The mercenary 'Mechwarrior and the ComStar nun - Scene 39
The atmosphere is thick with smoke, and the heavy silence following Viktor's revelation about the women of Kirchbach.
Alina, keen to steer the conversation away from misery and onto a manageable topic, leans slightly toward Ishani, across the table.
— Ishani, forgive my curiosity but... Viktor told me that Indian women wear nose rings, like the maids who served us earlier. Is that true?
Ishani stops with the fork midway to her mouth and gives Alina an annoyed look, then she softens and smiles noticing Alina's discomfort.
— I don't know what tales Viktor told you. Be sensible, Alina. That sort of thing is quite beneath us. Sticking bits of metal through one's face is something the Periphery savages do, not civilized people. We've moved on rather a long time since then, thank you.
She waves with the fork dismissively
— I suppose Indians in Marik worlds are different, like in that Kalidasa planet he is always talking about. The purple pigeons are weird, face tattoos, can you imagine? I guess there are backward planets where things are... traditional. But no, nose rings aren't just an 'Indian thing' anymore.
Ishani gaves a slight shrug. — My ancestry is Indian, but we're hardly backward peasants like those quaint Marik Indians. I would dare say they still worship the old pagan idols.
Viktor smiles: —Ah, the old Indian caste pride… and contempt for the lower castes. I suppose you are from brahmin caste.
— Castes? Maybe in that benighted world you were stationed in, Commander. — Ishani turns up her nose with distaste, then looks back at Alina and smiles.
— Don't pay attention to his soldier tales, darling. We may all come from Terra, but look at Viktor, he is Russian but Capellan, Katya is also Russian, but Draconian, they are similar but also different.
—Oh I understand, that, there are also Lyran Russians… but is not a good example. They are all very much alike.
—I am not! — protests Katya.
—If the valenki fits…— grins Alina.
Viktor grins and lifts his glass in a toast, joined by Aleksey, and they motion at Katya, who also smiles back and joins.
—To all Russias and all Russians of the Sphere! за здоровье!
Ishani looks at them, annoyed that her statement has been disproven and after a moment of thought, speaks again.
—Look Alina. Whatever Viktor told you, yes, we all came from Terra and we Indians have something in common, but were a diverse people. Mazen is also Indian but doesn't wear a nose ring either. It's been centuries since the Exodus, people are different across states and planets.
Mazen, who had been half-listening, interrupts:
— Yeah, Ishani, you are right. See, same thing with other ethnic groups. You cross a border and they are like night and day. Take the Japanese, fer instance.— she slurs, swallows and continues — We have some of them in the Fed Suns...
— You mean a few. Not "some". The descendants of the survivors of the great anti Asian pogroms of the First Succession War as reprisals for the Kentares Massacre.
Mazen slams her glass down on the table, spilling drink.
— That wuz then an' now is now! But as I was saying, they all are not the same. Our Japanese are the good ones! Work hard, pay taxshes! They are brave and loyal!
She leaned forward, fixing on Yoshiro across the table, who remained still, holding a piece of herring near his mouth.
— They have nothing to do with the murdering fanatical scum the Japanese Snakes are!
The table goes quiet. Even Katya looks with reproach at Mazen. Yoshiro slowly lowered the herring to his plate, his movement minimal, but the tension in his shoulders was immediate and rigid.
Viktor sets his beer jar down slowly as eyes turn to him. He doesn't raise his voice, but the sound is flat, firm, and absolute, his grey eyes staring unblinking.
— Enough, Lieutenant Mazen.
His gaze sweeps the entire table, stopping long enough on Yoshiro to acknowledge the insult, and long enough on Mazen to enforce the command.
— Like in the Foreign Legion of Terra, your comrades' nationality, ethnicity, or past affiliations don't matter here. You leave your politics and your history at the DropShip ramp.
In the Black Riders, we only recognize one color: the black of the armor of our 'Mechs!
He raises his glass. Everybody joins in silent toast. Viktor then says softly:
— Now, drink and eat and say no more.
Mazen mumbles an apology, but the damage is done. Yoshiro stabs again the herring with the fork with controlled fury. Alina, uneasy about the conflict she unwittingly provoked, looks around trying to find something to say to break the silence and then over her shoulder and then looks back to Viktor and asks with sudden inspiration.
