Havoc

With Ate by his side come hot from hell,

Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice

Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war,

That this foul deed shall smell above the earth

With carrion men, groaning for burial.

The rotary 30mm spools up...

And unleashes a glowing stream of slugs with a dazzling flickering of light and a deafening roar, the recoil rattles the mech frame violently, as it stomps heavily out of cover onto the hillcrest.

Locked onto a Federation's MAIF a fair distance away, the FCS tries its hardest to provide a firing solution, adjust for massive recoil and deliver hits despite chaotically, rapidly and ever-changing frame of reference, both the target as well as the weapon.

The hot metal finds its mark, despite the distance and inherent inaccuracy, a durandalium chassis of this size proves difficult to entirely miss. The FCS's indispensable hard work remains thankless, as the upper half of the Federation's mech is ripped apart by a hail of cannon fire. Despite the battlefield's loud ambience, the sound of metal on metal takes the main stage; creaking, snapping and clanking fills the smoky, hazy air - as if the devil himself started a garage band consisting entirely of drummers.

The hit mech, now smoking heavily, shudders to a stop; its next step aborted suddenly. A hatch opens, and a small speck slides down an extended ladder, then starts to flee in the opposite direction. A MAIF quickly jogs past its smoking comrade, returning fire towards the hill, but is then hit - one - two - three in its center mass, straight through the cockpit.

Black smoke, flame and metal erupts out the back along with the speeding sabots as it collapses forward mid-step. Its back quickly turns from gunmetal gray into glowing white, and the whole frame explodes into a fireball, leaving only a crater and a mushroom cloud; a telltale sign of a critically damaged MFR.

"Get the pilots! Get the pilots!" Buzzsaw shouts out onto the squad's waves.

"Hey! Leave the one on the left alone, I want to plink away at him with the PD."

Skippy lets go of the controls and starts switching switches; FCS to standby, WPN to MAN, station 5 to MAN and the rest to standby. He grabs hold of the controls again. He zooms in onto the black speck moving in the distance; Federation pilot running for his life. He lines up the point defense turret and gives the trigger a short squeeze.

A burst of 12.7mm rounds thunders out of the barrel, sending them flying, cutting through the air. First one impacts just behind the pilot's feet, digging itself deep into the dirt, and the rest sail over his head. The pilot realizing this, lets out a panicked scream and starts running faster.

"Shit. Fuck." He clicks his tongue and mutters out. He squeezes the trigger again, trying to adjust for recoil this time.

Point defense turret roars out again, spitting out spent shells onto the roof loudly, as if it was raining hammers. Most rounds miss again, but one manages to clip the fleeing pilot in his arm. He tumbles over and rolls a short distance on the bladegrass, screaming and clutching onto what's left of his arm, his face twisted into obvious agony as he tries to pick himself up and keep running.

"Hehehehe." Skippy cackles out as he watches the pilot wriggle on the floor in pain soundlessly on the zoomed view. He lets out another short burst.

All the rounds impact, pilot's combat helmet flies off into the distance as it does nothing to prevent his head from turning into a pulp. His torso, torn to shreds, can only be identified as remains of a human by the legs and the second arm loosely hanging off.

"Skippy, if you're done dicking around, you're up with Smiley. Go look through their shit. Buzzsaw, get on that hill and ear to the ground. Sarge, you're with me, find some good firing position." A voice on the radio barks commands out.

"Alright alright, come on Smiley." Skippy says as he turns all the switches back to how they were and stomps down the hill. Smiley's mech follows right behind.

"Got it."

"Yes sir." Sarge utters out in a serious tone.

Skippy and Smiley stomp away from the squad, across the stretching plains and rolling hills. Sounds of distant battle continue as pufts of black smoke occasionally rise from the horizon. They stop within walking distance of the wrecked Federation mechs and open their hatches. Skippy turns reactor switch to IDLE and climbs down the ladder, the reactor quiets down slowly, its loud buzzing turned into a quiet hum.

Skippy presses a button on his helmet. "Right. As usual, you get your kills, I get mine." He says as he walks up to the mangled body.

Immediately, he notices a glint on the arm. "Oh shit, look what I found!" He exclaims in glee as he slips the golden watch off the mass of gore and dangles it in Smiley's view.

"Man, fuck. Why do you kill all the rich fucks," Smiley says as he gives a pilot with his lower half missing a rough kick in his face "while I either kill some fucking dirt poor farm yokel pulled from some Fed backwater shithole, or I do get some moneybags, but all his shit worth anything is broken." he keeps grumbling as he rifles through a legs' pockets.

"Well, you see Smiley, I come from a long line of people who steal from the rich and give to the poor. Like what's their face from that one story about forest bandits, the Bolsheviks?" Skippy says as he inspects a damaged Federation mech.

Hearing this, Smiley turns his scarred face to look at Skippy with an expression of contempt. "Skippy, you fucking retard, that's Robin Hood. Bolsheviks did the big war back on the blue marble."

"Same shit Smiley. Point is, the Patricians fear me, the women love my plunder."

Smiley shakes his head as he looks through another ruined frame's equipment. Suddenly, Skippy exclaims again, "Oh shit, look, this guy has like, three full cans of fucking ammo, nice!"

"For fuck's sake..."

They spend a moment looting and hauling ammunition, valuables and salvageable equipment from the Federation mechs to theirs. "Hey, what do you think this war is about, anyway?" Smiley asks to pass the time.

"Money."

