DarkHarlequin 
Jump Itinerary

travel to jumppoint 3.3 days
Outreach (0 hours)
Procyon (25 hours/Recharge Station)
Chara (25 hours/Recharge Station)
Mizar (0 hours)
travel to surface 24 days
TOTAL TIME 29.4 DAYS
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE



LA-SC-08-01 #01

January 1st, 3096
0745 Local
Ingersoll's Armoured Cavlary Offices, Outreach
Secure Briefing Room

Captain Erik Ingersoll was sitting and smoking a cigar, gazing lazily as the world of Mizar floated holographiclly above the large walnut table, the electronics concealed within the heavy hardwood meeting table emitting only the slightest hint of a hum. It had been a gift from his father upon incorporating the Armoured Cavalry. While his parents didn't exactly laud his decision, they understood why he had been forced to turn mercenary. But with his first contract being for the Lyran Alliance, they seemed to be quite mollified on the subject. We idly considered the planet as his command council filtered into the room. Already waiting was Sergeant Major Deveraux, his staunch ally and senior NCO for the past 5 years of Erik's LAAF career, and the first man to sign onto the Cavalry upon it's creation, beating out Master Sergeant Geoff Ward, the other waiting member of the council, by mere minutes. A fact which the Lyran-born NCO never missed an opportunity to throw in the Trueborn Clan warrior's face, the rivalry between the two senior NCOs dating back to the end of Lorelai when Geoff Ward had been captured by Erik.

Erik took a headcount of his officers and once he noted that everyone was present, he nodded impercptibly to Deveraux, who hit a button which closed the doors and activated the white noise generator also built into the table. Erik put out the used up cigar and stood to face his command, only the 2nd time he had the full command council present, and with the addition of the new dropper, it was a man larger than the previous time.

"Greetings to everyone. I trust that you've all gotten most of your personal duties and whatnot settled, as like I said in my message yesterday, we will be lifting off tonight at 1800 hours. The equipment is already loaded into the droppers, out flight path to the Nadir point is plotted and we're set to go. This will be our final staff briefing until post-planetfall, which means the last chance for any questions, concerns, or snide comments." He grinned at the last and a few of the others chuckled. Roughly half the officers present had either served alongside, or knew Erik well enough by repuation. Most were former LAAF, but there was a decent smattering of AFFS and SLDF present aswell, and it was something that most knew was unlikely to change until the unit became too large for Erik to effectively administer by himself. Currently, officers required a personal interview with him and atleast 2 recommendations from trusted sources, or the personal vouching of a current IAC officer. That meant that at most, the present officers were only a single comrade removed from their CO, and knew enough about him to know he could be a darkly humerous man.

"Our objective ladies and gentlemen: Mizar. Currently held by the Independant 10th Marik Militia Battalion. A reinforced company each of mechs and armor, along with a full fighter squadron. ULTRA recently smashed up the defending Granston's Gearheads battalion,and once they'd scattered the Gearheads into the bundu, handed the planet over to the Mariks. Last time the LAAF got word from the Gearheads, they were reportedly at 60% effective strength. I think we can safely assume they're below that, as that was an HPG message, and clearly they were pushed off the Mizar HPG complex after the message went out. I won't call them combat-ineffective at this point, but I don't forsee them being a largely effective asset.

At my request, the High Command has given us orders that place whatever remains of the Gearheads under Armoured Cavalry command for the duration of our operations on Mizar. We have a verigraphed order, and a few copies incase they are scattered. We're not sure what their lift capabilities might be, or might HAVE been, so we arn't even sure which continent we will find them on. The primary is here," Erik pointed to the Solasia continent, "Solasia, home of one of 4 major spaceports, this one being the planetary capital of Nouveau Paris' municipal spaceport. Our primary mission is to engage, in extremely limited fashion, the Marik Militia forces holding the spaceports. We're not being paid for repairs here people, so keep your engagement times to an absolute minimum. We're trying to wear them down through attrition, and we'll be moving around via our droppers alot to keep hitting them across all 4 continents." He gestured to Sergeant Major Deveraux and sat back down to watch the Sgt. Major deliver the specifics of the generl battle plan.


"So, our objective list:

1) Recapture the Olympus-class Recharge Station. That'll be work for our SAS teams, and there shouldn't be much issue with that.

2) Engage all Marik ground forces across 4 continents; reduce enemy strength as much as possible, and gather intel on their exact garrisons, patrol frequency/strength, ect. The contract has a supplemental for a raid follow-up, which leads me to believe that whatever intel we acquire here, is going to lead directly to hitting the Mariks where it hurts most to prep the planet for re-taking by LAAF soon after we finish.

3) Maintain aerospace superiority, and interdict any supply runs to the planet's surface. Our fighters will have their hands full with this one unless we get lucky and the Gearhead's fighters are still mostly intact. We won't know untill we get there, but it'll be hard for our flyboys being outnumbered to keep their resupply droppers from making planetfall.

4) Make contact with the remnants of Granston's Gearheads, evaluate their combat effectiveness. Once we've determined how much of their force can actually fight, we use their resources to support our primary mission parameters. We also need to compile a SitRep on their situation for LAAF High Command, but thats something we can worry about when it's time for pickup.


Thats it for our offical objectives on this contract ladies and gentlemen, now on to the next piece of business, Operational orders.

The contract stipulates no damage to civilian structures or lives, which means we gotta draw the Freebies out into the open, away from the spaceports and tourist traps. This planet is a giant vacation hotspot, and the High Command wants it intact. So don't let your people get trigger happy until the enemy has been draw away from any civilian buildings, ESPECIALLY the spaceport facilities, So just remember people- keep those itchy trigger fingers idle until the OpFor is in the optimal position.

Ambushes are going to be our go-to on this missions ladies and gents. We have an 8 month window of time to do as much damage as possible, so we have the time to be slow and methodical. The Captain has pulled out alot of stops for this one: You'll notice that our dropship 'Sword of Valour' has broken down much of it's vehicle bays for extra cargo room, and for good reason. It is carrying alot of extra ammo. Seraphim is carrying alot aswell, and of course spare parts, food, the whole nine. Of course, our two droppers alone arn't enough for 8 months of provisions, but the Captian already has that covered.


Which brings me to insertion. We break up the Cavalry into 2 groups, and we hit the smaller spaceports first. Seraphim will be carrying 3 of our mechs; the Captain, myself, and Master Sergeant Geoff Ward. It will also carry the Jagdvogels, and our SAS teams for infiltration of the Olympus-class recharge station. Once the station has been cleared of hostiles, it will be temporarily disabled untill we can lift any surviving infantry of the Gearheads to hold the station against similar attempts, although I doubt the local Marik command has a SAFE team at his disposal. Once we have confirmation of control of the station, the Seraphim will continue on to make planetfall.

While the Captain and the Seraphim are dealing with our primary objective at the Zenith jump point, the rest the Cavalry, including XO Price and Sergeant Wolfe in their battlemechs, will be heading directly for the planet aboard the 'Sword of Valour'. You will make for the Utopian Isles, NOT one of our targets, but it will put us within striking distance of both Wunderland and Paradasia. Its also where I expect our friends the Gearheads to be somewhere, witha a base that we will need to utilize for refitting and resupplying our aerospace fighters, and giving our droppers cover. Upon landing, Lieutenant Luftensteiner will lead his Fenrir BA out in a search pattern for the exact location of the Gearhead base.

Once we've established contact with the Gearheads, and got the Captain down on the ground with us, we can begin plotting targets for the meat of the campaign. Any questions?"

Word Count 1485
CONTRACT TOTAL 1485
Captain Erik Ingersoll
Callsign: Harlequin
Commanding Officer, Ingersoll's Armoured Cavalry Mercenary Unit


LA-SC-08-01 #2

January 1st, 3096
0755 Local, Outreach
Landing Field Delta, Pad D-12 & D-13
Ingersoll's Armoured Cavalry Dropships 'Seraphim' and 'Sword of Valor'

2nd Lieutenants Andrew McManus and Dr. Daniel Ellis, respectively the Quartermaster and Chief Medical Officer of Ingersoll's Armoured Cavalry, were watching as loadermechs continued to heft crates of supplies into the holds of the two sphereical Union-class dropships of their employer. McManus and Ellis were both friends of the Captain's, McManus being a friend from his days on the DC border, and Ellis being an old family friend who'd happened to serve in the LAAF on Hesperus II during the FWL invasion attempt right at the end of Captain Ingersoll's House career. They both knew he had drawn extensively on his own personal and family contacts to set the unit up, acquiring officers and senior NCOs from across the LAAF and even many from SLDF service that had spent time in Lyran space. Likewise, the equipment being loaded was all top-flight medical equipment, enough that Daniel could setup a field surgery unit in almost any habitable enviroment, no matter how borderline, and keep it clean and sterile. Pressurized, air-locked field tents, designed for overpressure to keep external air from somehow leaking into and contaminating the rooms, two field surgical tables, enough bedding for a dozen men to convalese if nessecary. Dr Ellis had seldom seen line LAAF units with such quality field medical equipment, usually relying on permenant base facilities for their surgical operations.

Likewise, McManus found himself impressed at the quantity of replacement parts, salvaging equipment, replacement weapons, and huge stores of ammunition for the missiles and autocannons among the unit. He noted that there were a very large complement of various LRM ammo types, and while the bulk were still the standard HE warheads, several dozen tons of Thunder-LRMs were being loaded, and he noted crates filled with different types of mines with which to load the FASCAM ammunition. The Captain was clearly going to be prepared for all potential avenues of dealing with his opponents, and was looking for every advantage. That was also clear when the cranes began lifting pallets of hardpoint munitions to the aerospace launch tubes in the 'nose' of the Union, where the aerospace techs could outfit their charges with bombs or missiles before deployment. More of the specialist munitions were being loaded in with the standard munitions, as the aerosapce fighters would not often be launching from their dropships on this mission, and thus their ammo being stored both in their launch bays and having extras fro ground launch prep made quite alot of sense.

McManus checked his dataslate and frowned. He looked over at bay D-9, where a Mule-class was being loaded with fuel, food, and even more spares and ammo. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of having to get the LAAF to send a 3rd dropper in with supplies, but the LAAF crew knew the score, and apparently had volunteered for the mission, having been Mizar natives, and the skipper being an acquaintance of one of the IAC officers. But with the contract lasting as long as it did, and the two Unions loaded to the brim with replacement parts, ammunition and the other mechanical requirements of the unit, there simply wasn't enough cargo space for more than a solid month's worth of perishable supplies let alone fuel for the aerospace fighters that'd need to be on near constant patrol. So, a supply ship was required, and the Mule would serve the unit well for tricking the FWL defenders until it was too late that this was simply a merchant tramp vessel coming through. The LIC-affiliated Invader-class jumpship that was their transport made the merchant lanes throughout this region of space fairly often, so it's appearance, and the knowledge that it ran 2 Mules and a single Union for protection would mean that a Mule with a wingman Union would arouse little suspicion from the recharge station. They would't pay close enough attention to the remaining docked dropper to realize what it was before it was too late, and the Cavalry's SAS were all expert, veteran operators and would take the station in record time.

Still, McManus would be much happier when the unit had a few more contracts under it's belt and could provide it's own transport Jumpships. He didn't trust the spooks at LIC anymore than he'd trust most hired Jumpship captains, but one who was on the payroll, whose income depended on getting the IAC to and from jumps as a matter of course- that was a ship that could be trusted, let alone the personal loyalty the Captain seemed to be able to engender in most of the soldiers he'd put together for the unit so far. He'd be shocked if there wasn't a jumpship Captain or 3 that Erik Ingersoll couldn't convince to come join the mercenary trade if his unit could prove it was up and coming in the business.

Word Count 837
CONTRACT TOTAL 2,322
Captain Erik Ingersoll
Callsign: Harlequin
Commanding Officer, Ingersoll's Armoured Cavalry Mercenary Unit



LA-SC-08-01 #3

Jan leaned forward, closely looking at the map.
"You really think we will find them on the Isles, Erik?" he pointed at the map.
he obviously was pondering, throwing his military acumen into the ring
"I can only see the ground-based elements hide there, if at all..."
looking up onto the assembled officers he continioued
"Do we have their roster information? How big was their Mech force? Did they drop any conventional troops? Battle Armour? Was there a dropship support on site and how big is/was their ASF force?"
He pushed some buttons on the hologram, spun it around
"I like the idea of the search for the surviving troops. I can use the dispenser equipment for the Rotweilers to set up a grid.
This is something I'd also suggest for the main operational theatre.
We should heavily invest in taking out their eyes and set up monitors everywhere.
This will force them to either hide in their barracks and basically hand over the planet or go on patrols and then we can strike them at our choosing..."

He then looked up and at Master Sergeant Jason Reinhardt
"Ghost, we should coordinate once you have arrived with us, given that you'll be late to the dirtside party. My command will set up a wide grid on our landing area and then perform sweeping search tours as close to the garrison hotspots as possible.
We will then use your men and advanced stealth possiblities to close and tighten the net wherever necessary."
Reinhardt nodded. "Sounds like a plan lad. You have your fast guys cover the ground, we polish the edges. I like this."

Looking at Erik he spoke on: "We'll have the place painted in a nice dotted network of sensors for you when you arrive... it'll look like a Hundertwasser down there."

Erik could not help and dust off his memory of famous old painters, recalling his time at Nagelring and holograms of lakes, chateaus and castles in vivid colours.

"Does anyone think we can cram some Bandits in our Dropships somewhere? So we can transport my command over the open waters onto the main continents? I'd love not to have to walk them through the sea and/or use dropships anytime we want to cross over to the continents? Remember the Fenrir and Rottweiler can't hang onto mechs..."

Word Count 397
CONTRACT TOTAL 2719



LA-SC-08-01 #04

Independent System
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
The Ridge
MRBC Castle Brian Complex
Wastelands
Testing Range B05
December 26th, 3095 1045 Local

Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry had received a Live Fire Training challenge from a fellow DMM Mercenary Unit the Robinsion’s Royal Knights. The Knights were strictly an all ‘Mech Company and Captain Erik ‘Harlequin’ Ingersoll voiced his concern that his IAC wasn’t ready. First Lieutenant Gunther ‘Python’ Price told the Captain this was an opportunity to test the IAC’s mettle and to meld them into a cohesive unit and to get them ready if they weren’t. After a brief back and forth, the Captain conceded. The main objective of today’s exercise was the neutralization of the three lance commanders. For the Royal Knights that would be Captain Justin Robinson, Leftenant senior grade Brian ‘Silver Wolf' Quinn, and Leftenant junior grade Aedrea "Andy" Davidson. For the IAC it would be Captain Erik Ingersoll, 1st Lieutenant Gunther Price, and 1st Lieutenant Jan 'Wandler' Luftensteiner.

The training range that was chosen for this contest was B05, a long gulley that descended from ground level from the north, to up to one hundred fifty meters below ground. The gulley was damn near two kilometers long and three hundred meters at its widest point. Half way up the length of the chasm, there was a huge four way intersection with an ‘island’ of rock and terrain, that rose up to ninety meters in some places with a small supply depot building to the west of the rise. And a half a click up from there, there was another four way with an obtrusively enormous, reinforced warehouse barring its way.

Now the IAC had come down through the mouth of the arroyo from the north, via the gradual incline. They had made good time, with their hovercrafts going just slow enough that the enemy recon lance, their light lance, was able to keep them in radar range but fast enough to cause the Royal Knight’s recon elements to range out from the rest of the Knights command. The natural assumption was that the IAC would hit the gulley and get holed up inside the warehouse two klicks deep inside the gulley. But this was an exercise in ambush tactics. Captain Ingersoll would do everything but what was natural.

Instead he had 1st Lieutenant Jan 'Wandler' Luftensteiner’s battle armor troops take whatever cover they could, roughly about one hundred eighty meter to two hundred meters in, on the slope. ‘Wandler’s troops found adequate cover and got dug in with time to spare. Second Lieutenant David Salazar’s hovers kept broadcasting across their IFF (Identify Friend or Foe) beacons while taking shelter behind several large stalagmites, mounds of tapering column rising from the floor of the ravine, formed from calcium salts. The stalagmites were large enough to hide the four hovers completely from visual detection; hence the Knights were unable to acquire line – of – sight. Sergeant Major Joachim 'Jager' Deveraux’s Penetrator used its jumpjets to leap upon the western side of the gorge and take shelter in a copse of trees. Master Sergeant Geoff 'Werewolf' Ward’s Gallowglas did likewise on the eastern side. The Captain’s Templar and Gunther’s Thunderbolt fired their jumpjets and leapt up onto the ‘island’ half a click inside the chasm. With the Templar taking point in a patch of light woods and the Thunderbolt kneeling thirty meters farther back and another thirty meters off to the Captain’s right, behind a solid ridge.

So now when the enemy came charging down the slope into the channel, instead of encountering resistance two miles in, they would immediately run smack dab into a ‘Kill Zone’. That would have to be unnerving. Just then ‘Wandler’ reported, “Contact!”

“I’m painting four bogies, vectoring in on our position. From due north. Moving at 57 kay pee aitch. Line abreast formation. From left to right battlecomputer identifies hostiles as a Packhunter II, a Dola DOL-1A1, a Spector SPR-ST, and a Jenner JR10-X.” Jan gave his report in short, clipped detail. All the pertinent information, precise and to the point without emotion. He was calm and collected even though his four battle armor squads would take the brunt of the attack. Ever the consummate professional.

