GALISTEO BANDIT CAULDRON
FW-DC-04-09 FREE WORLDS LEAGUE DEFENSIVE CAMPAIGN MAIN CONTRACT
Post #1


Northern Pole
Kuld Continent
Phecda system
ULTRA held system
16th May 3095
1535 hours local time

Over the millennia of its existence, Phecda’s orbit had slightly shifted, taking it further away from the system star. This meant that Phecda’s surface temperature had been dropping for the past few hundred years and more as more of its surface was being hidden underneath growing polar ice caps. The elongated orbit also made travelling to Phecda very time consuming. As the planetary system relied on interstellar trade for everything it needed to support human life, reducing this travel time has always been critical. During the Star League, the people of Phecda had placed four stations between the world and the jump points, which allowed traders to transship their cargo more quickly. The trader would drop of his cargo at the first station and pick up his outbound cargo of water purifiers built on Phecda, returning to the jump point. The cargo that was delivered to the first station would then be shuttled to the next station, where it would be dropped off and a new group of water purifiers would be taken to the first station. The second station would then deliver materials to Phecda and return with a load of water purifiers. This let the interstellar traders made more of a profit and allowed the Phecdans to survive.

Unfortunately, like countless other casualties, these mid-point stations were destroyed in the Successions Wars. As a result, Phecda’s population slowly dropped and by the end of the Succession Wars, Phecada was little more than a military outpost whose only value lay in its position between the then-Lyran Commonwealth and Free Worlds League.

And it was for its strategic position that would allow Phecda to act as a staging area for operations launched into the Lyran Alliance, that ULTRA took and held the world. Consequently, Phecda had been subject to several Lyran invasions and raids to be used against them. With more than eighty five percent of the planet’s surface covered by water, there was little mystery on where defenders would be based and entrenched, and similarly the target of any invaders and raiders.

With thunderous, deliberate strides, the Zeus trampled the earth, pounding through ice encrusted snow measuring a meter in thickness that was only three shades lighter than the whitewash covering each of its pair of boxy feet. The footfalls shook the ground despite the snow’s cushioning effect, sending icicles raining down from the blackened skeletons of nearby structures. Red tinged cockpit glass lent the eighty ton assault 'Mech an otherworldly look, like the eyes of a ghostly mechanical hunter, searching the charred mining complex ruins for prey.

And all the while, its prey watched back.

Through the rangefinder on his targeting display, Captain Bert Hoffmeister watched the Unchained Bloodhound monster with a steady gaze. His breath, tinged with the stink of stale coffee, puffed frosty clouds in the cabin despite the woollen black scarf that covered most of his face. Even with the insulation built into the armoured hide of his Main Gauche light tank, the effort to keep out the bite of the harsh northern climate was nearly impossible. The tank and its crew hid beneath two days’ worth of drifting snow, with only an extra light fusion engine – set to low idle to avoid discovery – for heat. Sometimes, playing dead comes too close to the real thing.

The Unchained Bloodhound Zeus slowed right in front of him, the armoured beast suddenly hesitant about moving forward. Hoffmeister narrowed his eyes as he forced himself not to give in to natural instinct to fire his weapons.

“They know we’re here!” Though spoken barely louder than a whisper, and carried over a hundred meters to his headset earphones, the morose tone of the tinny voice made the tank commander cringe.

Lieutenant Welsh, stating the obvious as usual.

More than two weeks into what was initially a raid that had quickly escalated into an attempted invasion – two weeks spent hiding from the vengeful Lyrans’ fire, dodging BattleMech and fighter patrols, seeking shelter first in the burned out city of Atlantic Coast on the southeastern cost of the main continent of Gamurmaj, before retreating to the smaller islands around the northern continents of Kuld and Phreezi. The Free Worlds League, ULTRA defenders and their mercenaries only popped up long enough to scavenge for food, parts, and maybe a little revenge along the way, teaching the Lyrans that ULTRA had eyes everywhere.

Even when help came from outside, it had invariably failed. The Lyrans were always one step ahead. All-knowing. All-powerful. After initially being stymied by the sudden and ferocious ULTRA invasion across their borders, the Lyrans had started to retaliate throughout much of the Lyran Alliance and ULTRA borders. Despite their long occupation of Phecda system previously, the small population that had switched their allegiance to their new masters had not taken well to being hit hard by the Lyrans. Conventional wisdom held that the invaders would also take the role of the villain.

Evidently, Welsh was entirely too lacking in conventional wisdom right about now.

“Can it!” Another voice hissed back, harsh and stern, yet echoing softly within Hoffmeister’s earpiece. Captain Lu Bo Yan piloted a CRG-3Kr Charger, currently hunched over and covered with camouflage netting directly behind his hidden tank. Silent for hours, his sudden reaction to Welsh’s defeatism startled Hoffmeister, but he did not dare flinch from the targeting display. His reticule settled over the Zeus’s flat face plate. They may know we’re here, Hoffmeister told himself, but they don’t know exactly where. While Hoffmeister may hold the same rank as Lu, the fact that the latter was piloting a BattleMech, and Hoffmeister a mercenary tanker who was hastily absorbed into the Phecda militia together with many other units automatically put Lu higher up in the hierarchy within the unit. He had heard that Lu Bo Yan and his Urban Legends had been sent up and down the Lyran-ULTRA borders since the invasion had started, acting like a fire brigade to lent their considerable firepower whenever needed.

“Hunter One,” a new voice chimed in, barely above a mutter. This one came from Sergeant Roy ‘Hardcore’ Benavidez, whose Orge Battle Armour hid beneath a drift in the shadow of a collapsed mine shaft half a kilometre further east. “Forward shows a new contact inbound. Hundred ton Fafnir, with black fist markings.”

Hoffmeister’s eyes narrowed. The Reaper of Krupp Valley, at last.

“That’s him,” Lu replied. “Everyone get ready.”

Hoffmeister sucked in a breath and nodded as his fingers tensed on the trigger and the engines thrummed to life behind him. The Fanfir appeared on Hoffmeister's tactical display as a simple red dot on the far right edge of the board, while the Zeus stood due north, barely a finger’s breadth away. Surrounding the eighty ton assault were a cluster of a dozen blue dots, the hidden members of the combined arms company that Hoffmeister had been assigned to. Twelve waiting hunters, hidden among the ruins, beneath snow and ice. The remnants of ULTRA defenders all absorbed into the Urban Legends.

Hoffmeister grinned inwardly. Finally, Captain Jonathan Bond, commander of the Lyran mercenary command Unchained Hounds, notoriously nicknamed the Reaper of Krupp Valley, would be the Legends’ prey. Suddenly, the Zeus shifted, kicking up snow as its body swung around. Its menacing glare turned straight toward the Main Gauche. Hoffmeister released his breath with a hiss...

Bert Hoffmeister had come to Phacde after hearing that the Lyrans were fighting back the United Leadership of the Tikonov Army. With his own vehicular crew as well as several other small mercenaries commands, they had been employed by ULTRA who were more than glad to have assistance of any kind to help retain the world. With the Lyrans splitting up their invading forces into smaller detachments across the central and northern inhabited continents, Hoffmeister had thought it possible to hit the diluted enemies and drive them back. He could not have been more wrong.

Come back to tour your latest atrocity, monster? He thought bitterly, remembering the hard fought battle here that pitted a hodgepodge of purification plant security, mercenary troops and remnants of local militia forces against a wall of Lyran and their own mercenary shock troops. The Urban Legends had missed the initial fight, being tasked with covering the withdrawal of a raiding party that had hit a Lyran supply depot at Atlantic City's periphery, but all of Phacde heard of the outcome, saw the mangled ruins of the water purification complex, blackened hulks of BattleMechs and hastily converted WorkMechs – the pitiful wreckage that remained after the Reaper of Krupp Valley called in another Aerospace strike from their massive Aerospace swarms hovering unseen in the heavens above. Captives taken from the battle went to gods only knew where. But Hoffmeister remembered the Lyrans’ propaganda holovids showing lines of civvies and military prisoners being dragged from the rubble and escorted at gunpoint by ’Mechs and battle armour squads after Bond’s forces mopped up the remaining defenders. Whatever forces that remained on Phecda were rolled into the militia. Even after combining all their strength, the guerrilla force was way under strength.

Another “glorious” victory for the Lyran Alliance. Hoffmeister had to force his jaw to unclench.

A single mountain range, the Torrents, its highest peaks at around forty thousand feet high, separated the northern and southern parts of the smaller continent of Kuld. The highest peaks were all situated on the eastern seaboard. As one headed west, the mountains become appreciably smaller, with many mountain passes that allowed travel between the north and south parts of Kuld. The mountain ranges were sparsely mined mostly in the south part of the range, since the northern side of the continent has a much harsher climate due to the continental winds. Only small pockets of the northern side are available to cultivation and are mostly in river valleys. It was due to this reason that a portion of the scattered ULTRA defenders had chosen to make their base in the northern Torrents mountain ranges. Any movement in and out of the region can be easily spotted and tracked, and the rough terrain made it possible for a small force like Hoffmeiser's to ambush an unwary foe. With scant little people actually familiar with the northern ranges, having locals within their ranks that knew the mountains like the back of their hands made it much easier for the ULTRA and their mercenaries to avoid any Lyran sweeps as well.

Welsh’s voice cursed on the tactical channel. With no further warning, the earth around the Zeus’s hindquarters exploded amid the roaring blasts of autocannon fire. One burst caught the Lyran ’Mech square on its right rear flank, gouging away armour and clawing at the long range missile housings that rode just above the hip. Shaken by the loss of more than a ton of armour, but far too stable and skilled to fall down, the ghostly white painted Zeus twisted toward Welsh’s Hetzer wheeled assault tank that was unseen from Hoffmeister’s vantage point, and unleashed a steam of angry sapphire laser bolts from its pair of medium pulse lasers.

“Fuck!” Lu Bo Yan spat, his voice carrying over to the tactical channel as well. “Welsh, you bloody coward! Hunters open fire!”

With a savage growl, Hoffmeister mashed down his triggers, unleashing a nova blast from his front mounted plasma rifle that melted a chunk of armour away from the Zeus’s broad left side even as the Main Gauche’s machine guns screamed into life. The fast rotating barrels poured fire and tracers into the Lyran’s armoured hide even as missiles, lasers and autocannon fire converged on the same target from no less than four different Urban Legends war machines. Explosions and fire scattered snow, ice and mangled metal in all directions while the enemy armoured monster writhed under the onslaught, its pristine white hide chewed to pieces in seconds. Ever since its introduction onto the modern battlefield, the BattleMech has been hailed as the king of the battlefield. But even the king had to bow beneath the combined might of enough concentrated firepower — especially with surprise and a couple of their own 'Mech buddies on their side. An explosion erupted along the Zeus’s right side, possibly coming from the hole opened by Welsh’s panicked weapons fire. With a blossom of golden flame and a blast that practically spun the machine around ninety degrees, the ’Mech’s missile bins ruptured. Despite protected by CASE, secondary explosions quickly tore the Zeus open from end to end, until the machine’s death throes ended in a blast powerful enough to produce a ring of scattering ice and steam. A ruined tower crane nearby collapsed as well. 

On the tactical channel, Welsh was screaming incoherently and Lu was barking orders, but Hoffmeister barely registered any of it as the Main Gauche lurched forward. The vehicle’s treads clawed their way free of its hiding place of snow and ice, throwing him hard against his gunnery chair. Lurching into the open, the tank tore past the corpses of secondary machine shops and the twisted, blackened remains of two forgotten MiningMechs, already swinging away from the bonfire of burning metal that had once been a Zeus.

With the landline broken, the communicators automatically switched to standard tactical channels, which laced each transmission with the pops and static caused by the Guardian ECM suites that several of the Urban Legends BattleMechs were equipped with. Even so, Hoffmeister caught up quickly with the action beyond this little intersection, and the news was not good – the Reaper’s Fafnir had brought more friends. “Forward taking fire here!” Wambach’s voice called out. “I count a Talon and Barghest in support of target Fafnir! We have lost Hunter Six, as well as Forwards Three and Four!”

“We’re coming, Forward Actual!” Lu reassured him, his voice clipped. “Hunters, ignore those other 'Mechs. Focus all fire on the priority target. That bastard’s not getting away this time.”

Hoffmeister nodded again, more to himself than to anyone. With Welsh’s panicked fire, they had lost the element of surprise, and already, two light tank crews whose vehicles sacrificed armour for speed, as well as their lightly armoured Hermes II medium 'Mech had paid the ultimate price. Now two more enemy ‘Mechs – plus the Reaper’s own Fafnir — stood against a depleted mixed company of vehicles and 'Mechs. But the Urban Legends were not given the nickname of Zui Ming from during their time spent under Capellan employment for nothing. The Chaser of Lives always got their man.

The Reaper had to die.

Hoffmeister ordered the Main Gauche around and slammed the vehicle to full throttle, coaxing almost a hundred kilometres per hour out of the tracks to lead the eastward charge, sending chunks of hard packed snow and ice flying back in the tank’s wake. The young tank commander let out a grunt as he was thrown back in his seat. While the Main Gauche lacked a turret, it still came with periscopes through which Hoffmeister could view through to a complete 360-degree rotation, sweeping the entire field before his rangefinders while brushing away forty eight hours of accumulated snow and ice. Hot on the trail of his Main Gauche, Hoffmeister saw the other twin Main Gauches in his augmented lance commanded by Sergeants Donald and Mosley, further followed behind by Welsh’s Hetzer, wheels wildly whipping up slush in an almost comical effort to keep up. The ruins of the mining camp, the half-buried wreckage of buildings and blackened war machines – each and every one a Free Worlds League machine – created an eerie, skeletal labyrinth of cold death that sent an involuntary shiver down Hoffmeister’s spine. The chill was forgotten by the time he reset the turret forward and caught a glimpse of azure PPC fire in the distance ahead.

The Barghest that fired it was at a full run, trying in vain to chase down Wambach’s slategray Wraith as the latter fleet footed medium 'Meh darted over a mound of wreckage. Instead of hitting the nimble BattleMech, the particle cannon discharge struck the debris mound, vaporizing snow and setting what looked like the arm of some dead and unrecognizable ’Mech twitching. Just behind the Barghest, Hoffmeister spotted the hated Fafnir. On its shoulders, riding high on the ’Mech’s left chest, was the tell tale mark — the clenched fist of the Lyran Alliance superimposed on the black silhouette of a black cloud. Just below it, the picture of a blood hound breaking loose from its leash. At the extreme range for the Main Gauche’s plasma rifle, Hoffmeister let loose with one nova burst. The ball of super heated plastic chased the Fafnir, but the MechWarrior within dodged the hasty shot with a strangely graceful sidestep. The Reaper retaliated with its own heavy gauss rifles followed by azure beams of lasers that showered the [i[Main Gauche[/i] with bone jarring explosions. Most of the shots missed, but a single gauss rifle slug that did hit rattled the vehicle’s four man crew, and Hoffmeister felt the bite of his four-point harness even through the padded armour of his vest. The thrum of the extra light fusion engine plant became a brief stutter and the cabin lights flickered.

“Fucking bastard!” he spat, even as he heard the loaders chamber the next volley.

Outside, two electromagnetically accelerated toroid of plasma converged on the Fafnir, fired from the front muzzles of Donald and Mosley’s Main Gauches. Though incapable of penetrating the armour with a single hit, the two tanks' attacks staggered the ’Mech just long enough for Hoffmeister’s second burst of plasma rifle fire to track in on its torso, marring the mailed fist logo beyond recognition. “Got you!” Hoffmeister hissed. Despite of the below zero temperature outside, the Fafnir Mechjock must have had his hands full dealing with an overheating ride with the multiple hits from the plasma rifles.

“Damage report!” Lu snapped.

At the sudden request, Hoffmeister became aware of a strange new smell, the oily stench of fused electronics, and a rattling sound somewhere outside that sent a harsh vibration through the cabin. Had one of those lasers penetrated after all? “It’s a drive wheel,” The report came back from the rear of the tank, the voice piped in from the rear section. “Left flank number three. We’re slipping, but not too badly.”

“Not too badly?” Hoffmeister echoed in a voice laced with contempt. “This thing’s dragging like a stuck pig now! Bloody Brooks Incorporated engineering!” 

“Keep up on that Fafnir!” Lu yelled as his own Charger sprayed the Fafnir with a crazy Christmas light of lasers and particle projectile canon fire, all the while trying to close enough distance to land its deadly hatchet onto the enemy 'Mech. Hoffmeister ground his teeth as he veered his tank to keep the Fafnir bracketed on the rangefinders. The red reticule of a partial weapon lock flashed gold as the targeting sensors gained confidence in his bead. Even as the image of the Fafnir bounced before his eyes to the irregular rhythm of the vehicle’s inhibited ride, he squeezed the trigger again, unleashing a fresh stream of plasma at the Reaper’s ’Mech – only to miss when a spine-tingling jolt of electricity stunned him.

His comms specialist’s painful cry filled Hoffmeister’s ears, even as he screwed his eyes shut to clear his vision. PPC hit! His mind screamed. The metallic scent of ozone filled his lungs. “Talon!” Mosley called out over the comms. “Port flank!”

“Ignore it!” Lu snapped.

Hoffmeister glanced at the tactical display and cursed. “Two more Elsies,” he called out. “One klick and closing! Looks like more mediums!”

“Stay on the mark!”

“Take that, you bastards!” Boomed Welsh’s high pitch voice again, exultant as his Hetzer finally reached range and opened up with its Crusher SH Class 20 Autocannon. His vehicle’s fire tore over a ton of armour off the ’Mech’s right arm, twisting it violently sideways and spoiling its aim. A stream of lasers streaked out from the Fafnir’s torso, only to miss harmlessly in the battle churned snow. Two flights of missiles showered the stricken machine next, adding insult to injury by rending ghost-white armour in clusters that rained on the ground. A lesser MechWarrior would almost certainly have lost his balance, but the Fafnir seemed to absorb its punishment, bracing its legs against the incoming storm of missiles and shells. But you're hurting, and you missed! You're not so all powerful now are you?!

Straightening, it fired back with a fusillade of heavy gauss rifle rounds and laser fire that, this time, at least, did not focus on the incoming Main Gauches. Welsh’s terrified screams told Hoffmeister who the target was.

“Hunter One!” Sergeant Donald's voice cut in over the scream, “Hunter Three is pouring smoke! I think that last one hit his engine!”

“Welsh,” Lu growled, his voice sounding over the entire Company's comm. “So help me! Don’t you flake out on us now!”

“Die, you motherless fucker!!” Welsh’s shriek filled the channel as the scream of autocannon fire once more resounded across the battlefield. This time, the streams of tracers caught the Fafnir in its right leg, tearing through armour to claw away at the endo steel bones within.

