Sgt. Golem: Royal Mech Hussar - Stubs Soon!

Natasha Popova, Major in His Imperial Majesty's Mech-Guard, climbed up the aluminum ladder onto the bridge of the airship Glory of Novgorod. Captain Dremilov straightened up and saluted. Outside the wall-to-wall windows, tree clad mountains drifted past.

"Major, we got a wireless communication from high command." He held out a piece of paper.

She took the offered page and stared at it. Her jaw tightened, but she didn't let her curse pass her lips. She handed the note back to the captain, stiffly. “Thank you, Captain.”

"I took the liberty of setting course for the rendezvous."

She turned. Hunter-Commando Captain Nikoli Pirogov sat on a stool in the corner in a cloud of cigarette smoke. As usual, his insufferable sneer was just short of insubordination. She ground her teeth. She wanted to berate him for countermanding her, but everyone on the bridge probably knew the contents of their orders by now.

“We will move in under cover of night."

“Of course.” She nodded as if she had never intended to question her orders, then turned and started back down the ladder.

Captain Pirogov stirred from his perch and followed her down and into the corridor below. She strode through the open briefing room and jerked a thumb at the surprised orderly inside. The man scampered out.

If Pirogov wanted to talk, she wasn't going to do it in her own quarters. She might as well have it out now. She turned and folded her arms, as the insufferable snake slithered in behind her, cigarette dangling from one long thin hand.

Natasha didn't smoke and despised those who did, which was all too many in His Majesty's empire. She fixed him with a glare. When he didn't immediately respond, she followed up with, "What is it? We don't have all day."

"But in fact we do," he said, "since we will be waiting at least eight hours before we can move out."

She gritted her teeth but said nothing, keeping her smile as tight and phony as she could make it.

"It seems High Command is tired of your little side adventures." He took a step closer, and she resisted the urge to punch him in the face. "Don't get me wrong, I sympathize. I saw their group close up, and there's definitely something strange about them. The girl, and especially that aberrant golem they have."

"I don't care about the golem. I want the girl and what she took."

Pirogov waved a hand, not quite dismissively. "We don't know that she took anything."

"I know she took the fire soul.”

He leaned forward, “How can you be sure?”

Natasha hesitated.

“If you can give me some proof of your claim…” he trailed off.

She studied him for a long moment. There was more to this captain than met the eye. “Then you would help me?” She needed the fire soul for her own purposes. But if he had more resources that it appeared, something beyond just a hunter-commando following orders…. Was he secret police? Army intelligence?

He lowered his hand and studied the end of his cigarette before looking back at her.

"I believe you, and I believe in your mission. Baba Yaga's secrets are the best way for Mother Russia to establish its glory among the nations."

Natasha hissed. "Don't speak that name."

He waved his hand again, dismissively this time. "We are shielded from scrying with the best magics His Imperial Majesty can provide."

"Don't underestimate the old woman. She's extremely dangerous."

Pirogov nodded. “Perhaps. But there are many who seek her secrets. Some who have powers to rival her own. Some who have their own powerful artifacts…”

“What do you want?”

“Perhaps a show of good faith would convince my backers that you are working in the best interests of Russia.”

The threat behind his words was clear enough, as was the potential to have him as an ally. She had a hunch what might placate him. Natasha turned to the wall of the briefing room. On it was posted a map of southern Poland and northern Hungary.

The rendezvous was marked clearly. She placed a finger to indicate a spot in a group of mountains farther south and east.

“Can you move the rendezvous point to here?”

Pirogov’s eyebrows raised but he nodded. “I can send a message.”

“Good. Then tomorrow night we will see what sort of proof I can provide.”

I stepped through into the maintenance hangar and looked around. Alexander’s back was to me, hunched over a Mech.

I walked over. "How's it going, Warrant?”

“Just a minute,” Alexander said as he rummaged around, his arm deep in the shoulder socket of one of the spare Mechs.

"Corporal Wysocki said you needed me."

"Yeah." He pulled his arm out and started wiping his hands on a rag. "Hannah said that her howitzer action was sticky. I thought you could take a look at it."

I frowned at the rack of weapons along one wall. We had several more like it, six feet across and twelve feet long, mounted on wheels for ease of movement, to hold the various kinds of guns that the mechs could wield. This one, carrying the three howitzers had been rolled into the hangar after the earlier battle. The hangar wasn't that big, and with a rack of weapons and two mechs it was crowded.