— The armor, Kommandant. — Alina began, looking up at the Atlas skull trophy mounted on the wall. — That must be heavy. How did you even install that? Did you make a hole in the wall to get it through?
Viktor nods approvingly.—A smart girl. Most people wouldn't notice or care, but you ask good questions. Lesha, tell her. You are all bored with my lectures anyway.
All in chorus: — Yeeeeessssss!!!!
Viktor smiles. Aleksey snorts, waving a fork at the trophy.— It is not one piece, Alina. We took it apart in the courtyard. Half a dozen pieces. We brought it through the doors like a jigsaw puzzle and put it back together.
Alina arches a brow, confused. — But how could you lift it, even in pieces? 'Mech armor is thick and heavy. It must weigh tons. Many.
Aleksey takes a sip of aquavit, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.— Because 'Mech armor is not like a knight's armor. It is not solid thick plates of steel. It's layers, like an onion. What you see is just the outer metal shell. Without the padding underneath or the tungsten inner plates, it is heavy, yes, but two men can lift a faceplate. It is... deceptive.
Alina smiles, an amused flicker in her eyes.—I see. This is obvious to you all. You 'Mechwarriors are like all people when they talk about their job. You all want to tell me, the simple little girl, about your big machines. Go on, I listen. — She leans back, folding her arms across her chest.
Murmurs of approval and encouragement ripple round the table. Viktor jerks his head towards Schlosser.— Sebastian, your turn.
Schlosser straightens and tugs at his moustache, adopting a professorial stance.— Mädchen, a 'Mech armor is layers, like a sandwich. The outer layer is the crust of the bread: steel, thin and hard. The inner layer is the dough: ceramics or polymers. The inner armor, protecting the vital parts, is the meat slab: tungsten. Thick pieces, hard and dense.
— What is tungsten? — asks Alina, tilting her head. — Why not titanium? Isn't that better than steel?
Schlosser glances at Viktor, who sighs dramatically.—Seems like Herr Professor has to give another lecture. — Katya groans theatrically, earning a chuckle from the others.
— No Alina, is different metal. Titanium is light. That's good for aerospace fighters; the heavier the load, the more power needed to take off and fly. That's why fighters are light and 'Mechs are heavy, — Viktor explains patiently.
— Understood, but if titanium is light, why not use it in 'Mechs? 'Mechs are heavy, weight is bad there too, right? — Alina persists.
— Right. Titanium is good for 'Mech bones. Skeletons are made of aluminum and titanium to save weight. But is not good for the inner armor. For that you need density. Mass. So we have steel for the outer layer, because is cheap, and tungsten for the inner layer, because it's very hard and resists heat, — Schlosser clarifies.
— Tungsten is the military name, but is the element Wolfram in the periodic table. Look at the lamps. Noticed something different about them?
— Well now that you mention it, I wondered. They don't look like normal lights. They look like they are burning inside and give a warm light. The first time I saw them I thought they were gas lamps, but they are turned on and off with a switch. What do they have to do with armor? — Alina asks, genuinely curious.
Viktor leans forward, happy to reclaim the floor for a moment of historical trivia.
— Is same metal. They have tiny wire inside that gets white hot when electric current passes, like wires in a toaster, but because it's so heat resistant it can be glowing hot without melting for thousand hours. They were first electric lights invented thousand years ago. They are used in backwater planets like this that don't have access to microchips for diodes, your normal lamps.
— That's interesting! A mystery solved. And why is it used in armor?
Viktor takes the line, meeting Alina's eyes.— Because of what I said: is very hard, very dense. It stops bullets, and is hard to melt with lasers. — He then nods toward Visconti. — Fritz, your turn.
Visconti leans in eager, gesturing wildly with his hands.— You see Alina, 'Mech armor is like the children's game of rock, paper, scissors. Each layer protects against one thing and is vulnerable to another. There are three types of weapons: missiles, energy, and ballistics. And three layers of armor: the steel, the ceramics, and the tungsten.