“We attack on your command ‘Wandler’.” It was Captain Ingersoll. “We need to neutralize the Packhunter’s ER PPC first and then we take out the Lance Commander riding in the Jenner. Make’em count boys.”

“Aye – aye Captain,” came Jan’s response. The enemy was gobbling up ground rapidly at a walking pace. They past two guardhouses at the crest of the incline into the valley and kept coming, their interest solely focused on the hovers under cover of the stalagmites, that appeared on their radar scopes but they could not see the IAC hover tanks. The iron ore in the sides of the sheer 150 meter walls kept them from detecting the four ‘Mechs waiting in ambush for them. ‘Wandler’ gave the order, “Wait for it, w a i t f o r I t, W A I T F O R IT . . .. engage, Engage, ENGAGE!”

Jan Luftensteiner had configured his Fenrir’s turret with LRM for this battle and ordered his brother squad, Staff Sergeant Zain Trumbull’s Squad, to set up with an extended range medium laser configuration. And even before the third engage rolled off his lips 16 missiles spat from the launch tubes, four for each Fenrir squad member. The warheads left basketball size pock marks all along the Packhunter’s torso armor, left, center, and right torso. Startled by the suddenness of the attack, the Packhunter Pilot pin wheeled it’s arms in order to keep it balanced and to stay on its feet. Quickly assessing the damage, like only a good commander could, Jan noted that his first salvo did most of its damage to the battlemech’s right side. “HIT’EM AGAIN! Target right side!” bellowed Jan into his headset. Before the missile barrels could fully cool, another sixteen missiles were launched. Out of sixteen, ten missiles hit, all in the Packhunter’s weakened right side, obliterating the remaining armor and the structure beneath, sending its right arm cartwheeling off to crash into the guardhouse. “Yes!”

All along the ambush line, Jan’s battle armor troopers, beset the enemy Recon Lance. The tried and tested veterans of Sergeant Alec Newcomb’s Rottweilier Squad scrambled from cover and all connected with small lasers against the enemy Dola. The newbie green horn, Private 1st Class Rahiem Warner, missed. Their shots caused runnels of armor to ‘bleed’ from the ‘Mech but failed to breach its armor. They followed up their small laser attack with their Firedrake Needlers, hardly a weapon to use against battlemech grade armor but every little bit counts.

Sergeant Nicholas Hummel’s Hauberk Assault Battle Armor Squad was sluggish and too slow to get into firing range. While Trumbull’s Fenrir squad fired ER medium lasers at the nimble Jenner, who alerted to the ambush, handily dodged the incoming fire.

The IAC hover lance, rose up on cushions of air and came speeding around the stalagmites, to join the fray sending up a rooster tails clouds of dust. Gunther could only imagine the frantic and raucous calls that were going out across the enemy’s battlenet as they stepped into the ‘Shit’. He watched as their Condors and Musketeers careened across the valley floor, struggling to guide the frictionless vehicles in some semblance of order. Staff Sergeant James Markay lost control of his Condor, damaging the front air skirt as it bled out its own puff of dirt and debris.

They enemy lance had seemingly recovered from their initial surprise at being ambushed and was returning fire. It was far too late for them however. The Packhunter fired its ER PPC at Gunther’s Thunderbolt that got close enough to cause electromagnetic interference with his RCA Instatrac Mark X Targeting and Tracking Computer. The Spector fired twin ER medium lasers at Sergeant Raymond McDonell’s Musketeer, leaving rapidly cooling pools of glass as the beams missed to either side, crystalizing the sand on the valley floor. The enemy Pilot fired its Large Laser at 'Jager's Penetrator that went through the bole of a tree and still had enough unspent energy to slag armor covering the Penetrators chest.

Both Condors pulled within paint scrape range of the Dola and Spector and launched Alpha Strikes with blistering effects. Some weapons missed but the Dola was bracketed with damaged all along its left side and arm and along its right side and arm leaving three percent remaining armor to its right arm armor. The Spector took most of its damage center mass, reducing its center torso armor down to forty five percent.

The IAC’s two Musketeers combine their Rotary Autocannon fire on the Packhunter set to full bore. The 90mm shells stopped the Packhunter’s forward movement as they hit him on every surface except its missing right arm and completely destroyed its right leg, making the Packhunter a stationary target for the Kings of the battlefield.

‘Werewolf’s Gallowglas couldn’t draw a bead on the Packhunter clear across the canyon so Geoff opted for the secondary target, the Jenner. His nickel ferrous gauss rifle slug went sailing past the agile Jenner but ‘Werewolf’ popped it in it right side armor with his ER Large Laser. Deveraux’s Penetrator tried to take the Packhunter down with a head shot but while his ER Large Laser succeeded in removing every stich off armor protecting the head, he only accomplished the destruction of his sensor suite. Erik Ingersoll’s Templar well aimed shots from his ER PPC and ultra heavy bore autocannon blasted through the armor plating on the ‘Hunter’s left side sheering off its remaining left arm and splashing coolant from two heat sinks. Gunther’s Thunderbolt put the Coup de Grace on it with a gauss rifle slug to a now unprotected center torso. The nickel ferrous slug hit the gyro, hit the engine, and took out anything of any importance in the center housing of the Packhunter, effectively shutting it down.

“Primary target neutralized!”

“Hey, you know you stole my kill, don’t you?” said Deveraux with feigned anger.

“Ahhh, the privileges of rank,” laughed Gunther.

“Let’s not forget who softened’em up for you,” chimed in Jan.

“Thank You for the assist ‘Wandler’, well appreciated even though it wasn’t needed,” quipped the 1st Lieutenant to his fellow 1st Lieutenant.



In lieu of the IAC’s amazing display of firepower and the overwhelming odds that the Knights now faced, they attempted an orderly retreat. They were at least well disciplined as they tried to fall back without exposing the rear armor to the IAC, but lacked in actual ability as the Dola took a spill while backing up the slope.

“Ambush line, the Dola is yours! Command Lance, on my target!” it was Captain Ingersoll.

From his perch on the ‘island’, it appeared to Gunther that Staff Sergeant Markay tried to ram the enemy Jenner with his Condor. But that wasn’t the case at all. Later, in debriefing, Gunther would find out that Markay was still struggling with the erratic movements from the busted hover skirt from earlier. Markay’s Condor was still out of control. Trumbull’s Fenrir Squad had to take evasive maneuvers or risk a blue on blue incident and be plowed over by a fifty ton hover tank. The Hauberk Assault Squad was still struggling to get into viable firing range.

The Musketeers could not get line of sight on any of the three remaining ‘Mechs so they moved forward at cruising speed, wary of Markay’s plight. ‘Wandler’, the Rottweiler Squad, and 2nd Lieutenant David Salazar, in his Condor, converged on the downed Dola. The Rottweiler Squad breached the Dola’s left leg armor and center torso. Salazar’s Alpha Strike took out a shoulder actuator, a jump jet, and destroyed its left arm and in the process a double heat sink. But in the end, Jan’s Fenrir Squad got credit for the kill when thirteen more warheads impacted the immobile ‘Mech destroying its right leg and accompanying torso, and amputating the corresponding arm. And with the destruction of the torso there goes the extra light engine that extends from the center into both torsos.

“ ‘Harlequin’, ‘Wandler’. The Dola has been dispatched.”

“Roger that ‘Wandler’. See if your platoon can close with the Spector. ‘Harlequin’ out.”

The Spector gave a desultory shot at the Templar in an attempt to cover his commander in the Jenner, who had not made it into firing with its six Martell 5cm medium lasers. It missed high. Deveraux’s Penetrator returned the favor by snapping off an ER Large Laser shot, watching it the energy beam fly off to the horizon. The clanner, Ward, missed his shots at the speeding Jenner who, after losing half its force, realized the better part of valor was to turn tail and run. Erik missed with his Templar’s ER PPC but caught it with his ultra 150mm heavy autocannon in its stubby little arm, causing it to spin wildly. Gunther impaled the rapidly rotating ‘Mech’s cockpit with the Thunderbolt’s ER Large Pulse Laser, breaching the armor but causing no internal damage. His follow up gauss rifle shot, skewered the fragile Jenner’s right side, removing the stubby appendage that went for an arm, and also disabling its extra light engine, that too extended into its torso.

“And the Quarterback is toast!” announced Gunther in totally inappropriate radio etiquette.

“Good shooting Number Two. All units, converge on Spector.”

With three heavy ‘Mechs and one assault, four medium hover tanks, and four squads of battle armor arrayed against it, the Spector’s fate was a foregone conclusion. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ it would go down, it was simply how quickly. It did make it back to one of the guard houses on the top of the slope and attempted to take up cover inside. The IAC merely unloaded on the building and the ‘Mech bringing the light structure down on top of the Spector. ‘Wandler’ got the credit for the kill as he snuck his Fenrir squad into knife fighting range and blew off his third arm for the day and destroyed the ‘Mechs fusion plant.

“Bogie eliminated!” broadcasted Jan across the battle frequency.

Captain Ingersoll was on the horn, “Alright everyone, back into position. Ambushers, ambush line Bravo. Command, fall back to your original cover. I want sitreps from all units. I’m picking up a heavy lance incoming. Move like your lives depended on it.”

To be continued . . .

Word Count 2417
CONTRACT TOTAL 5,136
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE


LA-SC-08-01 #05

Independent System
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
The Ridge
MRBC Castle Brian Complex
Ingersoll's Armored Cavalry Offices
Secure Briefing Room
January 1st, 3096 0800 Local

First Lieutenant Mesha ‘Viper’ Seville looked around the briefing room at the gathered officers. She was slightly intimidated by the company she was among but had vowed to herself not to show it. She was merely twenty two years old and here she was hob knobbing it with Lyran Alliance Armed Forces Officers, Armed Forces of the Federated Suns Personnel, and Agents from the former Star League Defense Force. It was enough to make a girl feint. She had to be the youngest officer in the room, she thought. Hell she was the youngest member of her AeroSpace command. Even Ensign Jessica ‘Valkyrie’ Garro, her Corsair pilot, was older than Mesha was.

That was okay though. She had gotten a command and she was determined to make the most out this opportunity and responsibility that Captain Ingersoll had given her or die trying. Mesha was seated somewhere in the middle of the collection of officers in the room, flanked by her command. They were all considered officers so her entire command, all of three members, were all present. She looked on as Erik extinguished his cigar and her mind drifted to the machines of her command, Angel Flight and Halo Flight. Angel Flight consisted of two Jagdvogels. Mesha was familiar with the Jagdvogel's performance profile. She had piloted a Jagdvogel JGV-1OC in her previous Mercenary assignment.

The designers of Defiance Industries came into a harsh realization after having started the development of the Vernichter Omnifighter: The Lyrans didn’t possess a home - grown Aerospace fighter designed for dogfighting. The Lyran Engineers came up with a bold plan having seen the AFFS‘ Dagger and CMAF‘s Defiance Omnifighters coming into production: The Alliance decided to create an Aerospace Omnifighter that was capable of outperforming its rivals in most aspects, and even face clan - made Omnifighters head - on with a good chance of winning, and get this, they were meant to be affordable.

The results of this project was realized when the first two JGV-1O Jagdvogels, (German for Bird of the Hunt) Omnifighters took their virgin flight in early 3076. In a shrewd move to lower development expenses, DI used only weapon systems they produced themselves, and used a improved frame of the Vernichter as a base to work with. The end result was an Aerospace Fighter that shares the Vernichter‘s unique double - winged manufacture with massive canards, providing the Jagdvogel with unprecedented atmospheric maneuverability, even if it became a much larger target.

The main selling point of the Jagdvogel however, is the fact that the fighter costs less than most fighters in current use, actually being cheaper than the 15 - ton lighter Dagger and barely over half the price of the similarly weighing Troika. This feature in particular seems to continue Defiance Industries‘ trend of producing highly affordable Omnifighters with significant combat capabilities.

The Jagdvogel weighs in at sixty tons and is somewhat heavier than its colleagues, the AFFS Dagger at 45 tons and the CMAF Defiance at 55 tons, yet it has plenty of power, speed, and maneuverability to match the much lighter Dagger. It has twenty - two and a half tons of pod space, placing it in between its military competitors for combat ability. Upkeep is simplified by the sheer fact that the Jagdvogel shares many components, including engine as well as communications and targeting system with its larger cousin, the Vernichter, with various other minor components also shared between the two fighters.

Five tons of fuel was deemed sufficient to provide the Jagdvogel with an adequate operational range, and ten and a half tons of Ferro - Aluminum armor was similarly deemed ample to protect the fighter from weapons fire. Although less than its contemporaries, is still extremely respectable. While many critics have complained regarding the relatively thin armor compared to most other new 3090 era fighters, the bigwigs from DI were quick to point out that the fighter still carries comparable armor with most succession war era aerospace fighters in the same weight class, at the same time the Jagdvogel is more maneuverable by far, and it has a better acceleration to boost ratio. It is also equipped with ten double heat sinks to keep the craft’s heat dissipation under control.

The Alpha Variant of the Jagdvogel, which is the model Mesha now piloted, was originally slated to carry a Defiance Hammerfist Heavy Gauss Rifle, however; the Lyran Engineers found that to mount one of these massive weapons, plus ammunition on the Jagdvogel would leave no spare room for any other weaponry. Instead, the Lyran Alliance re-designed the alpha variant to act as a DropShip - Hunter and Fighter – Killer. The Engineers switched its primary armament with a quartet of wing – mounted, Tharhes Guided, 4 - Pack Streak, SRM missile launchers. The Streak 4 packs are supported by a quad array of ER Medium Lasers. Two tons of ammunition was considered adequate with the ammunition - efficient Streak SRM systems. Four additional heat sinks were installed to help the fighter deal with waste heat build up. It was such a ‘Sexy’ bird and Mesha was proud to be flying it.

Her Halo Flight included twin Corsair CSR-V12bs. The mainstay and jewel of the Federated Suns' medium fighter force, the Corsair was a fearsome dogfighter in the Succession Wars era; though a little overshadowed by newer models once the omnifighter came into vogue, it still remains a cheap yet highly capable platform, very worthwhile for mercenary commanders on a budget. Historians have it as being designed to supplement the Star League's aerospace arm after the fall of Stefan Amaris; given that the time span in question is barely five years from Liberation to Exodus, they must have worked fast to get it into production. Most of Wangker Aerospace CSR-V12b production lines, however, were to be found in Davion space or at least space quickly annexed by the FedSuns at the outset of the First Succession War, making it one of their preferred rides.

Running off a GM 200SFE with the de rigeur five - ton fuel - fraction, the CSR-V12b puts out a very decent high speed thrust profile, meaning it can turn – and - burn with most other dogfighters of the day and make life miserable for most heavier birds. The armor is almost ridiculously thick by the standards of the day: thirteen – point - five tons of standard plating, that's 27% by mass! Giving the AeroSpace frame a 73/50/43 profile which renders it immune to a medium laser threshold - TACs from all angles. The onboard armament is nothing to sneer at, either; the nose houses a Diverse Optics Type 2 medium laser and twin Exostar Extended Range large lasers, with Series PPS-VIII medium pulse lasers in each wing, a pair of Chriscomp small laser in the tail, and fifteen double strength freezers to keep the twin 8cm main lasers firing all day. The Corsair is a lean, mean, fightin' machine that goes very far out of its way to make other Pilots miserable. About the only problem is that you can't use the main guns and the secondaries all at once without overheating - you're confined to either the LLs or the MLs and SLs - so heat discipline is crucial.

Corsairs are almost archetypical medium - weight fighters, and Mesha would use them as such. They have the armor to shrug off most medium - weight guns, so if she wanted to be aggressive, she could use them as the first wave of an attack on an enemy formation, throwing them headlong at enemy interceptors with her Jagdvogel flight close behind; the Cosair's extended range large lasers should cripple or kill a number of light birds in one or two exchanges, making it that much easier for her JGV’s to finish off cripples and if the enemy turns to engage the Corsairs when they blow through, her Jagdvogels will be on their backs instantly.

Defensively, they're a second - layer workhorse, engaging the enemy's interceptors and/or dogfighters short of their targets, or alternatively hunting the enemy's own heavy fighters once the Jagdvogels punch a hole for them. A commander who's willing to risk taking them out of the air - combat role for a while, which Mesha most definitely was, will also find them useful in the attack or mud - moving roles; a flight of twin ERLL mounts makes for a potent punch to smack DropShips with, while ten tons of bombs affects the Corsair thrust to weight output slightly, making it a good balance between speed and bomb carry capacity, and its twin ERLL combined with its trio of medium pulse and standard lasers strafing capability, yields as much punch as an alpha - strike from a ground bound Ostsol.