I was only starting to understand how mech tactics worked, but as near as I could tell, in any given battle, a wing – which I thought was generally five -- might equip a diverse array of weaponry. Since the rack only held three guns, I suspected that they wouldn't go into battle with more than three mechs carrying the same type of weapon.

In this case, three howitzers. Had they had a full wing of women and mechs, they would have probably distributed their weapons differently. Like I said, I was still learning.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to help.” I reached out and ran my hand over the action. It wasn’t familiar, but it had a lot of similarities to the light artillery pieces modern armies still used, which I had seen but not been trained on.

As I touched it, I felt a tingling in the back of my mind, like when I’d operated the scout vehicle. Before, it had been a conflict of old skills and new ones. This time it was old ignorance and new skills, and the dissonance wasn’t as intense. I relaxed and cleared my thoughts, letting the new knowledge bubble to the surface.

I worked the loading lever and felt it vibrate as the breech spun and released. Something in my mind said that wasn't right, and I worked it again, trying to keep my mind totally blank. Yes, there, partway through the action's movement. I needed grease.

I opened the tool chest and let my new instincts guide me. This can, that wrench, a turn of a screwdriver here. I let myself get lost in the work of tuning up the weapon.

I watched, almost a passenger in my own body, as I dismantled portions of the howitzer and then put them back together with a practiced skill that was almost disturbing to watch.

When the gun was together and that strange new part of my mind insisted it was perfect, I moved on to the next one on the rack, and finally the last, taking each one apart and putting back the pieces with practiced ease. Finally, when my mind insisted there was nothing more to do, I stepped back. I found Alexander watching me.

"Did you ever maintain a cannon like this in your past life?" I shook my head. "Good. Then we know the armorer's skills made it.”

The door to the gangway creaked open and Hanna entered the hangar. She waved to us.

“We got new orders on the wireless.”

"Are we recalled?" Alexander asked.

She shook her head. "No, the opposite. They want us to go down to Kosice and pick up a diplomat."

"A diplomat? In Kosice?"

She passed a hand over her head. "He's flying in. We're to meet him at the aerodrome and escort him to Budapest." She smiled excitedly. "I think he's going to meet with the Regent of Hungary."

"Whoa.” Alexander seemed impressed. “Do we know what he's here for?"

She shook her head. "The orders didn't say. But I bet it's to ask for reinforcements against the Russians."

Alexander nodded thoughtfully. "That seems likely. So that's all there was then?"

She shrugged. "They didn't say much."

Alexander straightened up. "Hannah, it's good that you're here. I was just going over maintenance with Sergeant Golem, and I really want to try his skills out on a mech." He pointed to Hannah's new mech at the back of the hangar. I recognized it by the numbers painted on its upper right arm.

Alexander turned to Hannah. "Is that alright? We need to know how good his skills are."

She looked worried but nodded. "Yes, if it's that important."

"It is. We really need another technician." He smiled. "That's why we created Sergeant Golem in the first place."

I snorted but said nothing.

"Okay, just, you know, be careful." She sounded genuinely worried, I guessed about me damaging her mech.

I flashed her a grin. "Don't worry. He's in good hands."

Later, I was rather embarrassed by that remark.

The next hour was a blur. Alexander pointed me to the main access points and handed me tools.

I relaxed and let the skills flow through me, trying to suppress my own memories of wrenching on my old truck or various heavy equipment for the army. Pushing the memories aside, I let the implanted skills flow.

Before I knew it, we had that mech torn to small pieces and scattered all over the hangar.

When we took a break to hydrate, the skills faded and I marveled at the carnage we had wrought. Unidentifiable bits of machinery were scattered all over the room. With just the slightest nudge, I could feel the skills come rushing back to the forefront of my mind. That was a Type 21C elbow joint, self-lubricating. Over there was a hip socket, still attached to the pelvis frame.

Everything made sense, and the new parts of my memory supplied exactly how it would all go back together. It was heady stuff, although trying to figure out what was different about Alexander’s techniques and mine made my head hurt. It was that same sharp but quickly fading pain as when I had tried to reconcile off-road driving skills. Hopefully that meant I had integrated a new memory completely and it wouldn't give me the same dissonance again. But only time would tell.

