TEXT: BATTLECORPS
  ON THE SQUARE
  by Jason Schmetzer
  
  BATTLECORPS
  On the Square • Page 2
  Sawyer, Charleston 
  Taurian Concordat 
  12 August 3067
  The building on which David Talbot and his 
  infantry maniple were hiding shook with each 
  crash of the artillery firing. He ground his teeth 
  and hunched closer to the brick-lined lip of the 
  rooftop, ignoring the ringing in his ears and 
  the searing taint of propellant burning his nose. 
  Those were things he’d learned to deal with dur-
  ing training. David lifted his head just high enough 
  to see over the lip, watching for the fall of the shots.
  The plain was covered with enemy troops. 
  Infantry swarmed closer to the city, pressing 
  forward against the fire of the rest of the bat-
  talion. A quartet of bulky Scorpion tanks nosed 
  forward, long-barreled cannon searching back and 
  forth, spitting fire. In the distance, the rising sun outlined a single 
  pirate BattleMech standing on a hillock. It cast a dagger-shaped 
  shadow forward, toward Sawyer. A flash of laser light illuminated 
  the gold insignia on its chest, dice in a jeweled goblet. Tortuga.
  David saw the artillery stonk land. One round exploded amidst 
  a squad of pirate infantry laboring to set up a mortar. The explo-
  sion tossed the pirates meters into the air before it dropped them, 
  shredded and lifeless, to the soft loam of Charleston. Concussion 
  shook the building again, letting David feel a fraction of the force 
  unleashed, even though it was almost a kilometer away.
  “That’s what you get,” Recruit Niko Koumalides shouted. The 
  dark-skinned youth from Sawyer pumped his TK assault rifle in 
  the air. “Get the hell off my planet, you bastards.”
  “Damp it, Niko,” David said. “Stay down.”
  Niko looked at him and sneered. “What’s it to you, Talbot? They 
  got what they deserved, coming here.” The dark camouflage paint 
  on Niko’s face didn’t reflect light, but the sheen of sweat on his 
  upper lip did. He was posturing, burning off his nervous energy. It 
  was his first time in combat. It was David’s, too.
  David pointed to the filled-ring corporal’s insignia on his collar, 
  then to the empty-ring tag on Niko’s. “This is all the reason I need, 
  Recruit. Shut up and get down before someone sees you.”
  
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  On the Square • Page 3
  The Pirates of Tortuga—the Tortuga Fusiliers, to the Inner 
  Sphere—came to Charleston at least once a year. It had been un-
  lucky timing for them this year, as the whole militia was mustered 
  for the Founder’s Day festivities.
  David snorted at the idea even as the thought crossed his mind. 
  The whole militia—the whole battalion’s worth of troops on this ball. 
  The withdrawal of the regular Defense Force when the Calderon 
  Protectorate loons went off left the planet to its own devices. And 
  to its own protection, such as it was.
  “Talbot!” The field radio by David’s knee shouted at him, loud 
  even in the noise-filled aftermath of the artillery, broadcasting 
  Force Sergeant Homer’s voice. He snatched it up and shoved the 
  earpiece under the surplus Lyran clamshell helmet.
  “Why aren’t you shooting?” Homer demanded. David heard the 
  heavy stutter of the platoon’s heavy machine gun in the back-
  ground of the transmission. The weapon was emplaced at the 
  edge of the buildings, where it would bear across the plain on the 
  highway paralleling the buildings. If Homer was near it, he was 
  close enough to see the rooftop David’s maniple was occupying.
  “I’ve been asking that all night,” Niko said.
  David chanced another look over the lip of the roof. “They’re still 
  a good six hundred meters away, Sergeant.” He didn’t need to tell 
  his platoon commander that the TK’s effective range was just un-
  der five hundred meters, Niko’s pride notwithstanding.
  “Tell me what you see, son,” Homer said.
  “Infantry, a hell of a lot, battalion strength at least. A short ma-
  niple of armor, and a single ’Mech out on the plain.” David closed 
  his eyes as another artillery barrage screamed overhead. He hated 
  that sound. “They’re not slowing down, either.”
  “The ’Mech’s coming closer,” Doyle, another recruit in David’s 
  maniple, said. The hulking machine was striding toward the city, 
  its legs eating the distance in multi-meter steps. Even outlined 
  against the sky, David couldn’t make out the model.
  “’Mech advancing, Sergeant,” he reported.
  “That does it.” The next part of Homer’s message was obscured 
  by a roaring explosion as one of the artillery shells landed directly 
  on one of the Tortugan Scorpions. When the cheering died down, 
  he asked Homer to repeat.
  