Go down! Hoffmeister willed the hated machine, but again, the Fafnir kept its feet. The gauss rifles and lasers flashed again, and this time Hoffmeister felt the hits as a thunderous pounding shook the entire cabin. A fiery tingle made his fingers spasm and set his skin crawling along the back of his neck. His vision blanked for a moment – he was sure it was only a moment – and popping sounds echoed around him. He opened his eyes to find sparks still dancing across the targeting panels, tell tale signs of a hit that had penetrated armour to touch the delicate electronics.

But it was Wambach’s low moans that finally tore Hoffmeister’s eyes away from his flickering targeting displays. Her 'Mech, not a machine that known for being heavily armoured, was sprawled over the snowy grounds, the right side of its hooded and neckless head attached to sloped shoulders shredded by enemy fire. Hoffmeister began to order his tank to head towards her machine, but she countered that order. “I’m fine. My Wraith’s disable, and I’m out.”

With a suppressed hiss, Lu Bo Yan ordered all remaining machines to finish off their target.

Hoffmeister nodded and returned to his post, turning away and trying to ignore the sudden wet coughing that sounded over the comms that he knew belonged to Wambach in her Wraith.

Nothing else mattered now.

The targeting system placed the Fafnir to the left, limping away from the ruins of Welsh’s Hetzer. Only five other friendly blue discretes remained on the tactical displays out of the original twelve – the last remaining Main Gauche of the Urban Legends, Lu Bo Yan in the Charger, the Legends’ second in command Starks in his Jinggau, Mosley and Donald in their Main Gauche IFVs, he figured. And however number of surviving Orge Battle Armour suits that were still out there harassing the Lyrans. He tried to swing the vehicle around, only to see the red idiot lights flash beneath the control and targeting displays. The tracks were jammed. Were we out?0 He wondered. How long?

“Johansen!” he croaked after a moment at the driver of the Main Gauche, “bear left!”

A low groan answered, but the Main Gauche’s engine still thrummed. With jerks that shook him in his chair, the tank fought its own damage and came about. Hoffmeister spared only a moment to consider just how crippled they were, before the tracking systems again found the Fafnir’s distinctive silhouette. Every square inch of its armour seemed to be in tatters, its leg gimped and missing one of its heavy gauss rifle that was its right arm, the BattleMech was struggling to get between its other partners – the Talon and Barghest trying to play bodyguard for their wounded commander while a Cestus continued to trade shots with Starks’ [o]Jinggau[/i]. Despite his own pain, Hoffmeister grinned. That meant that the Urban Legends had destroyed, or at least crippled one more enemy 'Mech.

At last, the jerky motions of the Main Gauche’s awkward turn brought the reticule over the Fafnir’s heart. Hoffmeister shifted his aim slightly upwards to where its cracked cockpit gleamed in the overcast afternoon light. In that instant, Hoffmeister unleashed one last blast, pouring the last shell of lethal force out of his weapon, even as the other Lyrab 'Mechs retaliated on their battered commander’s behalf. Even as azure beams of lasers and missiles sprang forth from the pair of enemy 'Mechs towards his stricken tank, Hoffmeister let out a triumphant whoop as his plasma rifle scored a direct hit on the Reaper’s cockpit, shattering the ferroglass canopy and – if there was any justice in the universe – burning the MechWarrior within. A heartbeat later, another shape imposed itself between Hoffmeister's Main Gauche and the rain of missiles and laser beams. The blasts boiled away armour to flash-fry the crew inside in a blinding burst of exploding orange, red and black. Hoffmeister could barely scream in agony as another took his place in death. Mosley!

Twenty metres away, Lu Bo Yan smiled grimly as the reinvigorated survivors of the Urban Legends and Free Worlds League militia swept forward to hunt down the last of the Unchained Hounds. The Commander of Free Worlds League employed mercenaries knew that victory had finally been secured here on Phecda. He had made his point.

At the end of the day, they got their man. As Zui Ming Company always did.

And now, he could finally reveal himself to the Black Stars.


Lieutenant General Zhao Zi Long
Black Stars Mercenary Collective
Baron of Erdvynn, Alarion Province, Lyran Alliance
Sharp Shooters Sub-unit
'Sanitarium' - Vampire Medium Omnitank


GALISTEO BANDIT CAULDRON
FW-DC-04-09 FREE WORLDS LEAGUE DEFENSIVE CAMPAIGN MAIN CONTRACT
Post #2


2000
August 30, 3095
Great Hall
Oakvale Estate, Mitcham Center
Merton Prime, Merton System
Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey, Free Worlds League

A single note, struck from a chime, echoed throughout the manor's great hall, signaling to the guests that the next dance was about to begin and those so inclined began to file over to the dance floor that dominated the ostentatious ballroom decorated in the style of the American Gilded Age. From floor to vaulted ceiling, the room was built of masterfully carpentered hardwood, whether artfully blended to form the pleasing parquetry on its floor or shaped into the various decorations that adorned its walls. Wooden birds and squirrels, perched and played upon the carved vines that snaked along the walls and around the thick oak columns topped with acanthus leaves. 

Along the walls, at regular intervals, framed with gilded filigree, were murals of substantial size, each depicting famous hunters from across myth and history; the seduction of Diana by Orion, Gilgamesh and Enkidu's assault on the Cedar Forest, Atalanta's hunt for the Calydonian boar, Patterson's struggle with Tsavo's man-eating lions, Yamamoto's killing of the great bear Kesagake, Jean Chastel's bloody subjugation of the Beast of Gevaudan, among many others. 

The chamber was crowned by a ceiling fresco framed with intricate scroll work that replicated the night sky according to the ancient star map of Ptolemy's Almagest, accurately depicting the various constellations of classical antiquity, the Auriga, the Cygnus and so forth, with tiny pinprick lights to represent them, with the polestar of Polaris being the brightest among them all. From its edges, fixtures shaped like tree branches sprouted from the leaf topped columns intruded deep into the replica sky and in concert with the dim incandescent light emanating from the candelabras on the walls and the roaring fire of the marble hearth that dominated one end of the room conspired to give the impression that the the otherwise urbane ball was taking place by firelight in some distant forest.

Among the impeccably attired crowd gathering beneath the Terran sky was Clint, in a dress suit, waist coat, white tie and all, arm in arm with his partner for the evening, Felicia, who came in an uncharacteristically prim lime green and cream yellow ball gown decorated with floral accents that complimented her auburn hair and cool blue eyes that kept him fully transfixed despite their grandly opulent environs. Reaching their appointed place on the dance floor, as was tradition, Clint bowed to Felicia while she coquettishly curtsied in turn before they stepped into each others' arms, barely a hand span between them. 

Soon enough the chamber orchestra played out the opening verses of Uematsu's Waltz on the Moon, a trio of strings leading the way with several sharp notes followed quickly by an assemblage of brass, percussion and woodwinds who brought up the full bodied chorus. The duo glided across the dance floor, stepping and turning with practiced ease to the rhythm of the music. From above they looked like rose, caught in a fluctuating cycle of bloom and bud, one among many, a bouquet of unfurling colorful flowers promenading clockwise on a wooden checkerboard backdrop. 

Past Felicia's warm smile, over her uncovered porcelain white shoulder, he could spy the other people dancing alongside them and they were quite a varied lot though some drew notice more than others. Most striking of all were Katrina and Lydia, his two top pilots, the former wearing a dress suit in the style of Marlene Dietrich's ensemble from the classic film Morocco and the latter in a striking red evening gown cut in a manner that left little of Lydia to the imagination. Clint had not the faintest idea that they had been couple for over a year now, much less how either of them produced such eloquent attire on such short notice. Point of fact a few of the more conservative guests, especially those from the notoriously conservative Southwest Trinity Worlds, were quite scandalized at their brazen display of their relationship.

Walter and Brenda came close second, drawing attention to the fact that both of them, in lieu of proper civilian formal wear, opted to dance in their old Comguard mess dress uniforms. While sensibly stripped of their old livery, the appearance of their white and blue colors raised consternation among some of the attendees given that the League was at war with their old employer though then again it was at war with virtually every other Great House anyway. Their little faux pas reminded Clint on the necessity of having right and proper uniforms made for his soldiers.

Then there was the unit's other Walter, Otto, the near seven foot giant looked comical in his dark brown suit, particularly reminding Clint of a pine tree, as he towered everyone in the room, including his dance partner, a local debutante in a sky blue and white dress who barely stood up to his chest but made up for her relatively short stature with an invitingly full bust firmly held up by a balcony of silk and diamonds. Both dancers struggled to keep in step with one another especially as the tempo of the music began to pick up and it came time to spin their partners.

Slightly behind Otto was Richard, dancing with, by Clint's count, his sixth partner of the evening, wearing his omnipresent smile on his angelic face that Clint, personally, found unsettling but the ladies found irresistible. In his short time with the Gunslingers, the rakishly handsome Richard had developed a reputation as ladies man albeit, paradoxically, a completely chaste one. Next to him was Allen, the endearingly awkward nephew of Proximo, humoring an insistent twelve year old girl who mustered up the courage to ask him for a turn on the dance floor. 

The only member of Clint's personal squadron that was not otherwise engaged was Greg who was more enamored with the free flowing tap at the bar, downing tankard after tankard of the planet's signature pale lager into the company of Clint's armor commanders. Of the three originals, only Michael was left, making him the most senior tanker among the Gunslingers, Joe and Tom having moved on after Althastan for one reason or another, being replaced by their young seconds, Kurt Welkin and Roy Murat, respectively. The former was the diametric opposite of his erstwhile superior, being of slim build and of bookish disposition, one would have never expected him to be in command of six eighty ton assault tanks. The latter was every bit as flamboyant as the man he replaced and twice as a headstrong, living up to his family namesake who had been a cavalier of formidable skill and daring in the Napoleon's Grand Army. Oswald's mob and the twins though were not present, having drawn the short end of the stick and were pulling security duty for their dropships. 

After Uematsu's Waltz on the Moon, the orchestra followed up a pair of European classics; Schubert's Waltz in B Minor and Strauss' Blue Danube Waltz. They then took a brief break, letting a solo piano rendition of Motzart's Waltz in A Minor takeover before resuming with Tchaikovsky's iconic Waltz of Flowers from the famed Nutcracker ballet and capped the set with an unexpected performance of Newman's charmingly haunting Once Upon a December, from the film Anastasia, which ended in rapturous applause from the dancers and idle guests alike.

As they retreated from the dance floor, Felicia wrapped her hands around Clint's arm, leaned in and whispered, “let's step out for a bit. I need some air.” Behind them the symphony had switched over to playing mood music, starting off with Elfman's Gothic-inspired Oakvale in honor of the ball's eponymous venue.

“Sure,” Clint nodded, stopping by their table to pick up her shawl on their way to one of the glass side doors that opened out to the mansion's back terrace. Walking out into the winter night, the air was surprisingly temperate thanks to the warmth radiated by the area heaters that lined the terrace, styled to look like Victorian-era gas lamps. The well tended prospect stretched out for some distance, with well lit cobbled footpaths wending their way in between various garden features, the most prominent of which was a long reflecting pool that bisected it down the middle and an expansive hedge maze peppered with topiary animals and statuary on one side, all dusted with a quaint sprinkling of snow that reminded him of powdered confectioner's sugar.

“So having fun,” Felicia turned and asked Clint, leaning on the terrace balcony. 

“Definitely,” he replied as he stood next to her, “been a long time since I attended a shindig like this,” jabbing a thumb back toward the manor, built in the style of the American Gilded Age, that towered over them. “Erdvynn isn't exactly the most cultured planet in the sector.”

“Don't sell yourself short,” Felicia nudged him, “I've heard a lot about what you're doing over there, good things.”

“Why thank you,” Clint nodded, tipping a phantom hat her way, “but when two thirds of your population are former slaves and camp followers while the other third are mercenaries, ex-Clan and corporate ladder climbers, you can't really expect anyone to be so inclined even you build them a right proper city. You can take the caveman out of the cave, but he's still a caveman after all.”

Felicia giggled coyly at his answer then something in the garden caught her attention. Tiny lights, the kind found on just about any smart phone, and shadows flitting about the hedge maze, one chasing the other like fireflies in a meadow before they hit a dead end in the maze and settled down by what appeared to be a statue of some winged statute, likely Cupid or Eros, if serendipity permitted. “Looks like someone's having a good night,” she mused, pointing right at them. 

Clint chuckled, gazing up at the sky, noting the ominous gathering clouds that shimmered in the moonlight, threatening to rain snow on couple's merriment. “Not if old Jack Frost has anything to say about it.”

Then Clint felt Felicia curl up against him, “you know my room is much warmer,” she said invitingly, looking up at him with her most seductive smile.

Immediately he found his heart racing at the thought. She was undoubtedly pretty and vivacious but beyond that she was in many ways a distaff counterpart to himself. Born to wealth as the daughter of one of the planet's lumber barons, she saw the universe in the same grand light as Clint, unburdened by day to day exigencies of commonfolk. She was eminently cultured, well read and possessed of a sharp wit that put any pedantic university professor to shame. But most of all she was restlessly adventurous to the point that she bulled her way into Merton's armed forces and secured for herself command of one of the tiny planetary militia's precious battlemech lances. It wasn't a stretch for Clint to surmise that she might one day strike out on her own to form her own command just as he did, assuming her father didn't force her into some marriage of convenience before then, or maybe because he actually did and she'd abscond with her lance.

It was no surprise that they'd quickly struck up a friendship in the two short months that the Gunslingers had been on Merton in between Clint's classes on logistics and defense policy. He hated to admit it but had he met her earlier instead of Hana, he would have taken her up on her offer and it took every ounce of Clint's willpower to politely say, “Am sorry Red but I'm already spoken for.”

“Oh come on cowboy,” she coyly insisted, wrapping her arms around him, “she doesn't need to know.” By now Clint could feel the warmth of her body through her dress as she pressed up against him, the scent of her perfume curling around him as she leaned in for a kiss. Clint reached up and took her hands, stopping her from going any further with a stern, if somewhat pained, look.

She pulled back, disappointed, her lips curled into a pout, “she's very lucky to have you,” the excited blush fading from her cheeks as she stared out to the garden, sagging dejectedly.

“Still I'm really flattered,” he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, “and I'm really happy to have met you.” She rested her head against his shoulder, her fingers stroking his, and for a long while only an affectionate silence passed between them as the snow began to fall.

Posted by
Major Clint Amadeus “Tex” Dyson
Governor-General of Erdvynn
Alcyone Gunslingers, Commanding Officer
Black Stars Mercenary Collective


GALISTEO BANDIT CAULDRON
FW-DC-04-09 FREE WORLDS LEAGUE DEFENSIVE CAMPAIGN MAIN CONTRACT
Post #3

* * * * * Flashback * * * * *
Baccon Township
Planetary System TH-994
Independent Periphery System
Anti-spinward of the Circinus Federation
14 March 3075
1800 Hours Local time

“So it’s confirmed then?” The grizzled older man sighed. “Suremark is gone, and Major Gould leading those Circinus bastards plans on us next?”

Jessica Parker just nodded. “Yes, Grandfather. We just received his demand for unconditional surrender. He says if we don’t do so by noon Friday, he’ll treat us as he did Suremark and Kashu.”

Mineboss Robert Parker closed his eyes for a moment in silent prayer. “You know what’ll happen to you if we do.”

Jessica shuddered. “I do…. the Black Warriors reputation is well known, especially amongst the women.”

Robert stared off into space. “We cannot win a war, and surrender under their terms is just as bad….” 

Coming to a decision, Robert looked piercingly at Jessica. “Gather the women and children, prepare them to leave. Carantania and the Posavskis have offered sanctuary, and you’ll be taking them up on it. Any spare room on the transports we’ll fill with supplies and silver. We’ll send most of the young men with you as well, they can do little good here, and there’ll be a time come to take back what’s ours. You’ll need them then I think.”

Jessica gasped. “But Grandfather! What of you? You know what they will do when they find out!”

Robert smiled gently. “I’m old and tired, child. But I think I have enough left in me to show the Black Warriors a good fight. The other old men and anyone who refuses to leave will stay here and prepare a reception for our unwanted guests.”

“But you’ll be killed!” Jessica cried, tears starting from her eyes.

Robert nodded. “Yes, child we will…. But we’ll not go alone, and Circinus will gain little, if anything for the price we’ll make them pay.” Robert spoke gently to his granddaughter, folding her into a hug. “Don’t you cry now, I’ve had a good long life. Longer than most around these parts. Besides, your Grandmother is waiting for me. It’ll be good to see her again after so long.”

“But how can you fight them?” Jessica asked through her tears. “We’re so much smaller than them at the best of times. How can you and the others hope to fight them at such odds?”

Robert smiled. “Jessica, there’s a reason why you don’t hunt Daggertooth by crawling into their dens. The Black Warriors are about to learn the same lesson. We might be old and tired, but between us we’ve got a bit of experience with explosives and mines. And most of the old miners could lead you anywhere in the tunnels blindfolded. To get to us, they’ll have to get past the bombs and such we’ll have rigged, then they’ll have to come dig us out if they wants the mine. We’ll have food and supplies in there, and a few back ways out they’ll not know of as well. If it looks like they’re close to winning, we’ll duck out through those and blow the whole thing!”

Robert grinned. “I’ll be sending most of the rifles and such with you. We’ll be cutting down some shotguns and such, and using those. Be better for that sort of fight anyway. Between those and the dynamite… Circinus will pay dear for his prize, never you fear!”

“I’m not afraid of that, Grandfather!” Jessica sobbed. “But what of you? You’re my only family I’ve got left!”

Robert pulled Jessica deeper into the hug, stroking her hair to sooth her. “Now, now, child. It’ll be alright. You will be ok. I’ll not be with you, that’s true. But you are strong, and young. Besides, the people will need you. You are the last of the Parkers at this time. You’ll need to be steady and strong, but you can do this!”

Jessica nodded. “I wish… you were… coming with us!” She spoke haltingly, trying to catch her breath.

“So do I, child… So do I” Robert spoke softly, holding his granddaughter tightly for a long moment. “Now, we’ve lots of work ahead of us and not much time for it.”

Baccon Township
Planetary System TH-994
Independent Periphery System
Anti-spinward of the Circinus Federation
22 March 3075 1800 Hours Local time

Lieutenant John O' Hara squinted his eyes as he peered in the near complete darkness. Despite the setting up of powerful spot lights, and those offered by the captured ancient mobile tunnel miner that the Black Warriors had used to spearhead their drive into the mines, John could still barely see anything more than ten meters before him. If not for the numerous ambushes the Baccon miners had already sprang on the Circinus forces sent in to flush them out, John would have already like the quiet and tranquillity offered by the massive underground tunnels.

