Inquisitors. 
  A neat, six-unit team there. They say its goal is protection of the 
  Krupp Works. Against what, exactly? What threat does TS need 
  military hardware to handle? Expecting a wave of riots across 
  Europe?”
  “Cops on other worlds in the Sphere have milspec units on the 
  roster, El-Tee,” Celeste noted mildly.
  
  BattleCorps
  To Serve and Protect • Page 
  “This is Terra, Officer!” Roget practically exploded. He stabbed a 
  finger at Lancey. “Mark my words: Your partner here—like all the 
  other TS3s out there—may have sold his soul to more than just 
  some brainchild of our newly appointed Precentor TerraSec. This 
  is a military force, being raised all over the globe. Meanwhile, the 
  newsvids we keep getting from Voice of Truth are talking about a 
  war out there—everywhere out there.”
  Roget’s eyes found and locked onto Lancey’s again, alive with 
  outrage as his words tumbled out in a frenzy.
  “Word’s scared, kids,” he said. “Scared bad. You can look down 
  your nose at me all you like, Lancey, but I look out for the family, 
  too. The Blakies are prepping you for the front line, and they’re 
  expecting that front line to come here. With only a few ’Mechs a 
  pop, there’s only one thing you can expect to happen when that 
  comes to pass … .”
  
  BattleCorps
  To Serve and Protect • Page 
  Near Carentan 
  14 March 3068
  Another blue icon blinked out of existence as the Beowulf leapt 
  into the sky ahead of Lancey’s Kintaro. An unintelligible shriek 
  came over his neurohelmet speakers, followed by a stream of 
  sobbing French. Lancey could barely identify the voice as that of 
  Officer Keri Deleure, commander of the team’s missile support 
  unit, a venerable Quickdraw.
  “Eject, Keri!” Driscoll cut in. “Eject!”
  Lancey forced the Kintaro around another corner, and felt a mo-
  ment’s drag when the BattleMech’s jutting left hip clipped—and 
  promptly shattered—a street lamp. Though the snag was hardly 
  more of an obstacle to the lumbering metal titan than a low-hang-
  ing tree branch, the combination of the unexpected nudge and 
  the smoothness of the ferrocrete threatened to send him into an 
  uncontrolled skid.
  Lancey bit down on his lip hard, tasted blood.
  Cars were screaming past, braving the lumbering BattleMechs 
  that had drifted into the city proper in an effort to escape the ex-
  pected carnage. Lancey spared a moment to wonder why these 
  civvies ignored the calls to get to shelters.
  In his speakers, Deleure was still wailing, a sound that chilled 
  Lancey’s blood as he remembered the iron-willed officer from 
  Precinct 508FR.
  God, why hasn’t she ejected?
  “Driscoll!” Lancey snarled. “Talk to me!”
  “Sarge! Officer Deleure is down. Took a hit square to the cockpit 
  from a—oh, sweet Jesus!”
  The external speakers picked up the sound of weapons fire. Over 
  the centuries-old rooftops of Carentan’s northern residential dis-
  trict, he could see the rising columns of smoke. And that was when 
  he saw the orange fireball.
  “Son of a bitch, no!” Lancey cursed, loud enough to activate his 
  microphone. Swallowing hard and trying not to blink, he took an-
  other glance at the sensor board and found the image was blurred. 
  ECM! Shit! 
  
  BattleCorps
  To Serve and Protect • Page 10
  “Fall back, Driscoll!” he finally croaked, hoping his words would 
  somehow penetrate the interference. “I’m coming up on your 
  nine! We’ll regroup at the Grande-Niner!”
  “Hurry up, Sarge!” Driscoll shouted out, his voice nearly lost to 
  the static.
  
