TEXT: BATTLECORPS
  GHOST OF 
  CHRISTMAS 
  PRESENT
  By Michael Stackpole
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Ghost of Christmas Present • Page 2
  Ford, Bolan Province 
  Lyran Commonwealth 
  25 December 3027
  “T’was the day of Christmas,
  And all through the sector,
  Not a BattleMech was stirring,
  Not even a tractor.”
  Cadet Nelson Geist shook his 
  head. “God almighty, Nelson, 
  you’re a horrible poet.”
  He dutifully tried to keep 
  his mind on patrolling, but on 
  Christmas Day that was almost 
  impossible. The Techs had put 
  a tinsel garland around the in-
  side of the windscreen on his 
  Phoenix Hawk and had hung red 
  and green balls from instrument panel latches. Had they had the 
  time, he was pretty sure the ’Mech would have gone out painted 
  red with white trim and a big white beard, but it didn’t because the 
  Techs wanted to be home with their own families. They had, how-
  ever, managed to make a huge bow out of red plastic and plant it 
  on the ’Mech’s head, which made the machine look a bit festive.
  The decorations did make him feel good. As he was going to be 
  entering his final year at the Nagelring—the Lyran Commonwealth’s 
  premiere military academy—he had been assigned to winter se-
  mester training with Gregg’s Long Striders. The Striders had 
  progressed nicely since the 3025 assessment that had listed them 
  as a green unit. When the Fourteenth Lyran Guards were tempo-
  rarily assigned to Gienah after the 3027 Galahad exercises, Ford 
  became the Striders’ domain.
  He arrived barely a month before Christmas and he had found 
  the unit cordial but very wary. As a young unit, they were sensitive 
  about having some academy-rat show up and try to tell them how 
  to do things. Nelson knew that wasn’t his job, nor was it some-
  thing he desired to do. He was there to learn and did his best to 
  earn the other warriors’ respect.
  
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  Ghost of Christmas Present • Page 3
  He figured out almost immediately that an easy way to do that 
  would be to volunteer for the Yule patrol. The day was normal-
  ly split up into three-hour watches, with one BattleMech being 
  assigned to a different sector. Nelson signed himself up for two 
  patrols back to back and even ended up accepting another. Since 
  his family was hundreds of light years away on Kooken’s Pleasure 
  Pit, he had no one to celebrate with anyway, so taking duty was 
  easy for him.
  More important to him, though, was the chance it gave him to 
  log some serious hours in a Phoenix Hawk. From the time he was 
  a young boy he had found the very name of that ’Mech magical. 
  He had read countless stories of battles in which the humanoid 
  BattleMechs had performed heroically. The large laser held in the 
  right hand provided long-range firepower, while the medium la-
  sers mounted in each arm were good closer in. The Phoenix Hawk 
  had twin 12.5mm machine guns in each arm for keeping infantry 
  and light vehicles suppressed.
  The main thing that had intrigued Nelson about the Phoenix 
  Hawk was its jump jets, which allowed the machine to make cru-
  cial tactical advances and retreats during battles. If not for those 
  jets, Davion Phoenix Hawks would have fallen to Liao Crusaders at 
  Lee II and the Liao invasion would never have been turned back. 
  Nelson marched his Phoenix Hawk on through Alpha sector. 
  The weather had turned cold and a light dusting of snow covered 
  the whole area. “Christmas card weather,” he had remarked to 
  Lt. Lukens when Lukens checked him out on the Phoenix Hawk. 
  “When you’re at home in front of the fireplace, I’ll be out here en-
  joying the view.”
  Lukens had not offered to change places with him, which didn’t 
  surprise Nelson at all. Even though the Phoenix Hawk had been in 
  Lukens’ family for two generations—his grandfather had taken it 
  as a prize in the battle for Loric in 2971—Lukens preferred to spend 
  the time at home with his bride of three months. Having seen the 
  Leutnant’s wife, Nelson couldn’t fault the man’s choice of holiday 
  diversion.
  Nelson focused again on the viewscreen and saw nothing across 
  the long, snow-choked meadow. He had been told that there was 
  really nothing for him to worry about while on patrol. If House 
  Marik was going to mount an assault they would spend four days 
  coming in from the jump point around the sun, so there would be 
  ample warning about the invasion.
  
