CHVLR.eri.JRNL

[chvlrjrnleri]

log<<u:AMouve>>ENTRY|4

21XX.09.20 [1424] Designation: 61-409 Unit: JF-06 'Fritzy'

The grit gets everywhere.

They'd sent me out on patrol to sector 4.4.47𝛷 after the mission at Nerota. Colonel called it a "restful patrol". Islands, calm, thousands of miles away from the front. Warm sun, crashing waves, yellow-white sand.

I kept waiting to get the call back to the front; what had I done wrong to get sent out here? Why were they punishing me for a successful mission? Did they think I was a coward for not engaging Jackknife? Did the SCS logs say I hesitated before taking the shot in the courtyard?

I keep asking them what I did wrong, and their voices grow soft. "Just try and rest for a bit," they'll say over the radio, and its so patronizing my SCS ups my cortisol to keep me from vomiting.

Each day when I come back from pointlessly patrolling the world's most beautiful jail cell, I take my evening meal back to Fritzy and review the other CHVLR logs. The war's not going well. When they first rushed me through training, there were thirty of us. Now, we were down to eighteen. And the reports didn't say anything about new recruits coming.

It was the fifteenth day of patrol when I snapped. Fuck these mission parameters. If they're not going to respect me, respect Fritzy, and give us something to do, then I won't respect their OpSec. I parked Fritzy on an atoll, nine clicks from the resort-base, and popped shell.

Riding the ladder down to the beach, I felt my senses slowly wake up from the SCS synctrance, and I realized that nearly anyone else would weep to see the sight. The water was such a brilliant blue, azure, with waves that crested white with foam. Even through the pilot suit, I could feel the radiant heat the sand beneath me had drunk from the sun above. I reached down to run my fingers through it, and winced to see the grit stick to my suit.

I looked up, saw the blank blue of the sky. It's so strange, really, how a cloudless sky changes hues. A natural vignette, darkening at the horizon. A dome of near-monotone.

Something flashed briefly in the sky above. Then another three; near-white, but with twinges of orange and pink. Then, suddenly, a daytime star shone out. Bright, growing brighter, and moving.

I sat on the beach and watched it for a while, until the gnawing in my gut grew too wretched to bear. With a sigh, I climbed back to my feet and climbed back into Fritzy.

All units, return to base. Priority Zero. All units, return to base.

Well, fuck.

It wasn't until the next morning that we got official confirmation, but infosec was so light at the resort that I'd heard the news on commschat when taking Fritzy into dock.

The rebels had strapped a half-dozen thrusters onto the hull of the Drenthe-6 industrial orbital and run a four minute counter-burn. Timed just as Drenthe-6 was reaching it's perigee, the station's orbit was terminal. Best case scenario, we could keep her aloft for another ten days.

About 45 minutes after hearing the news shared officially, Fritzy and I got our marching orders. Drenthe-6 was projected to make landfall in the central Atlantic. Everything coastal would be obliterated by the coming waves.

Fritzy and I are being sent to Forward Operating Base Sirocco to oversee what evacuations could be managed.

There won't be a lot of rest time after this. All the best; I'm more comfortable in the cockpit now.

Lexi Mouve, signing off. [[admin_only:stk7_d6=4_di3diKcl7(n)cl6(n)||ftk7]]

[chvlrjrnleri]

log<<u:AMouve>>ENTRY|3

21XX.08.27 [0050] Designation: 61-409 Unit: JF-06 'Fritzy'

Writing this entry from Fritzy's cockpit.

Since my second mission, since I got knocked out so quickly, I wanted to feel more in tune with Fritzy, to feel dialed in and in sync with him, so I started coming here to read intel reports.

The next night I slept in the cockpit. It felt easier that heading back to the dorms, felt quieter. More comfortable. Even when he's powered down, Fritzy keeps me safe from the judgment. The questioning glances from other pilots, the bizarre jealousy from the crew. None of them can bother me when I'm inside. None of them can see me.

I'm safer with him.

Third deployment was a mission success. I'd been deployed in the field alongside LO-22 Belle and her pilot, Hal. Mission was a secure package recovery; a standard Intermodal container in the ruins of Nerota. Belle and I were dropped midway into Nerota, and were half a click from the payload before the SCS chirped that their subnets were lighting up with traffic. We powerslid into the courtyard, the rapid thunk-thunk of my KL7 firing off rounds offset by the bright fireworks of Belle's VTM system igniting salvo after salvo of rockets into the orange sunrise. The Klondies they'd had stationed in the target zone were swiftly charred out, and I stomped through the zone for a good overwatch point while Belle set to work scanning the ISOs.

