Burning In Paris

"Talcum 2, reporting in," he said into the comms. "We've broken them; it's just a mop-up operation now."

"Understood, Talcum 2," his commander replied. "Be careful, Michael; they might still try one last feint."

"Wouldn't surprise me."

For centuries, Paris had been regarded as one of the most important cities in the entire Inner Sphere in terms of culture and education. While the Amaris Coup had briefly brought a halt to this as part of the devastation that covered the entire planet, the city succeeded in rebuilding itself and reclaiming its title. That is, until the Word of Blake took over the planet. Now it was back to square one.

By all rights, he should be mourning for the city. His family - the LeFluers - could trace their origins all the way back to Earth. In fact, a lot of the families who resided within the New Nauvoo region could. It was why he had volunteered to join the effort to liberate the planet, and most likely why several others had volunteered as well. But at the moment, he was not there to sight-see; he was there to pilot his AFNN-model Guillotine and wage war against those who had sought to claim what wasn't theres.

Somewhere along the way, the AFNN engineers came to realize that having an absurd quantity of standard heat sinks to deal with all of the mech's waste heat was just that: absurd. By going over to double heat sinks, among other modifications, they created the walking abomination that was the 9X. Near-maximum armor. A PPC in place of the large laser. Twin SRM 4s instead of the single 6. A full seven medium lasers. Few mechs, Clan or Inner Sphere, stood a chance against it in a straight-up fight. Today simply reinforced that fact.

A lone Thorn darted out from behind a building and snapped off a shot with its LRM 5. For whatever reason, however, the missiles just narrowly missed; it was possible that he was up against a rookie pilot, or a pilot so badly shaken not even a Star League-era targeting and tracking system could compensate for an unsteady hand. Either way, he wasn't going to give the Thorn a second chance. Before the mech could dart back under cover, he fired off a shot from his PPC. The azure bolt tore through the paper-thin armor over the Thorn's right torso, and very nearly cored straight through. What it did do, however, was detonate the LRM ammunition stored there. The CASE mechanism shunted the blast out the machine's rear armor, but the pilot couldn't compensate and so the mech crumpled up in a heap. Realizing that he had no chance of winning, the Thorn's pilot climbed out of the cockpit and ran down the street. The Blakist pilot disappeared into a random building whose door had been plowed open, essentially surrendering. Michael sent out a general message concerning the pilot's location and resumed his patrol.

The higher-ups had concluded that if the city was to be attacked, the Blakists would likely fall back towards the city's major landmarks; not only would they make obvious rally points, the Blakists could try to blackmail the liberation forces out of the city by threatening their destruction. Instead, volunteers from among the infantry and battle armor were dispatched to infiltrate the city and set up defensive positions near these facilities. Although the defensive positions were largely abandoned in short order once the fighting got intense, the volunteers had done enough. Sufficient confusion had been sewn into the Blakist ranks that individual units had become scattered, attempting to hunker down in the city itself rather than form en masse for their own mutual protection. This is where Talcum and Gypsum lances came in: their mission was to ferret out these stragglers and finish them off before they could find their friends or exploit any potential holes in the line.

A hit on his radar caused him to react reflexively. A Hermes, likely alerted by the destruction of the Thorn, had tried to flank him. But the pilot was just as clumsy as the Thorn pilot, and so the mech's MAsC system was essentially wasted. Michael's reaction time was just fast enough to where the Hermes charged past him instead of charging into him. By the time the Hermes pilot realized what had happened, Michael had already fired off his full volley of lasers. The beams flashed out through the space between them, spearing the Hermes in the torso and legs. The Hermes' auto-eject kicked in before the mech even hit the ground, sending the pilot airborne. Michael watched as the pilot's parachute deployed, allowing the Blakist to make a reasonbly safe - if awkward - landing in a tree.

By his count, that made seven. And he was still operating within a few kilometers of the Eiffel Tower, where one of the volunteer teams had been sent. Either the team had overestimated the number of kills it made or underestimated the resolve of the forces it had scattered.

