“My fellow Nova Cats beware. The Blakists possess some of the latest rotary autocannon
technology. Keep an eye out for the RAC’s high volume of firepower and be prepared to take
advantage of any obvious weapons jams your opponent experiences.” Switching his transmitter
over to a general broadcast, Devon decided to give his enemy their last chance to find some
honor today.
“Word of Blake forces. I challenge your commander to a Circle of Equals.” Before he could
speak another word, the familiar warning lights and sounds flashed again throughout the cockpit.
Yet another Arrow IV missile connected with the Direwolf, this time in a much fiercer manner.
The missile hit the Mech squarely in its left torso. The Gauss rifle’s barrel crumpled under the
force, stressing the weapon’s capacitors and causing a small explosion. The rifle was now
useless, but that was only part of Devon’s problems. He fought to keep the machine upright.
However the massive change in his Mech’s momentum seemed to have made the maneuver
impossible. With arms cradled to its sides, the massive machine smashed into the rocky soil. In
addition to the jarring impact, Devon felt something in his Mech’s left arm give way. Looking to
his sensors, he watched the large pulse laser in his left arm blink out of action. More bad luck.
Maybe my legs will not be my biggest problem today.
“Hold your fire. I said cease fire, cease fire.” The man coming over the line had at least some
kind of authority. Devon guessed him to be the commander.
“Devon Carns, I presume? We’ve been expecting you and your Nova Cats for quite some time
now. Are you back to reclaim the base your pathetic mercenary allies lost to Blake’s vision?”
Biting his tongue to prevent any anger showing in his reply, Devon retorted. “Aff. And dare you
identify yourself, Blakist trespasser?”
“Oh but of course. Not only will I identify myself. I’ll accept your challenge.”
As Devon brought his Mech up from the ground, he could see the enemy Mechs before him
backing away. From the center of the conglomeration, a rusted-out Banshee assault Mech came
into view. Though the Mech looked at least 300 years old, Devon guessed it was more than a
match for his Direwolf. He was operating at just under fifty percent, with almost half his
weapons destroyed and more than half of his armor now lying on the rocky plains of the Stricken
Desert. In addition to being seriously damaged, he was probably facing a Mech that had been
retrofitted with RAC technology.
Still, Devon honestly believed he was a much better pilot than the opponent before him. He also
realized he had not taken any engine damage yet. Gyro is still working properly too.
Suddenly he realized he was kidding himself. He had made the challenge and would have to fight
this enemy. If only the cheating fools hadn’t already pegged him with artillery twice.
“My name, Devon Carns, is Paul Daggert.” Paul’s voice was deep, and he sounded as if he
were an older man. One thing is for sure, he is either an arrogant fool or he is trying to put
on a show for his men. The confident commander continued, “I am the commander of the
reformed 19th Word of Blake militia, now in service of the Denouncement Sect. You may have
heard of us before, as we took action against you and your unit on Wasat. Our militia is also
known as Retrospect.”
“Your name means nothing to me. Do not flatter yourself with your victory on Wasat. You
outnumbered us two to one. There was no honor in your victory.” Devon spoke. He made a
quick glance at his Direwolf’s status and tried to think out a quick plan of attack. He hoped the
enemy might foolishly give him more time by sparking a battle of words. Within seconds, Devon
got his wish.
“You claim we earned no honor. However we were not the ones to turn tail and run back to our
mothers in the Irece Prefecture.” Paul’s joke was well received by many of his own men.
Laughs could be heard across the general broadcasting frequency. Devon smiled. He glanced
at his targeting computer’s readout to ensure it was still functioning with his remaining weapons.
He hoped his plan would be enough.
“You have been foolish to wander into the Irece Prefecture. You and your sect of fanatics will
meet a cruel punishment at the hands of the Strider’s Strikers. Now, how do you choose to fight
me? Augmented or on the ground?” Devon knew the answer, but he was still going to give this
dishonorable foe the traditional option of the challenged.
“You must be joking, Star Colonel. Augmented. If I remember correctly, you get the choice of
where we fight?” Despite the man’s shortcomings as a warrior, Devon gave him credit for his
familiarity with the Clan method of batchall. Batchall was the custom the Clans had adopted long
ago, a set of rules upon which all honor could be kept and all skill could be tested.
“Aff. We will fight here in a Circle of Equals formed by your warriors and mine. As the
challenger, I demand a radius of roughly 700 meters with each participant starting at opposite
sides of the circle.” Devon knew the secret to winning this fight would be damaging his foe’s
Mech in a single section with both of his remaining weapons. A leg might be his best hope for a
winning chance. He needed a long initial range between them so he might hit his opponent with 2
or 3 Gauss slugs before Paul could close the range to attack him.
“Very well, Star Colonel. You’ll get your precious range. I caution you however. You will not
win this, and never should have made the challenge.” To his credit, Paul’s voice did not waver.
He sounded as confident as he possibly could while threatening Devon.
Devon ignored the older man’s words. “Move your men into position as I have requested and
quit stalling.” Devon smiled. Though he had always preferred to keep his intonation simple and
unchanging, he was very careful in the words he selected. He hoped to bring out his opponent’s
emotions and use those against him.
“Very well, Star Colonel. You will get your wish. I will enjoy making an example out of you for
my men.” The old man sounded as confident as ever, but this time Devon could sense that Paul
wasn’t quite sure what to expect from Devon in their coming duel.
As the Clan and Word of Blake Mechs moved into a giant circle, roughly 1,500 meters in
diameter, Devon readied his machine. Though there was little he could do to protect his machine’
s legs, he maneuvered the machine halfway into a dried out streambed. At least this way he
will have a harder time hitting my vulnerable left leg. Devon waited in anticipation as the
enemy Mechs slowed to a halt, completing the circle and waiting for their commander to reach
his starting position.
Finally reaching his starting point, Devon watched Paul turn the Banshee and line up a shot at the
Direwolf. However the Blakist would have to make a run towards Devon before the Mech
would be within extreme range of its rotary autocannons. From now on out, it would all be up to
Devon’s skill as a gunner. A bit of luck could not hurt either.
“Ready Star Colonel?” Paul spoke out in a clear, crisp voice. Again it seemed he was making a
show of things, letting all know that the battle was to begin.