The mention of her fighter by Sergeant Major Joachim Deveraux cut through Mesha’s reverie and she now was paying rapt attention. The Sergeant Major was talking about separating her small command. Mesha was immediately awash with trepidation. She recalled what the Headmaster had always preached. ‘Remember the mantras - formation discipline, teamwork, concentration of fire - and you should do fine.’ Second Lieutenant Nathan 'Fencer' McMasters mouthed the words 'What the Phuk' while plastering a look on his face that said, 'And how come you didn't tell us?'. All Mesha could do was to ape his look and whispered that she had no idea. How come no one consulted her before making this decision? This new development changed everything. Feelings of inadequacy started creeping in. She was the new kid on the block. Her position was just a rubber stamp. Well, she thought, she would play the hand that Ingersoll dealt her and come Hell or High Water, Mesha intended to make that hand a winner by bluffing, cheating, or even tipping the damn table over.

Word Count 1645
CONTRACT TOTAL 6,781



Independent System
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
The Ridge
MRBC Castle Brian Complex
Ingersoll's Armored Cavalry Offices
Secure Briefing Room
January 1st, 3096 0805 Local

Erik looked up as Jan spoke, having been idly watching the faces of his various officers. He saw a few concerned looks but wasn't especially worried, as he knew exactly what bothered 4 of those faces, and knew they were worried about a problem they didn't have.

"No Bandits for us just yet Jan. Hover APCs for all your boys are on the purchase list, don't worry. As far as recon work goes, you'll have access to the Shun transport, which will get 3 squads at a time moving, and it's stealth means you should be able to insert and pickup without much issue. Avoiding the Marik sensor nets will be more problematic for your boys than for the transport, but I'm sure you'll manage. You always did have a flair for making your dogs invisible." Erik threw a glance over at his aerospace pilots noting the carefully disguised concern on their faces.

"And you need not worry McMasters, I'm not Kommandant Kessel, I'm not going to force you into your individual flights and seperate you out. You and the Jagds are simply being loaded into seperate Unions for the trip. Im hoping to keep you and your wingmate hidden inside the Sword for your approach to Mizar, as we shouldn't have any need of you near the Recharge station...but thats a determination 'Viper' will need to make once we're in the black. We don't know if the Marik squadron will have any fighters flying CAP on it, and I don't want to reveal my hand right away by launching all 4 fighters out of a single dropper. This way, if they happen to see 2x2 and get a message off, they might over estimate our numbers. Angel Squadron will still be under the Squadron leader's command once we arrive at the target system." McMasters let the hidden look drop from his face for a moment remembering the Kommandant that Erik referenced. It was a former commander of theirs who'd once done exactly that, sent out all 3 of the flights in a Wing assigned to him, and all 3 had been shot down in detail. Erik had nearly been court martialed for refusing to give the same orders to a reinforcing Wing, which McMasters had been part of, untill a dogfight had broken out directly overhead and the fighters couldn't be released for
foreward recon, saving both them, and Erik.

Word Count 431
CONTRACT TOTAL 7,169
Captain Erik Ingersoll
Callsign: Harlequin
Commanding Officer, Ingersoll's Armoured Cavalry Mercenary Unit



LA-SC-08-01 #07

Independent System
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
The Ridge
MRBC Castle Brian Complex
Wastelands
Testing Range B05
December 26th, 3095 1045 Local

Ambush line Bravo was further up the slope leading down into the arroyo by a full two hundred meters. The Battle Armor troopers made it in time to actually get entrenched with the exception of the lumbering Hauberk squad. The Condors and Musketeers parked their rides at the foot of the slopes, in a hull down position. The Captain’s rationale was that the Heavy Lance would be moving a whole lot slower than their recon lance so he would have less time to spring his trap, hence; his ambushers needed to be a tad bit closer.

The IAC Command Lance had all drifted closer to the northern mouth of the gorge while engaging the enemy recon lance and now were high tailing it back to their original hardened positions. They weren’t fully ensconced, however; by the time an Atlas appeared at the crest of the slope. It kinda worked in the IAC’s favor though. It caused the heavy lance to focus on his ‘Mechs and gave his armored infantry and hover tanks a respite to perform the ambush.

The Atlas crested the slope in a dead run with its awkward lumbering gait, firing as it came. Gunther Price winced as he saw a man made lightning bolt, a silvery guass rifle slug, and the contrails of twenty long range missiles all converge on Captain Ingersoll’s position. For a moment the Captain’s Templar was obscured from sight amidst all the debris, forest flotsam, and smoke generated by the attack.

“ ‘Harlequin’, ‘Python’. Are you alright? Sitrep Commander!” The time elapsed was only five seconds but it could have been five days as far as Gunther was concerned, before dread gripped his chest and he radioed the Captain again. “ ‘Harlequin’, this is ‘Python’. Do you read me? Over.” It seemed like all the IAC were waiting on the report from their Captain. ‘Python’ did not want to consider the graveness of their current situation. A live fire exercise could mean real casualties.

The enemy Grasshopper caught Sergeant Major Deveraux’s Penetrator in its left leg with its PPC, stripping it of a full ton of armor. Deveraux didn’t even flinch. The Royal Knights Rifleman fired two light PPC blast at Ward’s Gallowglas. One hit him in the right leg and merely scorched the paint job, the second one set the trees he was hiding in ablaze. Whether or not the fire was intentional or accidental, the clanner would need to un ass that position. Heat was a battlemechs worst enemy, besides, of course, another battlemech.

Gunther continued to try to raise a response from the IAC’s Commanding Officer, “Captain Erik Ingersoll, please respond. This is Executive Officer Gunther Price, do you read me? Over.”

Just as the smoke began to clear Erik’s voice filled the battlenet, “Quit all that yappin’ ‘Python’. Don’t we still got enemies to take down? I float like a butterfly and sting like a bee, weapons can’t hit with their eyes don’t see. Yeah, I’m good number Two. All units, spring the trap! On my target!”

“ ‘Harlequin’! Evade! Evade! Evade!” Gunther shouted in warning as he overheard the unmistakable high pitch whistle of incoming LRMs. The Crusader had launch twin flights of fifteen missiles each and those thirty warheads were aimed at the IAC commanding officer, again. They were really gunning for Captain Ingersoll. Erik’s little ditty rang true as he made the 85 ton Templar dance out of harm’s way. He ducked beneath the first salvo and dodged salvo number two by spinning into a pivot to end up with the Templar’s back up against the trunk of a 150 year tree.

Now it was time for the sting part of Erik’s little limerick and most of his unit followed suit. The Templar reached out with an icy rope from its ER PPC and seared the Atlas’ left leg. Deveraux’s Penetrator softened the armor plating covering its right arm and torso with twin ER Large Laser beams. Gunther’s own ER Large Pulse Laser and the nickel ferrous slug from his gauss rifle impacted the assault ‘Mechs center mass. Sergeant Felicia Vance’s gunner, Private 1st Class Laura Brodahl, couldn’t draw a steady bead on the Atlas as she swung the turret hard to the right while the Musketeer passed it on the left. At the last optimal minute, however; one streak launcher registered a lock and she mashed down on the firing stud. The two HE short range warheads leapt from their launch tubes impacting the Atlas in what she thought was a critical hit in its Left arm. Markay, who had finally gotten his Musketeer under control, his gunner, Private 1st Class Eldwin Westerheim, did not fare any better unable to produce a viable firing solution, he missed with all three weapons. The Battle Armor Rottweiler Squad even got in on inflicting some damage with their small lasers. The same three troopers connected, the greenhorn, Carter, still had yet to successfully hit anything. That much damage in such a short span of time would have dropped a lighter ‘Mech. But it didn’t even slow the Atlas down as it continue to lumber forward with its death grimace cockpit.

Armor Lance Commander, David Salazar and ‘Wandler’ combine to plink armor off the enemy Grasshopper. The Condor launch an Alpha Strike and Jan’s Fenrir squad added insult to injury with twenty three long range missiles, causing the ‘Mech to extend its left arm out to avoid completely toppling to the ground.

Staff Sergeant Zain Trumbull’s Fenrir Squad took pot shots at the Knights Rifleman superheating armor patches with their ER medium lasers until they glowed white hot on both its legs and center torso.

Gunther did not want to go through the panic he had just endured moments before over the Captain’s safety so he jumped up from behind the ridge he had taken cover under and sprinted headlong into the enemy assault to draw the fire while the IAC continue to turn up the heat on the Atlas.

The Crusader switched targets from the Templar to the now rapidly moving Thunderbolt and launched thirty more warheads. The LRMs percolated the ground in the Thunderbolts wake. The Grasshopper tried to lead Gunther’s Thunderbolt with its PPC but missed behind him with a large margin. The Atlas fired its three big ticket guns at the sprinting Thunderbolt, its ER PPC, its Gauss Rifle, and its LRM 20 rack with much of the same effect, they all missed too. It was finally the Rifleman that made Gunther pull up short and duck his ‘Mech behind a natural rock abutment. It fired a salvo of twin LPPC at Gunther’s Thunderbolt, one hitting him so close to his cockpit in what was the equivalent of a left collar bone.

Meanwhile the IAC was busy unloading on the Atlas. The Captain’s Templar was aiming low and continued to scour armor from the Atlas’ left leg with its ER PPC, a ton at a time. After dancing through the fire created by the enemy Rifleman, ‘Werewolf’s Gallowglas threaten to breach the Atlas’ left leg with its Gauss rifle and he dripped molten armor from the assault ‘Mechs right torso. Markay’s Condor's gunner, Westerheim, continue to launch Alpha strikes and connected with every single weapon. Even in lieu of the Rifleman blasting the fragile tank with an ER medium laser causing the rent in its front hover skirt to enlarge. The damage inflicted on the Atlas was distributed all across the huge ‘Mech’s broad chest and arms. The IAC’s two Musketeer Hover Tanks had swung into position and launched successful Alpha strikes with their rotary auto cannons opened to full bore. In addition to peppering the Atlas all over, the Musketeers were also rewarded with a breach in the Atlas right side armor. The battle armor troops that were in the vicinity, Zain’s Fenrir Suits and Sergeant Newcomb’s Rottweiler Squad, were instructed by Jan Luftensteiner, “To exploit the right side armor!” And that they did. Newcomb’s squad fired in through holes created by the Musketeers with their small laser, disabling the Atlas’ potent assault class LRM 20 launcher as they scattered out of its path.

On the other side of the chasm, Deveraux’s Penetrator and Salazar’s Condor were giving the Grasshopper hell and charging it rent. The Penetrator did a double tap with two ER Large Lasers both to the Grasshoppers left side chest armor. The Condor’s gunner, Lance Corporal Mayne McKeever, performed a flawless Alpha Strike and disable a medium laser in the Grasshopper’s left torso and dropping it on its proverbial ass as the Condor driver, Private 1st Class Neda Wandaba, circled around the heavy ‘Mech.

“Okay Gunther. I see what you’re trying to do.” It was Erik speaking to him on his private frequency. “But I need you to quit being a skittish mother hen and do what it is that you do. Take that SOB down. NOW Lieutenant!”

“Sir! Yes Sir!” Gunther popped his ‘Mech’s blocky head up over the top of the abutment, briefly, as not to get it shot off. Then he took his ‘Mech prone and peeked out from the right side. He could see the Atlas still smoldering from the mass of weapons fire it had endured and it was still on its feet. The only thing that was going to stop this bad boy was a head shot. Gunther lined up both his arm mounted weapons and started to count. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, he got the Atlas gait. Every third one thousand the Atlas’ head would bob up and down as it came down the slope. Gunther took a deep breath and squeezed the triggers in rapid succession. His aim was true. His extended range pulse large laser sent a series of green energy darts speeding through the air that caught the Atlas’ head at the bottom of its bob and obliterated all of its head armor. The gauss rifle round followed closely on its heels, and unimpeded by armor, literally tore the head apart. The Atlas toppled forward, falling down the slope, arms and legs akimbo.

“Target Neutralized!”

“Pretty fancy shooting number two.”

“Thank You Sir,” Gunther really didn’t know what else to say. Except he’d feel responsible after persuading the Captain into this mess if something were to ever happened to him.

Then Erik switched back to the company wide band, “Have at’em people! Engage targets of opportunity!”

The fire that the Rifleman had started was spreading. Fortunately the wind was blowing south by southwest so it was spreading away from the IAC. But the smoke it produce from burning foliage was horrendous. Especially up on the gulley walls in unfamiliar terrain, you wouldn’t want to get caught up in that roiling smoke and misstep and step right off of a cliff.

The loss of their commander must have had a profound effect on the Royal Knights morale. It showed in their unfocused firing. Gunther scrambled the Thunderbolt to its feet and continued to move up from cover to cover. The Rifleman unleashed two LPPC and two light auto cannons at the first spot Gunther had stopped the Thunderbolt at. It only succeeded in sizzling through undergrowth and splintering trees. The Crusader's attempted to track him as he moved the T-Bolt from cover to cover and dropped a missile load way too far behind Gunther. The enemy Grasshopper tried to reach out and touch his T-bolt with its PPC and missed high overhead.

Gunther’s return fire would not suffer the same lackluster performance. Gunther destroyed the Grasshopper’s left arm armor with his ER LPL. The Thunderbolt's gauss rifle slug tore through its right chest armor and clean out through its back, taking a medium laser with it. One medium laser sliced deep into the Heavy ‘Mechs innards on its left side and the other exploited the breach in its right torso and burst a heat sink. And for good measure, Gunther popped him in his center torso with his streak LRM 5 launcher. Deveraux’s Penetrator made the Grasshopper’s left arm armor the consistency of hot wax with one of two ER LL. The clanner, Ward, missed with his gauss rifle shot but made up for it with the destruction of the Grasshopper’s right arm armor with his extended range large laser. Gunner Lance Corporal McKeever, aboard Salazar’s Condor, caught the hapless Battlemech with another near perfect Alpha Strike, destroying the right arm and right torso, scoring damage on the internal structure of its left arm and left torso, breaching the center torso armor disabling the PPC mounted there and scoring a hit on the fusion plants containment bottle. And the Grasshopper finally got taken out by Sergeant Felicia Vance’s Musketeer hover tank. Her gunner, Laura Brodahl, launched yet another Alpha Strike at close range and with the Grasshopper’s armor in tatters and bits and pieces, most of her weapons ordinance landed on its delicate innards. But the shot that did the Grasshopper in was a Streak SRM two round straight to the chest. It ruptured the engine deuterium barrier but lucky for them all the system’s shielding kicked into place.

The announcement came through loud and clear from Felicia’s Sensor Tech, Private 1st Class Kevin O'Neilan. “Captain Ingersoll, the Grasshopper Heavy Class Battle ‘Mech has been successfully dispatched.”

The enemy Rifleman was not faring too much better. Markay’s Condor Gunner, fired all his weapons too, but two streak systems failed to achieve lock and he flat out missed with three ER medium lasers but he did manage to blast a few armor plates loose. Sergeant McDonell's Musketeer's gunner, Jesse MacPhailm, was spot on though. He pulverized the Rifleman with a full load of 90mm shells from his rotary auto cannon, detonating, not one but TWO ammo bins aboard the Rifleman. The electronic feedback through the pilot’s neurohelmet from the two explosions caused him to blackout. It was protected by case so most of the damage from the ammo bins blew out its back but not before taking off its left arm. The shells also disable the heavy ‘Mechs ECM Suite and cause a crack in its engine shielding causing it to dump waste heat all up inside the ‘Mech. With the pilot passed out, the Rifleman crashed to the ground and rolled to a stop at the bottom of the incline. Trumbull’s Fenrir and Newcomb’s Rottweiler Squads were on it like a pack of wild dogs, pumping kilojoules worth of small laser and ER medium laser shots into the ‘Mechs carcass. The Fenrir Squad destroyed the center torso armor damaging the engine. The Rottweiler Squad shot the unconscious pilot right through his chest.

Erik’s Templar faced off with the Crusader as if they were in some futuristic gunfight down on the gulley’s floor. The Crusader fired a single LRM load in Erik’s direction too far inside the weapons minimum range to arm properly. All the dumb fire missiles missed, not even having sufficient range to lock onto their target. Erik lashed out with his ER PPC only to miss. He quickly pulled up his 150mm heavy auto cannon and fired it on double rate. The first salvo hit dead center of the Crusader’s heavily armored chest. The second shot found only air as the impact from the first salvo knocked the Crusader down to one knee.

“To hell with this crap. IAC! On My Target!”

Again, it was not a matter of if the Crusader would succumb, it was how quickly. With the forces arrayed against him the Crusader sensed the end was near. The Crusader pilot fired a Streak SRM at the clanner’s Gallowglas, a streak at Deveraux’s Penetrator, which subsequently were shot down by Deveraux’s AMS system, two LRM 15s at Gunther’s Thunder bolt. It was too little, too late. A fall lance of IAC ‘Mechs fired on the Crusader with a full lance of hovercrafts. The kill went to the clanner with a well placed head shot with his gauss rifle. The Crusader fell to the ground amidst a cloud of thick dust.

“Great shooting people. Cool’em off but get back into your ambush positions,” Enunciated the Captain. “Do NOT unbutton your tanks, or take off your helmets, nor pop open your cockpits. We’re not out of the woods just yet. Gimme sit reps.”

His command lance reported minor armor dings but no one had any breaches nor weapons failures. The hovercraft had some minor damage from rocks and debris fouling up they’re air intakes, the one Condor had hover skirt damage, and one Musketeer had a jammed rotary auto cannon and they were working on unjamming it, but they were all solid and good on ammo. Jan reported that his Fenrir’s ammo bins had run dry but other than that his troops were just hot and sweaty.

After about a full minute Jan announced, “Contact!”