Sheer chance brought him up behind a Blakist choke point consisting of battle armor operating in support of a Hetzer and two wheeled APCs. An alpha strike cleared them out in short order, albeit at the cost of a slightly uncomfortable heat spike. Even with doubles, alpha-striking was still a risky endeavor. Fortunately, it appeared that there was nobody else around him right now, and so he could take his time walking the mech on another sweep.

As he considered the situation, a thought occurred to him. Once upon a time, the guillotine was the scourge of the nation. During the Reign of Terror, anyone who the powers-that-be declared an enemy faced its sinister blade and their demise. Now, many a year after the fact, another Guillotine was the scourge of the nation. His.

His sensors detected someone trying to ping him, likely with a Beagle probe. Shocked back into action, he pointed the mech in a random direction and put it into a full run. Discovering that its cover was blown, a Mongoose rushed out from its alcove inside a destroyed building in a desperate effort to flank his mech. Michael hit the jump jets, allowing him to do a mid-air spin. He snapped off a random shot with his PPC, and was mildly shocked to see the Mongoose topple over backwards, a gaping hole where its faceplate once sat. No doubt that he had hit the cockpit.

He didn't have much time to contemplate what just happened before Gypsum 4 filled the airwaves. "Target-rich environment!" the anxious pilot shouted as PPC and laser fire sounded in the background. "Artillery train!"

Gypsum 4 took enough time away from the carnage to show everyone where he was on the map. 4 had a 5D Rifleman, and so Michael had no doubt that 4 would have an easy time of the vehicles unless they had heavy supporting weapons or a heavy escort. No, he was more worried about where the train was heading: the Eiffel Tower. Someone was, indeed, trying once more to set it as a rally point. This could not happen.

"Talcum 3 here", a somewhat startled voice chimed in. "I've got a big kahuna making its way towards the Tower. I can dog it, but that's about it."

"Fall back", Michael said; "I'll deal with it." "Big Kahuna" was the code for an assault mech. The AFNN-mod Stinger that Talcum 3 had sported a head-mounted medium laser in lieu of the right arm machine gun and half of the machine gun ammunition, but two medium lasers were still no match against the average bruiser. Better 3 continue to observe and report than risk getting involved.

He pulled up the Tower as a nav point and put the mech into the best flat-out run it could muster, literally over-running several infantry and light vehicle emplacements along his way. He hastily scanned through the assorted communications channels in order to try and get whatever additional information that he could. The Blakist forces had pulled back from several entire sectors of the city. But as he feared, as soon as the volunteers withdrew from the monuments, the Blakists resumed their efforts to fortify themselves around them. The bulk of the direct-combat forces and remaining air forces were likely being sacrificed in order to provide a shield while the command forces and support forces pulled back. Unacceptable.

Making matters worse, the three other Gypsums and the other two Talcums were busy making their way through their respective opponents; none of them would be able to break off in order to help him. So far as he knew, it was up to him to find the assault mech - and the high-level Blakist officer that likely piloted it - and deal with it. He had already racked up eight kills for the day, and was hoping that he would not be kill number nine.

A lone Hussar was tasked with escorting a group of slow-moving cargo haulers; they were a speed bump before him. A Sentinel tried to ambush him, only to fall before an alpha strike. A second alpha strike downed a Hermes II with the same idea.

By now, the heat was washing over him. His was a 9X that had a handful of creature comforts in the cockpit, including a small refrigerator. He had stocked several bottles of water in there for just such a situation, but fate intervened in the form of an Initiate. The Initiate fired off its LRM 15 and then immediately dove for cover, indicating that the pilot was competent enough to try for a proper skirmish. But while an LRM 15 uses missiles, a PPC uses energy. He gave the pilot credit for keeping him distracted for a full minute, but in the end PPC blast after PPC blast had probed the Initiate until it was able to breach the right torso. For reasons unknown, only the LRM ammo was protected by a CASE; the SRM ammo was sitting wide open. He was almost glad to see the ejection seat appear in the midst of the fireball that emanated from the doomed machine.