Captain Gianna Francesco should have seen what was coming the moment he led the Black Warrior forces assigned to assault the small Baccon Township. Expecting little resistance, the 'Mechs had been held back after they helped bombarded the entrance to the township from afar using their long range missiles, lasers and autocannons. Francesco had than headed forward, leading the attack from the front in a Scorpion light tank. There had been absolutely no retaliation or return fire from the defenders at all even as the Scorpion with the Captain perched rather recklessly on its turret swarmed into the centre of the town. As the attackers looked and milled around in suspicion, a deep rumbling started, followed by an increasing level of vibration beneath their feet. Before anyone could figure out what was happening, a portion of the town centre collapsed into darkness, taking with it a pair of heavy APCs and about two dozen Circinus soldiers.

Captain Gianna Francesco had than quickly ordered the levelling of the Baccon Township to flush out the defenders. Building after building were demolished - either by weapons fire or simply by having metallic ropes with hooks used to pull them down physically. Rather than raise their spirits, each levelled structure only served to plant seeds of suspicion and gnawing fear into the hearts of the Black Warrior soldiers as not a single body was found within a building in what was rapidly becoming a ruined town. That was until a singular crack of a rifle sounded out that hit Francesco's second in command in his left eye. The tell tale flash of the shot had come from the entrance to the mines overlooking the town.

Francesco had grinned. The defenders had revealed their positions at last. What's even better news was that they had trapped themselves like rats.

Like the barbarian horde that they were, the Circinus slave military had howled and swept into the mines. The first four soldiers that stepped into the mines had been immediately buried under several tons of rocks as they set off explosives tied to trip wires. For the next one week, the fight became one of extreme frustration to the Captain and the Black Warriors forces. Booby traps, snipers and ambushes became the standard norm rather than stand up fights that the Circinus Federation forces had encountered up until that point. Small stinging attacks plagued the attackers every step of the way. Raiders emerged from the rocks and darkness like ghosts and wraiths, slitting Circinus throats, looting their supplies and destroying stockpile of supplies.

As Mineboss Robert Parker had promised, the Baccon defenders were slowly bleeding the attackers white. Armed with intimate knowledge of the mine's layout, about forty experienced miners were effectively holding down a force nearly thirty times their numbers. Increasingly frustrated, and more than a little fearful of what Major Gould would do to him, Francesco had sent in waves after waves of serf troops, sweeping and triggering booby traps with the sheer number of bodies he had at his disposal. About the only reward for his efforts so far had been the Mole Rattracked sub-surface mobile tunnel miner machine and a pair of Baccon miners who had been captured when the explosive they had rigged failed to detonate. Francesco had promised them their lives and wealth if they agreed to lead his troops to the Mineboss. After some heated and lengthy deliberation, they had agreed.

Lieutenant John O' Hara was now part of the three hundred head count strong force that were following the miners deep into the heart of the planet towards where the defenders had set up their base of operation. One of the miners were at the controls of the Mole Rat, leading the advance with two Circinus soldiers squatting beside him to make sure the old man did not change his mind suddenly.

The precaution had seemed unnecessary so far however, as the Mole Rat had already stopped half a dozen times, the other miner walking on foot moving forward to deactivate hidden explosives. The smile on Francesco's dirt smeared face had grown with each trap deactivated. His desire to give in to his initial immediate and instinctive decision to behead the captured miners had proven a good one. The column slowed as they came to a t junction. The Mole Rat's fission engine rumbled idly as the pilot waved to his ground bound friend. Both discussed in hushed whispers for a while before they nodded to Francesco and pointed to their left. The advance started again down the tunnel, search lights from the Mole Rat and several APCs behind it shinning down what seemed to be a bigger and wider passage way. John looked at the sides of the mine walls. Compared to the earlier tunnel ways they had passed, the sides seemed much less smooth, weathered and worn. Pieces of raw metals and rocks could actually be spotted every now and then still embedded onto the walls, as well as the floor. It was obviously a recently opened fresh passage way.

John's eyes settled on a particularly large piece of obsidian rock. It was smoother, and somewhat shinier than the other pieces he had seen so far down their trek into the mine tunnels. In fact, it looked almost glass like. John rubbed his eyes. He thought he actually detected motion within the dark stone. It must be due to him being in the semi-darkness for far too long. There it is again! Another movement had caught his eyes.

The tunnel walls suddenly exploded, the rock surface seemingly coming into life as the piece of rock lunged forward. Two thirds down the column, the roof of the tunnel collapsed in by now an all too familiar hollow rumbling explosion. John looked back from the falling rocks that crashed one of the APCs and over three dozen screaming and howling Circinus soldiers. A massive humanoid shape now stood before him amidst a blindingly thick cloud of dust. The bipedal machine's two hands ended in a rock cutter and mining drill respectively. Jutting from its centre torso were a pair of snub nosed barrels. Without as much as a pause, the MiningMech stomped forward, its mining drill already rapidly whirling. Stooping slightly, the MiningMech smashed its drill arm into one of the APCs. Meant to punch through the hardest rocks, the light armour on the tracked vehicle was like cheese against red hot knife. The turreted machine guns sprayed bullets wildly, most hitting nothing but the walls of the tunnel before falling silent as the MiningMech smashed the light vehicle into two. Turning towards the cowering Circinus slave soldiers, dark sticky liquid sprayed from the paired barrels onto the soldiers. Further up ahead, the pair of soldiers on the Mole Rat were staring at the carnage behind them in shock when a massive hammer shattered the skull of one, killing the man instantly. The other soldier would not be so lucky. A hand held power hammer drill punched into his stomach, reducing his intestines and inert into pulp. Even as he tried to hold back his spilling entrails in vain, the soldier was kicked shrieking from his perch on top the Mole Rat to the hard ground below. He would painfully bleed to death three hours later.

John spat out the disgusting liquid in his mouth that covered his entire body, coughing hard. What the hell?! Grease?! Lubricant?! He looked up in time to see a small light ignite within the cockpit of the MiningMech. The grizzled old man behind the controls had lighted a small lighter. The savage grin on the man's face would be the last thing Lieutenant John O' Hara ever saw before the miner flicked the lighter onto the ground below. The lubricant ejected from the pair of high capacity fluid guns caught on fire immediately. A hungry fire roared into life, pushing back the darkness in the tunnel and lighting the place up like the summer sun. The Circinus soldiers who had wished to see sun light now wished for the darkness that had engulfed them for hours before as the fiery flames set them on fire. More than a few welcomed the oblivion that camouflaged and hidden miners emerging from their positions gifted them through their old shotguns and hunting rifles.


Baccon Township
Planetary System TH-994
Independent Periphery System
Anti-spinward of the Circinus Federation
22 March 3075 1800 Hours Local time

Major Stephen Gould of the Black Warriors stretched his stiff muscles and fixed his eyes on the kneeling officer before him. The latest attack against the entrenched miners had cost him nearly three hundred soldiers and a pair of armoured personnel carriers. That had made the total loss suffered so far in this particular campaign amounting to about a thousand lives and half a dozen vehicles. Most of those they had lost had been slaves of course, but they still tipped the bean counters for this expedition precariously close towards the red.

This planetary system was one of the many thousands far out in the Periphery, given no name with no one in the Inner Sphere even knowing about their existence. TH-994, located roughly fifty light years anti-spinward from the Circinus Federation had been known to the Federation as relatively rich in mineral deposits. A mix of Circinus and Marian colonists had settled onto the system decades ago, making a living by selling the minerals to the industrial complexes of Baltazar III and New St. Andrews. With the escalating war against the Marian Hegemony, the leadership of the Federation had decided that TH-994 should come under direct and total control of Circinus. With no military whatsoever to speak of, it was thought that a slave military led by a few Black Warriors with minimal heavy equipment would be more than sufficient to cower the locals into capitulation. The leadership had been right… until Baccon.

"The miners, Sir." Captain Gianna Francesco was whining. "It was like they know the layout of the mines even if they're blindfolded! They rigged the entire network with booby traps and explosives. They laid ambushes for our soldiers. They're not fighting like they should!"

"Hmmm. I'm not surprised. They HAVE been mining those network for eons." The highest ranking Black Warrior here on TH-994 stroked his chin. "They ARE still holding out within the mines?"

The field commander of the Circinus Federation forces assigned to flush out the Baccon defenders nodded furiously, grateful that the Black Warrior had actually seen some positives from the entire episode. Francesco had been elevated to lead his fellow slaves, given the rank of Captain due to his ability to pick out potential trouble makers among the slaves more than his military abilities. "Yes, My Lord. We've got them still trapped."

"And you didn't think of simply collapsing the entire mine on top of their heads?"

Francesco's nodding stopped. A look of puzzlement on his face. "Collapse the mines, My Lord?"

"Yes you fool!" The Black Warrior Captain roared. "We've captured more than enough explosives from the Town to blow a fucking hole through the centre of entire planet! Why did you not simply bury those old fossils instead of wasting time and resources?!"

"But... Major… My Lord... You said you wanted the mines, the machines and the minerals." The Captain stammered. "And our men might still be down there..."

Gould raised a hand and lazily motioned to the figure beside him. "O’ Connor." Captain Roger O' Connor stepped forward and bent slightly towards his fellow Black Warrior. His eyes never left the shaking and spluttering Francesco. "Take over the operation from Francesco. You know what has to be done?"

"Indeed I do Sir." O' Connor straightened with a predatory grin on his face as his eyes shifted focus to his Ostroc heavy ‘Mech parked ominously just along the outskirts of the ruined town. "Indeed I do."

Baccon Township
Planetary System TH-994
Independent Periphery System
Anti-spinward of the Circinus Federation
25 March 3075 1800 Hours Local time

Robert Parker removed the heavy scarf that covered his nose and mouth and he pushed open the slab of rock before him. It fell with a heavy thud before Parker, who stepped out and looked at the skies for the first time in over a month. He took a deep breath of the early morning air. Behind him, five other figures emerged from the shadows of the caves. After the Circinus forces had detonated a massive amount of explosives planted on top and in the mines itself, the shockwave that had brought down hundreds of thousands of tons of rocks had effectively transformed the mines into a huge tomb.

Still, the mines and catacombs ran deep. Despite the efforts of the Black Warriors, Parker and a small number of miners had escaped the fate of being crashed by falling boulders and stones, and being buried alive. The Mole Rat and their Dig King MiningMech had both been destroyed of course, and all their heavy equipment had been trapped or destroyed under the mountain of collapsed rocks. Most of the veteran miners that had volunteered to stay behind and bloody the Circinus Federation invaders had perished, mostly during the initial blasts, but several during their attempt to break out to the surface after that. Ironically, if not for handing over controls of the Dig King to another so that he could personally lead the other miners against the pirates, Mineboss Robert Parker would had been one of those who had lost his life when the first explosions had rippled through the mines.

Parker narrowed his eyes as he pulled out a revolver and approached what used to be the entrance to the caves. A single thick pole stood silent in the darkness illuminated by moonlight. A lump was stuck in the middle of the ten foot long stake. Robert Parker and his fellow miners stopped before it in stony silence. What had been Captain Gianna Francesco had been skewered on the pole, his arms and legs torn from his body. From the expression on his face, Parker was certain that the former Black Warrior officer that had led the campaign against Baccon Township had been speared through when he was alive.

* * * * * Flashback Ends * * * * *

Approximately 320km west to Tombstone City
Continent of Austin
Galisteo
Duchy of Tamarind
Free Worlds League
4th September 3095
2200 hours local time

Captain Robert Parker allowed the cool winds sweeping across the plains of the wide expansive Austin plains to cool his sweat soaked face as he stood from the opened cockpit of his Gurka. One of the many gifts from the Word of Blake to the Circinus Federation previously, the GUR-8G had seemed particularly matched to the veteran warrior’s affinity for close range combat. The snub nosed particle projectile canon, small laser, trio of medium lasers and triple strength myomer enhanced retractable blade all made the 8R configuration of the Gurka a particularly deadly short range killing machine.

As Parker looked across the field at the several mangled carcasses of destroyed AgroMechs hastily outfitted with weaponry. The irony that he himself were in their shoes did not escape the former Mineboss. After Baccon had been destroyed, Parker and the small handful of survivors from the collapsed mines had not escaped for long before they were hunted down by their Circinus invaders. The leader of their captors, Major Stephan Gould had promised Parker that his family and all survivors from his Town will be allowed to live, but only if he and a select few of his most skilful subordinates join the Black Warriors. Given no choice, Robert Parker had become a Black Warrior MechWarrior.

In the raids and invasions he had been thrown into by his new masters, Parker had proved not only his intuitive ability to pilot BattleMechs, but a surprising aptitude in marksmanship as well. However, it did not take long for his superiors to discover that he had a penchant for close range fighting. As part of his reward for his services and achievements since joining the Black Warriors, Robert Parker had been assigned a Gurka light ‘Mech when he was promoted to Lieutenant, and subsequently Captain.

As the ULTRA war raged between the Free Worlds League and the Lyran Alliance, the Circinus Federation had started picking on the weak underbelly of both interstellar nations. The Black Warriors had especially ranged up and down the Free Worlds League’s Periphery worlds without virtual impunity, hitting worlds swiftly and making off with looted resources and slaves before the thinly stretched League military could respond.

There had been rumours that internal strife had started to brew within the Marian Hegemony. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, the Circinus Federation had decided that it would take advantage of both situations – reaping and pillaging against the weak defences of the Free Worlds League periphery in preparation for the Federation to once again take a bite at their Marian neighbours.

For their raid here on Galisteo, they had only deployed a single lance of ‘Mechs and some mechanized infantry. Targeting isolated farmsteads initially to capture food stocks and slaves, they had than hit one of the largest abattoir as their last target.

“We have rounded up the captives Sir.” A voice cackled over the comms. “Other than the cured meats from the processing plant, a couple more of prisoners. We’ve also managed to capture two of their AgroMechs intact. I believe the locals called them Ranchhands.”

Parker sighed, wistfully sweating the mental cobwebs from his thoughts. “Call in the DropShip. Let’s get out of here before some serious opposition shows up.”


Lieutenant General Zhao Zi Long
Black Stars Mercenary Collective
Baron of Erdvynn, Alarion Province, Lyran Alliance
Sharp Shooters Sub-unit
'Sanitarium' - Vampire Medium Omnitank


GALISTEO BANDIT CAULDRON
FW-DC-04-09 FREE WORLDS LEAGUE DEFENSIVE CAMPAIGN MAIN CONTRACT
Post #4

0900
09/15/3095
Fort Lorelai, Arcadia City
Trakin Continent, Erdvynn Prime
Erdvynn System, Alarion Province
Lyran Alliance

“You know my father used to be butcher,” snarled the near seven foot tall man menacingly at his much more diminutive prisoner who was shaking like a leaf, suspended by his arms from a metal hook bolted into the ceiling, “day in day out, working his magic with these knives,” he gestured to an unrolled leather case on the table that had several butcher's blades of various lengths strapped on to it, “chickens, pigs, hell whole cows, didn't matter” the big man went on, “once he'd get them hung up on one of those meat hooks,” he pointed upwards then snapped his fingers, “ you got yourself a nice pile of choice cuts, all clean and deboned.”

“This may sound deranged to you but you know Walter's starting to make me hungry,” Clint muttered from behind the other side of the one way mirror facing into the interrogation room.

“Cooking, sex, torture,” Hank replied in his gravely voice, “its all the same, its all about the foreplay. Hungry for what anyways?”

“Fried beef jerky,” Clint answered nonchalantly, “with garlic rice, scrambled eggs and pickled papayas,” recalling one of the many breakfasts his mother would prepare for him back on Terra.

“I'll have some of that,” Hank snickered, armed crossed in front of his chest, “throw in a cold one while you're at it.”

“Bacon, ribs, steaks, sausages,” Walter muttered almost wistfully, “until the assholes you work for showed up,” his expression darkened, “and poof,” he spread his fingers on one hand, “just like that, no more bacon, no more steak,” he walked over to his prisoner and drew a long metal rod called a honing steel and began to run a flared bowed blade, called a beef skinner, along its length, “this is all I have left of my father. I promised myself I'd get very good at it.”

“But I already told you everything,” the frightened man managed to stutter. He had been caught by Hyundai Shipping's internal security making unauthorized copies out of their cargo manifests and shipping schedules. A subsequent operation in conjunction with State Security led to his arrest and bis personal papers revealed that he was selling the aforementioned information to a thus far unknown party. That said a cursory investigation of records linked the information he sold to a number of pirate attacks up and down the border systems. 

Erdvynn was all but immune to pirate attack courtesy of the Old Gods, the pair of pocket warships that flagged the regiment's blackwater fleet, and was fast becoming the greatest repository of wealth in the sector. That said the same could not be said for the systems around it, especially with the wars raging on the Terran and Jade Falcon front taking up all of the LAAF's blackwater assets, security on the space lanes was all but non-existent. All the pirates had to do was wait within a thirty light year radius for the goods to flow in their direction, made doubly effective if they had access to the information being provided by the poor sod that Walter was about to cut up.

Walter leaned in with a sadistic smile, “I believe you, really I do,” he laughed, “but I have to make sure you did,” the man began to sob uncontrollably at those words, “besides we have to send a message out to your friends; that you don't fuck with us,” he pointed toward the camera set up in one corner of the room, “smile for the camera,” and Walter began to cut. Clint flipped off the sound just as the screaming began.

“Everybody has limits I guess,” Hank teased.

“You know I never doubted if I could kill a man,” Clint explained, “even before I became a mechwarrior. I might not have as high a body count as you or Walter, but I think I've done my fair share of damage. Its the mess that comes with it that bothers me,” he gestured toward the room's floor that was quickly turning red, “for example I hate to be the guy that has to mop up after Walter,” then pointed to the man doing the cutting, his shirt already soaking a good amount of the effluvia, “or do his laundry. He should've at least laid down some plastic before he started and put on an apron too.” 

“Can't argue with that logic,” Hank nodded, “Should have put down some old newspapers,” chuckling even as Walter skinned a man alive in the other room. It took awhile for the joke to register with Clint but when it did he laughed just as hard, recalling a scene from Mel Brooks' comedic turn as Abraham Van Helsing and the torrent of blood that gushed out when he had Jonathan stake the vampire Lucy in her crypt,“but I gotta say he is passionate about his work,” he added.

“I would be if I were in his shoes,” Clint grimly replied, recalling the tragic circumstances of his subordinate. Even before joining the Gunslingers Walter was already an infamous pirate killer. He slaughtered near on a dozen pirates that made the mistake of boarding the ship he happened to be a passenger on, two of them with his bare hands before he even picked up weapon. There was also the time he buried five bandits up to their necks next to an ant-hill, having captured them after repulsing a raid on a facility he was guarding. When he captured a bandit camp, he locked his prisoners up in a cage and burned them alive. Then there were the dozens he tortured and executed, like he was doing now, it was no wonder that the pirates put a bounty on his head which in turn drove him to sign on with Clint and his Gunslingers, on one hand for protection, and on the other to continue his bloody work.