It was the four mediums and they were creeping along at a quarter of their potential speed, seeing the littered slope ahead of them scattered with only their ‘Mechs. The enemy lance was an Enforcer III, an Uziel, and two Leopards. They didn’t, however; come down the ravine but opted to stay upon the high walled sides. A Leopard each on the west and east side, the Uziel joined the Leopard on the west, and the Enforcer halted and took shelter inside the sole remaining guard house. The Knights were gullible but that didn’t make them stupid. But if Leftenant sg Brian Quinn thought that light shack was going to save him, he was sorely mistaken. He should have seen what happened to the other shack, two hundred meters away.

A Leopard and the Uziel on the western side exchanged long range shots with Deveraux’s Penetrator. Gunther was back on the ‘island’ and his initial reaction had been to head east and so that’s what he did. Started moving his Thunderbolt to the east. But after looking at the way the forces were arrayed against them he was thinking about heading back to the west to even the two to one odds against Deveraux.

“Let’s not lose focus people. Our objectives are the three Lance Commanders. Take them out and we go home. We have just one left and he’s in the Enforcer.”

That’s was all the Captain had to say. The shack came down, the ‘Mech came down, and the IAC went home for the day.

Word Count 3089
CONTRACT TOTAL 10,258
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE


LA-SC-08-01 #08

Independent System
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
The Ridge
MRBC Castle Brian Complex
IAC Compound
Warehouse
Repair Bay Indigo
December 26th, 3095 1200 Local

After the Robinsion's Royal Knights Mercenary Unit became insolvent it was music to Gunther Price’s ears to catch rumors that Erik Ingersoll might be coming back and pulling his Armored Cavalry from off the shelf. You see, several months ago Captain Erik Ingersoll had mothballed his company of equipment back at the IAC’s complex, Castle Brian compound on Outreach.

It was a reserve company; a collection of Military Hardware of all types that were fully equipped for service but were not currently needed, and thus partially or fully decommissioned. A reserve company is informally said to be "in mothballs" or "mothballed"; an equivalent expression in unofficial modern Inner Sphere usage is "ghost company". In earlier times, and especially in Lyran Alliance usage, these companies were said to be ‘Laid up in Ordinary’.

Such hardware is held in reserve against a time when it may be necessary to call them back into service, and they are usually tied up in backwater areas near military bases or spaceports to speed the reactivation process. The Castle Brian had both. The Hardware may be modified, for instance by having rust - prone areas sealed off or wrapped in poly urethane or, in the case of battlemechs, the neural helmet interface removed. While being held in the reserve company, the military hardware typically has a minimal crew (known informally as a skeleton crew) to ensure that they stay in somewhat usable condition. If for nothing else, their nuclear reactors need to be run regularly to reduce corrosion of their uranium rods and to prevent the battlemechs from falling from their berths. A task that was maintained by the IAC Junior Tech Corps overseen by Senior Tech Sergeant, Daniel Jones.

When military hardware is placed into reserve status, the various parts and weapon systems that the ‘Mech, Tank, or Aerospace Fighter uses are also placed in a storage facility, so that if the hardware is reactivated, the proper spare parts and ammunition are available, but like the hardware itself, the stored parts and equipment are prone to fall into disrepair, suffer metal corrosion, and become obsolete.

In practice most reserve companies rapidly become obsolete and are scrapped, or used for experiments or target practice, or are sold to the Periphery Nations (and occasionally to private companies for civilian conversion), or become museum artifacts. Fortunately for Gunther that will not be the case for Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry Company.

Acting off of the rumor he had heard he looked up Captain Ingersoll’s address and shot him a HPG message complete with an application and all his MRBC files and medical records. It took the Captain a couple of months to respond but when he did, it was to Gunther’s surprise that the Captain wished to meet Gunther in person. The two men met over lunch and after the Captain got over his shock of Gunther’s metal jaw and multi-mode red eyes, at its conclusion Gunther was offered a spot as a Sergeant in Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry aboard a Thunderbolt TDR – 7SE. Gunther had applied for the Executive Officer spot but Oatmeal was better than no meal at all. And besides, the Captain had told Gunther at that fateful lunch, that he had not made his final decision yet on the XO spot, he was still waiting to see which of his returnees would answer the hail to reform the unit. So in essences there was still hope.

That hope turned into a reality roughly a week later. Captain Ingersoll promoted Gunther to 1st Lieutenant and offered him the Executive Officer Position over the IAC. Gunther was overjoyed but he tried not to show it. In the upcoming weeks Gunther and the Captain work real close together, filling out requisition forms, interviewing new trainees, vetting the returning IAC personnel, working on ranks, overseeing the reactivation of units from mothball status, and an ever growing mountain of paperwork. They had even spent some time away from work together, downing beers and swapping stories. Gunther would have to say, that he genuinely liked his new Boss. These were the thoughts going through Gunther’s mind as he returned from the IAC’s first live fire training battle.

Senior Tech Sergeant Daniel Jones had gotten word of the live fire battle between the IAC and the Royal Knights right after the fighters had been launched to support the withdrawal. Expecting the worst Jones sent everyone and every supply part he could lay his hands on and headed over to the largest of four facilities the DMM converted over to repair bases for the duration of the IAC stay on Outreach. By the time they had loaded up everything to move over to the repair facility the fighters had returned with the good and the bad news.

Despite the damage taken, all the units were still operational enough to return home under their own power. First Lieutenant Gunther ‘Python’ Price's Thunderbolt, a Condor, and a Fenrir Squad were the most damaged units, but each pilot, crew, and squad refused to take a rest that couldn’t be given to the whole unit.

All the techs and support staff had turned out this afternoon to watch the mercenaries return. Everyone was cheering and yelling as the units walked and drove their battered hulks over to the Repair Bay. Indigo was the largest warehouse the DMM could spare for the mercenary unit. Daniel was able to construct seven repair bays in the building. One towards the back which was Bay One and Bays Two, Four, and Six on the left and Three, Five and Seven on the right side of a wide walkway for the ‘Mechs entering and leaving. When they arrived Erik asked Daniel to deal with the simplest cases first and get them back online for transport within the week, while the tougher cases got worked on afterwards.

Gunther was walking his Thunderbolt into the hanger as he watched the techs reloading Gauss rifle rounds into the right torso of Master Sergeant Geoff 'Werewolf' Ward’s Gallowglas in Bay Two, and hammering on more armor to Sergeant Felicia Vance Musketeer in Bay Five. The last SRM reloads were being loaded into Staff Sergeant James Markay’s Condor in Bay Four, and 1st Lieutenant Jan 'Wandler' Luftensteiner was helping Junior Tech 2nd Class, Crystal Dailey, put the rear right leg armor on her Fenrir in Bay Seven. Gunther stopped in front of Bay One and turned the ‘Mech around 180 degrees to back it into the rack. As he turned he saw the Penetrator in Bay Three as arch - wielder torches shot off white - hot sparks from the chest as tech 1st Class, Emanuela Friedman worked to replace the armor on it. Gunther finished locking down the Thunderbolt in the rack and powered everything down. He set the heavy neurohelmet on the rack above the command chair and shucked off the cooling vest that he stowed in a small locker at the back of the cockpit. After lighting a cigar, he tossed a small red duffel bag out the open hatch and then levered himself through the same exit. As he reached the raised platform that jutted up against the ‘Mechs head, he spotted Tech Sergeant Deana Herron leaning over the railing to get a better look at his damaged ‘Mech.

Gunther reached down and pulled a gray t - shirt from the bag on the landing to put on over his bare chest. The dry cotton felt good over his body as the heat from being stuffed inside the ‘Mech all morning was finally dissipating. He threaded his right arm through the handles of the bag and set it up on his shoulder. “So Deana, what do you think?” he asked quietly.

Deana straightened up over the railing, her face red from the forced flow of blood to her head. She pulled a greasy red rag from the back of her jumpsuit’s pocket and wiped down her hands before stuffing it back in the pocket.

“Well, overall not too bad. The armor is pretty thin all over, but I think we can get that back up to par. Ammo doesn’t appear to be too much of a problem. Generally speaking I think it’ll hold together nicely.” Deana crossed her arms and smiled at Gunther.

A puzzled look crossed Gunther’s face. “Uh Deana, I was referring to the unit.”

Deana aped the look Gunther had. “So was I.” The two Cavaliers started to chuckle.

“Oh don’t think you’re getting off that easy Lieutenant,” Deana paused before adding “ ‘Python’. This ‘Mech of yours is a wreck. You got armor loss all over, dirt and rock ground into the joints, and what looks to be some other ‘Mechs armor mashed in with yours in two different spots. Were you even with your men or out beating down the Royal Knights by yourself? I mean look at it for crying – out - loud!” Deana thrust an accusatory finger at the Thunderbolt.

Gunther shrugged his shoulders. “It’s here isn’t it? I walked it back with no problems.” He blew a puff of smoke into the air and watched it dissipate.

“That’s not the point, Gunther Adam Price.” A tone of sincerity crept into Deana’s voice as it always did whenever she used his full name. “BattleMechs are just like humans. They can be mortally wounded and die, just like we can. Mortal ‘Mech wounds I can fix.” Deana walked up and put her arms around Gunther’s waist, “Human ones, I can’t. Try not to take unnecessary risks so soon in the fight. Don’t mistake bravado for stupidity.”

In any other military unit such remarks expressed to the unit XO would surely land the person in hot water. However in the IAC, the Captain valued opinion greatly. And Gunther mentally realized that Deana was right and after all she was his significant other so how much trouble could she really get in? He HAD taken several careless risks on this morning’s exercise. He realized he had lost focus and got caught up in paying the Royal Knights back for leaving him high and dry. He made a mental note to try to work out of the head – of – the - charge battlefield thinking.

“Yeah, I know you’re right Deana. But it was a great fight none – the - less. Let me stow my gear and I’ll be back up to give you a hand here.” He took another long drag on his cigar.

Deana reached up above her and pulled down a retractable cable that she hooked on to a harness she had strapped around her legs and waist. “I’ll just hang around and see how much you messed her up then.” Gunther walked off the landing towards the stairs to take him down to the ground level and Deana crawled over the railing and began to rappel across the ‘Mech’s chest.

Gunther reached the ground floor and headed straight for the lead tech working on the Timber Wolf, senior technician, Tech Sergeant Sarah Altena. After a brief run down of the prognosis, he found out that all the weapons were still viable after coming out of storage, the armor wasn’t too bad but needed the most attention, and aside from needing an entire new cockpit it wasn’t going to take long to bring it up to operational level. Gunther made sure that Sarah knew that Erik wanted it back online, but not at the expense of the rest of the unit. As Gunther turned around to check the other bays the red strobe lights mounted around the hanger walls began to flash. A horn blared twice to warn the people of ‘Mech movement inside the hanger. Just as the last horn sounded a large shadow moved in front of the hanger doors from the right side.

A jutting armor baffle appeared first, followed quickly by a pair of weapons on the right arm of the ‘Mech and then feet as it walked slowly around the corner and down the main walkway. Even though Gunther knew the Templar was heading for Bay Six closest to the doorway, the sight of it bearing down on him made his heart rate jump quickly. He nearly jumped out of his skin and almost dropped his stogie when Felicia tapped him on the shoulder as he watched the 85 - ton monster back in to the docking rack.

Word Count 2087
CONTRACT TOTAL 12,345
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE


LA-SC-08-01 #09

Independent System
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
The Ridge
MRBC Castle Brian Complex
IAC Compound
Warehouse
Repair Bay Indigo
December 26th, 3095 1215 Local

“Sorry elltee. I really didn’t mean to startle you like that,” Felicia apologized.

Gunther waved off her apology. “No need Sergeant. I tend to forget the lost perspective when riding in these things. Ten meters high, surrounded by armor and weapons and you forget just how spooky it looks like from the outside. What can I do you for?”

“Whether or not the rest of the unit follows me, I just wanted to be the first to thank you for your quick thinking out there. You’re one helluva executive officer once you get past your appearances.”

What past for a sheepish grin manifest itself across Gunther’s face. “I appreciate the kind words, but I’d have to owe the praise to the training in the Federated Freeman.”

“Training doesn’t build confidence, elltee. I’ve known enough FedRat commanders that would’ve turned tail and run in that situation. Seeing you lead from the front like that was something else. You did good out there ‘Python’. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“I’m glad you approve Sergeant.”

Felicia snapped a salute the IAC had adopted, palm down and fingers to her brow. “My pleasure, sir.”

Gunther returned the salute and the two parted silently. He started to head over to where Jan was working on his Fenrir, when he was almost run over by a young dirty red haired tech carrying an arm full of cans. The boy stumbled a bit trying to avoid a collision with Gunther and dropped a pair of cans in the process. Clamping down on the cigar with his teeth, Gunther bent down to help retrieve the cans for the junior tech.

“Slow down a bit son. The repairs are necessary but unless no one told me of approaching enemy ‘Mechs you don’t have to rush the repairs.” Gunther handed back a can that turned out to be spray paint.

“Sorry sir. I mean, 1st Lieutenant.” The boy almost dropped the entire set of cans trying to muster up a proper salute.

Gunther quickly caught his arms, with his cigar clamped between his right hand’s pointer finger and his middle finger, and a few cans before the whole thing turned into a big scene. “Ok, ok slow down. When you’ve got an arm full of supplies there’s no need to salute. I get the idea if you can’t. What’s your name son?” Gunther saw the boy relax just a bit at his calm words.

“Brian. Brian Duka. I was hired a few weeks before we started pulling stuff outta mothball. Danny…, err, Senior Tech Sergeant Daniel Jones assigned me to the team for Master Sergeant Geoff Ward’s Timber Wolf.”

Gunther nodded his recollection of Brian Duka, he was an 18 year old kid off of Liberty just as a shrill whistle echoed from the direction of Bay Two catching both of their attentions.

Master Sergeant Geoff Ward was the source of the whistle, standing on a pair of medium pulse laser barrels that jutted from the left torso of his Timber Wolf. A single safety line extended from his waist to a handhold just below the cockpit area.

“AsTech Duka I do not have all day to wait for you to return to your duties,“ Geoff bellowed from his perch on the ‘Mech. Gunther tossed his head in the direction of the Bay and Brian set off running back toward the Timber Wolf. Gunther casually walked over and stood almost directly underneath Geoff. Geoff watched Gunther walk in to the Bay the whole time the AsTech ran up the stairs to the top of the ‘Mech with the spray paint cans.

“What’cha doin’ Master Sergeant?” Removing the cigar from his mouth, Gunther had to practically shout to make his voice heard over the din.

“Since I have finished all the repairs and reloads on the Gallowglas, I wanted to make a designation on my new ‘Mech, sir. I did not mean to take away my tech from your conversation but the sooner I am done the sooner I can free this Bay for someone else.”

Gunther threw up both his arms in mock surrender before taking a puff from his cigar. “Understood Master Sergeant. So what are you calling it?” Gunther took a few steps back from under the torso of the ‘Mech where he could just make out a gray blob of sorts on the front of the ‘Mech where Geoff stood.

“I am painting a salivating canine here and will put the title of ‘Mad Dog’ above it in gold lettering. I am certain that after our recent scrap with the Royal Knights they will be more cautious when challenging us to a live fire exercise again. I would be remiss if I did not remind them who helped serve up their defeat.”

Gunther could see the wide, white - toothed grin Geoff had. “Mad Dog huh? Kind of ironic don’t you think since this ‘Mech was designed from the salvaged chassis of the Clan Mad Dog ‘Mech?” With the distance between them Gunther was unable to tell if the look Geoff shot him was confusion or annoyance.

“Yes, I see. I do suppose there is a certain level of irony in that. Thank you for pointing that out, sir.”

“Good luck with your art Master Sergeant.” Gunther shouted as he began to walk out of the bay.

“Thank you First Lieutenant.” Geoff shouted back, as he turned to accept the first can of paint from Duka.

Gunther headed diagonally from Bay Four to Bay Seven to where Jan was climbing down off of his Fenrir quadrupeds battle armor suit. After all the conversations he’d had with him since the IAC had reformed, he still hadn’t thanked his fellow Lieutenant in person for his help nudging Erik into looking beyond Gunther’s appearance and giving him a chance to be the Executive Officer of the unit.

“Hey Lieutenant Price!”

“Hey Sergeant!” Gunther stopped just short of the entrance to the Bay as shouting at the hanger entrance caught his attention. Gunther turned to see Sergeant Raymond McDonell and Sergeant Felicia Vance leading the men and women of their tank crews into the hanger area. He stopped and turned to face the group of people from the bankrupt merc unit that he had recommended to Captain Ingersoll for purchased on Outreach to man the company’s two Musketeer Hover Tanks in the unit. He had yet to have any serious discussions with the men and women of that unit, but it looked like now was going to be as good a time as any to clear the air. The eight of them stopped and formed a semi - circle around Gunther in front of the Bay Seven.

“Lieutenant, we just came by to lend a hand to the rest of the repairs, but we wanted to stop over first and thank you.” Felicia Vance spoke up for the group and the rest nodded their heads to her words. Her speech had a slight German accent, as Gunther recalled her dossier revealed she served in the Lyran Alliance Armed Forces before turning merc.

“Thank me? For?” Gunther asked inquisitively.