Schlösser takes a thoughtful drag from his pipe and decides to explain the first weapon type himself.— Let us start with ballistics. Ballistics are bullets, like rifle but larger. That is Autocannon. They travel very fast and can only be stopped by something hard but not brittle, and thick. Think glass: is hard, you can't cut it with knife, but you can break it with thrown rock.
Viktor intervenes, lowering his voice:— Think of knight's armor. It was hard like glass, but firearm bullets broke it, because it was thin and brittle. So when steam ships appeared, ships became ironclad, later steel, and when the combustion engine appeared, we got the tank, with thick steel armor.
— And why is steel not used? Wait, you said on the outer layer, but is thin. You said armor was thick steel plates. This is confusing, — Alina says, scratching her head.
Viktor smiles indulgent— Because Alina, as Fritz said, is rock, paper, scissors. First tanks had thin armor, like a finger thick, enough to stop machine gun bullets and shell fragments. Then tanks were armed with cannons to shoot at each other and thicker armor to resist cannon shots, and the cannons got bigger and the armor thicker until steel became too heavy and became obsolete anyway.
— Obsolete? You mean, useless? Why? The laser was invented and melts armor, I guess, — Alina reasons aloud.
— Brilliant deduction, my smart student! Your mind is wasted being a ComStar clerk! — says Viktor beaming, the 'Mechwarriors making gestures of approval, pleased. Viktor continues, holding up a finger: — You got it correct, but it was not the laser that came first, but the missile. Or rather, the hollow or shaped charge.
— Hollow? No, don't explain, let me think. Missiles are explosives. You said you shot down the Atlas with missiles... why use them? You have lasers and guns. Do they do different things? — Alina contemplates.
— Yes, that is it. All pierce armor, but each in its own way. And explosives: missiles and cannon shells, are useful for destroying other things than armor, like buildings or… — Viktor hesitates, glancing around the room — ...killing soldiers, I must say.
— I know what war is about, thanks. I am not squeamish. Just tell me about how you destroy 'Mechs. How do you do it with a missile? — Alina challenges, her chin raised.
— You see, as I was saying, there is a limit on how big a gun and how heavy the armor can be in a tank. The practical limit was about seventy tons by the end of the Second Terran War, — Viktor explains, resting his elbows on the table. — Though with fusion reactors we have super heavy tanks up to a hundred tons, like the Atlas, but they are rare. So at the same time tanks were getting bigger, they found out that an explosive with a hollow in it, like a funnel, could shape and concentrate the force of the explosion. Hence the name: shaped charge. Think of a syringe. You push the piston and water comes out through the narrow end in a thin, forced stream.
Viktor mimes pressing a syringe.— Just like the syringe needle gets through the flesh, and the fluid pressed goes through the needle, the blast concentrated in a point the size of a coin acts like a blowtorch and goes through steel armor like butter. Lasers and particle cannons act very much the same. Steel is useless against that.
Viktor takes the piece of bread and points at the parts.— So they developed composite armor to protect against hollow charges, and then the same principle was adapted for lasers. First the outer hard layer makes the missile or shell explode before it gets deeper. Then behind the crust... that is the thick inner layer, the dough part of bread. It is not hard, it just dissipates explosions and beams and slows down projectiles, so the hit is not strong enough to get through the hard final part of tungsten. Tungsten is better than steel but still gets pierced or melted, and is too heavy and expensive to protect 'Mechs with thick plates alone. Do you understand?
— I think so. It's a lot to take in. — says Alina, sounding doubtful.
Viktor nods. — Yes, it's hard if you haven't read about war and weapons. I will explain it another way. Think of a BattleMech armor like an egg.
— An egg? — Alina repeats.
— Да. The shell is thin and hard but brittle. Like we said before, like a medieval knight's armor plate. Then imagine a boiled egg. The outer layer is twenty millimeters of hardened steel. That is the eggshell. It stops rifle bullets, fragments from artillery. It sets off missile warheads early so the explosion blooms on the surface rather than inside. Sebastian, continue.
Schlosser leans forward, his pipe now resting in his hand. His voice is calm, didactic, the tone of a man who has explained this to a hundred green recruits.— The real armor is what is inside. Under that steel shell, you have layers. Composite materials: polymers, rubber, ceramics, boron nitride to absorb neutrons.
