Chapter 138. Freedom Fighter (1/2)
Vincent Ricklin did not suffer fools gladly. Sadly, encountered many fools in the cause he had shackled to. If the rebel had anything kind to say about the Bentheim Liberation Movement, it was that at least a third of them believed in the cause.
The remainder consisted of a mix between disgruntled pirates looking for a thrill and foreign provocateurs wishing to destabilize the Republic.
He did not have a beef with either of them. Vincent pretty much turned into a pirate himself when he vaporized half the elders of his family. Also, the foreign agents from the Vesia Kingdom and elsewhere generously bankrolled their entire operation.
This meant that Vincent should be able to get along with everyone in the Movement. The reality proved otherwise.
The separatists wanted to fight the Mech Corps directly, which was suicide. No matter how well-funded, a group of rebels could never match up against the might of a proper army.
The pirates wanted to keep hitting soft targets. Their bloodthirsty instincts pushed them to ever-greater acts of **** and pillage, the opposite of how a rebel group ought to behave.
As for the foreign agents, they barely managed to rein in the worst of the group by threatening to cut off the money. For all their smarts and secrets, they barely knew how to
From this motley crew of bandits and rebels, Vincent only trusted his old butler. Johnson stood by his side, armed and armored like he meant it. The former wastrel found Johnson's deathly presence to be an effective deterrent against the more lawless types in the crew.
”When they told me the BLM actually stood a chance of freeing Bentheim from the Republic, I never believed the spy for a second.”
His elder butler concurred. ”The port system is a strategic asset. If the Bentheim System actually manages cast off the Republic's yoke, the Kingdom will simply step in afterwards.”
Thereby adding a third port system to their considerable territory. Such a drastic change fundamentally affected the power balance in the region. The Vesians didn't even have to conquer the rest of the Republic. They could simply starve the remote systems into submission by cutting off access to cheap and convenient trade.
Not that Vincent cared about any sides. He always reminded to himself that he worked for himself. The BLM provided him with an escape route from his slowly worsening status with the Ricklins. Now that they served their purpose, Vincent increasingly inched towards the exit.
Not that General Vasil or Agent Orian ever let him out of their sights. The leader of the resistance movement along with the head liaison from the Vesians both invited Vincent for a meeting. The young man navigated the crudely tunneled corridors of the movement's asteroid base and entered a conference room, or whatever passed as one.
Compared to the stellar interior of the Ricklins, the current room left much to be desired. Empty crates served as their seats while an empty stack of mech-sized magazines acted as their table.
”Can't you whip up something better?” Vincent questioned with an exasperated tone. ”We've been staying here for months. You don't even need a printer. Just let one of the boys whip something up with a welder and some scrap.”
The great military general of closed his eyes in ecstasy as he injected his veins with a smuggled stimulant. ”Our means are not much. This ain't your old daddy's operation where you can shower everyone with money. We are barely keeping up our maintenance.”
”Enough. Let's not waste Mr. Ricklin's time.” Agent Orian interrupted as he looked up from his work at disassembling a faulty spy drone. ”Vincent, we've called you here because we have a major operation in store.”
”You're cooking something other than a mindless killing spree?”
”Every act has a purpose. The constant terror bombings has succeeded in frightening the Republic. It has made them retract their defenses just the way we like it. In fact, their feeble response directly enables us to proceed with the operation we have in store.”
Just as the agent was about to enumerate their goals, an alarm engulfed the entire base. The loud sirens and red flashing lights interrupted everyone rebel in the giant asteroid base.
The general gestured with his palm, cutting off the alarm. Vasil summoned up a projection of the asteroid base and its perimeter. A large amount of large red dots surrounded the base. This didn't alarm him as much as a section of the asteroid itself beginning to take on a crimson color.
”We've been infiltrated!” The general roared and slammed his fist against the top of his makeshift table. ”They've already launched a regiment of mechs at sector gamma and established a beachhead! They're splitting our mechs from our ships!”
Their asteroid base mainly guarded against sabotage. With the kind of crew they were running, the possibility that a drunk pilot might one day go crazy and shoot everything in sight was a distinct possibility. Therefore, the base placed the mech stables at the opposite side of the ship bay.
Which meant that none of the mechs could escape so long as the Hellhounds blocked the passages in between.
More intelligence started to stream in once the invaders stopped hiding. ”It's the 3rd Infernal Hellhounds!”
Everyone's faces soured even further. The Third was one of the most stubborn and scrappiest regiments of the 2nd Bentheim Division. They embodied the principle of eschewing complicated tricks and schemes in favor of charging over and punching mechs in the face. For them to end up in the middle of their base was a disaster.
”The ship bay is holding on for now. Our exterior defensive grid has finally been brought online. No one will be able to approach our base for now. We can hold for an hour, maybe two.”
Fixed defenses such as turrets and autonomous defense bots could never hold out for long against a large force of mechs.
It quickly turned out that the Infernal Hellhounds brought half a regiment's worth of mercenaries along for the ride. The rowdy mechs-for-hire didn't possess the level of organization of a disciplined unit, but their numbers sorely pressured the defenders.
”Vincent.” General Vasil called and pointed at a particular intersection. ”A squad of mechs is inching towards the power plant. They don't have the numbers to overcome our guards, but I don't want to leave any chances for them to employ a trick. Get back to the stables and gather your subordinates. I want you to intercept these mercs.”
”On it!” Vincent acknowledged and ran back to the stables where he and his crew of elites stowed their mechs. He tried to call up his subordinates through his comm, only to encounter nothing but static and junk. ”Those stupid Hellhounds! Since when did they gather enough brain cells to operate a jammer?!”
”It's obvious the Third is not acting alone. Either some clever mercenaries or another regiment has provided them with support.”
While Vincent loved springing traps on others, he hated being on the receiving end of one. The corridors started shaking as scores of mechs rampaged inside the only halls large enough to accomodate mech traffic.
”Whatever's the case, we won't be going anywhere without our mechs!”
They quickly reached the mech stables. Vincent sighed in relief when he saw that most of his men had already arrived. Johnson quickly shed his armor in order to don a piloting suit while Vincent started to organize his elites.
”I'm sure that everyone knows what's going on! The incompetent numbskulls manning the sensor arrays have dropped the ball! Right now, half a regiment of mechs along with a horde of mercenaries are rampaging inside our halls, cutting us off from our ships!”
”Let's fight!”