He made one more scan of the radio. Gypsums 1, 2, and 3 were busy hounding a Toyama and its bodyguards near the Arc De Triumph. Talcums 1 and 4 had blundered their way into the flank of one of the last major pockets. No word from Gypsum 4 or Talcum 3. So far as he knew, it was just him and the big guy to see who would be kill number 13. Lucky number 13.

He put the mech into a run one more time, bearing straight down on the Tower. As soon as he saw something large and bulbous on the horizon, he fired off a round from his PPC and hit the jets. His timing was perfect, as a massive barrage of LRMs flew right beneath him; the building that had been right behind him exploded under the impact of 40 missiles.

He was up against a Grand Crusader.

Staying at range was not an option, as not even the armor of a 9X could withstand the LRMs for very long. But closing in was not much of an option either thanks to the mech's array of pulse lasers. No matter which option he chose, he was going to take a beating as well. After weighing his odds, he figured that he would put his lasers and SRMs against the pulses.

Someone or other in bright green Helaman battle armor shot past him, obviously using the "interceptor" jet pack that enabled the armor to essentially fly. Most likely, he figured, the trooper was a volunteer from earlier who felt the need to resolve unfinished business. The squad machine gun the armor was sporting simply did not have the punch to do more than token damage to the rotund beast, but was more than enough to make it an official nuisance. The Grand Crusader pilot foolishly used the machine's left arm to try and swat the battle armor away, leaving the mech wide open.

Twin azure bolts flew through the air, hitting the Grand Crusader in the left armpit. Gypsum 4 had apparently long-since finished with the artillery train, and was now eager to horn in on the fight. The Grand Crusader pilot kept the machine upright, but momentarily blanched at the realization that the battle was now three to one. Michael once more hit the jets when the massive missile aray pointed in his direction, but figured that the resulting property damage was better than his mech getting damaged. Gypsum 4 and the Helaman armor continued their barrages, pinning the mech in place.

From out of nowhere, Talcum 3 came rushing up as well. Now facing threats from all four directions, the pilot made the fateful mistake of splitting the mech's fire: LRMs against the Guillotine, right arm against the Stinger, and left arm against the Rifeman. Once more, nothing hit. Even if the mech had been standing still this would have been a tall order, but the pilot was also trying to dodge and weave the mech around.

Gypsum 4 managed to double-tap the Grand Crusader's left leg, causing the machine to stumble into a kneeling position on the wounded limb. Seeing this, Talcum 3 hit his jets and planted his right foot into the brute's back before hitting the jets again and leaping clear; as reckless as the move was, it obviously put even more stress on the mech's left leg. The Helaman trooper followed up by throwing what must have been a thermite maxi-grenade with all the grace of a champion baseball player; the lethal fastball lodged in the Grand Crusader's knee, and almost immediately gouts of flame began to shoot out.

Its leg now out of action, the Grand Crusader could do nothing to protect itself. Michael had gotten to within 270 meters, and with a loud roar of a scream he triggered one last alpha strike. His PPC tore into the Grand Crusader's right arm, while his arm-mounted lasers scoured the mech's left arm. The torso lasers dug holes in the side torsos, while the SRMs pockmarked the machine's center torso. None of the shots breached, but that was besides the point; the point was that he had just stripped off four tons of armor in a single volley, something that the Grand Crusader pilot could not compensate for. The mech rocked backwards, landing on its already damaged rear armor. The Helaman trooper sealed the deal by landing on top of the mech's head and pointing the squad machine gun's barrel at the canopy glass.

Triumphant, Michael flipped the master comms switch, meaning that his next broadcast would be heard on all channels as well as the mech's speakers. "Talcum 2. By the Eiffel Tower. Scratch one Grand Crusader." He savored kill number 13 like he savored the bottle of water he finally retrieved.

As he figured, the pronouncement was the turning point of the battle. The Grand Crusader pilot was the highest-ranking officer to survive the initial assault, and so with him out of the action the Blakist lines began to collapse; those who could made it out of the city en route for the Blakist fortifications in Germany, while those who could not either surrendered or fell where they stood. Not bad for a day's work.