All that rage and sadism was rooted in loss. Before he became a Gunslinger, a mechwarrior, a pirate hunter, Walter had in fact lived a rather bucolic life, the son of a butcher, a drover by trade, he would have probably grown old without ever leaving his planet, marrying a childhood sweetheart that was as buxom as he was tall and having a dozen kids by her. Had the pirates of the Inner Sphere left his little corner of the universe alone the monster that was Walter today would never been unleashed but they didn't. 

A pirate band had attempted to raid his planet and had lost their dropship when the militia counterattacked. The bandits scattered all over the planet, living off the land and its people as they were hunted to ground one by one over the course of several weeks. Unfortunately Walter's homestead had been on the path of their rampage and his father was among those killed in those terrible days. He got his own eventually, getting himself thrown into prison on a contempt charge and hacking the captured pirates to death with a meat cleaver from the prisoner cafeteria. He was put on trial as a matter of course but once his story got out the public clamor for his acquittal had been so great that he was summarily released and he's been on the rampage ever since.

“We create our own monsters I guess,” Hank mused, thinking along the same lines as Clint, then he glanced down on his watch and said, “and by the way aren't you supposed to be welcoming those parolees. The just touched down a few minutes ago,” referring to the intense unmistakable rumble of a dropship's engines burning down against the concrete.

“Yep,” Clint sighed, turning toward the door, sparing one last glance as Walter methodically reduced a man into a pile of meat.

Posted by
Major Clint Amadeus “Tex” Dyson
Governor-General of Erdvynn
Alcyone Gunslingers, Commanding Officer
Black Stars Mercenary Collective

GALISTEO BANDIT CAULDRON
FW-DC-04-09 FREE WORLDS LEAGUE DEFENSIVE CAMPAIGN MAIN CONTRACT
Post #5


0530
October 15, 3095
Flight Deck, AGS Robert B. Heinlen
Low Orbit, Erdvynn Prime
Erdvynn System, Alarion Province
Lyran Alliance

There was metallic groan and a palpable thud when the cavernous lift ground to a halt and the double doors slid away to either side, opening up to the even more expansive flight deck of the Heinlen. From the dimly lit elevator a 45-ton bipedal giant emerged, its weighty footfalls against the metal decking echoing throughout the vaulted chamber as it strode toward one of the three runways that dominated the level. Radiating out from the dropship's internal center structure like spokes on a wheel, or, as one of the outfitters noted, the blades on the iconic Daimler-Benz logo, each had an electromagnetic launch system, essentially a rail gun turned aircraft catapult for launching spacecraft, running along its entire length, terminating just short of a heavily armored door that opened out into the airless void. Recessed in between each of them were parking platforms, each securely holding one of the company's six brutish looking spacecraft with magnetic clamps on their running gear. Transgressors, the workhorse aerospace fighter of the CCAF, chosen by Clint to be the Gunslinger's own for their balance of acceptable speed, thuggish armor and a cost efficient all energy arsenal. 

The ancient machine ambled over to the nearest concourse, one marked with a giant number one in bright yellow paint, moving to stand over the catapult assembly. A few moments later the humanoid machine uttered a sharp hiss followed by the creak of actuators as it appeared to fold in on itself, shrinking to about half its height as wings unfolded from its back and extended to their full span and its head receded behind an aerodynamic cockpit, all the while managing to remain upright on its legs which also underwent their own transformation, with its entire lower assembly practically reversing themselves on their joints, all the while its arms remained steadfastly still in place, protruding oddly from under the strange mech-jet hybrid's fuselage. It paused briefly, as if to catch its breath, and continued with its metamorphosis, its arms disappearing under its wings as it sank lower and lower on to its legs like a nesting bird, stopping short of the deck when the spacecraft's landing gear popped out in their place to catch it.

“Never gets old,” Clint mused, sitting snugly in the mech's, now turned aerospace fighter's, backseat. Through the cockpit glass, past a pair of idle Transgressors, he could see his machine's twin walking out of the elevator to take its place on the number two runway to begin its own impossible transformation. 

“Yep,” Hoshi, sitting at the pilot's seat, laconically quipped as she ran through the checklist of preparatory rituals necessary for their flight. Outside, Clint could see several of the control surfaces on the spacecraft moving animatedly as Hoshi checked each one in turn. “Heinlen Control this Alpha Seven,” she called out to the ship's bridge, “we are all systems go.”

“Roger that Alpha Seven,” one of the Heinlen's bridge crew replied, “spinning up the catapult,” and Clint felt a barely perceptible hum accompanied by a hint of electrostatic as the magnetic accelerators beneath his feat were powered up, followed by a sharp click as the catapult's bridle snapped out and latched tightly on to the fighter's front landing gear.

“Ditto here,” Hoshi's sister, Kita, chimed in from her own fighter across the way as it finished its own transmutation.

“Opening launch bays doors, clear the flight deck,” the bridge officer called out, both over their private comm and the public announcement system. A warning signal then blared over the speakers and several of the dull fluorescent lights that lined the walls turned into sirens that flashed a flickering ominous yellow glow to emphasize the urgency of the declaration considering that the chamber would be shortly opened out to an airless void. Soon after, the jet blast shields came up behind them and the heavily armored doors at the end of each runway ahead of them began to creak open, revealing an endless sea of stars. Immediately there was sharp audible exhalation as the deck's atmosphere rushed out into space, dragging out bits of unsecured detritus in its wake amid long wispy white contrails. 

“Beginning launch sequence,” Hoshi declared, issuing several mental commands to the on board flight computer via her neuro-helmet punctuated by her toggling several of the switches on her console. A dull rumble rose up around them as she brought the hitherto quiescent jet engine to life, feeding it a trickle of reactive mass to get the fires burning so to speak for what was to come. Then, in a throwback to the blue water carrier launches of the 21st Century, Hoshi held up her hands to the canopy, “launch protocol primed,” she announced, “all yours control.”

“Acknowledged Alpha Seven,” the flight control officer replied, “happy trails.” And suddenly Clint found himself forced backward hard into his seat as the the fighter he was in was violently propelled forward by the magnetically accelerated catapult and the dull rumble of the engine became a deafening scream as a torrent of fuel was dumped into the fusion turbine and the afterburners, stoking a tiny flame into a ranging inferno that came roaring out of the thrusters, sending them hurtling out into space, with Kita following on their heels

. In short order they were well clear of the Heinelen and Hoshi retook control of the craft and pulled up into a gentle climb away from the ship that gave Clint a panoramic view of his surroundings while her sister, Kita, fell in to formation just slightly behind them. Directly above him, because they were practically upside down relative to what he was looking at, was the Heinlen, in the lead of a flotilla of Union-class dropships that included the Gunslingers' other ship, the Azimov and the Urban Legends' own ship whose name Clint could not be bothered to remember. 

While working with the Legends had been cordial and professional enough, Clint had kept both their units somewhat at arms' length, not wanting any part of the vitriolic politics that appeared to swirl around Lu, Zhao's illegitimate son and a member of the Legends, and its backers among the Cell, the leadership cadre of the regiment, some of whom were at cross purposes with the Baron or actually coveted his position. Clint had made a point to cleanly divvy up responsibilities between the two units once they hand landed on Merton, with his unit taking point on defensive operations while the Legends handled adversary training and cadre duty, though Clint gave a few classroom lectures himself on a variety of topics his was knowledgeable in, which was incidentally how he met Felicia. 

The trio of spheroid vessels had cut off their engines and were now gently falling into lazy ellipse, letting planet's gravity and their leftover inertia do the work of controlling their spiraling descent, bleeding out excess speed in preparation for atmospheric re-entry. Beyond his little fleet were the planet's two moons, Cynadar and Dynadar, and somewhere a little ways off was Pharos, the odd bicycle shaped space station caught in a never ending transit between the three celestial orbs, its twin torus gravity decks spinning languidly in opposing directions.

Among the quartet of heavenly fixtures the near orbit of Erdvynn Prime was abuzz with activity; fat Mule-class haulers bringing everything from trade commodities to military supplies and everything else in between, tiny shuttles facilitating interplanetary transit between the system's lone habitable world and the rest of its celestial spheres and the troop carriers of the regiment's constituent sub-units carrying the mercenaries off to one of the multitude of wars engulfing the Inner Sphere or, like him, coming home to roost. Interspersed among the civilian traffic, like sharks prowling through a school of tuna, were the ships of the baronial blackwater navy, led by the Lung Wang Predator-class pocket warship Bokrug. 

Named for one of the Lovecraftian old gods, Bokrug the Water Lizard was a titanic iguana inhabiting a desolate lake in the Dimension of Dreams, served by a race of mutant frog men who dwelt in cities of mud. Its other defining trait was its prodigious beard of tentacles, and the slightest brush with any of them would consign a man to an eternity of amphibian servitude. A fitting choice considering the pocket warship's main armament was a battery, a beard of sorts, of sub-capital lasers mounted under its chin. The sleek warship was escorted by a trio of smaller Aurora-class Gunships, each of the compact vessels was named after some weapon from Indian mythology, none of which Clint could pronounce with any degree of satisfactory facility.

“ETA to destination, half an hour and change,” Hoshi told Clint as she finished plotting out their course, glancing back at him from the pilot's seat. While the returning fleet was on a trajectory for the bright side of the planet, toward Arcadia City on Trakin, Clint's destination still fell under shadowed side of the planet where the sun had yet to rise, a string of islands on the Transcontinental Sea, Costa Del Sol. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

“Did you hear the news?” Clint asked her, looking out the cockpit. 

“What news?” she inquired. 

“They restarted production of the LAMs,” he told her, pounding his fist against the cockpit wall, “each and every model, from Locust up to the Phoenix Hawk.”

“Yeah that was music to our ears,” Kita chimed in over their private comm link, “beats having to machine parts from scratch.”

“Or rooting around salvage yards for hand me downs,” Hoshi finished her twin sister's sentence.

“Throws the collectible value out the window though,” Clint shrugged, “now that they'll be churning them out by the dozen now. Heck maybe they'll put out some new models that actually use freezers,” slang for double heat sinks, “instead of those old chillers,” single heat sinks, which Clint personally found perplexing. On one hand the Land-Air Mech, if anything, embodied the engineering apogee of the ascendant Star League, but on the other the surviving examples were oft saddled with antiquated heat sinks and Hegemony-era weaponry, little better than his ancient Mackie that now guarded the gubernatorial palace.

“Does make the idea of a squadron of LAM's more plausible though,” Kita noted they turned toward Erdvynn Prime, the shadowed blue orb now filling their view. The blackness of the Transcontinental Sea framed by the small concentrations of light from the Twin Cities, Albion and Antillia, on either side of it.

“How opportunistic of you two,” Clint snickered.

“Can you blame her,” Hoshi shrugged, “it is getting kind of lonely up here,” she chuckled, “ sides a squadron would make for a hell of an asset don't you think.”

“And naturally either of you would want to lead such a unit,” he pointed out. 

A fair point, he conceded, Land-Air Mechs were the epitome of flexibility, possessed of unparalleled strategic mobility by virtue of their fighter and aeromech modes, they could dictate when and where they would strike. That said the weakness of their mixed heritage was undeniable; while as well armored as any mech of their class, their inner workings were terribly fragile and they were laughably armed and just as, if not more, sluggish for their weight class. Their advantage lay in the unpredictability they brought to the table, not their raw power.

Clint could easily envision a place for such a unit in his force, taking the place nominally occupied by light mechs in the scouting and raiding role. Such a squadron could even act in a light tank role when attached to a deep penetration unit of air mobile battle armor, infantry and attack helicopters, providing much needed raw muscle to a typically waif thin force composition. It was the stuff of Saturday morning cartoons and blockbuster action movies. That said, in a unit defined by the concentrated deployment of “house-sized masses of fuck you,” as a piece of 21st century science fiction once called them, such a unit was a luxury, a vanity asset in every way, rather than a necessity and thus so far down on his list priority of acquisitions, that it might not even be realized for years.

“Hey gotta keep climbing the ladder right,” Kita snidely replied, “how else would we get captain's pay?” Ahead of them, as they drew closer to the shadowed side of planet, the sun began to disappear behind its own spherical bulk.

“Point taken, but the short term answer is still no though,” Clint flatly answered, “the expansion of the air force and the replacement mechs ate up our budget,” referring to the squadron of Transgressors and clan-built Supernovas he just picked up prior to their contract on Merton, “and the next tranche is going straight to the artillery and the infantry,” referencing his plan to reorganize and expand his tank squadrons. 

It would entail consolidating the Arrow IV-type Demolishers into an artillery battery and in their stead attaching a pair of infantry platoons mounted on Goblin infantry support tanks to each lance of Gauss Rifle-type Demolisher tanks. With the infantry to watch their flanks and assault built up areas while the tanks themselves to provided the heavy firepower each of his front line squadrons would become, in essence, a self contained combined arms company, capable of acting autonomously and greatly easing the burden on Oswald's battle armor troop. Clint had a thought to adding a third such squadron in the far future, pulling a Gauss Rifle armed Demolisher each from the two extant squadrons, purchasing a third in the process, and having the fourth battle tank in each squadron being a multipurpose missile launcher armed variant of the hundred ton Demolisher II for added flexibility, specifically the ability to use Inferno SRMs against battle armor and Semi-Guided LRMs for indirect fire, and to provide electronic warfare capabilities, something he and his tank commanders had long coveted. After which it would just be a matter of rounding out the brigade with a second squadron of Regulators and the Gunslingers, as he first envisioned them, would be a finished project.

“We're entering the upper atmosphere,” Hoshi told him, “get ready for some chop,” the discussion being cut short by a sudden final burst of countervailing thrust to drastically reduce their speed to subsonic levels to avoid burning up at re-entry, followed by a palpable shudder as their conveyance slipped into the planet's atmosphere and began to feel the jealous grip of Erdvynn's gravity. Up front, Hoshi worked the controls with mechanical precision, opening up the mech-fighter's various control surfaces and using deft applications of their reaction control systems, to increase their drag and arrest their descent, shepherding them from a controlled fall to a gentle glide and then finally back up to powered flight when she gunned the engine and lit up the afterburners.

Knifing through several successive layers of clouds at supersonic speed, they soon found the entirely of their cockpit filled by a view of the dark azure surface of the Transcontinental Sea, the rippling waves gradually acquiring a scintillating golden orange hue as the sun began to rise from the eastern horizon. As they neared the water Hoshi then initiated a mid-air transformation into air mech mode, the LAM's arms and legs snapping out from its under its fuselage while its wings swung out and held taut at their fullest extent, the scream of the fusion turbine gave way to the howl of their leg mounted jump jets exhaling a constant stream of super heated air beneath them.

They hung suspended in the air for a few moments, hovering as Hoshi gathered her bearings, consulting her maps and instruments, before turning around and haring off toward their final destination at speed. Though far slower than its aerospace fighter mode, the LAM in airmech mode still managed a respectable hundred sixty plus kilometers per hour without having to tap its meager reserves of reaction mass. Soon enough the rocky outline of Costa Del Sol appeared in the distance and Clint reached over and tapped Hoshi's shoulder, “head up and do a fly around the island for me please.”

“Roger that,” she pulled back on the stick and soared higher then banked to one side, giving him a good view of the closely grouped cluster of islands and, more importantly, Hana's pet project. Though she'd only broken ground less than a year ago construction seemed to be proceeding at a good clip. The putative resort had already torn a good chunk off the elongated island's southern tip, the power plant was already up and running, while the rough skeleton of the casino hotel complex had already risen several stories high with several outbuildings well on their way in its wake. Lined up in a neat row to one side of the work site, a small army of construction vehicles and work mechs alongside a bivouac of prefabricated long houses for a small army of workers while out among the tiny islets, a small fleet of flat bottomed boats lay at anchor, their decks laden with sand and stone to reclaim land from the sea.

Some distance from the construction site, several lights lit up around a clearing, revealing the beginnings of a small airport. “There's our landing,” Clint pointed it out to Hoshi, “take us down.”

“You got it boss,” she replied, banking sharply and making a beeline toward the airstrip whereupon she executed a textbook vertical descent on to the tarmac while her sister stayed aloft and continued to circle the island protectively. A few minutes later they were joined by an honor guard quintet of flying armored infantry in Sylph suits and later the rounded piscine shapes of the Undines who emerged from the surf and marched up the nearby beach to greet them. By the time Clint had disembarked the two squads had formed up into neat lines to either side of the ship, raising their arms in a salute as Clint passed by, walking toward a lady in a cerulean sundress and a wide brimmed beach hat, standing by a black SUV at the edge of the airfield. 

As he neared, before he could utter a single word, she rushed forward, wrapped her arms around him and greeted him with a long yearned for kiss. It was pleasant surprise, enough that Clint could only belatedly notice that she had inexplicably dyed her hair a bright orange red, which coincidentally resembled Felicia's, a message from the universe that it was playing games with him.

“Took you long enough,” she said as she smiled up at him without breaking their embrace, “breakfast is getting cold.”

“Well I was kind of thinking of skipping to desert,” he whispered back, not bothering to conceal his lewd smirk. Several months sleeping alone, given the recent temptations, was just too agonizingly long to bear.

Posted by
Major Clint Amadeus “Tex” Dyson
Governor-General of Erdvynn
Alcyone Gunslingers, Commanding Officer
Black Stars Mercenary Collective

GALISTEO BANDIT CAULDRON
FW-DC-04-09 FREE WORLDS LEAGUE DEFENSIVE CAMPAIGN MAIN CONTRACT
Post #6

0900
October 17, 3095
Palace Security Detachment Firing Range
Gubernatorial Palace, Arcadia City
Trakin Continent, Erdvynn Prime
Erdvynn System, Alarion Province
Lyran Alliance

Once, twice, thrice, six, nine times, Clint pulled on the trigger and the large revolver he held in his hand kicked and barked each time, sending nine .357 Magnum rounds downrange into his target. Then, thumbing a toggle on the hammer, he pulled the trigger a seventh time and a stout shotgun shell came roaring out of a second larger barrel mounted under the first, leaving a highly visible contrail as it flew down the lane and slammed into the far wall behind Clint's target, exploding on impact and sending shrapnel several feet in every direction. 

“Now that is just plain cool,” Clint enthusiastically declared as he inspected the gun's profile for a moment before breaking it open at the hinge and emptying the spent rounds onto the floor, the brass clinking against the concrete “Karl you've outdone yourself,” he told the weapon's creator, a heavyset bearded man that was one part Scandinavian, one part Japanese, who hailed from the former Free Rasalhague Republic.