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  Ghost of Christmas Present • Page 4
  “Of course, he could face Anti-Nick and the Elves from Hell,” 
  Bronson, his Tech, had chided Lukens. “He’d love to find Cadet 
  Geist here in your Phoenix Hawk and all alone.”
  Tom Lukens shook his head. “Not likely.”
  Nelson raised an eyebrow. “Anti-Nick?”
  Bronson smiled. “Yeah, there’s a group of bandits who have, 
  from time to time, gone raiding on Christmas. Response time is 
  low, lots of loot can be had. They’re two Locusts and a Jenner cen-
  tered up around a BattleMaster. A-Nick is the BattleMaster’s pilot. 
  He speaks in rhyming couplets—a real nutcase. They have mostly 
  raided far to the south, but…”
  Lukens waved Bronson’s concern away. “Some folks think they’ll 
  head north because the Fourteenth Lyran Guards are gone and 
  the bank over in Harrison became a Commonwealth depository. 
  They’d be nuts to try anything around the base here.”
  Nelson smiled. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled. If I see them, I’ll send 
  out an alarm.”
  “Good, we’ll all be ready to respond. If you see them, stay away 
  from Anti-Nick and just track them. Good intel is better than a dead 
  ’Mech.” Lukens gave Nelson a friendly shot in the arm. “Especially 
  when that ’Mech is my ’Mech.”
  “Message received and understood, sir.”
  Nelson glanced at the heat monitor. It was still down in the cool 
  range, which he expected given the cold outside. He knew that in 
  combat the jump jets, weapons and maneuvering would cause 
  heat to build up quickly. The targeting computer would begin to go. 
  It would also cut his speed and, if it was high enough, could cook 
  off machine gun ammo and even shut down his whole ’Mech. 
  “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.”
  
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  Ghost of Christmas Present • Page 5
  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 head-
  ed 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!
  
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  Ghost of Christmas Present • Page 6
  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 burn-
  ing 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 com-
  panion, 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.”
  
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  Ghost of Christmas Present • Page 7
  “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 con-
  scious 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 the gaping hole the larger laser had opened up. Smoke 
  poured from the wound and a secondary explosion spat out 
  chunks of the ’Mech’s titanium steel skeleton.
  The jump jet mounted on the ’Mech’s left side flared and died. 
  The other two jump jets sputtered on for a moment and then died 
  as well, leaving the Jenner airborne and slowly rotating to the left. 
  The Jenner continued spinning as it accelerated, then it slammed 
  into the ground on its left shoulder. One leg telescoped into the 
  torso, but the left one snapped forward and sheared clean off.
  As the left leg bounced away from the wreckage, Nelson blink-
  ed and stared at it. I got it! I got it! Years of drilling might have 
  given him the skills, but all the simulations in the world couldn’t 
  match actual combat. The dryness in his mouth, the twisting in 
  his stomach, the desire to see someone emerge from the wrecked 
  ’Mech—none of that came from war games.
  It’s not stories anymore, Nelson. This is real and real serious.
  Swallowing hard, he keyed his radio. “Bronson, I got the 
  Jenner.”
  “Sure, kid.”
  A keening whine rattled through the speakers in Nelson’s neuro-
  helmet. “This is no game, my honor you defame. Phoenix Hawk, 
  you are mine to kill, which I now vow to do, I will.”
  “Cadet, if this is your idea of a joke…”
  
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  Ghost of Christmas Present • Page 8
  “Anything but, Bronson. Get me some help, will you?” Nelson 
  stilled the shivers running through him. “I don’t like the odds 
  here.”
  “They’ll be worse if you get the Leutnant’s ’Mech hammered.” 
  Tension flooded through Bronson’s voice. “Putting out the call. 
  ETA twenty minutes. Think you can last that long?”
  Down below him, in the valley, the two Locusts moved off and 
  headed in toward Harrison and the bank. While he took some heart 
  in the idea that he would only have to face one BattleMech, the 
  fact that it was a BattleMaster killed any hope. The BattleMaster 
  outmassed him by forty tons, had three times as many medium 
  lasers as he did and had short-range missiles in addition to its 
  particle projector cannon. He didn’t even want to think about the 
  differences in armor between the two ’Mechs.
  “Maybe I can, but I’m betting your new spanners will get a great 
  workout fixing this ’Mech if I do.” He took a deep breath, then nod-
  ded. “The Locusts are headed for the bank. Stop them, will you?”
  “Screw the bank, kid, or do you still have your Christmas Club 
  account there?”
  “Something like that. Do it, Bronson.”
  “Roger that.”
  Nelson tried to figure out if he had any advantages as he started his 
  Phoenix Hawk back into the woods. He knew the cover would help con-
  ceal him, making him harder to hit. The BattleMaster’s line of attack 
  was uphill, which would also help. He had a sneaking suspicion, given 
  their first exchange, that he was a better shot, but the BattleMaster’s 
  array of weapons gave Nick more chances to get lucky.
  He searched his mind for all the technical data he’d memorized, 
  searching for anything that might help him. The PPC has a mini-
  mum effective range. Maybe I can use that… Nelson peered out 
  through the picket-line of trees between him and the meadow. If 
  we go toe to toe, I’m done.
  The BattleMaster’s long confident strides through the meadow 
  did nothing to set visions of sugar-plums dancing in Nelson’s head. 
  Snow shot up and out from in front of its massive feet, dusted the 
  ’Mech and settled in clouds on the its backtrail. As nasty as he 
  knew the machine to be, the light frosting of snow and the way it 
  moved made it seem grand and almost benign. He couldn’t help 
  but admire the machine.
  
