“Shut down Lt. Lukens’ BattleMech, you mean,” he mumbled to himself. He keyed the radio in his heavy neurohelmet. “Blitzen here. Sector Alpha is clear.”
“North Pole to Blitzen, roger. Having fun out there, Cadet Geist?”
Nelson recognized the voice on the radio. “Bronson, you lose at poker with the CommTechs again? Must have been a hell of a hand to bet the third watch on Christmas on it.”
“My full boat sank. Besides, gets me out of the house so my mother-in-law can’t tell me I’m a layabout.”
Nelson laughed. “So, was Santa good to you?”
“Not bad. I got a new set of actuator wrenches. If Santa gives you the ’Mech you were hoping for, I can fix it.”
“No such luck, Bronson. Santa couldn’t fit it on his sleigh.”
“Next year, kid. You’re a good pilot, they’ll find you something when you leave the ‘Ring.”
“Thanks, Bronson. I hope you’re right.”
“I’m always right, Cadet. You should have let me fix you up with that old hangar door. You could just head up into the mountains and do some snowboarding on that ‘Hawk.”
“Too much egg-nog isn’t good for you, Bronson.”
“Hey, there’s enough snow out there for it.”
“I’m sure the ski tourists will be happy. Me, I’m just working like you. Blitzen out.”
Nelson cut the radio link and started down the length of the meadow. At its longest point it led into a hilly valley in the foothills of the Thunderbird Mountains. The valley sides became steep and a hundred meters up from the plain where he marched, dark pine forests grew thickly. Because the region on Kooken’s Pleasure Pit where Nelson grew up was arid, he was not used to tall pines and tangled forest depths. They made him uneasy and as the dying sun lengthened the shadows, he began to feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
C’mon, Nelson, it’s a Christmas Card. Be a good boy, check it out and Santa will reward you. He smiled and shook his head. Unlike many other Cadets at the Nagelring, he had no family ’Mech waiting for him upon graduation. He’d get whatever the Lyran Commonwealth gave him, if they assigned him to a line unit. Guys with ’Mechs got those choice slots, whereas the Dispossessed or, like him, unpossessed warriors got to drive a desk until a machine opened up.
He took another long look at the valley. It’s still clear, Nelson. Nothing here to worry about. He pushed his fears aside and headed into the valley. You’re in a forty-five ton war machine. Nothing can bother you in this thing.
Something moved ahead of him and stepped clear of the forest. Nothing but a bigger BattleMech. Nelson squinted out through the viewscreen. That’s a BattleMaster!
Nelson keyed his radio to a short range, wide-beam broadcast. “Please identify yourself. You are on restricted territory.”
“Ho ho ho, you’ll die in the snow!”
Nelson tapped the side of his neurohelmet. “This is not the time for games. Identify yourself.” As he spoke, Nelson dropped his crosshairs on the humanoid ’Mech. Range is long enough for the large laser to be my best bet.
“Anti-Nick am I. Prepare to die.”
Hmmm, I may be a bad poet, but apparently I’m not the worst poet around. Nelson hit the firing stud on the joystick in his right hand. The pistol-like large laser in the Phoenix Hawk’s right hand ignited a ruby energy beam that lanced into the BattleMaster’s chest. A half a ton of aligned crystal steel armor ran in steaming rivulets over the BattleMech’s breast. It melted through the snow, raising vapor columns that twisted around the BattleMaster.
The BattleMaster fired back with the PPC mounted in its right arm. The firing coils glowed an unholy blue seconds before the particle beam shot out. It crackled through the cold air, and despite missing the Phoenix Hawk, its hellish heat warmed the ’Mech’s cockpit. The azure beam exploded a leafless tree, scattering burning wooden fragments to oppose the dusk.
Move or die, Nelson, he might not miss the next time. He punched both feet down on the jump jet pedals and braced himself. Twin tongues of silver flame boosted the ’Mech into the air. Scanning his holographic display for a landing, he got a good look at the battlefield and his stomach began to fold in on itself. This is not good at all.
Down on the ground the pair of Locusts that worked with Anti-Nick started running from cover in the woods to his right. Their bobbing gait, caused because of the birdlike configuration of their legs, made them look funny and almost toy-like from his height. But they aren’t toys. The medium lasers they sported were deadly and they could hem him in and herd him toward their large companion, the way dogs coursed deer to hunters.
He came down as far from the enemy as he could get, which put him on the edge of the upslope woods on the left. “Blitzen here, I have Anti-Nick and his elves.”
“Sure, kid. Funny.”
“North Pole, I’m not kidding. Sector Alpha, T-bird foothills.” Nelson saw his large laser come back into service. If the Locusts are here, where in hell is that Jenner?
Out front he saw his ’Mech’s shadow start long, then grow short as the Jenner jetted up from within the forest. Without conscious thought—thanks to endless drills at the Nagelring—Nelson stepped the Phoenix Hawk backward. He painted the Jenner with his crosshairs and kept the cross tracking it as the flying ’Mech overshot its target.
No one jumps on my head! Nelson squinted, watching the range finder figures fall. You’re mine now. Keeping the enemy impaled on his sights, he hit two triggers and a firing stud.
The large laser skewered the Jenner with a ruby spike. Armor shards exploded from the ungainly ’Mech’s left side. The two medium lasers Nelson had also triggered jabbed their red beams through