  BattleCorps
  To Serve and Protect • Page 11
  Lafayette Training Center 
  Paris, Terra 
  20 February 3068
  “I tell you, guys. It’s all gone to Hell in a handbasket out there,” 
  Officer Jericho Driscoll said. Despite the wad of powdered eggs 
  he’d just stuffed in his mouth, his voice was clear. He swallowed 
  quickly, greasy fingers snatching another rubbery length of bacon 
  from the platter in front of him, all the while sweeping his hazel-
  eyed gaze back and forth between Lancey and Deleure.
  Whether he had any idea that Deleure was busy brushing her 
  hand along Lancey’s exposed thigh beneath the cafeteria table 
  was anyone’s guess, but Lancey managed to betray no sign of her 
  activities.
  Nor did the well-tanned brunette. She even managed to snatch 
  a sausage from her own platter with her free hand while meeting 
  Driscoll’s look head-on.
  “You aren’t kidding,” she answered. Her husky French accent re-
  minded Lancey of Celestra on a bad day. “Sounds like that Dow 
  guy means business.” 
  “What do you think, Sarge?” she added, turning to Lancey with-
  out warning as she popped the sausage into her mouth and gave 
  him a subtle wink.
  Lancey rolled his eyes and shook his head, hoping the act would 
  somehow conceal the flush of his cheeks as he caught a glimpse 
  of cleavage above Deleure’s cooling vest. Tearing his eyes away to 
  meet Driscoll’s, he scoffed.
  “Maybe,” he muttered, “but remember that we’re dealing with 
  guys who declared a ‘holy war’ on the Word. Dow was probably 
  just spewing rhetoric. The Voice likes to emphasize stuff like that, 
  after all.”
  Driscoll looked annoyed and pointed his bacon at Lancey. “Hell, 
  Sarge, of course it’s propaganda, but you saw the vids of those 
  reinforcements that came in a few weeks back. Black ’Mechs, guys 
  who look like they just stepped out of a cyber-zombie vid? Where’d 
  they come from?”
  Lancey reached down as casually as he could and seized Deleure’s 
  hand before it traveled any farther north on his lap than it had 
  
  BattleCorps
  To Serve and Protect • Page 1
  come already. With a lopsided smirk, he used his free hand to lift 
  his mug, half-full of cooling coffee. “Who knows? The Sphere’s 
  always been screwed up, yet nobody other than the Word them-
  selves managed to make a serious grab here. And they kept the 
  fight to themselves.”
  Giving Deleure’s hand a squeeze, Lancey took a sip of bitter cof-
  fee and briefly scanned the rest of the nearly deserted cafeteria 
  before returning his eyes to Driscoll’s. “No matter what Dow says,” 
  he added, “if the Commies really thought they could sweep aside 
  the Word, they’d have done it back in ‘58, right? If I were you, Jerry, 
  I’d be more worried about our gunnery review tomorrow.”
  Driscoll wasn’t so easily dismissed. “Sarge,” he said, “I don’t 
  think you’re seeing the big picture here. Those reinforcements look 
  like a pretty extreme set up. That’s some heavy and expensive fire-
  power to be shipped here if the Word isn’t expecting trouble. And 
  this training program we’re in could well be the result of someone 
  high up playing the long game.”
  “So what are you trying to say, Jerry?” Deleure asked, impatience 
  marking her voice.
  Driscoll hesitated, shook his head.
  “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “But part of me is scream-
  ing that this’ll turn ugly right soon, and if the fur starts to fly here, 
  we’re gonna be in it... And if that happens, you two are going to 
  have to start worrying about a little bit more than your personal 
  boundary issues.”
  
  BattleCorps
  To Serve and Protect • Page 1
  Carentan (Northern Outskirts) 
  14 March 3068
  The Grande-9 was a newer interstate highway, established by 
  the Word in the early 3060s to accommodate heavy vehicle and 
  ’Mech traffic. Sound barriers on both sides rose fifteen meters, 
  backed with imported New Earth oak for better visual appeal. But 
  just outside the city, it was an open stretch of pavement that made 
  for the easiest rallying point Lancey could think of.
  As he closed on the site, sensors blinded by ECM, he felt his 
  heart sink. Cars were jamming up the freeway—more civilians 
  who didn’t heed the warnings to go to the designated shelters.
  And they all had ringside seats to the carnage.
  Driscoll’s Crab bled smoke from several gaping rents in its ar-
  mor, and was limping under the combined laser fire of at least 
  three Com Guard ’Mechs. Three other invaders, including the 
  Beowulf Lancey had chased earlier, were now dueling with his 
  team’s Chevalier near a hedgerow.
  Just as Lancey got his own Kintaro clear of the battle-damaged 
  houses at the city outskirts, he saw a squat Raijin thunder across 
  the field, bearing straight down on the line of cars between him 
  and the others. 
  “Mother of God,” Lancey muttered as he watched one panicked 
  driver in a white Macadam swerve away from the line, the vehicle 
  fishtailing as it tried to turn around and race back toward the city.
  The Raijin whirled about, weapons suddenly tracking the 
  Macadam as if startled by its action.
  Roget’s words filtered into Lancey’s mind, unbidden: “The motto 
  is ‘To Serve and Protect’, and BattleMechs don’t do either ... ”
  “No!” he screamed.
  Twisting his Kintaro around hard, he drew a bead on the Raijin 
  and pushed his machine into a run straight toward it. At eighty-
  six kilometers per hour, his BattleMech’s legs punished the earth, 
  crossing dozens of meters with each powerful stride.
  Halfway to his target, he lit his jump jets, an action he hadn’t 
  tried since simulator training months ago. At the apex of his jump, 
  Lancey felt the first shots of enemy fire as a Champion and the 
  