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  On the Square • Page 4
  “I said, get your maniple back here, Corporal. We’ll make a stand 
  on the Square.” The stutter of the heavy gun died off as Homer fin-
  ished speaking; David heard faint echoes of the final few rounds 
  firing from between the building.
  It was time to go.
  “Grab your gear,” David said after clipping the radio to his web 
  harness. “We’re going back to the Square.” He felt like he was in 
  a box with the lid closing over him. He wanted to run, to hide, to 
  pull the lid closed until the trouble was past. He hated the pirates 
  for making him feel like that, like less than a man. 
  “But we haven’t fired a round!” Niko said.
  David shifted his pack onto his shoulders, glancing over the lip as 
  he did so. The first ranks of the pirate infantry were just crossing 
  Dana Avenue. Dana Avenue was one of the maniple’s pre-scouted 
  positions. Four hundred meters from there to the rooftop.  The 
  small defile on the city-side gave the raiders cover from the defen-
  sive fire along the outer positions.
  Four hundred meters. Of his land. Outrage ignited in his gut, 
  burning at the cold weight of fear.
  “One magazine,” David said, raising himself to one knee and pre-
  senting the TK’s barrel to the enemy. “Then we boogie, got it?” He 
  looked down the line, making sure they’d heard him.
  The ratcheting sound of slides being drawn answered him. Niko 
  settled into the position directly to David’s left, his fingers caress-
  ing the rifle’s molded grips.  His lips were moving, but the sound 
  was carried away. David tightened his own grip and leaned in 
  closer, trying to hear. He smiled when he made out the prayer, a 
  soldier’s prayer that he recognized, even though he heard only the 
  last part.
  “—cker in the valley.”
  Amen, David thought. “Fire.”
  The TK fired caseless ammunition, giving the rifle a dazzling rate 
  of fire. The twenty rounds in the magazine fired in the span of 
  two or so seconds, and David’s was the last rifle of the maniple to 
  empty. His thumb moved on its own, ejecting the spent magazine 
  while his left hand reached down to replace it with a fresh one 
  from his bandolier. Niko’s rifle was already back on-target by the 
  time David completed the motion.
  
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  On the Square • Page 5
  “Move out,” David said. While the rest of the maniple scurried 
  for the recessed stairs, David tried to see if they’d managed to hit 
  anything. His anger, ravenous, twisted his face into a fierce, hun-
  gry snarl.
  Four of the advancing pirate infantry were down and thrash-
  ing in the defilade. The rest were busy trying to dig deeper into 
  the shallow ditch, seeking cover. David smiled a wolf’s grin. That 
  would teach them to attack his city. 
  He almost didn’t see the ’Mech rush forward and raise its arm. 
  He caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, but by the time 
  he looked there was only the white-hot flash of a laser. 
  The pulse struck the wall a meter or so beneath David’s position. 
  Only the fact that he was already leaning away saved David’s life 
  as the laser flash-boiled the moisture in the wall. The compacted 
  steam exploded, shattering the ferrocrete and tossing David like 
  a doll to land a meter or so from the stairs. He lay there, stunned, 
  praying that the white blaze in his eyes would fade. His nose burned 
  with the sharp sting of ozone and the coppery scent of blood. He 
  was hit, he was sure of it. The fear in his stomach doubled. The 
  rest of his body was tingling, numb. He was going to die.
  “Corp!”
  Hands grabbed his harness and dragged him down the stairs. 
  His pack punched painfully into his side at each step, and who-
  ever was dragging him didn’t stop at the bottom. David rubbed 
  at his eyes with the backs of his hands, blinking through hot tears. 
  Gradually, his vision cleared and shapes began to take focus. 
  Someone grabbed his ankles and he was carried the three flights 
  of stairs to the ground floor. He could make out faces by the time 
  they got down. They were blurry, even when he knuckled the tears 
  out of his eyes, but he’d worry about that tomorrow. If there was 
  a tomorrow.
  There were only three men with him, not four. “Where’s Doyle?” 
  he asked.
  “On the roof,” Niko said. He poked his TK out the door, sliding 
  from one side of the doorway to the other, trying to see both ways. 
  The whipcord muscle of his arms stood out where his sleeves were 
  rolled, revealing the tension there. For his first firefight, he’s doing 
  well, David thought. They all are.
  “Why isn’t he down here?” David asked.
  
