Interlude: Donna Bartoli

Donna was not particularly fond of morning exercises.

Oh, she understood the need for them. So did the rest of the former Phoenixes. Enemies could attack at any time, and the luxury of a good night’s sleep was not always available to a soldier.

They were proper soldiers now, with ranks, uniforms that didn’t double as combat armour, and proper payroll as well. 

Not only that, they were the first operators to be qualified on the Greyhound-class battle armor. 

The first of the Greyhounds had killed five Carnotaurs at the Battle of London. The videos of Belessar crashing down from the sky onto the Greater Carnotaur, or bursting out of the belly of the last surviving Lesser Carnotaur, had achieved almost memetic status among the soldiers of the Rapid Response Division. Even with the towering image of the Wolf armor that succeeded it, the Greyhound had an almost mythical status among the British troops - especially the veterans of the Battle of London.

Which made the five women ‘qualified’ to operate Greyhound-class armor the subject of intense speculation.

Mostly - were they worthy of it?

Donna knew Belessar believed in them. She wished she had the same level of faith.

Then again, mornings like this made it hard to keep the faith.

“Kristina, check your flank,” she announced over the radio. “He’s here somewhere.”

“Not in my quadrant,” Kristina Sabo replied as she moved her Greyhound across the moors. “No signs of movement.”

“Nothing on my sensors either,” added Lavina Carpenter. “Are you sure he’s going to hit Kristina? It’s sort of predictable.”

“He’s attacked from the north, east, and south quadrants on the last three exercises,” said Donna. “The only one left is west.”

“That’s what I mean, Donna. He’s not predictable.”

Donna sighed. “He’s unpredictable when he needs to be. This time he’ll make it easy for us.”

“Easy?” The voice of Cassandra on the radio channel was tinged with disbelief. “When is fighting Belessar easy?”

“Easy by his standards, Cass. He trounced us so badly in the last three exercises, he doesn’t need to be unpredictable to win.”

“There is that,” grumbled Lavina. “Anyway, we’re ready if he does attack from the west quadrant.”

“And he’ll have to do it soon,” added Cassandra, “before we reach the target.”

In theory, the exercise was simple. Donna, Cassandra, Lavina and Kristina were to march their squad of four Greyhounds across the moors and reach a rendezvous point, then defend it against any assaults by the OpFor - the opposing force. The OpFor for this exercise consisted of a single Greyhound, piloted by Belessar.

Four to one sounded like a tremendous advantage. The first time, Donna had actually believed that. 

This time, none of them were under any illusions. 

“Nothing on scans yet,” Kristina said. “Seems he’s waiting - HOLY SHIT!”

As the words erupted on the channel, Donna was already swiveling her Greyhound towards the west quadrant. Sure enough, there was another Greyhound there.

And it was FAST.

Before Donna could do more than register its presence, Belessar’s Greyhound was already within striking range of Kristina’s. 

Kristina fired her HEPAR. The round - a blank, of course, without the superheated plasma core - zoomed off into the distance as Belessar’s mech pirouetted on its axis, swiveling out of the way of the fire.

Before Kristina could turn her weapon, the other Greyhound’s leg lashed out in a kick.

The force of the blow knocked Kristina’s mech backwards. 

Donna’s first thought was: He’s going for close combat this time.

That was, in theory, an advantage for the Phoenixes. Belessar wasn’t using his Greyhound’s weapons - while Donna and the others had no such constraints.

Except - hitting Belessar was an exercise in futility, given how he dodged. It made more sense to meet him in mech-to-mech melee combat.

“Charge!” she yelled.

All three of the remaining Greyhounds rushed Belessar, even as Kristina’s mech struggled to get off the ground. 

Donna found herself in contact with Belessar’s mech first. She tried to throw a punch, the Greyhound’s actuators delivering the blow in an almost perfect harmony of speed, force, and power. 

Almost perfect because it missed. Belessar’s mech had ducked out of the way. 

The next thing she knew, her mech was toppling over. It took her a second to realize what had happened - Belessar had performed a leg sweep.

A leg sweep was a complex enough move when you performed it as part of a martial arts tournament. In a ten-foot-tall mech, with your motion guided by actuators and wires as much as by body movement, it was a different level of challenge altogether.

That didn’t stop Belessar from using it, of course. Donna felt her mech fall, crashing into the ground less than two seconds after closing with Belessar.

Cassandra was the next to reach him. Her Greyhound opened fire at close range, the HEPAR cycling through a dozen rounds in as many seconds. 