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  Ghost of Christmas Present • Page 9
  Then the BattleMaster made a sharp parade turn left and headed 
  straight in at him.
  “Spoiling for a fight, on what should be a silent night!” Nelson 
  shuddered as he realized he was talking like his foe, then started 
  tracking him with the crosshairs. “If you’re going to give me the 
  shots, I’m going to take them.” At range he triggered the large 
  laser and prayed for a Christmas present.
  The ruby beam nailed the center of the ’Mech’s chest. Sheets 
  of armor, half-fluid and glowing warmly, spun away into the dim 
  twilight. Nelson looked in vain for the same sort of critical open-
  ing his large laser had made in the Jenner, but he saw none. That 
  thing’s got a lot more armor for me to burn through!
  The BattleMaster’s PPC came up and swung in his direction. The 
  azure fork of pseudo-lightning it spat out threaded its way through 
  the trees and savaged the Phoenix Hawk’s left arm. Armor shards 
  clattered off the cockpit canopy and ricocheted into the darkness. 
  Nelson’s damage monitor reported the armor had been stripped 
  clean off that limb. One more shot there and the whole arm is 
  gone, along with a medium laser and a machine gun. That would 
  pretty much ruin my day.
  The BattleMaster charged forward, coming in at the Phoenix 
  Hawk at full speed. The fourteen-meter tall war machine battered 
  trees aside, snapping their trunks as if they were tinder. Showers 
  of snow poured down, reducing the BattleMaster to a grey shad-
  ow in a blizzard, but a shadow that always came closer, relentless 
  and implacable.
  It seemed for a moment to Nelson that Anti-Nick wanted to 
  physically grapple with him and tear his ’Mech apart. Aside from 
  the fact that Leutnant Lukens would have frowned on having his 
  ’Mech broken that way, Nelson had no intention of letting that hap-
  pen. In that sort of fight, his chances of survival would have been 
  the same in or out of the ’Mech, so discretion definitely seemed 
  the better part of valor.
  He’s a bad shot and… Nelson slowly grinned. He’s a worse tactician.
  As the assault ’Mech closed, Nelson stomped down on the jump 
  jets. He launched his ’Mech skyward, but pulled his feet off the 
  pedals almost instantly, abbreviating his flight. He grounded the 
  Phoenix Hawk behind the BattleMaster and turned, giving him a 
  clean shot at the BattleMaster’s pristine back armor. I’ll just die if 
  I miss at this range.
  