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  On the Square • Page 6
  “’Cause a piece of the wall that knocked you over took his helmet 
  off,” Niko said. “With his head in it.” He shook his head and spat. 
  The spittle landed on the floor next to David. He stared at it, willing 
  his eyes to focus. The spittle was gray. He couldn’t tell whether it 
  was from dust or just the floor color.
  David shook his head and stood. “He’s dead?” His faltering vi-
  sion swam as he straightened, and sensation rushed back into his 
  limbs in the form of searing pain. He fell back down.
  Halverson, a farmer’s son from Faraday, laughed. “Unless you 
  think he can just carry his head around, Corp, yeah, he’s dead.” 
  The recruit’s massive shoulders shook, but his eyes didn’t leave 
  the doorway.
  “So are we if we don’t get moving,” Niko said. “There’s pirates in 
  the street, Corp.”
  Wiping his eyes one last time, David braced himself and stood, 
  then moved to the door. His helmet was gone, he realized. The sling 
  had kept his rifle across his chest, but the helmet was gone. He’d 
  had two pieces of surplus Lyran gear an hour ago; one was left.
  “How many?”
  “I saw about a dozen,” Niko said. He pointed with his rifle barrel. 
  “Moving south toward Bravo Platoon’s positions.” He didn’t take 
  his eyes off of the sight picture over his rifle as he spoke. Niko’s 
  intensity had sometimes bothered David in training, but now he 
  was thankful for it.
  “We’re only a half a klick from the Square,” David said, beckon-
  ing to the west. “Let’s get moving.” Strength in numbers—the rest 
  of the platoon was there. If Homer had made that call, then the 
  rest of the company was probably there, too. Maybe the whole 
  battalion. Maybe the whole TDF is there, a dark part of David’s 
  mind sneered. First, though, they had to make it to the Square.
  Cities on Charleston were by necessity small and vertical; they 
  rested on the few bedrock extrusions to be found on the soft plains 
  that covered most of the southern continent. That explained the 
  sharp delineations between city and plain, and also meant that 
  the pirates had been forced to set their DropShips down a few 
  kilometers away on the hardened ferrocrete of the spaceport. The 
  areas between the buildings were narrow but clean. Sawyer was a 
  pedestrian town, for the most part. The majority of the population 
  lived in the skyscrapers.
  
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  Niko and Halverson ducked through the door, rifles leading, leav-
  ing David and the final member of the maniple, Recruit Bouzerant. 
  Bouzerant carried a short-barreled riot gun instead of a rifle, so 
  David left him to cover the rear. The riot gun wouldn’t be much 
  use at a range of more than a dozen or so meters .
  The city was deserted. The crackle of weapons fire shimmied 
  down every street and alley. David had been to Sawyer only twice 
  before, once on vacation and once on the previous year’s Founder’s 
  Day. It was very different from his home, Adelaide, on the coast 
  near the Straits. There had been people filling the streets, though, 
  on both previous occasions. There were none now.
  “The shelters must be full,” David murmured as he ran. He stayed 
  a half dozen meters behind Halverson, who was twice that from 
  Niko. No ambush would get the whole maniple, at least. Sergeant 
  Homer would have been satisfied. David jerked, missed a step, 
  and stumbled. Homer. The radio. He unclipped the battered hand-
  set as he ran.
  “Charlie Six,” he said, “Charlie Three-six.” Static flared from the 
  earpiece. He repeated the call. A voice scratched its way through 
  the static.
  “Talbot, get back here!” Sergeant Homer’s voice. “I don’t need one 
  of my maniples getting cut off.” David winced, slowing to a stop be-
  hind Niko and Halverson, who were crouched at an intersection.
  “Too late,” Niko said. He looked back at David. There was no un-
  certainty in his eyes or his voice. “Turn it off, Corp. We’re close.” 
  David raised the radio but Halverson reached back and pushed 
  it down. He held a finger to his lips, and mouthed, “They’re right 
  around the corner.”
  David nodded to show he understood. He twisted the volume 
  knob on top of the radio until it clicked off, then set it on the side-
  walk beside him. He brought his TK up from where the sling held 
  it against his chest and pulled the butt snug against his shoulder. 
  “How many?”
  Niko held up his right hand with four fingers raised. He looked 
  back at David and shrugged. “At least,” he mouthed.
  Nodding shortly, David’s mind raced for a moment. He looked 
  up at the street sign—two blocks from the Square—and made up 
  his mind. He beckoned to Niko with his rifle. Take them. Niko nod-
  ded. Taking up the slack in his sling, he nodded to Halverson. 
  
