[hider=Dinner And A Show]
[u][b]3023 - Andiron, Circinus Federation - Outskirts of Redder's Haven, 14:30[/b][/u]

If anyone was asking, Jim and Crocker were still manning the machine gun emplacement.

The two of them sat on the edge of a hill overlooking the devastation that today's battle had created.  In Jim's hand was a long pipe, and under Crocker's rear was an ammunition bin filled with ice and cans of beer - the cheap local shit, of course.  Infantrymen don't make enough money to afford imports.  Despite what they would claim in the (very loose) after-action reports the Black Army insisted upon, they had left their post naught but twenty minutes after the fighting started.

You see, they were used to trying to shoot out waves of bandits armed with rocket launchers and sticks of dynamite.  That came part and parcel with the territory of working within the Circinus Federation; it almost felt normal to engage in those boots-in-mud level fights that had barely evolved in the last thousand years of warfare.  They'd sit in nest and do what their meagre pay told them to do.

When multiple dropships appeared overhead, bearing the bright red fist of the Lyran Commonwealth, though?  They waited long enough to see battlemechs rolling off of the ramps before deciding it'd be better to just watch.

Smoke trailed up from the field below them as many vehicles now lay as pyres, mostly from Black Army garrison vehicles.  Jim added to the miasma with his own puff, blowing rings into the air.  "Reckon we should go back now?"

"Nah," Crocker shook his head and took his helmet off.  "Give it until they're gone.  Gotta act like we were held up by the Steiners, can't just get back home in one piece without an explanation."

"Well...ain't much time now."  Jim held up a pair of binoculars, the original glass-on-glass kind, and squinted past the smudges.  "See that 'mech in the field, 'bout a quarter mile out?"

"There's a lot of 'em, Jim."

"The Hunchback, one with the big gun on its shoulder."

"...Oh yeah."  Crocker leaned forward to try and scope it out with his own vision.  A broadly-built machine in the shape of a man, doubled over on its back and lying still in the dirt.  Several large holes, still glowing red-hot, permeated its front side.  "What about it?"

"Pretty sure that's the garrison commander's.  Neely, the skin-and-bones guy."

Crocker briefly sputtered as a little beer went down the wrong pipe, but he conquered it and shook his head.  "Maaaaan, Neely's a bastard!  He owes me, like, 50 skulls.  Great that he kicked--"

"No, no, he ain't bit it."

"He ain't?"  Crocker leaned over to Jim's side, as if he'd get something more from his vantage point.  "You sure about that?"

"I can see his pasty white ass right now.  He's climbing out of the Hunchback."  He passed the binos to his buddy for Crocker to confirm it.  Hard to make out on a first glance as he fiddled with the focus, but there he was!  Commander Gavin Neely, 52 years of age, his long and wiry limbs showing like a white flag of surrender as all he had on was a cooling vest and a pair of modest shorts.  The commander was climbing down the top of his downed Hunchback like he was scaling a cliff, hands and feet stuck into gaps in the armor.  He was taking his sweet time, too.  Rather than just roll off into the mud, he clinged to the side of the Hunchback's head for dear life.

Crocker stiffled a chuckle.  The rumors from his days in training must be true - the man they chose as a Mechwarrior was terrified of heights.

Jim nudged his side.  "Pass 'em back.  The scope on the MG's just as good."  Crocker gave a sigh, but handed them back and went down to the dirt to watch the stupidity unfold.  "Guess that the ejection seat don't work."

"Great, ain't it?" Crocker smiled as his face pressed to the ground.

"Shame we can't tell no one.  We're supposed to be fightin' and dyin' out here."

Crocker shook his head.  "Fuck, man.  Nobody'd take him seriously if they saw him like this.  I--"

"Hey.  Hey.  Look up."

Crocker did, his neck cracking a little as he strained to push his machine gun's butt into the ground further...before simply looking with the naked eye.  From the smoke rose a much taller machine, its front side scored with laser fire, and Crocker had no fuckin' idea which one this was supposed to be.  Outside of being able to tell a Locust and a Hunchback apart, he wasn't paid for threat identification like this.  Still, the round, oval shape sitting between legs and long arms reminded him of an egg.  Eggmech.

He figured much the same as Jim did - the pilot of the Eggmech was here to finish the job.  Neely would be spared the humiliation of their story, one way or the other.  He looked back down into his scope.  The commander was still climbing so slowly that he might even be unaware!  He could drop down just a few feet now and land on the jutting ammunition bin of the of the Hunchback without a problem.  Even as the Eggmech was all but looming overhead, he still clung...

Crocker realized what he was holding and had an idea.  He aimed a few feet above his commanding officer, accounting for drop, and sent a small burst in his direction.

"Jesus, Crock," the rebuke came immediately from Jim, who had jostled as the gun burst right in his ear.  "The hell are you firing for?"

Crocker merely smiled and nodded.  "He's off."

...Jim returned to his binoculars.  The rattle of bullets must've finally scared the bastard off from his perch.  He was on the ground!  Barely conscious and certainly terrified now, but he had a fighting chance at escaping if he simply found some other battlefield husk to hide under.  It'd only take the indiscretion of the Eggmech's pilot to...

"Hey, look up again.  The Steiner's...kneeling?"

That it was.  One servo-driven knee was planted into the dirt, one was braced against an arm, and the round mech rested still above the fallen Hunchback.  A few seconds later, the two of them could only watch in silence as the hatch on top of the enemy machine opened.  Its pilot - only Jim being able to tell it was a woman, as his binos were indeed better - climbed out in similar dress to their commander, tossing the bulky neurohelm down into the cockpit.  She shouted something that was only audible as a whisper down at Neely.  An insult?  Usually these Lyran fuckers were far too proper and pompous to throw insults at one another.

With much less worry for her own self, Jim and Crocker watched as she made her way down the Eggmech's side in quick order.  Touching down to the ground, she ran for the Hunchback's side where Neely was only just now climbing out of the mud.  In her hands...

"...Hooo-leeee shit Jim, she's got a sword!"

"Did we get invaded by Dracs or something?"

"I don't fuckin' know, but--no, wait, she's got two of them!"

Against any good sense the Steiner pilot had run over, still shouting at the garrison commander in flight, and [i]threw a sword at him.[/i]  No, no, not at...to him?  [i]To[/i] him???

"...Crock..."

Jim's amazement slowly turned to glee.

"I think she...wants a goddamned sword duel with the commander."

Crocker looked up at Jim, jaw agape...before realizing that this was something far more special than an embarrassing story.  This was a regiment legend in the making.  His eye moved back to the scope, and wouldn't leave it for some time.

"Jim, I don't give a shit if we get in trouble."  He fought back laughter.  Neely grabbed the sword, shaking in his boots as he slowly turned to face the Steiner warrior.  "Whether he wins or loses, we gotta tell the boys about this."

"[i]Especially[/i] if he loses."
[/hider]