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  Ghost of Christmas Present • Page 10
  The large laser’s beam slashed a huge gash in the BattleMaster’s 
  rear armor but failed to breach it. The twin medium lasers followed 
  up on that damage, widening the gash and vaporizing armor. The 
  reddish beams filled the center of the assault ’Mech with fire and 
  Nelson saw internal structures melt in the backglow. He waited for 
  secondary explosions or even a little shudder, showing he’d done 
  serious damage, but got nothing.
  The BattleMaster never even made an attempt at turning around 
  to face him. The two rear-facing lasers oriented on the Phoenix 
  Hawk and returned fire. One bubbled away armor on the Phoenix 
  Hawk’s right thigh, reducing its protection by a third. The other 
  beam drilled into the Phoenix Hawk’s left breast and carved a 
  crescent scar into its armor.
  Heat swirled up through the cockpit and sweat beaded on 
  Nelson’s exposed flesh. Between jumping and triggering three 
  weapons, he’d pushed the heat up to sixty percent of maximum 
  capacity. His crosshairs started tracking poorly and he knew that 
  his movement had been cut down. If I don’t get out of here, though, 
  I’ll have more problems than roasting to death.
  As the BattleMaster started to come around, Nelson hit the jump 
  jets and launched himself skyward. Despite the added heat rush-
  ing up into his cockpit, he pushed the burn and sailed over the 
  BattleMaster’s head and on into the woods. He cut the jets and 
  braced himself for a rough landing.
  He came down hard. Trees snapped in half and toppled over, but 
  somehow he managed to keep the ’Mech upright. The snow that 
  had laden the tree branches sheeted down over him, but he knew 
  it would give him no cover. The heat did begin to head back down 
  into green ranges, which meant he had his mobility back. And I’m 
  going to have to use that as best I can.
  The whole situation resolved itself very quickly and easily in his mind. 
  He was playing for time. If his reinforcements intercepted the Locusts, 
  Anti-Nick would break things off and retreat. Survival was the key and 
  the further along he could draw the BattleMaster, the greater the chanc-
  es that the reinforcements would put an end to him once and for all.
  There was no question in Nelson’s mind that he was playing a 
  very dangerous game. Reaching out with his left hand, he punched 
  up a geographical survey map of the area on his auxiliary moni-
  tor and his sensors painted the oncoming BattleMaster onto it. 
  Nelson kicked the Phoenix Hawk into motion, drawing his enemy 
  away from Harrison and up into the mountains.
  
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  Ghost of Christmas Present • Page 11
  They entered into an absurd cat and mouse contest. Nelson 
  risked the PPC by staying at longer ranges, but that kept him free 
  of damage from the missiles and smaller weapons. His large laser 
  did light up the woods, burning holes through the pine canopy. 
  Rarely hit his foe, but often enough he lit a tree on fire. If nothing 
  else it will be easy for them to find us.
  The BattleMaster kept coming and as the minutes piled one on 
  another, Nelson began to believe he might actually survive. He 
  tried to call out to Bronson, but the mountains broke up radio 
  transmissions. This he really didn’t mind because it also meant 
  his foe couldn’t inflict couplets on him. He had to wonder about 
  his foe and his odd Christmas tradition of shooting and looting to 
  celebrate the holiday. It must make sense to him.
  Nelson realized he didn’t want to know how it made sense.
  He continued to duck and dodge and retreat halfway up into the 
  mountains when he discovered he’d made a tactical error. His re-
  treat had taken him into a narrow draw with sheer sides. While 
  one jump could carry him to a plateau on the south side, anoth-
  er would not be enough to get him out. He was also certain the 
  BattleMaster’s pilot wasn’t going to let him jump behind him again 
  for another shot at his back. By the time he discovered his mistake, 
  he was too far in to get back out, and the BattleMaster appeared to 
  seal the entrance and his fate.
  “You can’t run. You can’t hide. Now this battle, we’ll decide.” The 
  BattleMaster advanced slowly, coming straight up the middle of 
  the draw. “Bad you’re not. Take your best shot.”
  A million thoughts flashed through Nelson’s mind. He could 
  shoot, and might get lucky, but the odds were against it. Memories 
  of exercises, of winter drills on Tharkad, of watching children play 
  in snow and even the long treks he’d taken on skis across glaciers 
  came to him. If I had that hangar door, I might be able to snow-
  board right past that monster, just the way kids used to escape 
  parents on holiday.
  Something sparked in the back of his mind, so he hit the jump jets 
  and soared to the plateau. He landed and turned around, his ’Mech’s 
  left shoulder striking the rock wall behind him. Nelson looked 
  down, and began to track his crosshair toward the BattleMaster, 
  which had resumed its advance. Clean shot. So tempting, but this 
  isn’t a day to give into temptation.
  “Nice escape try, but why? Even so high, you’re just going to die.”
  