“Thought you might like that cowboy,” Karl replied in a deep husky voice, “I got the idea from that big old LeMat you had lying around in your office,” referencing an antique American Civil War-period revolver that Clint had acquired, among other guns, to decorate his office wall upstairs. The weapon was notable for having a staggering nine round cylinder revolving around a secondary single shot shotgun barrel. Carried primarily by Confederate cavalrymen who could actually afford the rare expensive guns and, more importantly, could shift the chore of carrying its burdensome weight to their horses, it was the assault weapon of its day, capable of firing so many rounds in rapid succession in an era where single shot cap and ball was the standard.

“Aside from the barrels, cylinder, hammer” he pointed to the relevant parts of the gun in Clint's hand, “everything else is made from heavy duty polymers like the Glock,” referencing the world's first nearly all plastic handgun, “which cuts the weight by a hell of a lot despite keeping the 9 round capacity with bigger bullets plus the enlarge diameter on the .12 gauge. Got it down to about three pounds loaded,” then pointed to a row of grooves at the top and bottom of the frame, “and change if you put something on the accessory rails; flashlights, laser sights, etc”

“Still a sight heavier than a Glock though,” Clint pointed out, palming the gun up and down, noting how big it was compared his Peacemaker and positively gigantic when stood next to conventional handguns that usually weighed in at two pounds fully loaded. “I can see a lot of bitching from whoever gets issued one.”

“Well its still of a hell of a bargain since you've got a gun that does the job of four after all,” Karl countered, tapping the shotgun barrel. “Aside from the Frag-12 you just fired off, which also comes in high explosive and squash head by the way,” he swept his hand over a set of shotgun shells on the table, each capped with differently colored plastic to differentiate them from one another, “you've got flares for signaling, tracers for tracking vehicles and Tasers for instant less than lethal take downs,” he said cracking open a blue capped shell to reveal a tightly packed assembly of a four pronged dart attached to a micro-battery sufficient to deliver 50,000 volts to incapacitate most any human target, “and these things turn it into a hand held flamer,” holding up a bright orange shell.

“Seriously Dragon's Breath,” Clint cocked an eyebrow. 

“Don't take my word for it, go ahead and fire one off,” Karl waved his hand out toward the range while holding up the proffered shell which was packed magnesium shards that would ignite upon being fired, creating a hundred foot jet of flame of sufficient intensity to set a person and much of the space around the poor fool on fire.

Clint bit his slip for a moment, glanced up at the smoke alarms in the ceiling, then replied, “much as I want to indulge my inner hillbilly I think I'll pass for now. They may be knockoffs but they're still hand painted expensive knockoffs,” jabbing his thumb as the ceiling, referring to the various reproductions of famous Terran paintings that adorned the palace's halls, “last thing I need is the indoor sprinklers pissing all over them.” 

Karl shrugged, somewhat downcast, “Well after that you've got your bog standard slug, shot and breaching rounds,” shells loaded with wax bound metal powder for safety blasting through door locks and hinges without fear of ricochet or over penetration, “then gas and baton rounds for riot duty to go with the Tasers.” 

“Someone's been watching Triple X,” Clint laughed, noting the outright similarity to the eponymous antihero's utility field revolver that could fire a bewildering array of special munitions, “where's the tranquilizer darts?”

“The what?” Karl looked at him in puzzlement.

“You know Triple X!” he exclaimed. “You've entered the Xander zone!” Which failed to elicit any reaction from the Scandinavian gunsmith. “You engineers are a dour lot.” 

“Yeah you buy a couple of hundred of these then I'll go watch that movie make you the damn tranquilizer shell” Karl sniped back, “deal?”

“What are you planning on calling these things anyway?” Clint asked, putting the gun down on the table. The reason for the morning's test firing, beyond his own predilection for strange firearms, had been to evaluate the gun's characteristics and its suitability for adoption as the standard issue firearm for the entire Directorate Constabulary and its allied agencies, replacing the hodgepodge of various legacy weapons in its arsenal, handed down from the regimental stores or captured pirate stockpiles.

“The Seburo 9-1 Combination Revolver,” he proudly replied.

“How humble of you,” Clint sarcastically replied at how Karl appended his last name to the gun's, “thoughts Walt,” he turned to his second in command who had hitherto been quietly leaning against the wall, puffing away on a cigarette. “Believe it or not he was actually a small town sheriff, in Wyoming I think,” he told Karl, “before he joined the Terran Defense Force,” and became Clint's superior officer for awhile. 

“No shit,” Karl nodded, holding up the revolver for Walt's inspection.

“That was a lifetime ago,” Walt said as he examined the pistol, turning it over in his hands and fiddling with its mechanisms for some while then pointing it down range. “Well its quite well balanced despite its size,” he commented, “but I have to side with the kid here, its way too heavy for an everyday duty pistol and its pretty damn big to boot. You're barely going to fit this on a belt holster let alone a shoulder harness. You said you got this idea from the LeMat,” he looked at Karl as he hefted the gun, “well there's a reason that old gun was used mostly by the cavalry way back when. About the only convenient way to carry it around was on a saddle holster.”

“That'd be a fair argument to start up a sharp looking mounted police unit,” Clint quipped with a chuckle. 

“Well the trade off is that you're losing several other bits of equipment to compensate for the weight,” Karl counter, “just on these alone,” he tapped on the light blue shell again, “you lose about a pound already when you toss the taser.” 

“Yeah but you gotta make up for it with the shells themselves plus the bullets, not to mention their speed loaders, which are damn bulkier than box mags,” Walt argued back, “and for what, 27 bullets for the standard three mag allocation at most, plus 9 and 1 in the chamber? Sides how often do you expect to need a frag grenade, flare or flamethrower on the job? We're dealing with civilians not space marines and those doodads are excessive force lawsuits waiting to happen.” 

“But you did kind of make his argument for him in one respect Walt,” Clint interjected, “statistically most cops go years without firing their guns except on the range and if you need more than nine bullets, let alone thirty six, to get the job done, well what kind of cop are you?” 

“And for the record we're using speed strippers,” Karl clarified, pointing at a cluster of bullets bound at the bottom by a length of plastic, “a speed loader for this gun would be about the size of an ashtray and I'm not even going to get into the argument of jamming and maintenance on semi-autos.”

“Well better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it,” Walt retorted, “17 versus 9 is a big deal when the shit hits the fan especially with the slow reload time of a speed stripper.” 

“In that case you might as well reach for the M4,” a tried and tested carbine derived from the venerable M16 assault rifle, “or the Saiga-12,” a .12 gauge semi-automatic shotgun based on the ubiquitous AK-47, “that we're putting in the trunk of every cruiser,” he added.

“That's generous of you,” Karl said, “why not throw in a rocket launcher while you're at it,” laughing, “I'm sure I can reverse engineer an RPG-7 for you if you want.” 

“State power emanates from a monopoly of force after all,” Clint quoting Weber's famous maxim, “but in all seriousness, statistically the two leading causes of enforcement related deaths are vehicular accidents and gunfire and if you cut up the latter an overwhelming majority are ambushes rather than straight up shootouts which don't last for more than a couple of minutes until the big guns take over. In an even fight once a cop gets his gun out, training and firepower tends to win out.”

“Just my two cents really,” Walt put the gun down, “this gun is great and all, but why try fixing stuff that ain't actually broke,” tapping the Colt M1911 on his belt, “if anything this thing's a better fit for Oswald and his special ops types, you know, one gun, many uses. Plus you are banning a hell of a lot of guns with that law you're cooking up with Arthur,” he pointed out, “so what's the worse an average cop is going to run into after that? And to top it off you still haven't asked Karl how much the things cost?”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed with Walt, prompting him to ask the gunsmith, “Karl how much for one of these monsters?”

“I'd say three hundred if you buy in bulk,” Karl replied, “about four and change retail.” 

“That's twice as much as a factory Glock 17,” Walt pointed out, “an average semi-automatic retails for about a hundred and fifty these days before you factor in the bulk discount.”

“That's in c-bills right?” Clint further inquired.

“Yep,” both answered in unison.

“Point taken,” he nodded, “well its still a very nice gun,” holding it up and cold firing it, the hammer and cylinder clicking with every trigger pull, “and its syncs up with our pitch to investors; big money, big guns and all that. Says a lot to customers if even our low rent beat cops are armed with the pistol equivalent of an Aston Martin,” Karl chuckled at the compliment, 

“I'd say this is more a vanity gun more than anything,” Walt concurred.

“I'll tell you what Karl; I'll personally buy two off of these you right now, one for me and one for you send up to the Baron, so don't skimp on the craftsmanship,” he told the gunsmith as he put the hefty revolver down, “But as for the Constabulary arms deal, I have to concede that Walt has a point, I can't really impartially call this down the middle, cause well, you've seen my office wall.” 

“So I guess that's a no,” Karl shrugged, barely able to hide his dejection.

“Well more like call it a maybe,” Clint explained as he took out his wallet and counted out a few hundred Kroner to pay for the guns he had just ordered, “I'll write a letter of recommendation and kick it over to Arthur for a practical evaluation, keeping it above board and all that, since its his department that will actually be using this thing anyways.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded. 

“Don't worry,” Clint reassured him with a pat on the shoulder as he began to walk toward the elevator to his next appointment of the day, “who knows, maybe some of the sub-units might pick it up or maybe even the Baron himself if you're lucky.” 


Posted by
Major Clint Amadeus “Tex” Dyson
Governor-General of Erdvynn
Alcyone Gunslingers, Commanding Officer
Black Stars Mercenary Collective

GALISTEO BANDIT CAULDRON
FW-DC-04-09 FREE WORLDS LEAGUE DEFENSIVE CAMPAIGN MAIN CONTRACT
Post #7

1100
October 17, 3095
Governor General's Office
Gubernatorial Palace, Arcadia City
Trakin Continent, Erdvynn Prime
Erdvynn System, Alarion Province
Lyran Alliance

The words “so help me god,” echoed throughout Clint's expansive office, uttered in unison as the half dozen or so men and women, all graduates of Arcadia's Judicial Academy, concluded their respective recitals of their oaths of office before Clint and Arthur, his justice secretary, as the final step prior to assuming their posts as members of Erdvynn's fledgling judiciary. At the conclusion of which Clint shook hands with each of the newly minted arbiters, taking a picture with each one for the sake of posterity, before they were lead out by Arthur's assistant to their new offices in another wing of the Palace, leaving the room to Clint and Arthur.

“Hey Tex, you mind,” Arthur called his attention, gesturing toward the hand carved mahogany liquor cabinet in the corner which stood right next to the marble faux fireplace, which was actually just a very ornately done room heater, that dominated that particular side of the room. Atop the mini-bar's marble counter were a number of crystal decanters, each filled with liquids that ranged from a golden amber to rusty red in hue, along with an attentive row of Old Fashioned-type whisky glasses and small Spanish cedar humidor.

Above it hung a painting commissioned by Clint which depicted a Kapre, a fey from Filipino folklore who took the form a bearded giant, sitting among the boughs of a balate tree, reaching down toward an excessively large cigar being offered to it by a smiling little peasant girl. The child stood on her tiptoes beneath the tree, holding up the rolled mass of tobacco in one hand and a bundle of several more in the other, nothing but friendliness and affection between them. The piece was inspired by an old anecdote told to him by one of his uncles that one such creature dwelt, and still did to this day, among the trio of palm trees that stood in front of their ancestral home in Manila, protecting it from ill luck and the intrusions of other fey in exchange for regular tithes of shredded tobacco left underneath its home. Fitting, Clint thought, considering that their family's wealth grew out of the tobacco industry a good thousand years ago.

“Oh sure, be my guest,” Clint absent mindedly replied as he paced back and forth on the rosewood floor of his office, “there's ice and mixers in the low boy,” coming to a stop in front of a display cabinet that stood between two of the room's bulletproof floor to ceiling windows that faced out to the azure waters of Lake Alcyone. This one in particular held a quintet of antique American Civil War-era rifles, each and every one of the millennium old weapons purchased and maintained at substantial expense. Two of them were relatively ubiquitous, the Pattern 1853 Enfield and Springfield Model 1861 rifled muskets, being the line infantryman's weapons of their day while the other two represented historical firsts, a Whitworth Rifle and the Spencer Repeater, the former widely acknowledged as the first scoped sniper rifle and the latter the first lever-action repeating rifle. The last piece represented a developmental dead end, the Colt Revolving Rifle, which was pretty much what it sounded like, a single-action percussion cap revolver taken up to rifle caliber.

One window width over was another display case which held a collection of pistols of similar vintage, the bulk of which were various cap and ball revolvers that were the direct ancestors of his Colt Peacemaker, with a derringer and a single-shot percussion cap pistol for completeness sake. Far more interesting where the eccentricities of his collection, chief among them were the Elgin Cutlass Pistol and the Harmonica Gun, both of which were as outlandish as they sounded and about just as practical. There was also Walch Revolver, that crammed two bullets end to end in to each of its six chambers, and the Volcanic Pistol, a rare lever-action revolver. Then of course there was his infamous LeMat Grapeshot Revolver, which is all honesty, despite its fantastical design, had a proven track record compared to the aforementioned oddities, and served as the inspiration for Karl's Seburo 9-1 Combination Revolver that he had the pleasure of test firing earlier today. 

“What about you?” Arthur asked Clint as he poured himself a dram of bourbon.

“Port and a cigar for me,” Clint answered as he turned away from his gun collection and moved to sit on one of the leather sheathed arm chairs that faced the fireplace.

“You know I figured you for taking a longer vacation,” Arthur said as he sat down on the chair opposite Clint, handing him his drink and tobacco.

“It isn't work if you enjoy doing it,” Clint retorted before he struck a long match and lit his cigar, taking several long draws from the rolled up bundle of tobacco leaves chased by a sip from his glass of sweet fortified wine, “sides, after three months of nothing on Merton I needed to do something that actually mattered.” 

“Sure it ain't guilt over that redhead princess you found over there,” Arthur pointed asked.

“Word travels fast,” Clint sighed, knowing the direction that this was going.

“You didn't exactly keep it a secret.”

“Because there was nothing to keep,” he shrugged with some bit of annoyance, “but I'm starting to regret not having had an affair to begin with since everyone keeps bugging me about it.” 

“Can you blame them, you did make the front page news,” Arthur chided him, waving his glass of bourbon at him, “you and her were plastered all over last month's issue of the Merton Tattler. It was really cute, you and the timber heiress dancing the waltz in that big old castle of hers.” 

“Probably explains why she suddenly dyed her hair red,” noting the odd coincidence in Hana's sudden change in hair color, “Why the hell were you even subscribed to that thing?”

“You're the damn governor general that's why,” Arthur shot back authoritatively, “Course we're keeping tabs on you, cost us next to nothing to buy a subscription in the local news, and what the hell did I teach you back in law school, you know judicial ethics. The appearance of impropriety of a public servant is just as bad if not worse than actual impropriety. Watch your step next time, you're lucky Hana didn't make a fuss about it.” 

“That's actually what I was wondering. In all the time I was with her since I landed at Costa Del Sol she was all peaches and cream. Except maybe for the red hair, she never ever let on that she even knew anything about Merton let alone being mad about it.” Clint mused contemplatively.

“Well if I was an optimist its probably because she knows you didn't do anything,” Arthur said gruffly, “women usually have a sixth sense about these things. Poaching husbands is a game to them and that's why they get mighty jealous around each other. The dumb ones will go berserk, and Hana ain't dumb by a long shot, and the smart ones will hand you enough rope to hang yourself while they empty your wallet. ” 

“Speaking from experience Arthur,” Clint snidely replied.

“Hard learned wisdom,” he added.

“Heya kid, welcome back,” interjected a gravelly voice which heralded the arrival of Hank, his white haired intelligence chief, in his typically rough manner, swaggering into the room in a dark brown leather jacket and worn jeans that clashed with the Palace's stately environs as he made a beeline for the minibar in the corner. Gabrielle arrived a few minutes later in a much more muted fashion, shooting everyone a warm smile as she slid on to the couch next to Clint and greeted him with a sisterly kiss on the cheek. 

There was a sharp hiss as Hank cracked open a bottle of beer then, noticing Gabrielle's arrival, added, “you want a cold one, Gabbie?”

“Just a cola for me Hank,” she replied then turned to regard Clint, “so cowboy, you're back early.”

“Well hard to enjoy a beach in the middle of the rainy season,” Clint replied, “I was lucky I got any sun at all when I landed.” 

“Sure Hana didn't throw you out of paradise,” Gabrielle teased him, soliciting snickers from Arthur and Hank.

“Should I put this on a damn memo,” Clint declared, the exasperation plain in his tone, driven home by the large cloud of cigar smoke he exhaled into the middle of group, “for the last time nothing happened. I spent the last two days with Hana on Costa Del Sol, I ploughed her like a wheat field, then the rain came rolling in and we decided it was better to just go home early instead being cooped up in that bungalow all week,” then he pointed in the direction of his apartment across the street, “she's upstairs right now if you wanna ask!”

“Relax kid,” said Hank as he passed Gabrielle her drink, “we're just teasing. Despite the bad ass Texas stud bit you've got going,” pantomiming John Wayne, “we know you're a class act when it comes to women.” 

Gabrielle tapped him on the shoulder as she tried to stifle her laughter, “of course we jest,” she grinned mischievously, “you're always been an absolute gentleman in all things,” teasing him again about their shared history in a star far far away.

“Yeah a real mama's boy this one,” Arthur added slapped Clint on the shoulder, laughing all the way back to the minibar to refill his glass. 

Clint waited for the laughter to die down before we spoke, “now that you've all had a hoot at my expense, can we all finally get down to real work?”

“We're all ears,” Gabrielle smiled, sipping from a red can of soda, at which Arthur and Hank quieted down and nodded in agreement.

“Was honestly wondering why we're all even here,” Hank added, punctuated by the metallic clink of his Zippo lighter as he lit a cigarette of his own.

“Have any of you heard of New Frontier Enterprises?” Clint began. 

“Its a cross-border joint venture between corporations from both sides of the Steiner-Marik border,” Gabrielle immediately answered, “newly minted but growing fast. Their biggest asset is that somehow they managed to finagle a trade corridor at the border crossing between Poulsbo and Galisteo, and the conglomerate has sole exclusive rights to it. Anyone or anything that crosses the border at that point has to use their jump ships.” 

“That's a mighty lucrative concession,” Arthur noted, “couldn't have pulled that down with some help from on high.” 

“Way up high actually,” Hank answered, “word on the street is that the Dukes on both sides of the border aren't just silent investors, they're the ones that got together, roped in a bunch of corporations and made this happen in the first place. Never mind there's this little war that's supposed to be going on between the League and the Alliance.” 

“Well greed does make for strange bedfellows,” Arthur shrugged. 

“Its not really much of a stretch when you think about it,” Gabrielle opined, “at this point neither are engaged in direct hostilities with one another on their respective stretch of the Alliance-League border and neither stands to gain from being obstinately nationalistic. They simply saw an opportunity to profit by the situation and acted accordingly,” she paused briefly to light her own cigarette which had a strong fruity scent, “while the localized peace holds they can enrich themselves and their supporters, maintain a sense of normalcy for their people and preserve their economy while everyone else withers on the vine.”