Alexander was impressed with how fast we got the mech back together despite those small delays. As we were reassembling the last armor plates, I started asking him about mech wing tactics. "So, there's usually five?"

"That's right," he replied. “In four roles, but even then it varies. They don't all use the same weapons. I depends on the mission. Like for that artillery attack, we gave all the mechs the howitzer. That’s unusual."

I nodded. "Versatility is king with things like this. Just like an infantry squad."

He frowned at this. "No, not really. I mean, an infantry squad is just twelve riflemen and a corporal. Usually all the same weapons.

I shook my head. "Maybe now, but not in the – where I come from. We've made a lot of refinements to army tactics."

This seemed to bother him. "I didn't think small units have changed much since the Romans. What is there to reinvent?"

I smiled, thinking about all the history he'd yet to live through, but these people already thought I was crazy and I didn’t want to try to explain I was a golem from the future. "When it comes to holding a spear line or pointing muskets at people, the only thing that matters is volume. When it comes to modern tactics, flexibility is king. One platoon might be called on to do almost any sort of mission at any time. You don't want to have to wait around until specialists arrive. We still keep special weapons units of course, but the basic rifle squad needs to be well rounded.”

He nodded. " That's how Hussar wings work, more or less. One girl to shield the others. One with a big sword for melee close quarters. Two gunners, usually with autocannons, depending on the mission. And the heavy weapons girl. But everyone is trained on all the standard weapons. Flexibility is king.

"The shielder, she carries a big shield, right?"

He nodded. “Shieldmaiden. They always give the role to someone who excels at shield magic.”

I nodded. “I gathered that. She can cast something that keeps the big shells away.”

He nodded again. “And small arms fire. They all do that, to some degree.”

“Why give her a big shield?" I asked.

He frowned. "What do you mean? Shielding is her job."

"But if she's casting shield magic, what does the big shield do, anyway? Doesn't it make her a target?"

He shrugged. "I guess, but she's got the big shield, thick enough to handle anything below 20 millimeter. And she's talented in deflecting almost everything."

"Right, but only if she's ready, and only until she runs out of desh."

"Istota. Desh is what powers her mech."

"But making her a target, with that massive shield, that encourages the enemy to keep the pressure on and run her down, burn her shields out entirely."

He thought about this. "I suppose that makes sense, but doesn’t that keep pressure off the rest of the team?"

"Maybe. But in the long run they lose the defense faster. What if instead she carried an autocannon? She could add more weight to your firepower, and at the same time, make it so the Russians don’t know who to shoot first.”

He considered this, frowning, clearly looking for the flaw in my logic. "But she can’t shield everyone at once. By drawing fire, she only has to shield herself.

"That's just a matter of small unit tactics. Don't let everyone get exposed at the same time. Take turns moving forward, one at a time. The others provide covering fire. It's standard tactics where I’m from. In this case, the Shieldmaiden could shield each one as they move up.”

Alexander was nodding. "Interesting. What do you th-," he started to say, glancing in the direction of Hannah. But then he broke off and mumbled something like, "Never mind." He was a little red in the face, and I didn’t know why. Then I looked over at Hannah. She was seated on a crate, her face pale as she swayed slightly, like she might fall off at any moment.

“Are you okay?”

She had her eyes closed tight and nodded, but didn't answer. Suddenly it hit me. I looked down at my hands and the large armor plate I was holding, at the mech, its chest half disassembled, and one of its legs still in pieces where we were putting it back together. The mech we had been taking apart and reassembling for the last hour.

The mech that Hannah was bonded with. The mech whose pain she could feel when it took damage. My mouth dropped open. I closed it again and couldn't think of anything to say. What could I say? Sorry, how does it feel when I rearrange your insides?

I flushed and turned away. This was bizarre beyond words. It took an effort of will to resummon the skills and get back to work.

Alexander and I finished the job quickly and without speaking. He handed me the last bolt and I torqued it down. Done. We stepped back and I resisted the urge to look back at Hannah. How must it feel to be connected with something that was being, for all intents and purposes, dissected?

The damage caused the operator pain, but this wasn't exactly damage, was it? Did it feel...

My mind shied away and I tried not to think about it. Maybe I’d ask someday. I glanced over at her. She was taking deep, calming breaths, flushed red and drenched with sweat.

Or maybe I would never ask.

Yeah. Much better that way.