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  On the Square • Page 8
  As one the two men leaned around the corner of the building, 
  Niko on one knee, his rifle a meter off the ground, with Halverson 
  standing above him. A ripping cloth sound from the firing TKs cut 
  the air, and then both men leaned back, spent magazines drop-
  ping from the rifle. David scooted forward, rifle at the ready.
  Three pirates were down and not moving, their torsos shred-
  ded by the lead slivers the TK fired. The fourth man was flopping 
  around, slipping in the morass of blood covering the sidewalk. His 
  weapon, a TK like David’s own, was lying a meter away. The pirate 
  was more concerned with staunching the blood flowing from his 
  right thigh.
  “Let’s go,” David said, and stepped around the corner. He scur-
  ried toward the Tortugans in a crouch, the barrel of his rifle never 
  leaving the surviving pirate’s chest. The man looked up when the 
  maniple approached. He looked at David.
  “Please,” he said, and dipped his head toward his leg. “Help me.” 
  David frowned. The sound of the firing was still echoing between 
  the buildings. There’d be more pirates coming. They had to keep 
  moving. David opened his mouth to deny the pirate’s request.
  A crashing blast cut off David’s reply. The fire took the pirate in 
  the face, flopping him backward in a misty spray of blood. David 
  looked back at his men.
  Bouzerant raised his riot gun. A wisp of smoke rose from the 
  barrel, swirling away into the wind between the buildings. David’s 
  nose caught only a trace of the scent of burnt powder.
  “There’ll be more coming,” Niko said. Bouzerant pumped his ac-
  tion, chambering another shell.
  David stared at him. He looked back at the body on the ground. It 
  shuddered, and a fresh stain appeared on the pirate’s pants. David’s 
  nostrils flared, filled with the bittersweet fragrance of urine. He 
  thought of Doyle. Disgust sent shivers through him. David glanced 
  from the body to his maniple, then back at the body. He leaned for-
  ward, letting the sling take his rifle, hands on his knees.
  He vomited.
  Niko and Halverson said nothing as they moved past him, scav-
  enging ammunition from the dead pirates. Halverson picked up 
  one of the rifles and slung it over his shoulder. Bouzerant watched 
  the street as if nothing had happened. Maybe nothing had, David 
  thought.
  
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  “We need to make the Square,” David said after he straightened 
  up. “The platoon needs us.” Wiping his mouth, David turned away 
  from the mess and started deeper into the city. A part of his mind 
  wondered if he’d be able to leave the memories behind as well.
  The Square was the seat of government on Charleston. Like most 
  such buildings, it was also a fortified building, heavily reinforced 
  and capable of mounting its own defense. Since the withdrawal of 
  the TDF, an intense effort had been made to turn it into a fortress 
  in the heart of Sawyer. Several turrets had been constructed, each 
  mounting the few weapons found on Charleston or since import-
  ed at great expense from the factories on Sterope. The buildings 
  around it had been demolished in order to give it some small 
  amount of kill zone.
  David turned a corner and saw the Square, and stopped in his 
  tracks. The rest of his maniple piled into him, all of them staring. 
  Pirate infantry and armor were hiding in the shadows of the build-
  ings outside the kill zone, those with weapons capable of reaching 
  the walls firing.  Those not firing were cowering behind the tanks 
  or whatever cover they could find, and it was not enough. It took 
  David a few seconds to understand why.
  The brigadier had raised the artillery platforms.
  The artillery had been moved to the Square when the first indi-
  cations of the pirates were noticed. Ordinarily the cannons would 
  fire with a high enough arc to clear the surrounding buildings, but 
  the ready-made revetments had been built on hydraulic platforms. 
  If the need arose, each artillery piece could be raised above the 
  low wall and bore-sighted as a direct-fire cannon.  As David and 
  his men watched, the need arose.
  The stubby barrel of a Sniper artillery piece rose above the wall 
  and fired. The blast was at least fifteen meters long, throwing a 
  shell across the zone into a huddled group of pirates. The explo-
  sion tossed shattered bodies and light armor debris a dozen meters 
  into the air. When the afterimages of the muzzle flare faded, the 
  cannon was gone, lowered behind the wall to be reloaded.
  “We’re not getting in there,” David whispered.
  Halverson punched at his shoulder. “We can’t stay out here, 
  Corp. We need to get inside.”
  David turned and snarled at him. “You think they’ll open the gate 
  for us, Cecil?”
  