“Well its syncs with their usual playbook,” Hank added, “Tamarind's always been a bit of a mercenary in League politics even though they've always backed Atreus in the end.” 

“A small power with three hostile powers on their doorstep, who can blame them,” Arthur pointed out, “you do what you can to survive.” 

“Quite true,” Gabrielle nodded then turned to regard Clint, “but as much as I enjoy these little political discussions I am sure you didn't call us out of our offices just to jaw about some backwater trade venture did you?”

“Of course not,” Clint snorted, “this concerns our next contract.”

“The Gunslinger's?” Hank, Clint's former lancemate, wondered out loud.

“No,” Clint clarified, finished the rest of his wine in one gulp, “the regiment's, this contract was inked by the Baron himself with New Frontier Enterprises to provide security services for the conglomerate's facilities, on Poulsubo and Galisteo, personnel and other related assets. The said contract apparently has a retainer clause which also makes us the agent of first resort for any of the conglomerate's other projects and NFE has chosen to exercise that clause.” 

Clint paused for a moment, handing his glass off to Hank to be refilled while he took a long draw from his cigar before he continued, “one of the conglomerate's client organizations is Medi-Quick,” Gabrielle nodded in recognition of the name, “an interstellar charity organization that provides humanitarian aid across the Free Worlds League, undertaking disaster relief, medical missions and, most recently, refugee resettlement.”

“Still don't see how that involves us,” Hank drew a circle with his second beer bottle.

“Because the intended settlement site is Erdvynn,” Gabrielle concluded.

“Yes,” Clint nodded and proceeded to explain, “the League's recent successes have seen it acquire several worlds at the expense of the Alliance along with their attendant populations. Understandably these populations were far from happy at the recent change of government,” Clint's deadpan delivery of the facts eliciting snickers from his cabinet, “and civil unrest would have been unavoidable. To forestall such a development the League instead opted to repatriate these populations to Lyran Alliance territory and for the most part, most of these people went peacebly owing to the somewhat generous resettlement packages. That said there were some which proved intractable, violently so in some cases, the kind that we'd normally deal with with a bullet to the head.” 

“And I guess these assholes are now going to be our problem,” Hank quipped.

“In a manner,” Clint answered, “again the League has chosen to be magnanimous. Rather than executing or incarcerating these dissidents, they opted to parole these irreconcilables,” in the Napoleonic sense of the word, “and forcibly relocate them back to the Lyran Alliance where they are to remain confined by their host government for a period of two years or until the cessation of hostilities, whichever comes first, and shall be prohibited from taking up arms against the League in any manner during that time. ”

“Never thought I'd hear that dusty old concept invoked in this day and age,” Arthur noted, parole, long before being used to denote the early release of a convict for good behavior, during the 18th Century, it meant the release of a prisoner of war upon swearing an oath not to take up arms for the duration of the conflict. If such a parolee violated his oath and was subsequently caught again, he would be summarily hanged. “At least its a nice excuse to go up to the Board and ask for a supplemental budget to accelerate our plans for Tartarus,” the placeholder name of the putative maximum security prison that the Directorate intended to build on some desolate corner of Erdvynn for convicts that merited extended incarceration but somehow did not draw down the death penalty on themselves, “given the number of people the League's pissed off you'll need a bigger place than our city jail to put them in.”

“Well I would hope it does not come to that,” Clint clarified, all the while Gabbie quietly stood up and paced around the room, running her fingers over the room's green patterned wallpaper, “recall that the only crime these people committed, at least as far as we are concerned, is being militantly patriotic in the face of an invader, if anything they should be our friends and neighbors and that is the approach I hope to take, at least initially. Keep them happy for the duration of their sentence, maybe even given them an opportunity to integrate and settle; homes, job opportunities, provisional citizenship. If they get out of line, we fall back on Arthur's idea. Thoughts?”

“I have to give it to the League,” Gabrielle spoke first as she looked up at one of the other paintings, also commissioned by Clint, hanging on the fireplace side wall, this one done in the Czech Mucha style depicting the taming of a Tikbalang, a horse-headed demon, by a maiden who had managed to pluck the three golden hairs from its black iron mane, “this was a very cunning move on their part; they rid themselves of dissidents and troublemakers, saddle us with the trouble of keeping them off the front line and come off smelling like a rose in the process while we ended up holding the bucket if things go sideways.” 

“I gotta agree with Gabbie on this one kid,” Hank added, picking up Gabbie's train of thought, “we're throwing the doors wide open here and we don't know who we'll get. Could be they're being straight with us and all we get are a few loudmouth patriots but the devil in me knows that SAFE or someone else might use this to try and infiltrate agents into our city.”

“Never mind that we'll get it from both ends if we actually have to get tough with them,” Arthur said, drawing attention to the precarious position they would be from a public relations standpoint; be overly stringent with their charges and they would be attacked by the Lyrans for doing the League's dirty work while their Marik employers would, feigning humanitarian concern, consider it a breach of contract.

“Its the price of trying to play for both sides,” Clint shrugged, “but the contract for NFE appears lucrative enough for the regiment to be worth the trouble, at least in the Baron's eyes.” 

“Or the two Dukes are just setting us up to fall,” Gabbie pointed out. 

“Well, you know what they say, shit rolls downhill,” Clint flatly stated, “the Baron has given us our orders and its up to us to figure out a way to carry it out to the best of our ability. Information packets on the contract will be sent to your offices within the day and I hope to see at least outlines for your plans to deal with this situation by week's end. That is all.”


Posted by
Major Clint Amadeus “Tex” Dyson
Governor-General of Erdvynn
Alcyone Gunslingers, Commanding Officer
Black Stars Mercenary Collective


GALISTEO BANDIT CAULDRON
FW-DC-04-09 FREE WORLDS LEAGUE DEFENSIVE CAMPAIGN MAIN CONTRACT
Post #8

* * * * * * * * * *
Galveston Space Port
45km west Town of Galveston
Continent of Austin
Galisteo
Duchy of Tamarind
Free Worlds League
9th December 3095
0340 hours local time

Marco Antonio Hernandez shifted as a DropShip roared down from the dark heavens above with its landing gear extended, making the eight thousand ton space faring vassal appear like a much smaller size aircraft. While Galveston Space Port had seen increasing space traffic over the last few months, it was unusual that any commercial freighter arrived dead in the middle of the night. The fact that the security at the Space Port, and indeed the entire town of Galveston had been given the heads up on the arrival this early morning would mean only one thing – the mercenaries had arrived.

As what the rest of the Inner Sphere had coined the ULTRA war – despite the faction having declared themselves officially as the Confederated Systems of Tikonov, raged between the Free Worlds League and the Lyran Alliance, the traditional jump routes through the galactic core had been disrupted and trade between both realms had virtually ground to a halt. The New Frontier Consortium, a group of companies from both sides of the border, hoped to establish new shipping lines through the League's Duchy of Tamarind and the Lyran Province of Alarion, far from the epicentres of the conflict. With the tacit support of both regional leaders, the Consortium in early 3094 begun to build facilities on Galisteo and Poulsbo to act as customs brokerages and transshipment points for trade going in either direction. 

On Galisteo the Consortium selected the remote town of Galveston, located on practically the other side of the planet from the capital of Tombstone. Utilizing their considerable financial and political resources, the Consortium had expanded the small space port located about forty five kilometres west of there as well as building the attendant warehouses and other facilities to cater to mercantile traffic. Thus far the venture had proven lucrative for all parties concerned, with everyone reaping large dividends, whether through commercial profit, customs tariffs or other forms of valuable consideration.

Understandably protecting this vital crossing was considered0 of paramount concern to both factions, especially in light of it being barely a stone's throw away from two notorious pirate kingdoms, but unfortunately its clandestine nature prevents the assignment of line forces to safeguard the Consortium's assets. To this end the Duchy of Tamarind had decided to hire mercenaries to act on its behalf to ensure the safety of Consortium property and personnel. While the principal danger was always expected to come from pirates operating out of the Circinus Federation or the Marian Hegemony, the dangers of Galisteo or its bellicose population were not to be underestimated.

Of more clandestine in nature, but of no less importance, another of the mercenaries’ objectives were to assist in the fulfilment of one of its subsidiary's contracts with the Duchy of Tamarind for the peaceful repatriation of a number of paroled Lyran citizens who have proven unable to reconcile with their new masters. The terms of the parole were that parolees shall be treated with all respect and dignity but shall otherwise be constrained from leaving their place of resettlement until the conclusion of the conflict between the Lyran Alliance and the Free Worlds League nor shall they take up arms or give aid and comfort to any enemy of the Free Worlds League. Costs of resettlement and reasonable fees shall be covered by the Consortium.

While a small detachment of the 17th Recon Regiment has always been present on Tombstone in addition to the local planetary militia, the Consortium hired mercenaries had been told in no uncertain terms that they should not rely on them for any support as their principal concern would be the defense of the Capital notwithstanding the vast distances between Tombstone and Galveston.

The Consortium for its part, had maintained a small security force of its own since it set up shop on Galveston. A reinforced company of infantry backed by a lance of BattleMechs were permanently stationed at the Space Port while the town proper, which was situated some distance away from the port, has a small but well equipped sheriffs' department that can easily raise a posse comitatus from the local populace that invariably included a sizable contingent of armed IndustrialMechs should the need arise. The mercenaries had been repeatedly advised of the tense relations between the Consortium and the local law enforcement owing to the Galistean's own insularity and a number of untoward incidents involving Consortium employees.

While the contract on Merton was completed without much event, Marshall Photon Brett-Marik thought that the Black Stars might want to give employment within the Free Worlds League, especially in his Tamarind Military District another shot – this time hopefully by smashing some of those pirates and bandits that had been terrorizing his Duchy over the last two years but had thus far evaded the pirate hunting efforts of the Stars.

Hernandez snorted as he pulled his coat tighter around himself. He had no doubts that the decision to hire the mercenaries had been expedited by yet another successful raid by the Black Warriors on Galisteo just a couple of months back. Despite the presence of Camacho’s Caballeros and a substantial militia in Tombstone, the Circinus pirates had easily made off with food supplies, slaves and salvaged machinery. In retrospect, the obvious positions that the defenders had entrenched themselves in had made the jobs of the pirates that much easier. The Black Warriors had simply struck at the numerous isolated farmsteads located hundreds and even thousands of kilometres away from Tombstone.

Galveston itself had never been the target of any enemy attacks thus far. Hernandez knew that it would be wishful thinking on the part of the Consortium defenders that it was due to their presence. The lack of attention from raiders was more due to the fact that there were easier targets on Galisteo, as well as Galveston itself offering little in the way of loot. However, with the small town itself seeing exponentially raising trade and traffic flow in the last one year, it was bound to attract unwanted attention sooner rather than later.

In that sense, the literal slap on their faces was a little easier for the New Frontier Security Force to swallow. On its part, a reinforced company of infantry and a lance of BattleMechs that could have been considered sufficient for backwater worlds now protected a small but growing town. However, the proliferation of higher technology even in the Periphery meant that such a force would be nothing more than speed break if the Black Warriors decided to pay them a visit again with a larger force that had landed three months ago. Hell, even if they invaded with the same force, the New Frontier Security Force would most likely be overran by seasoned soldiers riding into battle with more technologically advanced and heavier war machines.

As the newly landed form of a massive aerodyne DropShip made its way but majestically steady way across the Space Port tarmac, Captain Marco Antonio Hernandez shrugged his shoulders. Behind the small cluster of Port buildings, he could see the four BattleMechs of the defenders close up around the Space Port. Several other vehicles were already waiting at where the Triumph class DropShip was supported to berth. The Galisteo Militia might not be the ones working closest to the Black Stars, but they were still the official liaisons to the mercenary command. Force Commander Jose Vera Cruz was never one to pass up the chance to appear in the full glory of his military liveries – even though most of the medals and ribbons were ceremonial honours rather than real decorations. Hernandez shrugged. If the reports of the Black Stars’ strength was accurate, Galveston now officially boasted of the largest concentration of military force across the entire Galisteo system.

Time to meet with our new friends.


Lieutenant General Zhao Zi Long
Black Stars Mercenary Collective
Baron of Erdvynn, Alarion Province, Lyran Alliance
Sharp Shooters Sub-unit
'Sanitarium' - Vampire Medium Omnitank


GALISTEO BANDIT CAULDRON
FW-DC-04-09 FREE WORLDS LEAGUE DEFENSIVE CAMPAIGN MAIN CONTRACT
Post #9

Governor's Act: 3095-0010

Preamble: That it is the policy of the Directorate to maintain a peaceful and orderly society, free of lawless violence for its citizens. In pursuit thereof the state recognizes the right of its citizens to lawful self defense against unlawful aggression and the employment of necessary means to this effect, including the use of firearms. 
That to this end the Governor General hereby promulgates this law which shall regulate the ownership and possession, the manufacture, importation and commerce of firearms, ammunition and any other related items, and shall prescribe penalties for the violations of this Act.

Section 1: This Act shall be known as the Firearms Regulation Act of Erdvynn.

Section 2: Definition of Terms;
(a) Accessory shall refer to any component that may be attached to a firearm but is not otherwise necessary to its function, including but not limited to scopes, suppressors and sights.
(b) Ammunition shall refer to any single unfixed unit of material of whatever nature intended to be fired from a weapon and/or used as a power source, or intended to hold the same.
(c) Authorized Person shall refer to any natural or juridical person who is authorized by law to own, possess, manufacture, import and/or trade in firearms, ammunition and any other related firearms.
(d) Designated Agency and Issuing Agency shall refer to that organization of the State that shall be responsible for implementation of the provisions of this act.
(e) Firearm shall refer to any device the purpose of which is to launch projectiles or directed energy of a harmful nature through either or a combination of chemical, electrical or other such analogous action. That it shall also refer to the barrel, receiver and any other disassembled individual components vital to the functioning of a firearm. 
(f) License shall refer to a written authority issued by the State, at its discretion, through its designated agency, to persons compliant with the requirements of this act, setting forth their privileges and obligations.
(g) Mission Order shall refer to a written authority, issued by the State or a licensed corporation to its agents and employees, delegating its right to possess firearms in compliance with the requirements of this act.
(h) Registration shall refer to both the submission to the designated agency of the individual characteristics and circumstances of a given firearm by its owner and the written instrument evincing the same.

Section 3: Who may bear arms;
(1) Any person licensed by the State;
(2) Any person exempted by this act from license requirements.

Section 4: Who may be issued a license;
(1) Any citizen or resident of the Barony of Erdvynn who;
(a) Is of at least thirteen(13) years of age;
(b) Is of good standing and not subject to legal interdiction;
(c) Has not been convicted of a crime involving mortal turpitude or being prosecuted for the same;
(d) Has passed a psychological examination administered by a State accredited psychiatrist; 
(e) Has passed a drug test administered by a State accredited laboratory or physician;
(f) Has submitted an application in writing, under oath, stating the personal circumstances of the applicant and an undertaking to abide by the laws of the Directorate;
(g) Shall pay any reasonable fees required by the issuing agency.
(h) That such licenses shall be valid for two(2) years from the date of issue. 
(2) Any corporation duly incorporated in accordance with the laws of the Directorate whose board of directors shall comply with the preceding requirements for citizens and residents.
(3) Any non-resident person who;
(a) Is of at least thirteen(13) years of age;
(b) Has not been convicted of a crime involving mortal turpitude or wanted or being prosecuted for the same in another jurisdiction;
(c) Has submitted an application in writing, under oath, stating the personal circumstances of the applicant and an undertaking to abide by the laws of the Directorate;
(d) Has submitted a detailed inventory of the firearms, ammunition and accessories in his possession;
(e) At the earliest opportunity upon entry into the jurisdiction of the Directorate;
(f) Shall pay any reasonable fees required by the issuing agency;
(g) Shall post a cash bond in the amount as determined by the issuing agency as security for his compliance and that said bond shall be returned to the licensee upon his departure from the jurisdiction of the Directorate;
(h) That such licenses shall be valid for one(1) year from the date of issue. Failure to renew said license upon or before the date of expiry shall be cause for revocation.

Section 5: Those exempt from licenses;
(1) Those who may own and possess firearms without need for a license;
(a) The Baron of Erdvynn;
(b) Members of the Board of Directors of the Directorate;
(c) The Governor General, the Lieutenant-General, Department Secretaries and Commissioners of the Directorate;
(2) Those who may possess firearms without need for a license;
(a) Members of the armed forces of the Barony of Erdvynn while on active duty;
(b) Members of the security forces of the Directorate while on active duty;
(c) Agents and employees of the Directorate in accordance with their mission orders;
(d) Agents and employees of licensed corporations in accordance with their mission orders.

Section 6: Privileges of Licenses; That upon application, at the discretion of the designated agency, an applicant's license may be granted any of the following privileges;
(1) To own and possess registered firearms and accessories as well as to possess or produce ammunition for personal use;
(2) To manufacture and market firearms, accessories and ammunition to the public;
(3) To import and market firearms, accessories and ammunition to the public;
(4) To offer services in the alteration, maintenance and repair of firearms and accessories to the public. 

Section 7: Obligations of Licensees; 
(1) To register any and all firearms owned by the licensee;
(2) To register any and all firearms coming into the ownership of the licensee or otherwise immediately surrendering any that come into his possession to the lawful authorities;
(3) To register immediately any and all transfers of firearms, accessories and ammunition with the lawful authorities;
(4) To inform the lawful authorities of any loss or theft of a registered firearm, accessory or ammunition;
(5) To be personally responsible in the use and custody of all firearms, ammunition and accessories owned by the licensee; 
(6) To submit himself and his residence to inspection by lawful authorities and to present his firearms and relevant documents when so ordered; 
(7) To maintain current and up to date records with the issuing agency pertaining to his personal circumstances;
(8) To comport himself in the manner of an upstanding citizen;
(9) That the same shall also be applicable to those persons exempted from license requirements.

Section 9: Who may issue Mission Orders;
(1) The Baron of Erdvynn;
(2) The Board of Directors of the Directorate;
(3) The Governor-General of Erdvynn;
(4) Subordinates of the Governor-General of Erdvynn to whom such authority has been delegated; 
(5) Licensed Corporations.

Section 10: Contents and Requirements of Mission Orders;
(1) That it shall be in writing and under oath;
(2) That it shall unequivocally state by what right the issuing entity has to issue such an order;
(3) That it shall state the name and personal circumstances of the agent or employee to whom the order is being issued; 
(4) That it shall state with exact specificity the scope of the agent or employee's duties and tasks;
(5) That it shall completely state the firearms, accessories and ammunition being issued to the agent or employee; 
(6) That the issuing authority delegates its right to bear the aforementioned firearms to its agent or employee;
(7) That the issuing authority assumes responsibility for the actions of its agent or employee in relation to the issued firearms, accessories and ammunition;
(8) That a copy of the mission order shall be submitted to the designated agency of the State prior to the agent or employee's commencement of duty.