“Y’know,” Raymond shrugged “for running the unit the way you and the Captain do. We haven’t seen action like that in years, and aside from the dangers of accepting a challenge from a Mercenary unit with twelve ‘Mechs from the DMM it was rather exciting to be back in combat.”

Private 1st Class Anna Dickson spoke up next. “Yeah, I haven’t seen any one lead like you do, and I thought I’d seen everything from my days in the chair.”

Private 1st Class Kevin O'Neilan lightly punched Felicia in the arm. “Yeah, I bet the Captain would even give LOKI a run for their money!” The group including Gunther broke out in light laughter.

“Alright you turkeys,“ Gunther started, “I really appreciate the compliments. But we couldn’t have done it without you guys there, so don’t sell yourselves short on our account. You did the work too. You were the ones that took down the Royal Knights and forced them from the field.” ‘It was good practice for the mission that the Captain is considering’ Gunther thought to himself but didn’t voice it out loud. “It doesn’t matter what anyone says about us now. We proved ourselves to the MRBC. The toughest bunch of nuts to crack that ever fought in the name of the Lyran Alliance!”

The men and women around Gunther let out a bunch of yells and cheers and clapped their hands together. Gunther hadn’t intended this to be a pep talk or even a morale - raising speech, but it just seemed to come out that way. He shook hands with all the tankers around him and they all parted ways to help the techs repair the damaged hardware currently docked. As Gunther parted with Sergeant Felicia Vance, he turned around to see Jan a few steps away. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted 2nd Lieutenant David Salazar standing against the doorway to the hanger smoking a cigarette. Salazar shot Gunther a look of hatred and tossed the butt to the floor and walked out snuffing it under his heel.

Jan walked up to Gunther, and in a voice he was sure only the two of them could hear, “He doesn’t appear to like your standings in the eyes of ‘his’ troops ‘Python’.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what his problem with me is, but it’s starting to look mighty personal. I’d better have a talk with him before it gets someone killed out in the field. Have you heard anyone mention anything about this or allude to what the deal with 2nd Lieutenant Salazar might be?”

“Regrettably, no sir. No one seems to talk about their feelings or the feelings of others. It seems to be a hands - off topic, or it just might be something I’m not picking up on.” Jan dipped his head as if ashamed he could offer no help to Gunther.

“Oh well, no biggy. Just let me know if you do overhear something. I’d rather kill the rumor mill before it gets up to speed, if you know what I mean.” Gunther smiled trying to warm up the nature of their talk.

“Yes, I do ‘Python’.” Jan winked in silent understanding of Gunther’s words.

Captain Erik Ingersoll walked into the repair bay and said, “Oh there you are number two. I’ve been looking all over for you …”

Erik was interrupted as HR/Personnel officer, Private 1st Class Alex Pendleberry rounded the corner of the hanger doors and raced over to where Erik, Gunther, and Jan stood. He thrust a sheet of yellow paper into the waiting hands of Erik and bent over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He took a couple of deep breaths and stood back up as Erik passed it to Gunther and Gunther finished reading the sheet.

“Oh that’s just phukkin’ great,” hissed Gunther. He handed the sheet to Jan and took an exaggerated drag on his smoldering cigar. Erik and Gunther waited in silence as Jan read the sheet and handed it back to Alex. An ashen look washed over Jan’s face that nearly aped that of Gunther’s.

The Director of the MRBC had just approved the disbursement of funds and equipment to the IAC but the Deputy was running interference. He was getting the IAC involved in the ‘Company Store’ style of agreement with a one Isaac C Anderson of the Interstellar Consulting Association. This Mister Anderson was going to ‘Loan’ the IAC 64 million c-bills and they would have to pay it back over the next three contracts. First Lieutenant Gunther Price didn’t like the idea and let the Captain know. But he vowed to do what ever it takes to make good on their terms of the agreement.

Word Count 2005
CONTRACT TOTAL 14,350
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE


LA-SC-08-01 #10

Independent System
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
The Ridge
MRBC Castle Brian Complex
Primary Spaceport
'DZ - City'
Landing Field Delta
Pad D - 12 & D - 13
December 31st, 3095 2300 Local

Once 1st Lieutenant Gunther ‘Python’ Price’s half of the unit was scheduled for loading aboard the ‘Sword of Valor’ Union – Class DropShip, he found himself in a running, three - sided battle with the MRBC Technical Officer and the temporary Chief of Procurement on the eve of the IAC’s departure.

The Gallowglas in 1st Company, Command Lance of the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry, died right on the landing Field in the shadow of the Union Class DropShip, ‘Sword of Valor’, that it was preparing to board. An old, old fault in a leg servo unit finally shorted an actuator circuit board, too often patched instead of it being replaced.

The leg locked, freezing the 'Mech in place and blocking access to the DropShip's number one hold.

Though replacing a circuit board is not particularly difficult, the repair meant removing the Gallowglas’ leg at the knee, a procedure that required a Mobile Field Base Vehicle or a full maintenance facility, at least. The IAC’s repair gantries from Indigo were already broken down and stored, and MRBC Base Procurement refused to provide a new circuit board unless the crippled 'Mech could be brought to the base’s maintenance center some two hundred meters across the tarmac. A request for a deployable Jifty gantry was refused: why should that gear be broken out this time of night when maintenance blocks were open just across the SpacePort?

Unfortunately, the base Field Technical Services Division could spare no transports for the three hours' work needed to lower the 'Mech onto a flatbed crawler and carry it across to Maintenance. Proper authorization to re - detail a transport and crew had to come from the base commandant, and he did not like being disturbed after hours when he was spending time with his wife and kids and would not be available until tomorrow morning . . . or possibly evening. ‘So sorry’, they said, ‘but we are really very busy and could you call back later? Or you might check with the Logistical Staff at the airport, eighty klicks from here. They might have a transport, and if you could get authorization...’

Meanwhile, the four hovercrafts from the IAC’s Armor Lance were scheduled to board through the blocked hatch, and the entire loading schedule was falling behind. After two hours of fruitless tail - chasing, Gunther arrived at the only possible solution. He went and got Tech Sergeant Nelson Villasol and Tech Sergeant Sarah Altena, instructed them each to pilot their charges 'Mechs, the Penetrator and Timber Wolf, respectively, to equip each ‘Mech with a hauling harness and drag the crippled, seventy ton Gallowglas across the tarmac to the maintenance center and leave it there, laid carefully and squarely across the access way leading to the building's underground VIP garage.

If the major in charge of the Technical Services Division wanted to get home for breakfast tomorrow morning, the 'Mech would have to be repaired tonight, transport or no transport.

It was, and loading proceeded almost on schedule.




Independent System
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
The Ridge
MRBC Castle Brian Complex
Ingersoll's Armored Cavalry Offices
Secure Briefing Room
January 1st, 3096 0805 Local

Executive Officer Gunther Price was seated in the secure briefing room along with Captain Ingersoll and the rest of the IAC officer Corps, and he too, was toking on a cigar. It wasn’t the expensive cohiba cigars from the planet Trinidad in the Free Worlds League, since the aggression from Agatha, there were strict embargoes on anything from the FWL. But it was a medium grade cigar from the world of Kochab, nestled in the Isle of Skye within the Lyran Alliance. Oh Man, what he wouldn’t do for a good Cohiba right about now. Hell he’d take on the 10th Marik Militia all by himself. Gunther chuckled to himself at the thought.

He was actually seated behind the Captain off to Erik’s right. Directly in front of Gunther, next to the Captain, Sergeant Major Deveraux was seated and directly to the Captain’s left side was the bondsman Geoff Ward. Flanking Gunther’s seat were 1st Lieutenant Melissa Mariotta to his right and 1st Lieutenant Peter Grimaldus to his left, the commanding officers of the ‘Seraphim’ and ‘Sword of Valor’, respectively.

Gunther’s gaze fell on the assembled officers and noted that he could just about tell where each one heralded from by their attire. There were a lot of ex - LAAF officers, but there was a sizeable contingent of ex - AFFS Officers and ex – SLDF Officers as well. He took out his noteputer and made a note to self, ‘Address the Captain on selecting a standard IAC uniform’. Gunther figured that it wouldn’t hurt to at least bring it up. I mean it would, well maybe ‘would’ is a strong word, it possibly could build a sense of pride in the unit and bolster unity through out his command. Gunther mentally shrugged, “Meh . . .”

“What was that ‘Python’?” Melissa asked Gunther without turning her head to look at him just simply leaning in a little bit closer as not to be overheard.

“Oh nothing ‘M&M’. . . “ It was what Gunther called her in private, ‘M&M’ for her initials and after a popular Terran candy. “ . . . just thinking out loud is all.”

Gunther watched the Captain perform a head count and then when he was through Joachim closed the doors. ‘How does he do that?’ Gunther thought. Keep track of all his officers in his head and doesn’t need a noteputer, pencil or paper, nothin’. Well then the Captain hasn’t been shot in his head and hasn’t been doped up on pain killers for numerous surgeries while they reconstructed his jaw either. That probably has a lot to do with it.

Gunther’s ears perked up when Jan leaned forward to scrutinize the map and asked a series of questions. Gunther stood up from his seat behind and to the right of Captain Ingersoll and asked, “Do you mind if I field the Lieutenant’s questions, Captain?” Gunther ‘THOUGHT’ he detected Erik’s infamous imperceptible nod but he wasn’t sure. After all, it’s imperceptible but he damn sure didn’t say ‘No’ so Gunther purged on ahead. Its easier to ask for forgiveness afterwards that permission beforehand.

    Wandler wrote:
    "You really think we will find them on the Isles, Erik?" he pointed at the map.
    he obviously was pondering, throwing his military acumen into the ring
    "I can only see the ground-based elements hide there, if at all..." 

”And that’s EXACTLY why it would be the perfect place to hide. Hopefully, the Marik Commander sees things the way you do 'Wandler', the impossibility of it making a good hiding place. A wise MUCO, like Captain Ingersoll and hopefully the Gearhead MUCO are thinking along the same lines. They see the impossible and make it possible. "I" never would have thought strategically about deploying my aerospace fighters on separate DropShips. But to Erik it was second nature. You see, you don’t run a successful Merc Command by being foolish. There’s a graveyard full of young Merc Commands.”

    Wandler wrote:
    "Do we have their roster information?” 

”Jan,” Gunther began through puffs on his stogie, “I am supplying this information because I’m sure if it is on your mind, there are others here too, with the same questions. However; I can not stress enough that this intel is OUT DATED, by almost a full year. Even our update that says they have suffered 60% losses is at least four months old. So there is no way of knowing what they’re composition will be when we arrive. And anyone that has anything to do with military planning knows that intel is like eggs, the fresher, the better. Now having said that, Yes, we do have access to a Granston's Gearheads TO&E. All medium to heavy class chassis.”

    Wandler wrote:
    “How big was their Mech force?” 

”The Gearheads consisted of two companies. They 'WERE' 24 ‘Mechs strong.”

    Wandler wrote:
    “Did they drop any conventional troops? “

”Again, Yes they did. The Gearheads 'STARTED' this campaign 14 months ago with an armored hover company reinforced with a mechanized infantry company.”

    Wandler wrote:
    “Was there a dropship support on site?”

”No. Nothing listed on their TO&E suggested that they had any kind of DropShip Support.”

    Wandler wrote:
    “How big is/was their ASF force?" 

”They 'HAD' a standard aerospace squadron. Six fighters.”

    Wandler wrote:
    "Does anyone think we can cram some Bandits in our Dropships somewhere?” 

”Captain, that’s a question you better field.”





Independent System
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
The Ridge
MRBC Castle Brian Complex
Primary Spaceport
'DZ - City'
Landing Field Delta
Pad D - 12 & D - 13
January 1st, 3096 1825 Local

As boost time approached, the scene became even more chaotic and hectic. The port facilities (affectionately known as ‘Portland’ or ‘DZ – City’) of the MRBC Castle Brian Complex were a hive of activity focused on the squat shapes of the DropShips . . . a Mule and the IAC’s Unions, mostly . . . resting in their blast pits surrounded by the lace like traceries of loading gantries and crane supports. Somehow, hundreds of tons of food, water, munitions, and spare parts had to be directed from storehouses around the planet to the proper ship at the proper time.

The physics of mass and mass distribution were unforgiving of the schedules and problems of ship supply officers. If each ton of supplies was not positioned precisely, the ship would not respond as expected when the captain later tried to cut in a control jet to vector clear of incoming missiles or to maneuver through a turbulent atmosphere. Worse, if those tons of supplies were not stored in the proper order, ground troops queuing up to draw ammo might be told that their supplies lay somewhere on the far side of 400 tons of dried meat and a case of BattleMech leg actuator and circuit boards.

Finally, after ten hours of grueling work, the last 'Mech was somehow winched into its transport niche and locked down, the last liter of reaction mass had been pumped into tanks and the hollow, partitioned spaces between bulkheads and decks, and the last platoon of Technicians had filed aboard and found the narrow, padded ledges that would be their homes for the next several weeks. With the threat of official delay from the Technical Services Division's office removed, IAC’s Commanding Officer, Captain Erik ‘Harlequin’ Ingersoll, boosted for Outreach’s Nadir JumpPoint only a few short minutes ago aboard the ‘Seraphim’, the IAC’s Union - Class Flagship.

Gunther was left to send the final messages required by protocol and formal etiquette . . . one to Mister Isaac C Anderson stating that the original battle plan had, after all and after much careful consideration, been changed; and another that went by diplomatic paths to Hauptmann Eric Von Patton himself, explaining the change and describing the friction generated between the IACs command staff and Mister Anderson of the Interstellar Consulting Association. Gunther had composed this last with some measure of relief. ‘Let Von Patton deal with him’, he thought. From now on, I'll just have to worry about Marik BattleMechs!

Messages transmitted, Gunther stepped aboard the Union Class DropShip, the ‘Sword of Valor’, commandeered from the IAC’s DropShip Squadron and stared for the last time across the nearly deserted SpacePort, that was Outreach's largest port facility. The Mule Class DropShip had already boosted, and the only personnel visible were isolated groups clustered here and there trying to assess the blast damage caused by the departing DropShips. Trash and debris . . . paper by the ton, discarded equipment cases and cargo crates, the scattered refuse of two hundred men, the skeletal frameworks of partly dismantled cranes and gantries . . . littered the tarmac, creating a haunting image of loneliness and desolation.

Outreach was the inner world of a K9V System. The laws of Kearny - Fuchida drive dictated that the star's two jump points would be seven tenths of an astronomical unit out, the zenith point above the star's north pole, the nadir point above its south pole. At a constant 1 G boost, with time out for a mid course flip, the trip from world to jump point would take three days and eight hours.

With an effort, Gunther shook the lingering anxiety from his thoughts, turned, and boarded the ‘Sword of Valor’. Twenty minutes later, the DropShip rose into the sky atop a flaring flame of fusion heated plasma.

Word Count 2112
CONTRACT TOTAL 16,462
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE


Independent System
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
The Ridge
MRBC Castle Brian Complex
Ingersoll's Armored Cavalry Offices
Secure Briefing Room
January 1st, 3096 0805 Local


Jan was a little puzzled by the agressiveness by the units 2nd in command. Afterall he had risen important questions, key for planning his assignements.
He leaned back for a second, pondering on how to come back from this but then made the decision not to back down and take the verbal smackdown.

"Look, I'm asking those questions because I have valid reason to. Maybe it's not important to you how they looked like but it is important to me and my men. Why? Because if you search for something you gota know how to search for something.
Lemme ask you a question: How does the footprint of a Warhammy differ from, say, a Lightray, a Verfolger or... an Albratross?" he paused for a second looking directly into the eye of the units 2nd in command
"You don't know, do you? It's because this is not important for you. You see the blib on the screen and get a database comparison from your onboard computer or directly identify via visual. For us on the ground it is a massive difference on how a mech walks and what he leaves behind. His size and how he affects the trees, their foilage and so on.

I totally understand that intel gets outdated REAL quick but if I know that they ain't got no Atlas, and we find tracks of an Atlas, we know what we found.

Additionally. You throw in my face that great commanders think out of the box and that's why they might be hiding where it does not make any actual sense, but you assume that their commander is still alife and/or still commanding the unit while simultaniously telling me that we don't know how the remains of the unit are looking like now.

I really don't wana start a fight over this. But my tasks is to find the guerillia force, yours is to draw the fights.
I will do whatever me and my command are able to do to empower you in your job, this is our duty, but don't tell me on how to do mine..."

Jan had not risen his voice during the speech but his voice had become almost hushed and very calm. If he was like this in a confrontation and or combat it was pretty obvious that he was a dangerous individual in combat.

Then he smiled again, almost as if he had reminded himself of the fact how social norms work and spoke:

"Egal, wir sind hier ja alle Freunde, oder? Wir sollten zusammenarbeiten, nicht streiten..."
(anyhow, we're all friends hiere, right? We should not argue, but cooperate..."

Word Count 460
CONTRACT TOTAL 16,892


LA-SC-08-01 #12

Independent System
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
The Ridge
MRBC Castle Brian Complex
Ingersoll's Armored Cavalry Offices
Secure Briefing Room
January 1st, 3096 0810 Local

    Wandler wrote:
    Look, I'm asking those questions because I have valid reason to.” 