Belessar’s suit weaved through the blasts with the dexterity of a tailor threading a needle in the dark, amidst a raging storm. Not a single shot landed. 

What did land was a roundhouse kick, delivered by Belessar’s Greyhound to Cassandra’s face plate. Cassandra’s mech fell backwards, crashing into the ground a second after joining battle.

“Ow,” groaned Cassandra over the channel.

The last to close was Lavina Carpenter, who - perhaps seeing the results of her colleagues’ attempts - fired shots off from the HEPAR as she closed, a heavy mace in her hand. Idly, Donna wondered where Lavina had gotten the mace from. 

Dodging the shots - even though they were badly aimed - kept Belessar’s focus on evasion. That gave Lavina enough time to close in and stab forward with the mace.

Which was dodged. Of course. 

Belessar’s Greyhound struck, the right arm lashing out in a punch even as he dodged both HEPAR fire and a wildly swinging mace. The blow hit Lavina’s ‘shoulder’, pushing her Greyhound off balance. 

Donna could see Belessar’s mech move backwards. No reason for that, unless - he’s going for another leg sweep.

Lavina had just about righted her Greyhound - and it would be toppling in a second, unless she did something.

Or unless I do something.

Donna swiftly assessed her resources. She was still on the ground - getting up would take precious seconds, seconds in which Belessar could disable the others and refocus on her. Her HEPAR had a near-zero chance of hitting him. Melee combat was out of the question unless she got back on her feet. Which left….

She checked the inventory. Two smoke grenades.

She fired both.

White fog obscured the battlefield. For a Greyhound, that was a minor problem - an operator could switch from normal vision to thermal in less than a second. As Donna had done, just before launching the grenades.

Which gave her a second’s advantage over Belessar. 

The attacking Greyhound paused. It was for a fraction of a second - this was Belessar, after all - but it was a pause. 

For that fraction of a second, Belessar was blind - and Donna could see him. 

She fired her HEPAR, a rapid fusillade of ‘plasma’ blasts erupting. The blanks splattered against the Greyhound, leaving behind the telltale marks of hits. 

No vision? No dodging.

“Dogpile!” yelled Donna. “Dogpile now, now, now!”

The software used for the exercise had diligently recorded the hits on Belessar’s Greyhound. She noted that he was dragging his leg - one of the HEPAR shots appeared to have hit the knee joint. 

Lavina’s Greyhound slammed into Belessar’s, the two mechs ramming into each other with the screech of metal on metal. She grabbed the aggressor’s arm, trying to turn it into a grapple.

Belessar spun in place, twisting out of Lavina’s grapple and lashing out with a kick. The blow knocked Lavina’s right foot out from under her.

But the others were now back in the fight. Kristina and Cassandra were on their feet, closing with Belessar’s Greyhound and trying to restrain it,.

Had they been fighting in person, Donna doubted they would have been able to move Andrew - the man was seven feet tall, for crying out loud - but the Greyhounds were equally sized. Which meant skill mattered more than brute strength.

Still a disadvantage for their side, alas, but not as much of one as she’d feared. Donna climbed back up even as Kristina and Cassandra attacked Belessar’s mech from opposite sides. 

He was giving a good account of himself, but Donna could see the difference. They had the advantage, now.

That thought lasted a second, and then Belessar’s Greyhound charged at Cassandra.

Powercharge, Donna swore to herself. Damned Powercharge.

Cassandra’s mech was pushed back as the Greyhound blazed forward, the speed of its movement leaving scorch marks on the grass. The two mechs slammed into a tree.

Belessar pivoted, turning to face Kristina. Only, now Donna was there. And Lavina had managed to recover her mech. 

Three to one, until Cassandra could get back in the fight…

Belessar moved forward rapidly, executing an Armor Kata she couldn’t remember from the textbook. His Greyhound scythed through the air, a deadly punch striking out with near-explosive force. 

Kristina blocked the blow.

Donna wasn’t sure who was more surprised - her, Belessar, or Kristina. She knew the girl had been practicing - but actually blocking a punch?

The next move, unfortunately, was not so easy to block. Belessar’s leg sweep sent Kristina’s mech crashing to the ground. 

Lavina was there, swinging her mace. Which met a flawlessly executed block by Belessar, followed up by another roundhouse kick. 

Donna had no grenades left. However, Belessar was thirty feet away, and she had an option.

She rushed forward in a passable imitation of Powercharge. Her Greyhound slammed into Belessar’s, almost lifting it off the ground. 

Lavina and Cassandra were there too, punching away. Good. There was no space for him to dodge, not while she had her arms wrapped around his waist.