"Fuck," came his voice, gruff and hesitant. "Lead shielding on three. Gonna have to pop shell and check the interior manually."

"You sure that's a good idea, Sixer?" My SCS had been scanning the arena since we'd stepped in, but when I shifted to overwatch it began cataloguing it far more granularly. The courtyard was clearly a refugee camp, and Fritzy had lit up eight targeting reticles already with 'potential small arms' tags.

Nine reticles. "No other choice," came his callback. "Even if I try to exfil with two, you need both arms free on Fritzy for your rifle." I could hear him suck air through his teeth, a silent prayer of return. "LO-22, Hal, exiting cockpit."

I nervously thumbed the toggle on the KL7, and felt the chamber empty and refill with HE slugshot. No point piercing armor without any Klondies around, but if they had weapons interspersed through the courtyard, best to shoot wide instead of deep.

I had the HUD pop a picture-in-picture tracking Hal's exo as I scanned. Twelve orange reticles now. Belle was kneeling low, her cockpit just ten feet from the cobblestones. With the cockpit lid still attached and powered, the mounting ladder telescoped smoothly down to the ground, and Hal stepped free. I saw him pull a sidearm from the thigh holster of his SCS suit, think about it, then tuck it back in.

One of the reticles flashed green, then faded. Eleven pockets of danger. Hal reached the first container, bent low to lift the jam, and pulled the door wide.

"Negative," he said, and I winced. "Moving to the second ISO."

"What's in the target container," I asked softly over the secure channel. "My mission brief made no mention."

"Mine either," he said, crossing a clearing at a light jog. "My SCS suit panel just lit red when we breached the shielding."

Hal slowed back to a walk once he was alongside the second container, and bent down again to unbolt the door. Just then, two of my reticles began flashing bright red, and I reflexively aligned the rifle with the closest target. "Contact," I said firmly, and squeezed the trigger.

I could hear the screams of the civilians through Hal's voice link, and I watched him crumple to the dirt. The first reticle flashed green, and I was lining up on the second. Don't be hit, I thought to myself as my sensors zoomed on the crowd. Twenty people, civilian garb, mostly huddled over. One target, aligning a RPG towards the edge of the container. Towards Hal.

The KL7 had loaded another shotgun slug. There was no way to take out the RPG without hitting the rest of the crowd. And there wasn't enough time to swap back to the large caliber slugs. I shot.

I tried not to watch, but Fritzy's scanners were feeding straight into my SCS. Straight into me. You can't look away with over a hundred eyes. The crowd was huddled. Then the crowd was a cloud of dirt, red mist, and screams. Thermal images showed the hostile slump over, and the RPG slip from his hands. The reticle flashed green, then faded.

"Clear," I heard my voice say from somewhere else. Hal jumped back to his feet, and nearly tore the container's door off its hinge. "Bingo," he said, and the HUD pulsed as a gold halo appeared around the container. "Target confirmed, returning to Belle."

He nearly jumped the ten feet up the ladder and into the cockpit, and the moment the doors closed I flicked the toggle back to slugs. "Incoming Klondies," I said as my HUD picked up the reactor pings approaching. Belle scooped the container like it was a cardboard coffee cup, and I saw the tops of her shoulder-mounted missile pods pop open and prime.

"I see them," he said, and his atmo-jets engaged. "Three suits. FOF reads callsigns Rabbit, Tread, and Jackknife."

Jackknife. "Get to the Exfil," I said, looking for a good spot to ambush from. "I'll be right behind you."

"The fuck you will," Hal growled. "I saw the reports from your last action. Leave him for the vultures. We can exfil before they engage."

I winced, but I knew it was the right call. There was no good vantage, and even if I found wreckage to hide in, they were expecting me already. "Confirm, Fritzy heading to exfil. Atmo-jets engaged, watching your six."

We blazed a trail as fast as we could through the bombed out streets of Nerota, and eventually the three pursuing Klondies pinged off their pursuit. Six clicks of empty husks of what was once a bustling mid-province city flew by in a blur as Belle and Fritzy slid across pockmarked tarmac and concrete.

How many hundreds of thousands had lived here before the war? How many were left?

How many lay still in the ruins around us still, unmoving, unbreathing. Forgotten casualties of a senseless war.

I'll sleep in the cockpit again tonight. As long as I'm in Fritzy, I don't have to think about the answers.

Lexi Mouve, signing off. [[admin_only:stk9_d6=5_cl6(y)di5spJ(y)di6sp8(n)||ftk7]]

[chvlrjrnleri]

log<<u:AMouve>>ENTRY|2

21XX.08.17 [0731] Designation: 61-409 Unit: JF-06 'Fritzy'

I finally saw action.