Executive Officer Gunther ‘Python’ Price was still standing when 1st Lieutenant Jan 'Wandler' Luftensteiner began his diatribe. The Executive Officer’s mental alarm went haywire by the sheer way Jan put emphasis on the word ‘Look’. Gunther’s first reaction was to look around to his left and his right and even behind him to verify whom the 1st Lieutenant was speaking to. When he realized Jan was addressing him, he paid rapt attention and quickly attempted to discover what he had said to warranty Jan’s demeanor. Gunther saw that Captain Ingersoll started to rise to intervene but Gunther gently touched the Captain’s left shoulder, from his position behind and to the right of the Captain, to indicate that he had this. Gunther had opened this can of worms and he would definitely lose face in the eyes of the officers if he allowed the Captain to rescue him. So Gunther thought over each word before he answered Jan’s questions.

“Yes, yes, I agree Lieutenant Luftensteiner. They were ALL valid questions.”

    Wandler wrote:
    “Maybe it's not important to you how they looked like but it is important to me and my men.” 

”That’s not true Jan. If its important to my men then its important to me.” Gunther offered. Sincerely confused as to how Jan got off on this line of thinking. “ 'Wandler', What have I said to make you feel that its not important to me?”

    Wandler wrote:
    “Why? Because if you search for something you gota know how to search for something.” 

“I agree with this sentiment one hundred percent. We do perform reconnaissance from our ‘Mechs and I was a recon pilot before. But do go on.”

    Wandler wrote:
    ”Lemme ask you a question: How does the footprint of a Warhammy differ from, say, a Lightray, a Verfolger or... an Albratross?" he paused for a second looking directly into the eye of the units 2nd in command. 

‘Huh?’ Gunther thought to himself. Where was the 1st Lieutenant going with this. He decided to humor him. “Well, yeah. Although I couldn’t tell you what class and weight of a Verfolger is, but in the same medium, whether it be snow, dirt, mud, or fine wet sand; first and foremost, a Warhammer’s footprint will have a deeper impression than that of a Lightray and a shallower one than an Albatross due to the difference of twenty tons in all three of their weight classes, secondly . . .”

    Wandler wrote:
    "You don't know, do you?” 

Jan purged right ahead. Aw Wow. I have really struck a nerve with the 1st Lieutenant. Gunther conceded his fate and allowed Jan to continue.

    Wandler wrote:
    “It's because this is not important for you.“

”Why do you keep on insisting on that line of reasoning Jan? When all I said was, ‘Information is like eggs, the fresher the better’. I didn’t think that statement devalued my perspective on intel. It was meant to convey that I wish we had FRESHER intelligence so that our intel would be more ACCURATE, was all that meant.” Gunther hunched his shoulders at a utter and complete loss.

    Wandler wrote:
    ”Additionally. You throw in my face that great commanders think out of the box and that's why they might be hiding where it does not make any actual sense, but you assume that their commander is still alife and/or still commanding the unit while simultaniously telling me that we don't know how the remains of the unit are looking like now.” 

Shaking is head no, Gunther explained,“You’ve grossly misunderstood my intentions 1st Lieutenant. I was NOT throwing it in your face. What I was doing was making a comparison. Your not a MUCO Lieutenant Luftensteiner so I am a wee bit confused as to how you interpreted that statement to mean that I ever meant to throwing something in your face. But regardless, that's the EXACT reason that I made the reference to MY OWN shortcomings of not strategically thinking of separating the aerospace fighters. I did NOT want it to seem like I was gunning for you. And I did not assume that the actual 'MUCO' was alive. I just simply meant to convey that SOMEONE was in charge and whomever it is, whether its a brevetted MUCO or the actual MUCO, they would still be referred to as the Gearheads MUCO. And I would be remiss if I lied to you and tried to infer that we did know, beyond a reasonable doubt, what the Gearheads have on the ground. I told you the truth. What would you rather me say to you instead?" Gunther paused. Allowing Jan to ponder his words.

"We simply have no way of knowing what the Gearheads have left in their TO&E, dot, dash, period."

"That’s what the IAC has been dispatched to find out. What is left of Granston's Gearheads . . . It's the one million Kroner question.”

    Wandler wrote:
    ”I really don't wana start a fight over this.” 

”Is that what you think we’re doing? Fighting? Oh no, Lieutenant. We are merely struggling through our first misunderstanding is all.” Gunther said with the best approximation of an awkward smile, in lieu of his metal jaw and all.

    Wandler wrote:
    ”I will do whatever me and my command are able to do to empower you in your job, this is our duty, but don't tell me on how to do mine..." 

”Thank You 1st Lieutenant, and I challenge you to think back over my words, because I never gave you any instructions, not even once, on how to achieve your objectives. I merely answered your questions.”

    Wandler wrote:
    "Egal, wir sind hier ja alle Freunde, oder? Wir sollten zusammenarbeiten, nicht streiten..."

” Ja, ich würde gerne denken, dass es alle Freunde waren und wenn nicht zumindest wir alle für die gleichen Ziele kämpfen. Und es gibt nichts falsch mit ein wenig Meinungsverschiedenheit, solange wir auf der gleichen Seite zu seinem Abschluss sind.

Yes, I would like to think that were are all friends and if not at least we are all fighting for the same goals. And there’s nothing wrong with a little disagreement as long as we are on the same page at its conclusion.

Word Count 1092
CONTRACT TOTAL 17,984
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE


Name: Mesha Seville
    Callsign: ‘Viper'
    Rank: 1st Leutnant
    Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA
    Flight: Angel Flight (Command)
    Squadron: Angel
    Assignment: Squadron Leader
    Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry
    HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE
    Contact: Contact Mesha

LA-SC-08-01 #13

Independent System
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
The Ridge
MRBC Castle Brian Complex
Civilian Ward
'Civi - Land' or 'C - Ward'
Northgate Street
McMasters Residence
January 1st, 3096 0645 Local

The first rays from Outreach's local star were just coming up over the mountains. They filtered through the planet's harsh atmosphere to bring light, but little warmth, to the morning's scene. Second Lieutenant Nathan 'Fencer' McMasters knew the warmth would come soon enough, and with it would simply come more sweat for the men and women of the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry's Outreach engineering platoon and the crew of the dropship they were loading.

"I want to come with you."

He didn't have to turn around to know that standing behind him was a very attractive petite brunette. After several years of marriage, he could almost feel her presence anytime she was nearby. He did turn around, however. What needed to be said was best delivered with caring and compassion, not only because she was his wife, but also because she was pregnant. "Kate, you shouldn't even be out here without a rebreather, let alone making an argument to travel to a war zone."

Instinctively, Misses McMasters put her hands on her stomach. The protective reflex would do no good against airborne pollutants, but it was mentally reassuring. "Doctor Ellis said a few minutes at a time wouldn't cause any harm." Even as she spoke, any concern she had quickly faded into a defensive stature.

"Did he say anything about stress - filled warzones?" McMasters asked, the answer apparent to anyone with half a mind.

She didn't speak, but simply grimaced.

The husband stepped forward, rubbing his wife's upper arms with his hands. "Doll, you have to stay here, not for either of our sakes, but for the baby."

Her expression softened somewhat, but there was still fire beneath it. "And if the Free Worlders come while you're off on Outreach?"

"They won't."

"But if they do?"

It was his turn to grimace. "Then head out for our little getaway and lay low. I'll come back for you. We all will."

It probably wasn't good enough, but it would have to be. They both knew it, and she quickly admitted it.

"All right." Standing on her tip toes she gave him a quick kiss then turned away and walked back towards the master bedroom. They would have another chance at a goodbye before it was time to go. In the meantime, Nathan McMasters had an Aerospace fighter to load.





Independent System
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
The Ridge
MRBC Castle Brian Complex
Primary Spaceport
'DZ - City' or ‘Portland’
Landing Field Delta
Pad D - 12 & D – 13
'Seraphim'
Union Class DropShip
Bridge
January 1st, 3096 1745 Local

"Captain, we're all set."

Captain Erik ‘Harlequin’ Ingersoll didn't look up from the console, but simply responded with a thumbs up. Executive Officer Sophia Malone didn't take offense. She knew the company commander was simply busy, and not rude. They had been through enough together that the crew of the ‘Henry’, temporarily renamed from the ‘Seraphin’, had immense amounts of respect for the warriors they transported across the stars. Even Geoff Ward, standing stoically to the side, was accepted without question despite his still - ingrained Clan habits. The former Clan Wolf was a formidable 'Mechwarrior, and his skills in a 'Mech cockpit deserved enough respect to allow lots of leeway in his personal demeanor. The same respect was normally bestowed on every member of IAC Company, with few exceptions. Whether that would be true for the green trainees and rookies recently gathered for the siege of Mizar was another issue, but not one 1st Lieutenant Mesha ‘Viper’ Seville expected to be major.

"Let's get this show on the road," said the ship’s Commander, 1st Lieutenant Melissa Mariotta. Usually soft - spoken, her phrase belied a real impatience. She knew the situation on Mizar was growing grimmer every day. A veteran with decades of experience, she was also one of two people on the bridge that had an inkling the ‘Seraphim’ would soon become the third ship to be renamed the ‘Henry’. For now, though, her newest girl would remain the ‘Henry’. They needed the subterfuge to make sure there were no delays on the trip to Mizar. As it was, they would be spending no end of K - bills to speed their travels, and they were still expecting to take three weeks to reach the beleaguered Granston’s Gearhead Company on the Marik occupied planet of Mizar.

Deep below them, massive Star League V450 drives lit off, throwing out rolling clouds of smoke and steam. Every person on the ship was pushed down into their seats. Even Ward had strapped himself into an empty station's chair. The Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry Combined Arms Mercenary Company, or IAC for short, was on its way.



Independent System
Outreach
Outbound
Nadir JumpPoint
Union Class DropShip
‘Seraphim’
Bridge
January 5th, 3096 0200 Local

Warning sirens blared, and for a moment Mesha Seville awaited the cold embrace of a spacer's death. When there were no icy tingles, her brain chastised her for jumping to conclusions, and pointed out that those weren't the deadly songs of a hull breach. No, they were the slightly - less discombobulating sound of probable hostile contacts. As she opened her eyes, for a split second she almost wished it had been the former. A JumpShip captain's nightmare hung in the void. It took a minute, but her memory called up the word 'Aegis' just before 1st Sergeant Elise van Horne, the Sensor Technician spat out the statement. Her brow furrowed as she considered what she was seeing. The Aegis of modern Clan navies was usually a blocky - looking affair, all angles and sharp corners. This one bore some resemblance to that genre, but appeared to owe more to the graceful curves of the original Star League version. Dual massive engines protruded from the rear, giving an air of power and danger that affected even those who viewed it from afar. At the same time, blockier gun turrets of obvious Clan addition added the hint of toughness that a true warship needs to extrude. It was painted a solid black, making some edges difficult to pick out against the starscape. Had a nebula not formed part of the backdrop behind it, it would've taken on an appearance of cloaked malevolence. A stream of blue stars threaded along the flank, thinning out towards bow and stern. Near the engines, a large Diamond Shark insignia marked its affiliation for all to sea, a Cameron Star still behind the shark's body.

"Traitors," murmured the ‘Seraphim’s Executive Officer, Sophia Malone. "Couldn't even take the time to change their insignia like they did their stripes." Her comment was lost in the commotion, but it was meaningful. The Diamond Sharks, long officially serving in the Warden Clans, had suddenly and completely turned their loyalty to the Inner Sphere. While they had inhabited worlds traditionally belonging to the Free Worlds League since before their abjurement, the switch had come as a complete surprise, with no explanation from either side.

Even as Mesha took everything in and mulled it over, the bridge was a sea of hurry. The ships CO Melissa was like a calm island in the midst of things, but Seville had known her for some time, and could read the worry coming off of her friend and confidant. The warship was well away, holding position at the nadir jump point. But it could move. And its fighters could intercept. However, Seville was more worried about what it meant for tactical considerations on the ground, and eventually, it's impact on the IAC plans for leaving their dependents behind.

Thoughts flew like jets through her mind. There were options against just ground forces, but none for dealing with a warship. At least, not with the aerospace contingent she had on hand. Even as the call came over the speakers to prepare for docking to the Invader Class Jumpship waiting for them at the Nadir JumpPoint, another warning rang out. Fighters were appearing on the scanners. Not from the warship, but worse, from the planet.

"Mel, wake up the Captain and in the meantime, put me on screen."

That got the 'Seraphim's CO's attention. Melissa swiveled in her chair, regarding the Angel Squadron’s commander with a look that spoke far more than words could. The pair locked eyes, and a moment later, the dropship commander nodded.

Seville stepped up to where she knew the main camera pointed. The hustle and bustle died away quickly as everyone strove to show a calm demeanor. A hand signal from 1st Sergeant Veit Way, the communications officer, was her cue to proceed. Mesha took a deep breath without visibly doing so. "This is 1st Lieutenant Mesha Seville of the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry Combined Arms Mercenary Company. The MRBC defends this world. Who is bidding for the right to set foot on Outreach?"




Independent System
Outreach
Outbound
Nadir JumpPoint
Union Class DropShip
‘Seraphim’
Bridge
January 5th, 3096 0205 Local

A single face filled the screen. It wasn't an unattractive face, silky brown hair belying attractive genes with its simple style of being pulled back, as was the case with most female spacers, but cold grey eyes bespoke an inner personality that any would - be suitors would find difficult to warm. "I am Star Commodore Chelsea Hammond. Star Colonel Hawker is currently occupied at the Cyclops I Orbital Station."

Seville fumbled over that mentally for a moment. A star commodore was a warship commander, of equal rank to the aforementioned star colonel. Yet the woman she was speaking to was obviously deferring on the subject of bidding. That might indicate an opening. "Are you authorized to bid on the taking of Outreach?" she asked.

There it is. The thought sprung unbidden as Mesha watched Hammond wince visibly. Touchy subject. Around about the time, Captain Ingersoll stepped on to the bridge and was briefed by Melissa as to what was transpiring.

"No one is authorized to bid."

Mesha feigned ignorance. "Star Commodore, I have only fought against Jade Falcons, but I remain under the distinct impression that such a situation is....shall we say, unusual. Quiaff?"

The wince turned into a scowl, but Mesha remained sure that it wasn't directed against her. "You appear to be well aware of our customs, 1st Lieutenant. It is indeed unusual."

Mesha took the bit in her teeth. "I suspected as much." She considered adding a jab at their former status as Star League warriors, but she chose another path. "I have a former Clan Wolf as a bondsman, and he has assisted my education on many occasions."

"You only fought against Falcons, quiaff?"

"Aff."

"Yet you have a Wolf bondsman."

"Aff. His adopted unit was defeated in a campaign against the Lyran Alliance." She deliberately left out the fact that Ward was not actually HER bondsman but Captain Ingersoll’s and that now he was a member of a mercenary unit. Clanners tended to look down on fighting for money. While they would put up with Inner Sphere mercs far easier than they would have thirty years ago, a Clanner as a mercenary would still likely cause some major consternation.

The Star Commodore's scowl had turned into a look of reflection. "I believe I might describe you as unusual as well, 1st Lieutenant."

Mesha let a small grin show itself upon her lips. "Indeed." Bit already firmly planted, she went to full gallop. "You, however, star commodore, strike me as an honorable opponent. Since that is the case, I will not press for further details. I will however, ask if requesting safcon is still an option?"

The grin found its mirror image on the large screen. "It is, and you may consider it granted, 1st lieutenant. I do have command of all aerospace assets in the system. They will respect your request."

"Thank you, Star Commodore. Your sense of honor befits your stature in the ranks of Clan Diamond Shark." Time for a risk. "I hope that we have an opportunity to meet afterwards. I often visit Terra and the Star League military facilities in the region."

Grin disappearing, Hammond's countenance switched to one of determination, but wasn't hostile. "That would please me greatly, 1st Lieutenant. Hammond out."

“Whew! That was a close one.” Mesha sighed and looked at the Captain. “Lemme explain . . . “

Word Count 2048
CONTRACT TOTAL 19,942

LA-SC-08-01 #14

Mizar System, Free Worlds League
System's Zenith Jump Point
50Km from Olympus-class Recharge Station, 'Tesla'
IAC Dropship 'Seraphim', enroute to 'Tesla'
January 7th 3096 0430 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Captain Erik Ingersoll was checking the 5-round magazines for the grenade launchers, while Master Sergeant Geoff Ward finished converting 3 of the their M42B rifles into their LMG modes, several of the linkless belts already in their drums at his side. Across the small room, the other members of the boarding team were preping weapons, all members of the Cavalry's SAS Alpha Team. The Captain wasn't about to sit out on the first combat action his command would undertake however, and of course that meant Geoff was going to follow him. The two soldiers comandeered Infiltrator Mk.II suits from storage, and Stephen Reyes was finishing up getting the suits ready with a few of his techs.