(Not exactly how she’d imagined it, of course.)

Lavina’s mace clanged off Belessar’s helmet with the sonorous gong of metal hitting metal HARD. 

At that point, her radio crackled to life. “Forfeit,” Belessar said. “Well done, guys.”

…. What?

“Did you just forfeit?” Kristina’s voice was suffused with disbelief.

“Yes, it’s a forfeit, people,” Belessar replied calmly. “Lavina’s last blow shorted out the sensors, and I’m currently pinned by Donna’s Greyhound. Seven to eight seconds and I’d be down permanently.”

“.... Are you certain?”

“Yep. The only way to escape is either teleportation or mind control - probably a bit of both - and those are outside the rules of engagement for this exercise.”

“Holy hell,” muttered Cassandra over the radio. “We beat you. We actually beat you.”

“Yes, and well done. Donna, could you let go now?”

—----------------------------------------------------------------

The after-action briefing on the exercise was a ritual that Donna had learnt to simultaneously appreciate and dread. 

The last three exercises had been humbling, and the briefings had reflected that. Having her team’s mistakes - few though they might be - peeled apart by senior officers, each convinced that ‘a little more practice’ would bring them up to par with Belessar, was not a pleasant experience. Certainly losing at four to one odds, multiple times, did not endear them to command. 

Hopefully, this time would be different. They had managed to achieve the objective, and even drive back Belessar.

The Greyhounds’ onboard cameras had given each of the attendees the chance to view every second of the confrontation - short though it was. The four officers on the debriefing panel had all had the chance to go through the footage, as they had every time before. 

Donna knew that individual soldiers being debriefed by senior officers was rare. That much she’d picked up in a few months of military life. Certainly having a captain, a major, a Wing Commander and a Brigadier attend each debrief wasn’t something the average Grenadier expected.

This time, it was even worse, because Commodore Pemberley had personally decided to sit in. With that much brass in the room, the girls had quietly decided to elect her as the ‘spokesperson’ of the group - which was why she was in the lead chair.

Captain Reynolds cleared his throat. “Thank you all for assembling on short notice. We’ve just reviewed the latest Greyhound combat exercise. Grenadier Bartoli, please—start by explaining your team’s approach and decision-making during the engagement.”

Donna straightened, her hands clasped lightly atop the table. “Captain, we expected Belessar to attack from the west quadrant this time. We had our Greyhounds oriented to move in quickly for mutual support when the attack came.”

“If I may clarify - you said you expected the attack to come from the west quadrant?”

“Yes. We’d previously been attacked in all the other three, and - well - Belessar is playing up his predictability in these exercises.”

Major Soames, an officer from the Second Brigade, spoke up. “In other words, he’s sandbagging. Going easy on you in the training.”

Donna nodded.

“What would you have done if he’d decided to mix it up? Attacked again from the north, for example?”

“We were monitoring all quadrants, sir,” replied Donna. “The only benefit we had from this was to decide who should be on what quadrant.”

“So you put your strongest combatant on the west flank?”

Donna shook her head. “The north flank, sir. Lavina is the best of us in terms of melee, Cassandra is better at ranged. Kristina is actually the weakest link.”

Soames blinked. “You put your weakest operator at the point of contact?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Explain.”

“Sir, Belessar is fast. I don’t think I need to emphasize how fast. There’s no way Lavina, Cassandra or I could have stopped him. Whoever took the brunt of contact would get knocked out - or at least knocked down - within seconds. What was important was to ensure we responded fast, once our colleague was knocked down.”

“So you put Private Kristina up as a sacrificial lamb?” Soames sounded incredulous. “Was she aware of this?”

“Sir, she volunteered.”

Soames blinked.

Captain Reynolds spoke up. “What was your plan once your colleague was - knocked down, as you said?”

“The plan was to dogpile. Greyhound versus Greyhound is a test of skill and flexibility. Multiple Greyhounds working together, hitting a single one - we planned to get him on the ground and pin him down. Then start disabling the joints.”

“And what happened to this plan upon contact?” asked Wing Commander Lightheart. 

Donna winced. Lightheart was tough, fair - and utterly convinced that the Greyhounds were just walking targets for her attack helicopters. “Kristina went down faster than we expected. When I gave the order to charge - we had a bit of a timing issue.”

“A timing issue?”

“We didn’t all reach him at the same time.”

“I saw the video. It looked like you reached him within seconds of each other.”

“Ma’am, with Belessar, seconds are too long. He had enough time to take us down one by one.”