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  On the Square • Page 10
  Halverson stiffened. “I meant inside this building here, Talbot. 
  Don’t call me Cecil.” He jerked his head toward the building they 
  here crouched next to. “The skyway is still up. We can get over 
  there and help the battalion from out here.”
  A spark of an idea flashed in David’s head. “You’re right. Back 
  into the building, then west toward Hadley. We can rain a little hurt 
  down on them.”
  The first door was locked, but it surrendered to the butt plate 
  of Niko’s rifle after only two knocks. The maniple ran down the 
  slick-floored hallway, the rubber soles of their boots squeaking on 
  the polished stone. There were no lights, not even the emergency 
  lamps. The power must have been shut off. No doubt the Square 
  was using every watt.
  The skyways connecting most of the buildings were built fifteen 
  meters above the street and fully enclosed to protect the occu-
  pants from the torrential rains that sometimes blanketed Sawyer. 
  As they crossed one, a massive shadow swept past beneath 
  them.
  “The ’Mech,” David whispered. He halted the maniple inside the 
  next building. “Get inside, away from the windows.”
  “I can’t shoot through the walls,” Niko said.
  “That ’Mech just became the world’s largest target for those 
  cannons. You want to be near a sheet of glass when they start 
  shooting at it?” The walls shook again, punctuating David’s words. 
  An explosion tore through the building, accompanied by the wa-
  terfall sound of breaking glass. David flashed the trio a quick grin 
  and fished the radio from his harness.
  “Charlie Six,” he said, “be advised, the ’Mech is headed your 
  way.” There was no response.
  “We need to find a firing position,” Niko said. David saw his fin-
  gers rubbing at the receiver of his TK. The knuckles were white, 
  where they weren’t broken open and bleeding.
  David slung the radio and sat down on a bench in the corridor. 
  His mind was racing, trying to remember half-forgotten lectures 
  about ’Mech tactics in an urban environment. There hadn’t been 
  ’Mechs on Charleston for months. No ’Mechs equaled no training. 
  The brigadier liked to focus on what he had, not on what he didn’t. 
  There probably weren’t two squads of actual anti-’Mech troops on 
  the planet.
  
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  “He’ll keep to the buildings,” he murmured. “Use them for cover 
  until he can get at the cannons.”
  “What are you talking about?” Halverson asked. “You’re not 
  thinking we’re going to kill that ’Mech?”
  “It’s the biggest target out there,” David said, distractedly. His 
  brain was turning something over, peeling the layers of fog in his 
  mind like an onion.
  “You’re nuts,” Bouzerant blurted. “We don’t have any missiles.” 
  He looked at the other members of the maniple. “Tell him, guys.”
  “He’s right, Corp,” Niko said. “We haven’t got anything that will 
  get through the armor, not even the cockpit armor.”
  A door snapped closed around the plan forming in David’s mind. 
  “You’re right.” He left the half-formed ideas where they were and 
  changed his train of thought. “But we can surely kill the infantry,” 
  he said. “Come on.”
  David led them to the next skyway, the one that crossed Hadley. 
  The glass in the skyway had been blasted out, and a scattering of 
  corpses in pirate garb littered the glass-coated floor. All of them 
  were shredded by broken glass. Shards of it covered the floor, 
  mixing with the dead men’s blood to form a slippery morass of ra-
  zor-sharp debris. David crouched down and waddled a few steps 
  out onto the skyway, looking back toward the Square. He was able 
  to hide behind the meter-high ferrocrete wall that functioned as 
  the skyway’s railing.
  The pirates had begun a push toward the walls with the ’Mech 
  backing them. The slender machine stood well back, using the 
  lasers built into its bulky forearms to probe at the walls. Wherever 
  the beams touched, the ferrocrete flashed into a white, steam-
  tinged explosion. David’s eyes began to water as he remembered 
  his own experience with that laser. He blinked a few times to clear 
  his eyes and then leaned forward to see over the edge.
  Beneath them a platoon’s worth of Tortugan infantry huddled 
  behind the wrecked hulk of a Scorpion light tank. Several of the 
  pirates were administering first aid to wounded comrades. None 
  of them were looking at the buildings around them. Anyone pay-
  ing attention was watching the show on the Square.
  “Grenades,” David whispered, pointing downward. “Two each, 
  then sweep.” He let the sling take the TK and pulled two fragmen-
  tation grenades from his webbing. The other troops did the same, 
  