Viktor interrupts, leaning back with a hint of a smirk:— In some cases even diamonds, like in your jewels.
— Diamonds? — Alina twists her large diamond ring, intrigued. — That makes sense, they are very hard.
— Hardest thing there is. Some armor types had embedded monofilament of diamonds, it was like a mesh to grind down projectiles, like sandpaper. But the technology was lost, and then they used natural diamonds. It's because of that they are so rare and valuable, they have all been consumed in war. — says Viktor.
Visconti looks startled at Alina's jewels. — I didn't know that!
Viktor slices the bread, revealing the soft white interior. Schlosser points to it with his pipe.
— The composite thick layer is like the bread or the egg white. It absorbs the shock. It dissipates the heat from lasers so they don't melt through. It slows down kinetic penetrators like a bullet hitting sand.
Viktor interrupts again, gesturing:
— You have seen war holovids? The checkpoints at Samos? All those bags stacked together?
— They are sandbags. You fill a sack with sand or dirt, and it slows down and stops bullets or shrapnel. Similar thing.
Schlosser taps the table for emphasis.
— And deep inside? The yolk. That is where we put the tungsten-carbide plates. Dense, heavy, incredibly hard. They protect the vitals: the gyroscope, the ammo bins, the joints and the main myomer bundles.
— So... they are invulnerable? — Alina asks quietly.
Viktor cuts in, gesturing towards the Atlas skull mounted on the far wall:
— You have the proof on the wall that not even an Atlas is invulnerable.
Everybody laughs. Alina palms her forehead.
— Nein, — Schlosser shakes his head firmly. — That's the catch. Shots do not bounce off. The armor absorbs the hit. It is ablative. That means it gets chewed up. A laser burns away the steel. A missile cracks the ceramic. A heavy cannon round will always pierce the tungsten plate if not slowed down before.
Schlosser gestures with his hands, mimicking a pounding motion on the table.— 'Mech combat is not "one shot, one kill" like tanks in the twentieth century. It is cumulative. It was like the naval battles of the holovids when sailing ships shot hundreds of cannonballs, making holes in the wooden hull. You pound the enemy, layer by layer, until one shot makes a hole on a hole. You create a breach, then you hit it again.
Viktor takes over, his voice regaining that iron command tone, but softer now, meeting Alina's gaze.
— And that is why 'Mechs are the kings of the battlefield, Alina. We 'Mechwarriors do not fear infantry. Before composite armor was invented, for a time a soldier with a shoulder-fired rocket launcher could destroy a tank, or shoot down an aircraft with a missile, like David killed Goliath with a sling. But now, infantry can't do anything against 'Mechs. I should know, I tried when I was a trooper. — he shakes his head. Then he lifts his chin and goes on, with bright eyes.
—But that was long ago and I am a 'Mechwarrior. In our Battlemechs we do not fear bullets, rockets, or stray artillery. We can ignore them. Even the lightest 'Mech can survive the first strike of a heavy weapon, with a little luck, because the armor absorbs it.
He offers her the soft center of the bread.— 'Mechs are walking tanks, they are big targets, but it doesn't matter, because it's not about who hits with the first shot, but who endures enough to fire the last and fatal shot. We 'Mechwarriors of course prefer to not get shot at all if possible. We hide behind hills and buildings. We cover with trees and smoke. But when needed, when we have to move in a large formation in a mass battle, we walk through the fire, like soldiers of Napoleon times marching shoulder to shoulder under the bullets and cannonballs, because it takes a long time to crack the egg. Unless... — he taps his cheekbone near his eye, — ...unless you get a lucky shot through the visor. Like an arrow through a knight's helm. Like I killed General Müller and shot down the Atlas. But mostly? A 'Mech combat is like a boxing match until one side has decided it has taken enough and quits. Knockouts are rare.
He smiles, tired but genuine.— Look at me. Again giving a lecture. I must have bored you all.
All in chorus: — Noooooooooooooooo!!!! — joined by Alina.
Viktor smiles pleased, then announces: — Hear! That's the maids coming! Food is finally arriving, at last!
All in chorus again: — Hurrah!
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