“So, you needed to coordinate your attack better?” asked Lightheart.

Donna nodded. “Our plan was to charge in at the same time. In hindsight, we should have planned to reach him at the same time.”

Brigadier Donald Green, the commander of the Wild Boars, spoke up. “So Plan A failed, then. What was Plan B?”

“Our Plan B was for a ranged engagement instead of close combat. We were … a little out of prepped options, there. Kristina, Cassandra and I were all on the ground - Lavina was the only one upright and fighting, and she’d have been down soon.”

“I noted that,” Green mentioned. “He seems to have gone for temporary disabling strikes instead of putting you down permanently. Do you think he was holding back?”

“No sir, that was him being strategic.”

“How so?”

“It takes a lot of damage to cripple or mission-kill a Greyhound. If he’d concentrated on putting Kristina down for good - which is what we thought he would - it would have taken him at least half a minute.”

Commander Lightheart raised her hand. “Half a minute is enough to cripple a Greyhound?”

“That’s how long it took him to put me down in the last exercise, ma’am.”

Soames frowned. “I apologize, Grenadier Bartoli, but that statement doesn’t fill us with a lot of confidence in your ability to handle these suits.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” chuckled Green. “Belessar built the Greyhounds. He has more experience fighting in them than anyone alive. I doubt there’s a man or woman alive who can hold out against him for long.”

Lightheart spoke up. “That being said, the broader issue of who should operate the suits remains. The Division has thousands of personnel and a waiting list of tens of thousands of volunteers. If Belessar selectively assigns operators as per his own criteria, it is to be expected that they may not represent the most suitable personnel from all those available to us.”

A silence stretched out across the table for a second - a silence broken by Commodore Pemberley. “Erica, thank you for your input. Do you perchance know of any candidates from amongst our volunteers who have assisted in killing a Xeranai?”

“... No, ma’am, but…”

“Or, perhaps, have experience storming the command quarters of a Xeranai battleship?” Pemberley’s voice was mild but firm. “Commendations for combat in London and Tanisport? Confirmed kills on over fifty aliens each? How many of our candidates meet all of those qualifications?”

“Ma’am, I merely mean to suggest that we should expand our pool of candidates.”

“And we will, as soon as you show me another candidate who helped kill a Xeranai Siege Commander.”

“That was close-quarter light infantry work, ma’am. This is heavy combat equipment.”

“And yet Belessar is performing judo moves in it,” quipped Green. “The leg sweep? My sensei would be impressed by a person doing it, never mind ten feet of mechanical armour.” The Brigadier’s gaze swept the table. “So, Belessar was going for temporarily disabling you instead of permanently?”

“He planned to knock us down one by one, sir,” Donna replied. “A Greyhound on the ground has a hard time aiming - or standing. Once we were down, he’d have us… at his mercy.” She swallowed - the words brought back bad memories. 

“And you responded by launching smoke grenades,” Green continued. “Was that planned?”

Donna shook her head. “I … had an idea. Lavina was seconds away from being knocked down, and I was thinking - how do I get him to stop dodging? It struck me that he couldn’t dodge if he couldn’t see.”

“The Greyhound has infrared vision, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but it takes about a second to switch. I switched first, then fired the smoke. Belessar needed that second.”

“So he was blind then?”

“And couldn’t dodge. That’s the only reason I could hit him with the HEPAR.”

“Impressive shooting, too. From a reclining ground position, hitting a target in smoke six times in point-eight seconds.”

“Can you summarize your next actions?” asked Captain Reynolds.

“I called for a dogpile. In the smoke, he had a harder time detecting and dodging us.”

“Did it work?”

“Almost didn’t,” replied Donna. “We were still… not very coordinated. For the rest of the fight, though, we always had two mechs in close combat against his one. He knocked Cass down again, but then … well … Kristina managed to block him.”

“Block him how?”

“He tried to punch her, and she blocked it.”

Soames and Lightheart looked distinctly unimpressed; only Green betrayed a sign of emotion. “Blocking a punch is a fairly basic technique,” replied Soames. “It’s part of infantry basic training, as I recall.”

“Major Soames, have you ever sparred with Belessar?” asked Green mildly.

Soames blinked. “No, sir, I can’t say I have.”

“Think of it this way. This is a man who has fought - and beaten - Herculeans in hand-to-hand combat. In his underwear.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Putting it mildly, there isn’t a person in the Wild Boar division who thinks they can beat Belessar in hand-to-hand. If Private Kristina managed to block a blow from him - that too, in armour - then she is probably at the high end of skill.”