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  On the Square • Page 12
  although Halverson held three, two in his right hand. David caught 
  each of their eyes, then nodded. “Drop.”
  There was a shout when one of the grenades struck a pirate in the 
  helmet, but by then the heavy clank of the others hitting the fer-
  rocrete raised a general scream. Then the grenades went off. The 
  explosions rattled the skyway, shaking loose more shards of glass. 
  David’s foot slipped as he tried to straighten, forcing him to one 
  knee. He felt glass cut into his knee even as he shifted his weight 
  forward, bringing his rifle up and over the lip of the railing. He 
  squeezed off the whole magazine without looking, then dropped 
  back to reload. Halverson and Niko did the same; Bouzerant was 
  standing, pounding out aimed shots from his riot gun as fast as he 
  could pump the action. When he exhausted the eight-round maga-
  zine he too dropped down and began transferring shells from his 
  bandolier to the shotgun’s receiver.
  “I think that got their attention,” Halverson said. He casually 
  tossed his fourth and final grenade over the edge. The explosion 
  of the single grenade was less intense than the previous rounds. 
  No fire answered in return.
  David grinned at him and climbed to his feet, still crouching be-
  hind the railing. Taking a deep breath, he stood and leaned over 
  the railing, TK pointed almost straight down. He triggered a short 
  burst and then paused, watching.
  Only the wounded were 
  moving, and none of them to-
  ward a weapon. David shook 
  his head, trying to clear his 
  nose of the burnt stench of 
  cooked flesh and the harsher 
  chemical taint of the grenades. 
  His stomach quivered, but he 
  held it down. There was noth-
  ing alive in the street below 
  that posed a threat.
  “Look at that,” Bouzerant 
  said, pointing.
  The Tortugan ’Mech was fly-
  ing through the air, propelled 
  by silvery flames shooting 
  from two massive jets on its 
  back. Something clicked in 
  
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  David’s mind, and he saw the flashcard with this ’Mech’s outline 
  on it. “It’s a Phoenix Hawk,” he said.
  The ’Mech landed with a ground-shaking thud barely five hundred 
  meters away from the skyway on which they hid. David tracked the 
  big machine with his rifle, knowing full well there weren’t enough 
  bullets in the world for his weapon to chew through the ’Mech’s 
  tough armor. It was something to do with his hands, while his 
  mind locked onto the ’Mech.
  Since their inception centuries ago, BattleMechs had been the 
  symbol of warfare. Romantic attachments were formed between 
  people and ’Mechs, until the common man saw the machine as an 
  unstoppable avatar of warfare. Conventional wisdom held that the 
  only thing capable of stopping a ’Mech was another ’Mech. Taurian 
  military tradition upheld that maxim, for the most part. David had 
  certainly subscribed to it since his first day of basic training, when 
  the brigadier’s ’Mech had paraded for them.
  “It’s amazing,” David whispered.
  “It’s kicking our ass,” Niko spat. “We need our own ’Mechs for 
  this.”
  “Maybe not,” Halverson said, squinting at something.
  The Phoenix Hawk disappeared beneath a horrendous explosion. 
  David jerked back in shock. A flicker of motion caught his eye, and 
  he turned his head in time to see the snout of the Sniper cannon 
  fall beneath the wall. David looked back at where the ’Mech had 
  been, watching for the smoke to clear.
  “Sometimes you just need a bigger gun,” Halverson said trium-
  phantly.
  The Phoenix Hawk was sprawled on the ferrocrete a dozen me-
  ters from where it had been standing. Its left torso was blackened 
  and bent. Sparks leapt from exposed myomers, and smoke bel-
  lowed from the cavity that had been the left shoulder. David saw 
  the arm itself lying across the ferrocrete. Hope surged through 
  him, the first glimmer of a belief that he might survive the day.
  The ’Mech moved.
  “You’re kidding me,” Niko said.
  Halverson spat over the side of the skyway. “I hope they’re 
  watching in there. They need to hit it again.”
  