  BattleCorps
  To Serve and Protect • Page 1
  Beowulf turned away from Driscoll’s limping ’Mech to engage him. 
  Autocannon shells from the Champion raked his Kintaro’s torso 
  while emerald darts from the Beowulf’s large pulse laser scoured 
  his leg. The combined fire punished Lancey’s machine, but he kept 
  his eyes focused on the Raijin below.
  And that was when the missiles hit.
  In the cacophony of fire, Lancey lost all sense of position and felt 
  himself falling, the Kintaro thrown into a wild tumble. He squeezed 
  his eyes shut for only a moment, but in that moment felt the jarring 
  impact of more than fifty tons of metal slamming into something 
  metal with the sound of an ear-splitting screech.
  v v v
  Dazed, Lancey fought his controls, propping his wounded Kintaro 
  on its arms just in time to see Driscoll’s Crab sag to the earth. So 
  punished that its blue and white armor now looked like a night-
  mare camouflage of scorched grays and blacks, the BattleMech’s 
  cockpit module exploded outward, freeing its pilot moments be-
  fore the machine slammed into the ground and died.
  Lancey shook his head, spat out a gob of blood and a tooth. He 
  blinked at the sight of four Com Guard BattleMechs converging on 
  him. Two others—his target Raijin and a Battle Hawk—now hound-
  ed his remaining TerraSec Chevalier a short distance away.
  Lancey blinked. The Raijin looked undamaged.
  I missed it?
  Lancey’s eyes tracked left and found it again: the civilian car, 
  smashed and forgotten amid the fiery battle.
  “Ah, Sweet Jesus, no … ” he whispered.
  He dialed up the magnification and saw a woman’s body crum-
  pled in her seat, awash with blood.
  Another body, tiny, unmistakably female, lay beside the wreck, 
  her body thrown from the vehicle when it tumbled.
  “The Word’s planning you for the front line, and they’re expecting 
  that front line to come here ... and there’s only one thing you can 
  expect to happen when that comes to pass … ”
  
  BattleCorps
  To Serve and Protect • Page 15
  “Bastards!” Lancey seethed.
  Pulling the BattleMech back to its feet—cautious of the wreckage 
  only a few meters away—he turned his Kintaro toward the Raijin 
  again. Ignoring the other Com Guards, he thumbed his triggers.
  All of them.
  The combined fire of two HoverTec SRM-6 racks, a flight of Holly 
  LRMs and a pair of Magna lasers sliced across the distance to 
  batter the Com Guard machine. A wall of eye-searing heat surged 
  across him as his birdlike target shuddered, nearly falling.
  “Commie bastards!” Lancey shouted this time, his voice echoing 
  hollowly in the cockpit. Despite the heat and a fresh pain shoot-
  ing up his leg, he lurched his Kintaro forward a step, snapping off 
  another paired laser burst as soon as the Magnas came back on 
  line.
  Even as the beams hit, four of the Com Guard ’Mechs opened 
  up in response, spearing his battered machine with laser, missile, 
  and autocannon fire that seemed to go on forever.
  Somewhere in the midst of the onslaught, Lancey felt the world-
  ending explosion as his BattleMech died, and his last fleeting 
  thoughts were lost in a blinding white fire.
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/BattleTech [multi]/EXTRA/Novels/Battlecorps Novels/Case White - Pt 06 - To Serve and Protect - Herbert A. Beas.pdf