“Didn’t she have a substance abuse problem at one point?” asked Lightheart.

Donna blinked. How had they known that?

“The matter has been investigated independently, Erica,” Pemberley interjected. “Private Sabo has been clean for at least a year, as confirmed by multiple doctors, including some in our employ.”

“Noted, ma’am.”

“Any further questions?” asked Pemberley, in a tone that suggested there had better be none.

Heads shook around the table. 

“Captain Reynolds, when do you expect the report to be ready?”

“By evening, ma’am.”

“Good. Thank you, everyone, for your time. Dismissed. Bartoli, would you join me for a cup of tea?”

Donna followed Pemberley out of the room to her office.

There were, indeed, two steaming mugs of tea. Donna wondered how they’d arrived so fast - teleportation? Or maybe the Commodore just had a very efficient staff.

“Have a seat,” Pemberley said. “No ranks right now. Relax.”

“Did we do all right?”

“All right?” Pemberley chuckled. “You were outstanding. You managed to land shots on Belessar, and actually forced him to forfeit a fight.”

“That officer Erica - Wing Commander Lightheart - seemed to think we weren’t the right people for the job.”

“Lightheart is a good air element leader,” replied Pemberley, “but she does not command infantry operations. You’re operating a new type of armour, you have more experience in nanofibre weave than most of my troops, and the armour designer thinks you’re best suited - no pun intended - for the job.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Kristina actually volunteered to play bait?”

Donna shrugged. “We trust each other.”

“And you came up with the plan.”

“Kind of? We all had ideas.”

“But you took the lead. Even in the briefing, you did the talking for everyone.”

“They asked me to be the spokesperson.”

“And unofficial team leader?”

“We don’t really do team leaders like that. Daisy and Maria were the ones who led us.”

“But they’re not here now,” Pemberley said gently. “You are. The team looks up to you. Respects you.”

“Like I said, we trust each other. All of us.”

“Not questioning that. I have a specific plan for the five of you, actually, which I wanted to talk about.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“My challenge, Donna, is that we don’t have a dedicated unit for Greyhounds. The First Brigade is Boar Armour, the Second is nanofibre weave, the Third is tanks, and we have an artillery regiment and air unit to back that up. If we get deployed somewhere with an ocean view, we have a naval support squadron to call upon. What we do NOT have, however, is a unit dedicated to Greyhound tactics and operations - and five suits don’t constitute a regiment by themselves. Even with the associated firepower.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“However, between the Greyhounds and their supply chain, we will need a smaller unit - maybe fifty support personnel - to keep your ammunition and weapons supplied and the units themselves in good condition. Given that Belessar’s suits are generally low-maintenance, that should be enough. The problem is, a company of fifty-odd mechanics, supply clerks and logisticians can’t decide where to deploy the Greyhounds on a battlefield, or how best to use them. Neither can most of my officers, who are still discovering what tactics work best for powered armour.”

“That sounds like … a bit of a problem.”

“Indeed. I need someone who can ride herd on that cluster of mechanics, technicians and logisticians, who knows a bit about heavy equipment maintenance, and who won’t be intimidated by the lot of you - or try to assert their dominance over you by virtue of rank.” A ghost of a smile crossed Pemberley’s face. “That’s a very short list.”

“Ma’am…. I’m not sure I could do that.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about you. I reached out to the Americans, and one Sergeant Banner has volunteered to sign up with us. I believe you know him.”

Relief flooded her. “Banner is cool. He taught me how to march.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about his little training program for Phoenix Company. However, that does leave me with another problem. The Greyhounds are strategic weapons for the Division - they would need to be deployed wherever the fire is hottest, with the right loadouts, tools, and mission directives. How do you pick what weapons a Greyhound should carry for a particular mission profile? None of my officers have practical experience with that. In fact, the one who best understands it is …. You.”

“Ma’am?”

“You were the only one who thought to carry smoke grenades. Or use them creatively.”

“.... That was a bit of luck.”

“Luck happens when preparation meets opportunity. You chose the smoke grenades for your loadout. Lavina picked a mace, and that didn’t help as much. The girls trust you. Daisy vouches for you. In short, I want you to lead the Greyhounds in battle, answering to me directly - at least for now, until we get an officer properly trained up.”

Donna swallowed. “If you say so, ma’am.”

“I do, and when a Commodore tells a private soldier something, it happens,” Pemberley grinned. “Which brings me to another point. Traditionally, the element leader has to outrank the others. So let me be the first to congratulate you on your promotion, Corporal Bartoli.”