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  David kept his silence. The Phoenix Hawk gathered itself and 
  stood shakily. The ’Mech swayed, unbalanced by the loss of its 
  arm. It raised its other arm and flashed a pulse of light into the 
  wall, tearing a great section free. He ground his teeth as the ’Mech 
  took a step forward. It was unstoppable.
  A shoulder-fired missile spiraled out of the Square and took the 
  ’Mech in the face. It toppled again, flattening against the ground 
  just like the pirate Bouzerant had shot.  Even from half a kilometer 
  David heard the cheers of the Square’s defenders. The small force 
  of Tortugan armor that had been following the ’Mech faltered, 
  slowing. David cheered along with his men.
  The ’Mech moved.
  Silence erupted across the zone. The crackle of weapons fire 
  died out as everyone watched the fallen ’Mech. David heard the 
  whine of its actuators as it rolled to its side and pushed itself up 
  on its right arm. There was a pop as it levered itself to its feet, and 
  a streamer of smoke began to pour from its left hip. It stood there 
  as if it were a man and not a machine, gathering itself. No one 
  breathed.
  The Phoenix Hawk turned away from the Square and hobbled 
  toward David’s position. The cheers filled the manmade caverns 
  between the buildings again, David’s included. They lasted until a 
  group of Tortugan infantry appeared on the opposite end of the 
  skyway and opened fire.
  The first shot took Halverson in the thigh, the bullet going clean 
  through his leg to strike a divot from the wall behind him. The big man 
  cried out and fell, dropping his rifle. He clamped both of his hands 
  around his leg, but David saw blood spurt through his fingers.
  “Back!” he shouted. He ran toward Halverson, grabbing the right 
  shoulder strap of the wounded man’s webbing as he passed. He 
  dragged the man across the glass-strewn floor, inflicting new cuts 
  on Halverson’s legs and buttocks. David twisted to point his TK 
  one-handed, burning off the clip to try and cover his movement. It 
  worked. They made it around a section of collapsed ferrocrete, a 
  meter or so out on the skyway.
  “There’s a lot of them,” Niko said, leaning out to fire short, aimed 
  bursts. Return fire snapped around him, kicking up tufts of dust 
  and occasionally sparking off of metal.
  “They have to come across the skyway to get us,” David said, 
  digging in his pack for his medkit. The bleeding wasn’t the gush 
  
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  On the Square • Page 15
  he’d expect from a cut artery, but it was still a lot of blood. “Keep 
  up the fire, and we can hold.”
  “Hold for what?” Bouzerant asked. He was pulling the magazines 
  from Halverson’s webbing and handing them to Niko. His eyes were 
  wide, and bloodshot. The morning’s stress was getting to him. David 
  frowned. It was getting to all of them. He paused his ministrations 
  long enough to reach for the radio, but a bullet had smashed it.
  “Think of something,” Niko said, quickly replacing another maga-
  zine. “They’re getting ready to rush us.”
  “Help him,” David told Bouzerant, jerking his chin at Niko. He un-
  clipped his rifle and handed it to him. “Keep up the fire.”
  Halverson was hyperventilating. The white bandage on his leg was 
  already soaking through with blood. David looked at it. Maybe he 
  was wrong about the artery. He pulled another bandage from the kit 
  and wrapped it around the other one. He had to pull the leg higher 
  to get under it. The motion made Halverson scream. David grimaced 
  and pulled it tighter, eliciting another scream. When he released his 
  leg Halverson lapsed into panting, his eyes darting all around.
  “Hold on, Cecil,” David said. Behind him, Niko and Bouzerant 
  were keeping up a constant stream of fire. Niko was firing aimed 
  bursts; Bouzerant was just holding the trigger down. “Stop wast-
  ing your ammo,” David called.
  “Look,” Halverson said. “The ’Mech.”
  David turned away from the firefight. The Phoenix Hawk was 
  limping up Hadley, barely a hundred meters away. It would pass 
  beneath them. He turned back to Halverson and tried to smile. “It 
  won’t bother us.”
  “No. Look at the cockpit.”
  David looked. Between the artillery and the missile, the armored 
  canopy over the ’Mech’s face had been shot away. With the sun com-
  ing from behind him like it was, David could see the MechWarrior 
  controlling it. He had a hand raised to ward off the sunlight. The 
  morning light showed David more of the machine’s damage, half-
  repaired armor hanging loosely and exposed myomer bundles. 
  There were several rust-encrusted rents on the ’Mech’s legs. It was 
  as battered as it looked, barely hanging together. The Charleston 
  troops hadn’t added that much, but it had been enough.
  “We can stop it,” Halverson gasped out.
  