"They're good to go Captain. Magshots are full, and your personal ECMs are fully operational. Goodluck on your mission Captain." The chief battle armor tech saluted his Captain, which was returned, and then he took his leave, stopping briefly to watch the lift take the two 5-man squads of their new assault stealth armor. The term seemed like an oxymoron, but these Steele Dagger suits delivered on the promise. As with the Federated-Barret M42B rifle/MGs the Infiltrators of Alpha Squad, the HMGs of the Steele Daggers were loaded with special Frangible ammo. Seeing as the Cav was trying to take the station without damaging it, using the Magshots and Heavy Support Lasers was a generally bad idea. Even the SRMs were potentially hugely dangerous inside the hull of the Olympus, which is why only the team leaders had any ammo, and only Inferno rounds anyways. The grenades for the M24Bs were actually thermobarics too, so they'd maul any un-armored troopers i the passaways, but leave the hull almost completely unscathed.

Erik finished slapping a mag into the lower reciever, a shadow fell across his own armored form, and he glanced up into the grinning face of Master Sergeant Johnston.

"Good to see you down here Captain. We're all ready here. Rache and Ritter report their commands are ready to go in the shuttle craft. We'll launch them just ahead of us." Erik nodded and accepted a hand from his lead SAS operative to stand. "Gotta say sir, its an honor to have you coming along with us. I knew you'd qualified in Infiltrators, but I thought you'd always been a mechjock to the core." He grinned a bit at his Captain's casual raised eyebrow.

"Think I'm too soft from too long in the command couch, Master Sergeant? Theres missions I've been on that I'll never be able to tell you about which involved these suits. I'm more familiar than you might think." The Master Sergeant chuckled and held up his hands in a sign of feigned defeat.

"Very well Captain, I'll believe you. By the way, Lieutenant Mariotta wanted to inform you of something, but I didn't ask what. Sounded important. We've got the hardline over there sir." Ghost pointed towards the ship intercom terminal a few meters away. Because they were approaching the Olympus, and they had no idea what sort of force or preparations the Mariks, or ULTRA, had left behind, the Seraphim was keeping radio silence except for required transmissions to the station.

"Bridge, this is Harlequin, report. You had something for me Melissa?"

"Major, Lieutenant Mariotta here." The sudden change in rank was a tradition that dated back to ancient Terra's pre-spaceflight navies and their Marine protectors. Only 1 person on a navy vessel, be it the lowliest transport dropship, to the grandest warship in the fleet- there was only ever ONE captain on a ship, and that was her commanding officer, regardless of their actual rank. If an Ensign ended up skipper of a warship, he was the Captain, and any other military men who held that rank either got a temporary and superficial promotion to Major, or if he was a fellow Navy man, he was refered to as Commodore for the duration of his stay. "Major, sensor tech says there is blips in the radar. 2 fighters sir, flying CAP. Looks like the Mariks know the value of the station. Likely means you'll have stiffer resistance inside the station than we hoped..."

"Yeah, looks like. Thanks Mel. Looks like I need to talk to 'Viper', her brids are gonna be needed after all. Damnit, I was hoping we'd be able to hide them untill we hit atmo, but nothing for it. Melissa, have your commotech connect me to Viper's Jagd."

"Yes sir. Connecting you now."

"Mesha, it's Captain Ingersoll. Just got an update from the bridge, looks like we're going to be seeing some visitors before we get to the station. They'll easily ident us as a Union instead of a Mule. Our warbook program pegs them as SHV-OA Shivas. That makes it the Squadron Commander for their Omega Squadron, and according to our intel, he's the top local Ace with 13 confirmed air-to-air kills. Its up to you if you want to break radio silence before you launch, if you want to get McMasters' flight out there to assist you, but we need you to clear those two heavies out so we can get the Seraphim into position. Since they've shown up, we're changing plans." Ingersoll spoke briefly to the dropper's comtech and when he spoke again, it was to both Lt. Seville, her wing man Ensign Nashiro, and all the soldiers of the SAS in their individual suits.

"Alright people, listen up. Marik flight of heavy Shiva aerospace fighters out there. I'm having our fly-girls jump into the black to clear us a path, but we're going with our altered plan: Seraphim will launch 2 shuttles to hit the Olympus' landing bay, one containing Alpha and one with Delta squad. Gamma will remain aboard the Seraphim and will make their way aboard the Olympus once the Seraphim docks.

Alpha Squad's objective is the docking control, and from there we can take the defense grid down long enough to let the Seraphim dock. Angel Squadron stays on CAP while we work. Once we've secured the bridge, Alpha Squad will be staying behind on the station to keep things under control, along with a few of our technicians to keep the station's defenses and sensor net operational. So long as we can keep the enemy from launching any surprise attacks on it like we're about to, we wont need more than a skeleton crew to keep her safe.

We launch our shuttles in 3 minutes people. Lieutenant Seville, launch your fighters 5 minutes after the shuttles leave the Seraphim. You are authorized to break radio silence in order to launch McMasters' fighters if you deem their assistance necessary for clearing the enemy CAP, and then establishing your own until Seraphim can rejoin the Sword, and we can proceed to Mizar together." The Captain's voice was somewhat strained. He had thought, hoped, the Mariks would be less vigilant. Also he wasn't excited about sending his fighters out to face the Marik ace as their first taste of combat, but luckily they had surprise on their side. The soldiers of SAS Alpha Squad were grabbing their FB M24Bs and heading to the elevator to get to the bay where the 2 small craft were huddled together, while Gamma stationed themselves the airlock to await the 15 minutes before they could dock, if they kept their current course.

"Confirm receipt of orders Lieutenant...and goodluck in your hunt. Angel Squadron will be the ones to baptize the Armoured Cavalry in battle, and I know you'll do us all proud." Ingersoll meant it to. He was actually somewhat glad it wasn't going to be the mechs that did the first true work of the IAC, with the notion that they were 'Kings of the Battlefield' still always in the minds of many strategists and soldiers, he very much understood the undeniable value of having a mixed force. His SAS and aerospace forces would strike the first blows in what he hoped would be a long, prestigious, and lucrative career for the Armoured Cavalry.


Word Count: 1365
Contract Total: 21,307
Captain Erik Ingersoll
Callsign: Harlequin
Commanding Officer, Ingersoll's Armoured Cavalry Mercenary Unit

LA-SC-08-01 #15

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Chara
JumpPoint
Union Class DropShip
‘Sword of Valor’
Deck Six
Battle Armor Hangar
January 6th, 3096 1405 Local

Jan was sitting next to one of the small windows of the dropship he and his men were transported on.
He sat there and read, learned the specifications of all the mechs listed in the reports he had gotten handed down from Gunther.
He had gone through the databases, learning signatures, silhouettes and general titbits of interests that were commonly known. He also had looked up chassis quirks in his own notes.
Over the years he had assembled a vast directory of personal notes about mechs, tanks, battle armour and even protomechs.
This ranged from pictures of footprints by mech chassis up to details on, for example, how deep an Albatross could bow to swipe the ground with his arms.

He frantically compressed this enormous data-dump into comprehensible files sorted by his men assignments in the field.
Some got almost the whole list while others were handed a much more narrowed down summary of details important to the mission.

He was sitting on the ground, working on several data slides simultaneously while all around him, on blankets, he had various bolts, coils, cables, armourplates, sensorchips and other small stuff assembled and on display
He smiled while working, he loved that challenge... and so did his techs and astechs.

Looking out of the window he saw the last recharge station before they would arrive at their destination. They were slated to jump in 24 hours, enough time to finish what is men were up to and get some sleep...
He turned his head and looked at the group of Techs and Astechs, those men and women assigned to his command who had brought out a chalk board and were noting down bets and rates while engaging in some serious drinking.
He smiled and still, was surprised that Private Ed 'fishman' Bonaiuncta had the techs trust to be the first to finish his challenge... he also saw, with some amusement, that Saara, his Corporal in his own squad was slated to be last.
They were arguing about details, the items and also what Battle Armour got hit the hardest.
Naturally, only Jan knew, and he smiled to himself as he looked down into the hangar and saw his men and women frantically working on the Battle armour.

It was a tradition that he intended to keep, son of engineers and scientists, he knew every piece of every BattleArmour in his command, their quirks, their details and how their tech worked.
He had made a point while hieing those serving under him that he demanded that they knew what their machines were able to, what not and how to repair them.
So, he had started a tradition: During transfer to an assignment he would sneak into the BA holds and remove pieces of the BA's.
An activator from one, some wiring from the next, a compensator coil from weapon A, a missile trigger from weapon B.
The list was long and creative, the challenge was simple: Fix your BA first and win.

Regularly someone came floating over to him, looked at the items, cursed, returned or even picked up a piece, always followed by cheers from the tech crew, to try and fit it into his or her BA.

None of his command were complaining as it was all in good fun, with a serious layer below: Jan demanded that his command was able to double as techs. A breakdown in the field was inevitable and ingenuity was imperative in his eyes.

He looked at privates Kaneko and Warath.
They were cooperating on their Fenrir BA's and he had not expected anything less from them. They had run for the same position. So Jan had given them a challenge, had partially disassembled to Rottweilers and challenged them to repair them together.
They had proven what he had seen in them and quickly arranged, and started to work together. By now they were a pair, both on and off the field.
Jan felt somewhat proud in his unit, albeit it was a small one, but he had forged them into an effective fighting force.

There was only one piece that worried him... Seargant Hummel, the leader of his Hauberk Squad had a neck for miss-positioning his unit. That was something he had to work on also, on and off the field...

He looked down on his chronometer and cursed... he was almost late to get to the meeting with the XO.

Pushing himself off the grav-mat that he sat on he just wanted to raise his voice and announce his departure as he heard the humming of one of the BA's reactor and a yelled 'HEUREKA'
Looking down on them he was puzzled to see Corporal Bonnie O'Mellerick hovering above her completed machine.
"Got it fixed Leutnant!"
Jan was surprised... "Where did you get the compensator from Corporal? The one I took from your machine is still here on the mat?"
she blushed a bit and then pointed at Sergant Newcomb "Got it from the Hoss Newcomb."
Loud laughter from the techs filled the hangar
"WHAT?" a sweaty Alec Newcomb emerged from behind his Fenrir "How DARE you Corporal??!!!??" He was furious and it was visible
"Well you were almost done and had all the pieces together aaand well I wanted to win and you did not look so I quickly took your compensator and you did not notice when you reassembled the generator..."
More laughter filled the hangar
"Corp O'Mellerick wins!" Jan announced with a stern voice "Never lose your equipment, that's the first rule of boot camp, right? Sergant Newcomb comes in last place, he lost parts of his machine. Also, don't you ever do that again O'Mellerick..."
he finally rose and pushed himself towards the airlock.
"O'Mellerick is supervising the rest of the exercise as she came in first place. Everyone who got no running machine when I come back is due for kitchen service, also prices will be handed out when I'm back."

He floated over the scene, watching his command get back to their machines. Jan explicitly singled out Newcomb while floating over him, nodding at him and the exchanged smiles. They both knew that O'Mellerick was kind of a brat, but a smart and brave one at that.

He liked his command...

Word Count: 1083
Contract Total: 22,390

 Name: Mesha Seville
    Callsign: ‘Viper'
    Rank: 1st Leutnant
    Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA
    Flight: Angel Flight (Command)
    Squadron: Angel
    Assignment: Squadron Leader
    Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry
    HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE

LA-SC-08-01 #16

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
System's Zenith Jump Point
50Km from Olympus - class Recharge Station
'Tesla'
IAC Flagship
Union Dropship 'Seraphim’
Enroute to 'Tesla'
January 7th 3096 0435 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

"Mesha, it's Captain Ingersoll.”

" ‘Viper’ here. Go Captain.”

”Just got an update from the bridge, looks like we're going to be seeing some visitors before we get to the station. They'll easily ident us as a Union instead of a Mule. Our warbook program pegs them as SHV-OA Shivas. That makes it the Squadron Commander for their Omega Squadron, and according to our intel, he's the top local Ace with 13 confirmed air-to-air kills.”

All 1st Lieutenant Mesha Seville could think to do with that information was to lose a long whistle, “Whrick Whreeeeel!”

"Its up to you if you want to break radio silence before you launch, if you want to get McMasters' flight out there to assist you, but we need you to clear those two heavies out so we can get the Seraphim into position."

”Roger that ‘Harlequin’. We are already on it Captain. McMasters, Mariotta, and I brushed up on our morse code just for this eventuality. She is sending a code to the ‘Sword of Valor’ as we speak via the DropShip’s port navigational lights so that we can maintain radio silence. And you can consider those heavies Cleared.”

"Confirm receipt of orders Lieutenant...”

”Angel One Acknowledges orders for full Squadron Deployment to engage flight of heavies, over.”

“and goodluck in your hunt. Angel Squadron will be the ones to baptize the Armoured Cavalry in battle, and I know you'll do us all proud."

”Talk about puttin’ a bitch under pressure, ohweee! 'Viper', over and out!“

………………………………..

Ensign Erryne 'Sidewinder' Nashiro shrugged her shoulders against the cockpit harness that held her secure against the seat of her Omni Jagdvogel JGV 10A AeroSpace Fighter. She hurt, and every muscle in her body shrieked for release. Her squadron was still decelerating at three Gs, and after ten minutes of sitting wedged into her narrow cockpit with the equivalent of two people seated in her lap, the stress of high - G boost was wearing her down. Normally, fighter Pilots ferried from jump point to world in the bowels of Union or Overlord Class DropShips, but the Union that trailed her squadron this time carried the Recharge station assault force through Marik Occupied space. Lieutenant Seville had wanted her entire force to be ready at all times in case their fleet of two Unions and a Mule got jumped. So she had ordered the Angel Squadron to remain in their fighters for the past 48 hours. There could only be one of them out of their fighter at a time to take bathroom breaks and for chow. The fighters of Angel Squadron had begun the passage with extra tanks of reaction mass strapped above and below their elongated, needle - shaped bodies. Those tanks, empty now and discarded, preceded the squadron toward the ‘Telsa’ at nearly 1000 kps, the speed they'd retained when jettisoned. The fighters had slowed now to a few hundred kilometers per second.

The drive flares of the four Angel Squadron fighters continued to slow them by thirty meters per second, leaving Erryne with the feeling that her lithe body's usual 57 kilos had massed to over 170 kilos. She was very tired.

Unconsciously flexing her right hand, Erryne knew she had one advantage over her squadron mates. Both of her legs and her right arm were bionic grafts, the result of a bad crash landing in another Jagdvogel that was now scrap and memories. All that had happened on a world far from the mottled gray sphere whose image was now appearing in her aft camera view screen, beyond the dazzle of the drive flare. Her left arm was numb with strain and each breath was painful, but the mechanical parts of her body still functioned effortlessly, painlessly.

If only I can keep my mind clear and functioning, too, she thought.

Less than three minutes remained until they reached engagement range of the ‘Telsa’ . . . even less than that until they tangled with the Marik Militia space defenses. When it was time for combat and adrenaline was pouring through her system, Erryne would be fully alert and at a fighting pitch, despite the strain of the past 48 hours. That's how it always was. She checked her instruments again and peered past her drive flare at ‘Telsa’. The surface was a patchwork of gray armor patches and deeper green turrets, except where the local sun reflected gold and orange from asteroid belts and nebulaes.

Some would think that sight pretty, she thought. The smile that touched her lips was bitter, and there was winter's ice in her eyes. But not me. Not the 'Mech - woman ... the Automaton of Destruction...Cuz when I got a Sawed – Off, bodies are hauled off...

She closed her eyes, her jaw muscles tensing. It might be that Erryne had won the respect of the other pilots in her squadron, but she had never won their friendship nor enjoyed the special camaraderie of the wardroom. She had long since stopped caring about the people around her, though, to the point where she'd been disciplined several times for disregarding battle tactics and squadron coordination. She had a reputation as a loner, a combat ace who cared more for upping her tally of twelve kills than for her comrades to port or to starboard.

The bastards. She would show them. She would show them all. She didn't care what they thought ... and if she was half - machine, she was a machine with purpose . . . a killing machine.

The names they called her still hurt, but that was deep down where she could keep the pain and never let it show.


* * * * * * *

The Flight of Marik Shivas cleared the asteroid belt, contrails streaking aft from their wing and tail tips in the thin, icy stratosphere of ‘Telsa’. The rising sun tinted the nebulae layer orange - gold and edged the fighters in red.

Squadron Commander Terence O’Kelly greeted the sun with a shout and laughter. "Omega Alpha Flight! This is Omega Alpha Flight Leader! Mikkelson are you with me?"

An ‘Aye aye Lieutenant’ sounded in his earphones, and his combat screen showed a green light for the other ship in his command. This was the day he had been waiting for, ever since he had heard that the Lyran arm chair Generals had taken Galatea. He had known then that he would get to lead the 101st Wing against the best pilots the Lyran Alliance could throw at them ... and a beautiful day it was for it, too.

The Shiva was an ideal first - response space defense fighter. With its decent rate of thrust, the craft could clear the recharge station and meet the enemy well out in space while other fighters were still being readied for launch. O’Kelly harbored no illusions about the place his Omega Alpha Flight would hold this day. They would take the whole first brunt of the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry fighter attack on themselves, hoping to blunt that attack, to turn it aside, to so delay the enemy's approach so that other heavy line omnis could reach the enemy formation before it had a chance to repair and refit.

Such challenges required a special temperament, a special cast of mind. Many of O’Kelly’s friends thought he was crazy. The rest were certain of it. O’Kelly himself would be the last to deny the charge. It was part of an image he cherished and went out of his way to foster.

"Let's haul it, Mikkelson!" he shouted over the com circuit. "We got some ‘Merchant’ tail to kick!"