Section 11: Types of Firearms; That firearms shall be classified as follows;
(1) Restricted Firearms are those weapons, ammunition and accessories that shall not be permitted for private ownership and possession, shall include; 
(a) Weapons that operate through directed energy, magnetic acceleration and rocketry.
(b) Weapons of an anti-materiel, explosive, flammable, noxious or virulent nature.
(c) Weapons capable of automatic fire; 
(d) Weapons and accessories specifically prohibited by the State.
(2) Permitted Firearms are those weapons not mentioned in the preceding section and shall be permitted for private ownership and possession;
(3) Antique Firearms are those weapons that have been rendered completely non-functional, regardless of whether they are Restricted or Permitted firearms, and shall be permitted for private ownership and possession. 
(4) Imitation Firearm shall refer to any device that is indistinguishable from an actual functional firearm to cursory examination by a prudent person. The ownership, possession, trade or manufacture of such devices shall be prohibited. 

Section 12: Penal Provisions, Liabilities and Revocation of Licenses;
(1) The use of a firearm in the commission of a crime shall cause the imposition of a penalty next higher in degree than that normally prescribed. 
(2) The unlawful possession, manufacture, importation or trade of firearms, accessories and/or ammunition shall be punished with a penalty of imprisonment for six months to six years and one day per individual firearm, accessory or lot of ammunition. That unlawful within the meaning of this provision shall be construed to be;
(a) That the acts complained off are done without the appropriate license or mission order;
(b) That the subject firearm, accessory or ammunition is unregistered and held without intent to register or surrender the same to the lawful authorities.
(c) That the subject firearm, accessory or ammunition is of a restricted nature. In which case the penalty to be imposed shall be imprisonment for six years to twelve years and one day per individual firearm, accessory or lot of ammunition.
(d) That where the acts complained of are in furtherance of causes against the State the penalty shall be twenty years to death.
(3) The penalty of six months to six years and one day to be imposed upon the person found guilty of tampering or obliterating the characteristics essential to the identification, forensic examination or registration of a firearm.
(4) For the purpose of the provisions of this section, an Imitation Firearm shall be considered actual firearm. 
(5) Causes for revocation or suspension of license;
(a) Failure to renew firearms license upon or before the date of expiry;
(b) Failure to adhere to the obligations and qualifications of a license;
(c) The conviction or prosecution of a license holder of a crime punishable by this Act;
(d) Loss of a firearm, accessory or ammunition registered to the licensee through negligence;
(e) The use of a firearm registered to the licensee in the commission of a crime;
(f) By order of a court of law or designated agency.
(g) That the revocation or suspension of a license shall immediately cause the confiscation or forfeiture, where appropriate at the discretion of the designated agency, of any firearms registered by virtue of the canceled license.

Section 13: That upon the promulgation of this Act the Department of Justice shall be the Designated Agency responsible for the implementation of the provisions of this Act which shall include but not be limited to;
(1) The issuance of licenses and the registration of firearms;
(2) Act as the sole repository of records and documents pertaining to licenses, mission orders and registrations; 
(3) Act as the sole repository for impounded and forfeited firearms, accessories and ammunition;
(4) Promulgate supplementary rules and regulations as necessary to implement the objectivesand provisions of this Act.

Section 14: Repealing Clause; That all laws, orders and issuances inconsistent with this Act are deemed hereby repealed or amended upon the effectivity of this Act.

Section 15 Separability Clause; If any provision of this Act or any part hereof is held invalid or unconstitutional, the remainder of the law or the provision not otherwise affected shall remain valid and subsisting. 

Section 16: Effectivity and Compliance Period;
(1) This Act shall come into effect after fifteen(15) days after publication in the Official Gazette.
(2) That within one year from the effectivity of this Act, all unlicensed owners, possessors, manufacturers, traders and importers of firearms, accessories and ammunition shall have obtained a license and all unregistered firearms shall be registered with designated agency or surrendered to the same, or will be prosecuted accordingly. 

Enacted on the 20th day of September in the year 3095.

Signed,

Clint Amadeus Dyson
Governor-General of Erdvynn

Posted by
Major Clint Amadeus “Tex” Dyson
Governor-General of Erdvynn
Alcyone Gunslingers, Commanding Officer
Black Stars Mercenary Collective


GALISTEO BANDIT CAULDRON
FW-DC-04-09 FREE WORLDS LEAGUE DEFENSIVE CAMPAIGN MAIN CONTRACT
Post #10

* * * * * * * * * *
Shervanis City
Astrokaszy III
Astrokaszy System
Periphery
Anti-spinward and rimward of the Free Worlds League
15th September 3095
2305 hours local time
* * * * * * * * * *

Zhao Long Zi pause as he stare at the row of machines for a moment. It was a weakness that he had always loathed, one of the few that he had acquired over the many years the veteran mercenary had spent traveling the Inner Sphere and Periphery, and one that he have had to fight each time he passed near such a machine. The dial stared at him sullenly, digital representations of numbers and the odd fruit along with a single orange banner that screamed out the words "JACKPOT!". Despite the near obsession that the ethnic Chinese had with all things related to gambling, he had more often than not resisted the temptation to the point that the Baron of Erdvynn had made a game of it. Still the temptation was there and strong enough that he had denied any request from companies that ask to place them in the Space Ports of his Barony in the Lyran Alliance.

Still, they are everywhere here on the Periphery system of Astrokaszy.

The nominal commanding officer of the Black Stars Mercenary Collective have passed by these machines on uncountable number of occasions before, standing in gleaming rows, each promising a fortune to the lucky. However, he has never been fooled. Lady Luck has always been a cruel mistress, one that has just been as happy to tear one’s heart out as she was to grant one’s every wish and dream. Or worse, giving one all that one had ever hoped for, then turning right around to take it back again – with interest. 

Despite his best intentions, Zhao reached out towards that single lever, slowly and with great hesitation to make that last connection. The tank commander pulled his hand back and away as if it was the most venomous of snakes. Zhao knew that it was not the gambling that satisfied his cravings for the vice. Cards held no attraction nor do dice or other games of chance. It was also not the money. The Baron had plenty of that. It was just this one thing. This one machine.

The slot machine.

Not the digital ones where one would slide one’s credit chip and have their account debited for an amount. Not even the ones that would accept a C-bill or even a House bill of near any origin to allow one to play. Oh no. Only the original ones where he could insert a single coin into the thin slot and hoped to come back with a few more coins, if he was lucky. Or if the ancestors had listened to his prayers and smiled down on him, he could come back richer than his wildest dreams for the price of a single coin.

Just one.

Zhao’s tongue ran delicately over suddenly dry lips and he felt your pulse quicken like the anticipation of an upcoming battle. It had been a long time since he gave in. A very long time. He glanced to his left and then his right. The security detail had established a perimeter around him and the aides that had accompanied him to this system of ill repute. Their eyes were on the crowd that parted around them. His smaller contingent of aides had not yet noticed the issue, or probably and prudently decided to be discreet about what was going on if they did. They stood in a tight clump, talking about balance sheets, income leveraging, returns on investment, potential contracts here in the Periphery. More pressures, as if being the commander of a very successful mercenary unit was not enough pressures to leverage on him.

A single red light suddenly caught his eye. One of the four machines had a red flashing light that simply said "PLAY ME" on it. Zhao paid no attention to the rest of the machines or the digital display above them saying how much one could win for just a single coin - just one. It was those demonic words "PLAY ME", bathing the rest of the area in their crimson light, that were holding his total attention now. It had been a long, long time since he gave in. A very, very, very long time.

Decision made, Zhao Zi Long strode to the machine, digging into his pocket for a coin and finding that there were none there. A sudden wave of panic overcame him as he searched all of his pockets, every single one of them, but found nothing. The words "PLAY ME" were now a taunt, a challenge, one that he now felt to meet. Somehow.

He motioned to his aides, each of them looked at him like he was crazy for asking for a coin. Who in their right mind carried those these days? His security detail was likewise dumbfounded by the request. Seeing his distress, one of the aides rushed off with a C-bill in hand, looking to exchange it for coins. It was then he realized that in his panic, he had created something of a scene and took a moment to bring yourself back in hand. Closing his eyes, Zhao willed for his racing pulses to slow and his booming heart to relax.

Suddenly, a form walked between two of the security men. It was a child with one hand in his mother's hand and the other stretched out to him. A single gleaming coin was held out to the older man. Zhao smiled at the child and started to refuse before seeing the silent pleading look on the mother's face. With another smile, Zhao take the coin in his hand and offered the other to the child. Together, the grizzled mercenary and the small boy gingerly slipped the coin into the machine and pulled the handle. The dials started to spin, faster than the naked eye could track. The flashing "PLAY ME" stopped flashing and stayed a solid red colour.

After seconds, the first dial clicked into a stop and announced "JACKPOT!". The second dial took a much longer time before it came to a halt. The same words, "JACKPOT!" gleamed at Zhao and the boy. For what seemed like eternity, the third and final dial kept spinning and wheeling. It seemed like everyone in the room were holding their breath. The third dial slowed and finally snapped into position. "JACKPOT!".

Lights flashed and a symphony of joyous music flowed from the machine. The crowd closed in like a frenzied mob. The Sharp Shooters security detail in personal armour closed ranks, whipping out stun sticks to hold the crowd back with a promise of violence. The only exception for entry or exit from their tight human shield was a casino staff, who rushed away to get management.

Meanwhile, a deluge of coins gushed out of the machine along with a holo-chip, which Zhao expertly caught before it bounces out of the coin tray and onto the floor. Overjoyed, he tossed the holo-chip to one of the aides, who inserted it into her noteputer and started yammering something that Zhao entirely ignored as he celebrated his good fortune with the child. Continuing to ignore the babbling aide, Zhao and the child started high-fiving each other and jumped up and down for joy. The Baron seemed to have forgotten himself and picked the mother up in one arm, the child in the other, and continued to bounce up and down, laughing. The mother and child joined him, although the look on the woman’s face gave more than a hint that she was not entirely certain about Zhao’s sanity.

After a moment, Zhao regained some sense of decorum and released the both of them from his embrace, waving them to collect the coins still pouring out of the machine and scattering across the floor into what was now a small gleaming mountain. Zhao motioned one of the aides to assist them in scooping up coins and placing them in a number of plastic buckets. It was only then that he turned to the pale faced aide he had given the chip to. She said nothing, but handed him the noteputer in her hand. The screen announced that Zhao just won a jackpot from 23 different casinos across 19 different systems, including Solaris VII. This jackpot was a cumulative jackpot coming from the funds paid to each of the machines along with a five million C-bill base prize from each of the casinos. With this front money and the funds placed into each machine plus the fact that he won the extra bonus quadruple bet, his winnings amounted to a whooping total of 790,231,800 C-bills. Zhao Zi Long tore his unbelieving gaze from the noteputer and stared dumbly at the aide, a look and expression that the aide returned. 

Both of them fainted dead on the spot.

* * * * * * * * * *



* * * * * * * * * *
Temporary Black Stars Basecamp
Town of Galveston
Continent of Austin
Galisteo
Duchy of Tamarind
Free Worlds League
28th December 3095
0625 hours local time
* * * * * * * * * *

“You’re not fuckin’ serious!” Mariya Vasilyevna Oktyabrskaya was born into a peasant family on the former Taurian Concordat system of Midale, and was one of ten children. In 3085, the teenage Oktyabrskaya she married a Taurian army officer. While married to her husband, she began to acquire an interest in military matters and became involved in the 'Military Wives Council' and was trained as a nurse in the Taurian Defense Force. She also learned how to use weapons and crew combat vehicles.

When the Taurians transferred their Davion paranoia to their new Clan neighbours in 3089, Oktyabrskaya’s husband was one of the many Taurian soldiers sent against Clan Cloud Cobra and Star Adder. However, the long time feud with the Federated Suns were not forgotten entire, and Oktyabrskaya, together with much of Midale’s population were repatriated to the inner system of New Vallis as the Taurian Concodat anticipated their ancient foe to mount an offensive against them while the TDF were engaged against the Clans.

It was on her journey to her new home that Oktyabrskaya learned that her husband had been killed fighting the forces of Clan Star Adder on Hondel. The news angered her greatly, and she became determined to fight the Clans in vengeance for her husband's death. She sold all of her possessions to donate a tank for the Taurian Concordat and asked that the tank be named "Fighting Girlfriend", with the additional condition that she be allowed to drive it.

Despite the potential publicity opportunities, the TDF Administrative Corp rejected her appeal. Laughing off her proposal as the ravings of a moaning widow, Oktyabrskaya left the Concordat, her newly purchased Bulldog heavy tank mothballed and undelivered in the massive Quikscell warehouse on Ares.

Travelling from on Periphery system to the next, Oktyabrskaya could not find any employment with any mercenary command wanting or willing to fight against the Clans. Dejected, she was about to cash in her mint condition tank for cash and settle in the Free Worlds League where her years of travelling had brought her to when she came across the Urban Legends.

By this time Oktyabrskaya was already thirty eight years old. The Urban Legends were at time a small command consisting of a lance of light and medium ‘Mechs with a smattering of infantry and tank support. Lu Bo Yan convinced her than other than taking the fight to the Clans, she could still sate her anguish by proving herself as a mercenary, and proving to her deceased husband that she was as much a warrior as any other.

Finally breaking out her Bulldog from storage, Oktyabrskaya emblazoned the words 'Fighting Girlfriend' on the turret of the sixty ton tracked tank. Many of her fellow tankers saw her as a publicity stunt and a joke, but their attitude changed when Oktyabrskaya began fighting in her first tank battles under the Urban Legends flag.

Her first battle involved Oktyabrskaya maneuvering her tank in the intense fighting. She and her fellow crew members destroyed enemy machine gun nests and artillery gun emplacements. When her tank was hit by gunfire, Oktyabrskaya, disregarding orders, leapt out of her damaged tank and repair the damaged drive systems amidst heavy fire before resuming the fight. Over the course of the next few years, Oktyabrskaya proved her worth as part of the Urban Legends, excelling in the kind of intense close ranged warfare that the Legends preferred. As the unit grew and expanded, her Bulldog was upgraded to a Rommel.

In 3092, the Urban Legends signed up with the United Leadership of the Tikonov Republican Army. By that time, the Legends had expanded to include two lances of BattleMech and a mixed lance of combat vehicles further supported by a platoon of heavy infantry. Roving up and down the ULTRA battle lines, the Legends earned a reputation as their name sake – appearing where the fighting were the fiercest and disappearing before the battle ended to lend their muscle to the next fight, never staying in one place long enough for their battered enemies to confirm their existence.

About a year ago, Lu Bo Yan announced his relationship with Zhao Zi Long, much to the amazement to most of those under his command, and declared that the Legends would finally be returning home. There were those who left, preferring their well paid live under ULTRA rather than risk losing everything under a Periphery mercenary command, albeit a rather sizable one with a Lyran landhold.

Months ago, shortly after the Legend’s uneventfully completed contract on Merton, Zhao had sent a communique to Lu, informing the latter that the Legends would be making a short trip to the Free Worlds League capital system of Atreus before making their way back towards the Periphery to report at their new assignment – Galisteo.

On Atreus, the Urban Legends were greeted by a grinning USI staff, who cheerfully informed them of new acquisitions that Baron Zhao Zi Long had made on behalf of them off a wish list that they had submitted to him before they departed for the Merton contract. While the Delivery Order did not exactly match EVERY single piece of hardware on their wish list, it was pretty darn close.

A trio of heavy hitting Charger CGR-3Kr, Ti Tsang TSF-9H and Titan II replaced some of the aging heavy ‘Mechs that had been the Legends’ workhorse units for over half a decade. Main Gauche infantry fighting vehicles would replace their thin skinned and lightly armed ten ton vanilla APCs, while Orgre battle armour suits replace the ancient Inner Sphere Standard suits in support of their Longinus. Even the lance of combat vehicles were replaced with more powerful machines. It was in this department that Lu Bo Yan felt his father paid the most personal attention – not surprising given that his old man had been a life long tanker. While the previous mix of Bulldog and Rommel tanks had been effective machines that served the combined arms Urban Legends well, the new mix of M2 and M3 Moltke heavy tanks provided the Legend’s small but powerful vehicular lance with a mix of more hard hitting and flexible firepower while adding protection and maintaining mobility despite the Moltkes being a good ten ton heavier than the Rommel and fifteen compared to the Bullgod. The cherry on top of all these gleaming new hardware was the Assault Triumph class DropShip, the Bloody Mary that would ferry the Legends into battle in style.

“You can choose to believe the other story about Santa Claus dropping them down my chimney of course.” Lu Bo Yan shrugged nonchalantly at his top tank commander. “Or that we made off with all this loot from the Merton militia when no one else was looking.”

Oktyabrskaya shook her head in disbelief. “Bloody hell…”

“I’m just glad we all got sexy new rides before we go play against our enemies.” Nadine Wambach remarked. Like Oktyabrskaya, who traded in her Rommel for a Moltke, the ‘Witch’ also got an upgrade. Her Assassin ASN-99 was already considered the most advanced version of what was usually considered heavy light ‘Mech despite it being officially a medium ‘Mech due to its tonnage. Despite its Extra Light fusion engine, the ASN-99 traded blinding speed and jumping capabilities for weak armour and poor firepower. The Wraith that she current piloted suffered no reduction in mobility while gaining a massive upgrade in the two areas which she had previously lacked – solid armour and more than decent firepower. “If it turns out that our foes are the Black Warriors, we’d need all the top notch hardware we can lay our hands on.”

“I think the Baron saved quite a long time for this stash of goodies.” Lu continued. “He had promised that he can either provide more cash if we need it, or even pull units from his Shooters, but I told him we’ll earn our own pay from here.”

“Spoilsport.” Peter Starks, the Legends’ XO snorted, though the gleam in his eyes and the nods of many others around showed that everyone agreed to their commander’s decision.

“Yeah, we left many scratching their heads in disbelief when we told ULTRA we wouldn’t be continuing our contract with them. More than a few had predicted our near immediate demise.” Lu Bo Yan reminded his subordinates. “Merton didn’t really prove anything since we didn’t get to do anything. Both SAFE and the Stars’ intelligence agencies had warned that Galisteo would not enjoy the same inactivity.”

“Chances are that they’ll probe the system with low life criminals like they usually do. What if they avoid Galveston entirely and head straight for Tombstone instead?” Andre-Pierre ‘Warlock’ Varane asked earnestly. The husband of Wambach, Varane was one of the few who did not upgrade or change out his machine, declaring that his Hatchetman the perfect machine for himself.