"No, I mean, what does the Empire and the Feds want to do with this place? It can't be resources, because so far all we've seen is bunch of fucking dirt farmers. It can't be money because this shithole barely has any population and they have jack shit worth stealing. Influence? Some strategic goal? It would make sense, this place is so far from civilization--"

"Smiley, you've got the wrong attitude for this. It's money. I don't give a fuck if the Empire or the Feds want to turn this into a fucking planet-sized stripper casino. I'll make it happen if they pay me enough."

"We might be wardogs, but aren't you curious what's this really about--"

"Nope." Skippy says as he loads last of the ammo into his cargo elevator.

"...Dumb fuck."

A voice on the radio suddenly calls out, "Hey, I've got a ping. About 10 clicks out, dead ahead, closing in, pretty fast too."

"Fucking hell, let's go." Skippy says as he climbs the ladder up to his mech.

He switches reactor knob to MAIN as it slowly starts to buzz in pulses again, and they listen in onto the squad's communications. "Any ID yet, Buzz?" Cap asks.

"Nope, but they're beelining here."

"Skippy, Smiley, get the fuck back in armor and get back here." Cap barks orders out over the radio.

"We're comin'. We're already in." Smiley answers.

They stomp past the mangled bodies and burnt out wrecks back towards the hillside and take a defensive position. "Oh fuckin' boy, get ready for this." Buzzsaw exclaims. "8 LAIFs, 5 MAIFs, 2 fuckin' assaults and possibly 4 more. Or some support shit. All flashing Fed IDs and coming in hot."

"We're doing the same dance again, get behind the hill and wait--" Cap's command is interrupted.

"We're going to fight this? Are you fucking high, Cap?" Skippy asks.

"We've got orders Skippy. We're to advance on the settlement ahead and take control."

"I don't give a fuck about the orders, it's my ass first, payment second, orders third."

"Well Skippy, guess what? Unless we at least make an effort, we're not going to get paid shit." Cap says.

"Oh hey, the Fed IDs? They're now flashing merc IDs." Buzzsaw announces.

"Great. So we're outnumbered, outgunned--"

"Skippy, shut the fuck up, I'm tired of your fucking bitching and I'm tired of this fucking squad." Commando says with an audibly frustrated voice. "There's zero fucking professionalism in here, aside from Cap and the only reason I'm here is because Delta got beat up to shit, I'm the only one lucky or unlucky enough to be perfectly fine and one of your guys is eating shit now."

"There's Delta force at it again..." Buzzsaw chimes in.

"And you shut the fuck up too, Buzz, you dipshit. I can't believe they gave a fucking monkey a signals frame." Commando hits back.

"Everyone shut the fuck up, kill the chatter." Cap commands. "Buzz, picture."

"4 clicks out, closing in. Those 4 extra frames are support after all."

"Alright, everyone listen up. We're going to at least thin them out. Maybe they'll see all the wrecks and turn tail out of fear."

The squad takes combat positions behind the hillcrest, ready to repeat their tactic from before. Suddenly, a voice on the radio calls out with a lot of static. "Heey. How's it going Gladius? I see you beat up the Fed boys pretty bad. Why don't you come on out from that hill?"

"Well, fuck, it's those assholes from TerraSec. What do we do?" Smiley asks.

After a pause, Cap answers, "We've got no choice but to bait them out, then. Peek out and try to hit them."

As they look over the hill, they see multiple frames of different sizes staring at them. Both sides open fire across the wreck-filled and cratered plains in heavy arcs. The FCS may seem like it, but it's no magic. Rounds of many calibers fly back and forth, impacting the hills on both sides or flying overhead.

Eventually, a couple rounds hit Buzzsaw's mech. An explosion rips out the cockpit's reinforced glass forward down the hill, tar-black smoke erupts from the interior and a pillar of flame starts dancing on its roof.

"There goes a few fucking millions." Commando grumbles, as he keeps firing.

"Motherfucker, of course it wasn't Skippy! Buzz still hasn't paid me back shit!" Smiley yells out.

Seeing the rising smoke, the LAIFs sprint down the opposite hill towards the squad, their fire missing by ever-decreasing distance. "Well, this is turning sour. Skippy, Sarge, hold position while we retreat--"

"Fuck you, you hold position. If you don't fucking buy it like Buzz by the time I'm at the next hill, I'll cover you." Skippy says as he turns back and stomps towards another hill behind the squad, behind a forest.

"Follow my fucking ord- for fuck's sake!" Cap shouts out in frustration as he sees Smiley follow Skippy.

"Do you think he'll actually cover us?" Sarge asks.

"Nope." Commando immediately ripostes.

"Fifty-fifty." Cap says as his assault guns thunder out, rotate with a clank, making the whole mech shudder, then thunder again over and over.

What seems to be an eternity passes, the LAIFs on the plains artfully dodge incoming slow fire, ill-suited against a small target like them, while returning hail of glowing hot bullets.

"Alright, get your fucking ass over here, and fast." Skippy says as only his cockpit and guns stick out from over the next hill, Smiley barely visible from the treeline, concealing himself.

Cap, Commando and Sarge disappear behind the hillcrest, leaving the burning EW-Signals frame in the dust. Two of the LAIFs follow and appear on top of the hill, but one of them is promptly torn apart in a hail of fire by waiting Smiley and tumbles down the hill, while the other one retreats.

"What a fucking shitshow." Commando says as he joins the rest on the next hill.

"Do you think we'll get Buzz's cut, Cap?" Skippy asks.