I feel almost dirty, typing it out like that, like it's some great treat i've been so patiently waiting for, but... it almost feels that way. The surgery, the training, the tedious mission briefings and time spent prepping readying studying drilling learning breathing eating shitting sitrep and God when I finally pulled the trigger on the the command stick and Fritzy's whole core shook with the recoil of the KL7 Main Battle Rifle's recoil and I felt so alive.

Sitrep intel had been right on the money, and the squad of Klondies walked straight into the little box canyon that the crispies back at base had picked out for the ambush. Three of them were chunks of ceramite by the time the fourth engaged his boost jets, but I already had Fritzy in a strafe-slide down the west face of the canyon, and I clipped the suit's right leg, severing his atmo-jet and leaving him hobbling away from me. Double tap. Mission accomplished.

Colonel told me to be careful coming back from the mission; there's no way I'd gotten all four without them chirping on a subnet that they were under ambush, and we knew they had other mecha in the area. But can you blame me? After the first deployment? Fuck girl, it felt so good to hear Colonel tell me I'd done well, I was ice skating across the dried claybed back towards base.

So yeah, when the SCS sirens started blaring with the incoming missile warnings, I was late evading. Colonel showed me the SCS input logs after the recovery team had gotten us back to base; three tenths of a second lag between the first klaxon and my hitting FlareuP. Two tenths longer than I'd been logged in the sims. Might as well have been a month.

The bastard had me boxed in evading, missiles raining down from the periphery and skybox to keep funneling me towards his own little ambush, and I could feel it coming, could feel myself running out of places to evade, feel the trap springing when he took the shot. A single 4.4m shell, straight through Fritzy's main reactor. And suddenly all forty tons of her came crashing down on me.

He left the aux batt intact to taunt me. "Too weak to bother putting down, little knight." I can still hear the smugness in his voice, the joyful arrogance, the way his smirk had decibel range. "Best quit now," he said through the broadcast band, and I raged in the metal coffin in Fritzy's chest. "Jackknife might not feel so generous next time. Would hate to hurt a little kid like you, but don't think I won't."

Who are you calling a kid! I screamed in rage as his mecha's finger units pried the cover of the cockpit off Fritzy and tossed it aside. "Quit while you can, or you'll burn like all the rest of you ADG dogs."

I climbed up from the SCS harness as he jetted away, and watched his exhaust plume dissipate into the afternoon haze.

Without any core power systems, I was trapped there, the wind murmuring across the tops of trees and singing at the edges of Fritzy's cold skin. It was almost fifty feet down. My SCS suit told me the radiation levels from the busted reactor were nominal, so I sat and waited for the recovery fleet to show.

Jackknife. I'll make you eat those words next time we face off. I'll show you, I will. I swear it.

Lexi Mouve, signing off. [[admin_only:stk9_d6=2_spJ(n)diJ(n)||ftk9]]

[chvlrjrnleri]

log<<u:AMouve>>ENTRY|1

21XX.08.13 [2327] Designation: 61-409 Unit: JF-06 'Fritzy'

Colonel said the enemy were all around us, but damned if my sensors ever laid scanlines on one. Forty continuous hours on patrol, Fritzy's one hundred and four different sensor ports whirring, the SCS constantly tweaking my cortisol levels, and seeing absolutely nothing but the occasional distant plume of smoke after one of the supply convoys cried for help on the radio. I'd jump into action immediately, my heart pounding as I piloted Fritzy across the channeled ravines and lept across copses of trees, but whatever strike team had hit the convoys was already long gone by the time the thirty eight tons of ceramite and pneumatic oil came skidding through the dust and ash.

At first, Colonel seemed to think it was just bad luck that they'd gotten away before I'd arrived. 'Oh-Nine, confirm scanner silence, then return to your sentry post,' he'd order with increasing frustration. The SCS captioned his radio signals with emotive flags. Dejected. Depressed. Frustrated. Exasperated. Disappointed.

My first mission, and I'd somehow manage to fail in each possible way.

I won't mess up again. I'll show them what Fritzy and I can do. I'll earn that first commendation; show them they made the right choice selecting me. Next time.

Lexi Mouve, signing off. [[admin_only:stk9_d6=1_sp5(n)||ftk9]]

[chvlrjrnleri]

log<<u:AMouve>>ENTRY|0

21XX.08.11 [0940] Designation: 61-409 Unit: JF-06 'Fritzy'

Today marks my first week in the CHVLR program, and is the day of my first deployment to the field. My SCS was installed three days ago, and I've run a few training simulations, but it's the first time I've even been in the cockpit.

The Colonel says there is no other choice. The enemy is here and I have to stop them.

Unit JF-06 initializing. Systems green. Lexi Mouve, signing off.