“A lot of noise has been made about the expansion of the space port and it’s attending warehouse facilities here at Galveston.” Starks replied to the question, attracting the attention of the others. “There wasn’t really a need to do so since the truth is that a heck lot of mercantile traffic has been diverted here, transhipment and trade between the Free Worlds League and Lyran Alliance – unofficially of course.”

“Cross border commerce is still the most important thing that stops entire planetary systems grinding to a halt and its people starving to death, especially here in the backwaters of the Alliance and League.” Lu’s words underlined the fact that despite the ongoing conflict between interstellar states and governments, trading remained the most crucial life sustaining activity. “With the tacit support of regional leaders, new shipping lines were established through the Free Worlds League’s Duchy of Tamarind and the Lyran Province of Alarion – far from the epic centres of the current conflict between them. Factories had sprung up overnight on Galisteo and Poulsbo to act as custom brokerages and transhipment points for trade going in either direction.”

“And such blatant expansion don’t go unnoticed here in the backyard of the Inner Sphere, especially to factions like pirates, bandits and Periphery kingdoms that still relied on raiding for sustenance.” Varane nodded in understanding.

“Let’s make sure our employers have their defence assets all set up.” Lu announced as he stood up, signalling the conclusion of their impromptu breakfast discussion. “Each of you already have your assignments. Check your assigned sectors and report back by twelve hundred hours. If there’s any problems, or if the local security don’t cooperate, let me know earlier.”

“We can’t introduce them to a sudden case of bad accident?” Oktyabrskaya asked with deliberately wide innocent eyes.

“Not if you wanna have a shot at enemies when they arrive you can’t.” Lu grinned at the hot tempered tank commander. “Let’s try to keep things at least amicable with the locals for now. We’ve been given a lot of leeway to make sure Galveston is iron clad tight, but we might need to work with the New Frontier Security Force while we’re here. If anything, the security of our non-combatants might be in their hands if we have to chase the raids beyond Galisteo.”

“Spoilsport.” Starks repeated himself, the others breaking out in laughter as the group of Urban Legends soldiers headed out of their small mass hall towards their own tasks.


Lieutenant General Zhao Zi Long
Black Stars Mercenary Collective
Baron of Erdvynn, Alarion Province, Lyran Alliance
Sharp Shooters Sub-unit
'Sanitarium' - Vampire Medium Omnitank



GALISTEO BANDIT CAULDRON
FW-DC-04-09 FREE WORLDS LEAGUE DEFENSIVE CAMPAIGN MAIN CONTRACT
Post #11

[b]* * * * * * * * * *
Galveston Space Port
45km west Town of Galveston
Continent of Austin
Galisteo
Duchy of Tamarind
Free Worlds League
2nd January 3096
0540 hours local time
* * * * * * * * * * [/b]

The black painted [i]Union[/i] Class DropShip, for centuries the staple BattleMech carrying vessel for military organizations throughout known human space, descended on a quartet of superheated columns of plasma fire at a speed barely below that of free fall. Within the bowels of the thirty five hundred ton metallic ship, a lance of urban camouflage painted BattleMechs stood unmoving and silent in their respective ‘Mech berths.

Unlike most standard assault or raid drops, the invaders would not be jumping out or be dropped out of the DropShip through the ‘Mech chutes. Instead, the [i]Union[/i] would land close to their target location, where the BattleMechs would march off the ramps. This was to ensure minimal scattering of the dozen BattleMechs as well as eliminating the chance of any unnecessary damage to the invaders before even the commencement of the raid.

After all, the company of BattleMechs carried onboard the [b]Anton Brunn[/b] were some of the most veteran and elite amongst the Black Warriors. Given that their prize objective were the overflowing massive warehouse buildings at the Galveston Space Port, the Circinus Federation had tasked their own experienced warriors the job of securing them.

However, with the possibility of a company of 17th Recon Regiment present on Galisteo itself, plus intel reporting an additional company of mercenaries being hired to garrison Galveston itself, the Black Warriors had assigned another group of troops to provide a diversion targeted at the town itself in hopes of drawing most, if not all the local defenders away.

Captain Robert Parker snarled within his neuro helmet, an action that his [i]Gurka[/i] light ‘Mech would not, and could not reflect. One of the most common civilian vessels, a [i]Mule[/i] class DropShip had been assigned to ferry the more numerous but much lower quality Circinus troops. Despite carrying a generous amount of weapons and armour for a merchant vessel, boasting an arsenal that rivalled that of small military DropShips, it would still be woefully inadequately armed by modern standards. However, the eleven thousand two hundred ton spheroid DropShip has always been most valued for its cargo hauling capabilities. Split evenly over three bays, the [i]Mule[/i] designers had dedicated over seventy five percent of its weight to cargo haulage.

Unlike the smaller but more powerful strike force landing directly on the space port which consisted of more well balanced war machines, the diversionary force was made up of machines more made for speed. Their tasks were to pull defenders out of position, hopefully stringing them out for piecemeal destruction, or at least delaying the defenders long enough for the main strike force to carry out the necessary looting at the warehouses.

[i]I’ll be glad if even some of them survive.[i] Parker snorted. He had been briefly introduced to the clobbered together unit made up of slave soldiers as well as small pirate bands that had ranged from single to short lances of BattleMechs. Some of them might just see the light of the next morning, but Parker seriously doubt if most of them would be anything more than mangled corpses at the end of the day. No matter. The Circinus Federation has never been short of eager volunteers trying to prove themselves and secure a permanent position within the Black Warriors.

Overacting would be a term not out of place to describe the approach of the [b]Costa Concordia[/b], the [i]Mule[/i] class DropShip that the Black Warriors regularly used to ferry their slave troops. Once it had detached itself from the JumpShip that had brought both the [b]Costa Concordia[/b] and [b]Anton Brunn[/b] to Galisteo’s pirate jump point, the [b]Concordia[/b] had made straight for the system’s Nadir jump point before turning back once again towards Galveston itself. To make the diversion more convincing, the [b]Anton Brunn[/b] had carried onboard itself a pair of [i]Hellcat[/i] heavy aerospace fighters that had launched from the [i]Union[/i] before peeling off to provide token escort for the [i]Mule[/i].

Tactically, it made sense for the Black Warriors. Using an expendable unit to draw as much of the defenders away. If the size of the force that had spilled out of Galveston was accurate, the sacrificial lamps had done their jobs already. Over a company of infantry in assorted APCs and trucks had sallied forth from the small town, trailing behind two lances of tanks and a lance of BattleMechs. As expected, the Camacho’s Caballeros remained holed up half the planet away, with only the New Frontier Consortium Security and their hired guns sticking to their assigned posts.

For a fleeting moment, Parker toyed with the idea that the diversionary force might actually be able to overcome their adversaries on their own. The Black Warriors Captain sniggered again. Well, one was always entitled to wishful dreaming every now and then.

In the rather brightly lit space port below the [i]Union[/i], the bridge reported that there seemed to be a lot of panicked activity as whatever defence below probably looked to organize something of a resistance.

[i]I would suggest laying low and just wait out the ordeal.[/i] Parker thought. [i]But then again, it’s your own miserable lives.[/i] He collected himself as the bridge informed that they were barely kilometres from touching down. “Claymores, final check. We touch down in T minus three minutes.”

A chorus of “Aye” and “Roger” echoed over the tactical frequencies. While far from being top of the line, the Black Warriors’ Claymore Company could boast of solid machines like Parker’s [i]Gurka[/i], a pair of fifty ton [i]Nightsky[/i] mediums, [i]Crusader[/i] heavy ‘Mech and even a giant katana wielding [i]No Daichi[/i] heavy BattleMech. Not the most powerful BattleMech company to conduct a raid on a decently garrisoned planet, but more than enough to overcome any potential defenders.



[b]* * * * * * * * * *
Galveston Space Port
45km west Town of Galveston
Continent of Austin
Galisteo
Duchy of Tamarind
Free Worlds League
2nd January 3096
1030 hours local time
* * * * * * * * * * [/b]

The [i]Gurka[/i] light ‘Mech shambled painfully from its hiding place to a large warehouse complex, followed closely by a heavier [i]Crusader[/i] heavy ‘Mech and [i]No Daichi[/i]. The last surviving machine from what was a full company of BattleMechs was a thirty ton [i]Valiant[/i], minus its right arm. Like the V4-LNT-KT, the rest of the Black Warriors remnants had been savaged in nearly five hours of fighting in the Galvenston Space Port.

The seventy ton [i]No Daichi[/i] was the worst damaged, being tagged as the most dangerous machine amongst the Black Warrior contingent. The right arm, while still holding on to its three and a half ton sword, hung limply by its side, with the MRM launcher embedded in its right torso already destroyed. Its armour had been severely shredded in the long hours of fighting, the head seemingly the only location still in pristine condition.

Like its fellow heavy brethren, the Black Warrior [i]Crusader[/i] retained all its limps. However, the CRD-8S had long exhausted its supply of long range missiles, leaving it with a pair of medium lasers and a very dangerous heavy gauss rifle.

Parker’s own [i]Gurka[/i] remained in fighting condition. Unlike most of his peers, the Captain’s ‘Mech was composed solely of energy weapons – a snub-nose particle projectile canon, small laser and three extended range mediums. Its signature sword had also been switched out for a retractable blade, although this was enhanced with triple strength myomer.

The Black Warriors Claymore company had been jumped barely minutes after they had touched down. Even before that, Parker knew that something had gone wrong. All communications with the diversionary group were cut the moment the [b]Anton Brunn[/b] landed to disgorge the dozen Circinus ‘Mechs within its bowels. Parker had ordered his company to fan out to the nearby space port buildings cautiously but quickly. Even as his warriors made towards the largest of the warehouses, their DropShip had started to take long range fire from beyond their line of sight. Arrow IV and long range missiles, mixed with mortar and artillery shells slammed onto the spheroid hull of the [i]Union[/i] class DropShip until one of its landing struts was blown away. Claymore Company could only watch in horror as the thirty six hundred ton space vessel started to list, before crashing down in an earth shaking crack onto its side.

Almost immediately, the Circinus BattleMechs themselves were pelted with short range and inferno missiles launched from hidden attackers from the buildings that surrounded them. Unable to cut through the ECM jamming, Parker had directed his people to head towards the heavy industrial complex located just beside the space port in the hope that distancing themselves from whatever electronic countermeasures the defenders were deploying would allow them to better communicate among themselves and get a clearer picture of the developing situation.

After several attempts, Parker finally managed to rally his troops for the breakout, though not without cost. As the company battled its way out of the trap, they were besieged by at least two lances of enemy BattleMechs. Fighting with savage intensity, the defenders had waited until the Black Warriors were within spitting range before emerging from the shadows to deal death. First blood immediately saw the destruction of a Circinus machine, a McCloud’s [i]Enforcer[/i] forcefully slammed in its flank by a [i]Charger[/i] and thrown onto the walls of one of the space port buildings. The eighty ton monster did not even slow to goad. Instead, it lowered its shoulders and ploughed once again into the Black Warrior [i]Enforcer[/i], smashing the lighter ‘Mech into the darkness of the building it was leaning on and disappearing in a massive cloud of smoke and dust. At the tail end of the Black Warrior line, Jackson had barely reported sighting an enemy ‘Mech before his fifty ton [i]Nightsky[/i] was viciously drilled by a stream of laser blasts. The last any one of his company saw of Jackson, an enemy [i]Ti Ts’ang[/i] had buried its hatchet deeply into the [i]Nightsky[/i]’s chest, while brushing off the latter’s feeble attempts at using its own hatchet.

The one sided running battle continued for hours, the Circinus MechWarriors trying to use the shadows as much to their advantage as possible. Leapfrogging from one hiding place to another, they would seemed to have evaded their hidden enemies before they would be hit once again by foes emerging like ghosts and wraiths from the darkness.

Their escape to the industrial complex after nearly four hours did see a pause in enemy attacks, but no lack of good news. The Captain of the [b]Costa Concordia[/b] reported that the landing zone had been overrun by enemy tanks and a couple of ‘Mechs supported by infantry. The lighter and faster diversionary force never had the chance to put their advantage to use. Instead, their lighter armour and weaponry effective spelt their doom as heavier enemy machines concentrated their firepower on the pinned down slave troops. Slowly and methodically, the Circinus diversionary force was bled to death.

Parker’s force were no green horns. Despite the conditions, they had showed their enemies that they could give as good as their received. At least three of the enemy BattleMechs had been disabled or destroyed, with at least half a dozen infantry ambush teams blasted for their troubles. Even the diversionary forces seemed to have fought well, with the DropShip Captain reporting at least a dozen or so of enemies destroyed before the overwhelmed raiders inevitably surrendered. 

The Black Warrior Captain was contemplating his next move when all traces of ECM disappeared.

“This is Captain Lu Bo Yan of the Urban Legends, sub-unit of the Black Stars mercenary collective.” A clear voice declared over the general frequencies. “You have fought well and valiantly, but you must know that your resistance is futile. Surrender, and you and your troops will be treated as defeated foes in the field of battle rather than pirates.”

Parker breathed a deep breath. His three surviving warriors seemingly waiting for his response as all remained silent. “This is Captain Robert Parker of the Black Warriors Claymore Captain. You can guarantee my people’s safety? They will not be shot as pirates?”

“I can, and I will.” Lu replied evenly. “You will of course be debriefed, but by the Black Stars.”

Parker smiled without humour. “Forgive me Captain, but the Black Warriors and your Stars have had quite a number of run ins previously, none pleasant. You might not execute us, but I doubt we will be treated with much kindness either.”

“I understand Captain. However, the Black Stars are made up of uncountable and different number of sub-units for each campaign. I believe those encounters you mentioned were with some of the more veteran units years ago.” Lu Bo Yan responded. “The Urban Legends were not part of those campaigns. Even if we were, the Black Warriors had always shown their skills and abilities. While I have heard of atrocities committed by your people over the decades, I do not believe that such acts had occurred in any of those contracts that the Stars undertook.”

There was a long pause again as Parker considered his options. He closed his eyes and sighed, before he finally announced. “Captain Lu Bo Yan, I hereby surrender all Black Warriors here on Galisteo to your charge. I hope you are as good as your word.”

“Thank you Captain Parker. Please order your surviving troops here at the Galveston Space Port to proceed to the drop port tarmac where we will officially accept your surrender.” The overall commander of the Black Stars contingent on Galisteo ordered.


[b]* * * * * * * * * *
Galveston Space Port
45km west Town of Galveston
Continent of Austin
Galisteo
Duchy of Tamarind
Free Worlds League
2nd January 3096
1145 hours local time
* * * * * * * * * * [/b]


As Lu Bo Yan switched back to the Urban Legends tactical frequencies to bark out orders, the Chinese man sighed a breath of relieve. Instructions were passed down the chain of command to Mariya Oktyabrskaya’s vehicular demi-company and Peter Starks’ BattleMech lance to secure the surrendered Black Warriors at their landing zone. Bert Hoffmeister with his lance of [i]Main Gauche[/i] infantry fighting vehicles and accompanying [i]Longinus[/i] battle armour would perform close detail security. The New Frontier Security force that had supported the Urban Legends in whittling down the Circinus [i]Mule[/i] DropShip and the light forces that had attempted to break out of the defenders’ noose were tasked to take stock of all captured pirate equipment, while a few of the Black Stars technicians were tasked with downloading all data and information from the DropShip’s onboard computers as part of their ongoing campaign of gathering as much intel on all pirate and Periphery forces in this part of the Inner Sphere.

The arrangement to allow virtually all salvage to the New Frontier Security in exchange for all Black Warriors personnel had been one of the most difficult one hammered out between the mercenaries and the Consortium management. Like all governments, the locals take an extreme view on captured pirates, especially since they had been subjected to numerous raids down the years. The Consortium only agreed reluctantly to hand over all captured pirates to the mercenaries when Lu surrendered all claims to salvage.

Lu had also received reports from Erdvynn that the pro-Lyran citizens from within the newly captured Free Worlds League systems had safely arrived on the Lyran side of the borders shared between the two interstellar nations. The mercenary MechWarrior grinned as he imagined that the Caballeros would feel cheated that they were denied the chance to take on the raiders – a complain Force Commander Jose Vera Cruz, commander of the 1st Galisteo Planetary Militia, would gladly help the Legends deflect.

Lu wondered briefly if there would be any key Black Warrior personnel among those that they had netted. Like the Force Commander, Lu would gladly hand over that headache to someone else who would be better qualified to deal with the matter.

The Urban Legends could finally celebrate New Years day.


Lieutenant General Zhao Zi Long
Black Stars Mercenary Collective
Baron of Erdvynn, Alarion Province, Lyran Alliance
Sharp Shooters Sub-unit
'Sanitarium' - Vampire Medium Omnitank


GALISTEO BANDIT CAULDRON
FW-DC-04-09 FREE WORLDS LEAGUE DEFENSIVE CAMPAIGN MAIN CONTRACT
Post #12


Captain-General,

For the last two years or so, we have received accounts, news and reports that increasing numbers of Tamarind systems near the Periphery had suffered raids by various pirate bands as well as the Periphery states of Circinus Federation and even the Marian Hegemony.

The approved of Marshall Photon Brett-Marik’s multi-prong strategy a year ago in employing several mercenary units, convincing provinces to allow private corporations to build up small defence forces, as well as deploying as much of Provincial troops that could be spared back to their home worlds seemed to be reaping noticeable results. The latest victory on Galisteo that had netted sizable military salvage as well as intelligence on the Circinus Federation had further vindicated our decision to allow the Brett-Marik’s initiatives to serve as an example to other provinces and independent worlds.

Other military district commands have started to clamour for similar approvals, as have independent planets within the League or else part of the ever shifting patchwork of minor regions. Indeed, appeals from systems even within the four principal provinces had been on the rise. We will have to filter through all submitted requests of course – more than a few would be simply attempts to build up Provincial Forces as part of their own private armies that would owe their loyalties away from the Captain-General’s office.

It should not be ignored that the arrangements between officially non-politically aligned parties to exchange “paroled” nationalists between the League and Lyran Alliance had achieved the desired result of allowing such a sensitive action to be carried out under the radar amidst of all the attention being focused on the Black Stars and their exploits.

Brett-Marik seemed to have emerged as the knight in shining armour from the entire affair, being universally praised for his actions and foresight. I do believe that it would be prudent if we take additional note to ascertain his allegiance as well as those under his command.

Signed,
Adam Constantine
LCCC Minister of Defense
3rd April 3096

Lieutenant General Zhao Zi Long
Black Stars Mercenary Collective
Baron of Erdvynn, Alarion Province, Lyran Alliance
Sharp Shooters Sub-unit
'Sanitarium' - Vampire Medium Omnitank



GALISTEO BANDIT CAULDRON
FW-DC-04-09 FREE WORLDS LEAGUE DEFENSIVE CAMPAIGN MAIN CONTRACT
CONTRACT ENDS