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  Ghost of Christmas Present • Page 12
  Nelson shook his head. “Why the poetry? It’s horrible.”
  Mock surprise ran through Nick’s voice. “I thought it was festive. 
  And it’s not that bad.”
  “Yes, it is. Just like your aim.”
  “Let’s hear you do better.”
  “Hear, no.” Nelson shifted his aim point and raised the ’Mech’s 
  large laser. “See, you bet.”
  Nelson triggered the weapon and slashed the beam right to left, 
  up through the darkness. Its verdant light illuminated the low grey 
  clouds so heavily laden with snow. It pierced them and vanished, 
  vaporized snowflakes drifting back up to condense again and fall.
  “How cute, how quaint, a signal light. But there will be no help for 
  you tonight.” The BattleMaster’s PPC came up and the charging 
  coils began to glow. “On that ledge, you have an edge, but one hit 
  and it’s a long fall.”
  “I may fall, but not tonight.” Nelson brought the Phoenix Hawk 
  down into a crouch and inched back, letting the ledge shield as 
  much of him as possible. The BattleMaster stepped back, length-
  ening the range, but improving his angle. Nelson would survive 
  Nick’s poor marksmanship for one or two bursts, then Nick would 
  get the idea of slashing away at the rock. Once that was undercut, 
  Nelson and the ‘Hawk would come down in a ’Mech avalanche.
  Fortunately, Nick never got the chance to figure out what he had 
  to do to bring Nelson down. Even in his cockpit, with the wind 
  howling and snow swirling, the low rumble came to Nelson. It 
  grew, becoming equal parts tactile and auditory. It took a couple 
  seconds more for Nick to get its full effect, sheltered as he was 
  down in the draw.
  And by the time he did, time had run out for him.
  Having grown up in an arid region that never had much of a winter, 
  Nelson Geist had had a lot of things to learn about winter and snow. 
  Tharkad had plenty of both, and instructors at the Nagelring went 
  to great pains to guarantee their cadets weren’t going to fall prey 
  to stupid things. He learned about frostbite and winter survival. He 
  learned how to ski, both downhill and cross-country, and how to 
  snowshoe. He even learned how to climb mountains in the winter 
  and learned about the special dangers of generous snowfalls.
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Ghost of Christmas Present • Page 13
  His large laser had cut through the clouds and burned into the 
  mass of snow much higher up in the mountains. New snow over 
  old created a fragile structure supporting a lot of weight. When 
  the laser melted into that layer of old snow, the structure collapsed 
  and with it came a lot of snow.
  The avalanche picked up speed as it descended, sweeping rocks 
  and trees along with it. The BattleMaster might well have been 
  one of the largest land war machines ever created by the hand of 
  man, but compared to the titanic forces of nature, it was some-
  thing of a toy. Snow poured down into the draw in a frozen white 
  flood. It slammed into the ’Mech’s back, pitching it forward and 
  face down. A rock the size of a small hovercar bounced up and off, 
  then snow just buried Nick.
  The snow kept coming, filling the draw. Nelson hit the jets as the 
  snow lapped up at the ledge, but was able to land back down there 
  easily. The snow came up to the ‘Hawk’s knees and was packed 
  so solidly he had to kick his way clear to move forward. He sank 
  down to mid-calf with each subsequent step, so he didn’t venture 
  very far.
  He switched his scanners over to MagRes and got a clean pic-
  ture of the BattleMaster laying face down, as if it were floating. 
  Floating at the bottom of a pool. He dropped the crosshairs on the 
  thing’s head and keyed his radio.
  “You’re only going to be getting out of there with help. Surrender 
  and I burn you a tunnel to climb out. If you don’t, I burn that tunnel 
  through the cockpit. Answering me in rhyme is the same as not 
  surrendering.”
  Nick’s voice came back faint and weak. “If I surrender, you’ll be 
  taking my ’Mech away, won’t you?”
  “You’ve been raiding and ruining Christmases for years, and you 
  want me to be sympathetic over your being dispossessed?”
  “That would be a no?”
  “How right you are, yes sirree!” Nelson smiled. “Your ’Mech’s 
  going to belong to me.”
  “My poetry wasn’t that bad.”
  “Yes, it was.” Nelson frowned. “You coming out, or do I ra-
  dio the base and tell them to requisition a body-bag and a new 
  BattleMaster cockpit?”
  
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  Ghost of Christmas Present • Page 14
  “Tell them to bring blankets. And brandy.” Resignation flooded 
  through Nick’s voice. “I’m going to want a lot of brandy.”
  “You’ve got it. You made the wise choice.” Nelson fought and 
  kept the laughter out of his voice. By the rules of combat, that 
  BattleMaster would be his, which meant he’d get a good assign-
  ment in the LCAF. With a ’Mech like that, anything is possible.
  “Oh, and Nick?”
  “Yeah?”
  “Merry Christmas.”
  The End
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/BattleTech [multi]/EXTRA/Novels/Battlecorps Novels/Ghost of Christmas Present - Micheal Stackpole.pdf