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  The half-formed plan in David’s mind snapped into focus. He 
  reached behind him and touched Bouzerant. “Give me my rifle,” 
  he said. The weapon came flying at him, too fast for him to catch. 
  He dropped it. The ’Mech limped closer. Fifty meters.
  “Here they come!” Niko shouted. He grunted as he threw a gre-
  nade. He must have fumbled the throw. David saw the grenade 
  explode harmlessly on the street below.
  Or not so harmlessly. The Phoenix Hawk’s remaining arm rose, 
  unmasking the maw of the laser it carried like a giant pistol. David 
  picked up his rifle and aimed, keeping the ’Mech’s pilot between 
  the sights. Tortured metal screamed in the alleyway as the laser 
  rose, shrieking out damage to the ’Mech’s shoulder.
  “Get down!” A grenade clattered into the small alcove formed 
  by the debris. David was aware of it, but ignored it. The ’Mech 
  stumped closer; the arm continued to rise.
  Bouzerant leapt past David to flop down on top of the grenade. 
  He had time for a desperate curse before it went off, picking his 
  body up and flinging it off the skyway. David rocked with the force 
  of the explosion, bringing the rifle to bear again. He heard screams, 
  human screams from the pirates Niko was cutting down and the 
  screech of stressed metal from the ’Mech’s shoulder.
  He fired.
  He saw the MechWarrior jerk back against his seat, saw the red 
  mist splash on his chest as the caseless rounds tore into him. Then 
  David saw white again, as the laser fired. He felt a buffeting explo-
  sion, and then falling. There was a sharp pain in his side, and a 
  sharper one in his arm, and then the white faded to darkness.
  He woke up on a stretcher in the street. It must have been hours 
  later, maybe days. The shadows were longer, and going the other 
  way. He realized he could see, and blinked a few times. It felt as 
  though there were grains of dust beneath his eyelids, and he tried 
  to wipe at them, but his arms were restrained.
  “Easy, David,” someone said. David looked around, trying to fo-
  cus on the shapes around him. 
  
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  On the Square • Page 17
  “Sergeant Homer?”
  The NCO nodded, stepping closer to the stretcher and dropping 
  to one knee. He laid a bandaged hand on David’s shoulder. “Take 
  it easy, son. You’re safe.”
  The street was filled with sounds, talking and the sound of mo-
  tors. David heard a siren in the distance, but no gunfire. He looked 
  at Homer. “Are they gone?”
  “Last time I checked they were still headed for their DropShips. 
  It’ll be a while before they get back.”
  A great sense of relief washed through David. He felt as though 
  he were ten kilos lighter. The world swam for a moment, and he 
  realized he was drugged. “How long have I been out?”
  “It took us a few hours to dig you out, boyo.” The sergeant looked 
  away for a moment, looked all around, then back at David. After a 
  moment, David recognized the hulk of the Phoenix Hawk lying in 
  the street behind Homer.
  “We got it,” he murmured. Niko would be pleased, he thought. 
  Niko! “My men, sergeant! Where are my men?”
  Homer stiffened. “Koumalides is on a stretcher behind you. The 
  others…” He paused. “The others didn’t make it.”
  David tried to crane his neck to see Niko, but couldn’t. He tried to 
  raise himself up on his right elbow, to twist around, but fell back 
  as a dagger of pain shot up his arm. He gasped. He felt sweat on 
  his forehead and upper lip.
  “Don’t move, Corporal,” Homer barked. He placed both his hands 
  on David’s shoulders. “You were injured. You need to be still.”
  “My arm,” David said. “It hurts.”
  “Your arm was amputated when the skyway collapsed, David.” 
  Homer’s voice was rock hard. David had heard that tone before, 
  when Homer’d given the platoon bad news.
  “But I can still feel it.”
  Homer squeezed his eyes closed. “It’s not there, David. Just lay 
  still.” A medic walked past and leaned over when Homer touched 
  his leg. A short conversation took place, too quiet for David to under-
  stand. Then the medic knelt, and David felt a prick in his left arm.
  
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  On the Square • Page 18
  “You need to rest, Corporal,” the medic said. “This will help you 
  sleep.”
  “My arm,” David moaned. “My maniple.” The drugged feeling 
  increased. He couldn’t focus on anything. His eyes closed against 
  his will.
  “This is the one,” he heard Homer say. “He brought down the 
  ’Mech with a rifle.” There was pride in the older man’s voice. David 
  didn’t know if he was imagining it.
  “He should pull through,” the medic said. “You know, in the old 
  days, that would mean that the ’Mech was his.” The medic laughed. 
  “What do you think will happen to it?”
  “The pirates, Tortugans or someone else, will be back,” Homer 
  said. “We’ve got one ’Mech. When he heals up, we can get more.”
  David knew he was imagining things now. He’d never once heard 
  the tone Homer was using, not since the day he’d met the NCO on 
  his first day of basic training. Homer didn’t have a fatherly bone 
  in his body.
  The darkness crept at the edges of his mind, snipping off his 
  consciousness bit by bit. Before he succumbed completely, he 
  remembered Bouzerant’s words. You’re nuts, he’d said. David 
  thought he might agree with him. But I killed a ’Mech.
  The darkness closed in around him.
  The End
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/BattleTech [multi]/EXTRA/Novels/Battlecorps Novels/On The Square - Jason Schmetzer.pdf