There was a volley of rebel yells and cheers as he shoved his stick to full throttle forward. Savage acceleration kicked him back into his seat, and the Shiva clawed into the darking void. Then, the other ship of Omega Squadron spewed white flame as it leapt spaceward after its leader.

* * * *

Pilot Erryne Nashiro was the first to spot the oncoming flight of Marik spacecrafts.

"Angel Leader, this is Angel Two. Bogies at one – eight - zero, straight in line with objective. Range seventy - five thousand, closing." She kept her voice glacially level, coldly precise.

"Angel Squadron, Angel Leader. Look alive, boys and girls. The long ride's over, and the fun is about to start. Arm your weapons." There was a snap and a hiss as Angel Leader shifted from the general combat frequency to a private ship – to - ship channel. " ‘Sidewinder’, this is ‘Viper’. This is a warning: stay tight and close, no hot dogging, no lone - wolf berserker bullshit tactics, got it? You stay with the flight, and hold tight to my wing. If you sideslip or lead me by more than ten meters from my port wingman position, I will personally burn you down . . . got me?"

Erryne's left hand . . . the flesh – and - blood one . . . was trembling, her breath searing in her chest. The familiar blood - lust burned behind her eyes, dulling the pain of her body's long captivity. Her right hand closed around the joystick between her knees. "Got it . . . 1st Lieutenant."

Her left hand killed her ship's thrust. To Erryne's eyes, the other three aerospace fighters of Angel Squadron appeared to be accelerating past her, away from the recharge station and into deep space at rapidly increasing speed. This was only an illusion, though, created by the fact that her ship was no longer decelerating at thirty meters per second squared and was now hurtling towards ‘Telsa’ more quickly than her still - slowing fellows. Machine - precise fingerings of her attitude jets flipped the tail - first Jagdvogel end for end, then steadied the ship while ‘Telsa’ filled her forward canopy with gray and orange splendor.

" ’Sidewinder’!" Kelly's voice screeched over the private circuit. Erryne palmed the comm switch, cutting the voice off in mid - threat. Let the Lieutenant burn her down ... if she could catch her. She was going to kill Free Worlders.

Her heads-up display sprang into sharp illumination in front of her eyes. Red pinpoints of light projected the positions of the approaching Marik fighters, as steadily dwindling decimal numbers recited the closing range.

Kill them, she told herself. Kill them all!

Word Count 1768
CONTRACT TOTAL 23,075

 Name: Mesha Seville
    Callsign: ‘Viper'
    Rank: 1st Leutnant
    Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA
    Flight: Angel Flight (Command)
    Squadron: Angel
    Assignment: Squadron Leader
    Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry
    HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE
  
LA-SC-08-01 #17

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
System's Zenith Jump Point
25 Km from Olympus - class Recharge Station
'Telsa'
Space Battle
January 7th 3096 0440 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Ghostly fingers of radar had first detected the approaching Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry ships, which the Shiva's tracking computer painted as a ragged circle of three white pinpoints of light on Squadron Commander Terence O’Kelly's heads - up display. There were other enemy ships further out, he knew . . . and a small fleet of massive Union and Mule Class DropShips . . . but these three were the leaders, the ones charged with opening the way for the boarding’s certain to follow. Their jettisoned fuel tanks had made a blazing display of meteoric fireworks in the chill, twilight space around the ‘Telsa’ Recharge Station; he'd seen the images relayed from DESTra's cameras. That they'd been willing to burn that much reaction mass to hump the void between the jump point and ‘Telsa’ at a crushing three Gs could only mean they were coming to stay, hoping to catch the space defenses unprepared. Those Unions farther out carried twelve BattleMechs apiece. If they got through . . .

But the Unions and Mule were someone else's responsibility. Heavy assault fighters still being readied at Solasia United SpacePort's would be the ones to vector against the two Unions and the Mule in hopes of burning them down before they could release their deadly cargoes. These three leaders were the targets for O’Kelly's flight. They had to be burned so that they couldn't soften the Marik space defenses or provide air cover for the BattleMech drop. After they were out of the way, well ...

O’Kelly rubbed his gloves against his thighs in a futile effort to wipe away the sweat trickling across the palms of his hands. He'd never had a chance at a Union nor a Mule. They were big ... challengingly big, and heavily armed and armored, but ...

"Omega Alpha Flight, this is Omega Alpha Leader. Steady up, now. We have got them right where we want them. Just keep cool and stay tight. On my command ... three ... two ... one ... punch it!"

The flight of Shivas cut in their over thrust as one, vectoring for the oncoming Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry ships. There had definitely been four enemy craft . . . the usual complement of a battle squadron . . . but now O’Kelly read only three. He almost widened his scan, but decided against it for fear of losing the fix on the targets he had. That missing ship ... a malfunction, perhaps? A drive failure could leave an aircraft helplessly plunging on into space at the velocity it retained when the drive died. The fourth ship might already have plunged into the moon's gravity well and burned minutes ago, following the trajectory of the empty fuel tanks. He spared a thought for the pilot, a passing shudder for the warrior's terrible death.

At 3.5 Gs, the Marik Shivas closed on their targets.

* * *

Erryne had not burned. Three times she had made high - G burns to correct her vector, slowing her ship and clearing the radar - swept line between Angel Squadron and the incoming Free Worlders.

She was still not in visual range, but her computer had painted wire - frame plan and elevation view diagrams of her targets in green lines on her number two computer screen, while her main screen displayed the enemy Flight's arrowhead formation. The Marik fighters were easily recognizable without computer identification . . . two fat Shivas, the twin lances of their paired extended range large lasers and paired gauss rifles extending forward like the antennae of some grey, squat insects. Range figures flickered across her heads - up display. Her own quad extended range medium lasers had a maximum effective range of over 40,000 kilometers, but she was determined to hold her attack until the very last possible second. She was at 12,000 kilometers now and closing at 300 klicks per second.

She selected one of the two targets, and locked it into her targeting computer. Behind the black reflective mask of her flight helmet visor, her lips were drawn back in a wild rictus that she thought was a smile. Kill them!

* * *

Space combat tended to be a drawn - out affair of maneuver and counter maneuver, punctuated by brief periods of fire - shrieking fury and fear. Lasers, PPCs, and long - ranged missiles can deliver damage across respectable ranges, but target acquisition and targeting technologies were no longer able to cope with the ranges and velocities involved. Extensive weapon firing caused ships already heated by maneuvering to overheat faster than the heat pumps could handle. Expert pilots had learned to wait until they were within a few thousand kilometers to open fire, trading the slim chance of multiple, long - ranged hits for the certainty of hits at close range during rapid passes.

Omega Alpha Flight and Angel Squadron interpenetrated, then - respective velocities on opposite vectors adding to a passing velocity of over 500 kps. At such speeds, human reactions dragged too slowly to select targets or to plot vectors. Under computer control, both Shivas concentrated their fire on Mesha’s Jagdvogel. Armor on the broad, surface of the fighter's wing flared white where invisible beams of coherent light scored successive hits, wreathing the Jagdvogel in a mist of rapidly condensing droplets of molten alloy. Mesha's return fire scored hull armor and left molten slashes across the Shiva's fuselage and wing.

O’Kelly flipped his fighter end for end and slammed his thrust control forward. Savage deceleration bucked and sang through his stubby ship, but he continued to fire at the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry ships now receding against the green and orange disk of the Mizar sun. Another hit!

He'd had only a fractional instant's glimpse of his enemy before they'd passed out of visual range, but that view had confirmed his computer's ID of a, tight - grouped Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry Jagdvogel and two Corsair. A combat readout flickered across one of his computer screens. The only Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry Jagdvogel that the Squadron Commander was aware of was hurt enough to degrade its performance. He identified it to his wingman as an optimum target, then cut in a short burst of over thrust that hammered him against his seat. For an agonizing moment, O’Kelly thought the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry Cosairs were going to ignore Omega Alpha Flight and race them for the Recharge Station, ‘Telsa’, but the traceries on his HUD proved otherwise. All three ships were decelerating as savagely as he was, using their maneuvering thrusters to swing them around and bring them into line for another pass. He noted that the two Corsairs had paired off in wingman formation, but that the Jagdvogel was alone.

O’Kelly gave a long, hooting rebel yell as he lined up all three of his heavy ship's lasers on the lead Jagdvogel, and triggered a rapid burst of invisible bolts of light that stitched across the target's nose and wing.

* * *

Erryne's battlelust had grown as her instruments described to her the opening rounds of the battle. There was no indication that she had been detected. She watched one of the Shiva fighters open fire on 1st Lieutenant Mesha’s Jagdvogel. Gently she eased her stick forward, letting her fingers caress the target acquisition controls under her unfeeling right hand. Her vector had already been set as her target accelerated, she dropped into line behind him, so close she could see his drive flare as a brilliant, diamond-sharp beacon star through the soft illumination of her HUD.

Fire! Fire!

* * *

Alarms screeched in O’Kelly's helmet suddenly as his instrument display lit up with red trouble lights. He was hit!

"Omega Alpha Leader, this is Omega Alpha Two. You got one on your tail!"

"I see him, Omega Alpha Two! I have got some damage here ..." Damage control reports flashed across a screen. Uh oh ... the initial volley had disabled his rearward mounted laser and his starboard control surfaces were really fouled. It was a good thing he wouldn't need those until he hit atmosphere again. He'd worry about that later. His threat indicator flashed purple.

"The bogie is closing, Omega Alpha Leader! Break left! Break left!"

His hand played across thruster controls. The maneuverable but heavy Shiva flipped end - over and decelerated sharply as he swung onto a new vector. Warnings shrieked at him, and he cut them off. A combat spacecraft's most serious problem was heat build - up . . . heat from engines, from laser fire, from enemy hits. Each maneuver he made was making the temperature problem worse, but there was no way to shed waste heat now.

Where was the bogie? There! He fired, a snap shot without a lock, but he was certain he'd scored at least one hit. Alpha Omega Two was closing on the bogie now, angling for a shot. A momentary brilliance flaring about the target showed Alpha Omega Two had hit. Good!

Then there were more Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry fighters, two of them in tight wing formation. "Alpha Omega Two, watch yourself, starboard quarter high!" His own heat overload warning lights were flashing balefully in time to a raucous buzz in his helmet phones, but he slapped the override again and triggered the slugs from both his gauss rifles.

"Alpha Omega Leader, this is Two!" Mikkelson's voice was high - pitched, the youngster's battle pitch distorting his words. "The bogie has flipped again! Watch your ..." At that moment Alpha Omega Two exploded in white light, the silent burst punctuated by the shriek of static in O’Kelly's helmet phones.

"Splash one Tango, closing in on the second one," reported Mesha to no one in particular.

The laser fire shredded O’Kelly’s tail stabilizer and pocked craters in the armor over his engines. He fired his thrusters to flip an undamaged flank of his Shiva into the attacker's line of fire. Sluggish! She wasn't reacting fast enough! Metal vapor exploded into space.

He lost two more tons of armor to the crippled Jagdvogel fighter pilot. “Damn It!”, but that Mercenary pilot fought like she was from the metal womb. “ ‘Telsa’ Seven. ‘Telsa’ Eight. Burn that Mercenary Bastard to the ground!” Squadron Commander O’Kelly spat.

He tracked a target, firing paired gauss rifles and a large laser with grim determination. His target began tumbling, its needle shape shredded and hacked by repeated bits, its thrusters silenced. O’Kelly's course and speed were close enough to that of the target that he was able to fire volley after volley into the wreckage. Finally, he was rewarded by a flash that consumed the damaged Corsair in a dazzling gout of light. A kill! But his computer marked that kill as the Halo flight wingman, not the mystery ship that had attacked him from behind.

He switched to wide scan, searching. Where was that other one? Whoever he was, that pilot was damn good. O’Kelly had already watched the guy perform maneuvers that should have blasted him into unconsciousness. Was it a man piloting that ship, or some incredibly efficient fighting machine? He fired again . . . damn! Miss! The battle was becoming a one – on - one duel with this unknown IAC pilot. Hit! Hit again! Then a rapid - fire sequence of laser hits scored his port wing, punching through delicate control surfaces and blasting his port large pulse laser into tattered, twisted wreckage. Warnings keened. Override! Target! Fire! Another hit!

"Omega Alpha Leader! Omega Alpha Leader! This is ‘Telsa’ Control! Watch your vector,Omega Alpha Leader!"

Vector? O’Kelly checked, blinked, checked again. The battle had carried him toward Mizar’s moon. So intent had he been on the grim killing efficiency of the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry pilot that he'd ignored the dazzling, swollen, nebulae - girded sphere of the moon behind him.

"Copy, ‘Telsa’ Control." He did some fast calculations, chose a new vector, kicked in his drive ... but nothing happened. For a moment, he kept cold panic at bay by resetting his controls and punching the throttle controls again. Still nothing. The intolerable heat overload had shut down his drive. Malfunction lights winked and flickered at him. His ship jolted as another trio of laser bursts stitched into his wounded Shiva’s hull the his ship was literally rocked by 16 short ranged warheads.

He palmed thruster controls. Where was the bogie? There! Following him down! He fired his twin pulse lasers. His surviving gauss rifle was winking a malfunction light at him. Jagdvogel and Shiva traded fire as the pair of them drifted into the thin upper reaches of the moon’s gravity well. Desperately, O’Kelly used his surviving thrusters to boot his Shiva over into a nose - high, nose - forward approach. Landing his shot - up bird was going to be tricky. The moon’s gravity dragged at him, making his ship buck and shudder as he fought to control a sudden, irresistible starboard yaw with savage twists of his control stick. The control surfaces weren't responding, weren't ...

Oh, by the Founder, no ... the control surfaces! He craned his head around, saw smoke and tattered debris whipping aft from the laser - pocked ruin of his port wing. A violent thump marked the departure of what was left of his tail fin. Then the damaged port wing tore free, and the Shiva began tumbling, engulfed in an orange fireball, trailing debris.

O’Kelly didn't start screaming not even when smoke boiled up into the cockpit, and the legs of his pressure suit began melting in the heat.

“IAC Actual, ‘Viper’ here.” Mesha said through ragged breaths. The heat in her cockpit was so hot that it seared her lungs. “Objective Achieved. Both heavies have been cleared. The ‘Seraphim’ is a go. I repeat you have a Green Light for the ‘Seraphim’.” Just then her body was racked by a violent coughing spasm before Mesha could continue. “Sit rep. Jagdvogel Bravo heavily damage. Pilot’s adrift but alive. Corsair Bravo, Destroyed, Pilot KIA. ‘Viper’ out.”

* * *

Burn, Free Worlder, burn! Erryne watched the fiery meteor streak across the asteroid belt below her with a curiously cold and shuddering emotion that might, remotely, be termed satisfaction. Her own ship's engines were gone, wrecked in that final exchange of fire with the enemy Shiva. Her craft's thrusters had functioned long enough for her to flatten her trajectory and skip off the moon’s gravity well like a stone from the surface of a lake. She was receding into space now, her Jagdvogel a battered wreck -- power out, engines dead, her cockpit open to vacuum. A strange, numb sensation from the attachments of her mechanical left leg had proven, on examination, to be nothing less than complete amputation. Her hull armor had failed at a critical point, and her left leg was missing below the knee. The heat from that millisecond pulse seemed to have partly melted the fabric of her spacesuit's leg, sealing it against what remained of her plastic knee and thigh, maintaining pressure in her suit. She took grim satisfaction in knowing that that hit would have killed any other pilot. She was the Automaton of Destruction . . . indestructible.

At least, indestructible if she were rescued. She followed the course of the battle on her screen. Including her kill . . . her thirteenth, she realized . . . both of the attacking Shivas had been destroyed, the Recharge Station was under attack and its defenders, scattered. Two of Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry fighters had been put out of the fight, her own and Ensign Jessika 'Valkyrie' Garro's.

The ‘Seraphim’ was already maneuvering toward the Recharge Station, as their small crafts emerged from cavernous cargo bays and descended to disgorge their SAS squads to secure the Marik defenders on board the ‘Telsa’. The Mariks would be at a disadvantage now. Angel Squadron's thrust had blunted the leading edge of their defenses. The way was open for the small crafts to deploy their readied battle armor behind a screen of the ‘Seraphim’ Union Class Dropship.

Her own life, she realized, hung on the outcome of that invasion. Her life support would last for another day, time enough for the invasion to establish a foothold on the ‘Telsa’ . . . or be repulsed. If the invasion failed, no one would have time for her, locked in her crippled ship, falling stern - first into deep space at well above the planet's ten kilometers per second escape velocity. If it succeeded, she would be rescued by DropShips homing on her automatic radio distress beacon. Her squadron - mates might not like her, but she had proven her worth to them time after time. She would rejoin Angel Squadron again, would kill again.

Thirteen kills!

With a cool, almost remote sense of mild anticipation, Erryne Nashiro watched the invasion crafts deploy on her screens.

Word Count 2829
CONTRACT TOTAL 25,904

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Inbound
Union Dropship 'Sword of Valor’
Deck Six
Battle Armor Hanger
January 27th 3096 1415 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

5 hours after the meeting between the XO and 1st Lutenend Luftensteiner


„Listen up!“
Jan was floating over his men and women, holding a dataslate with loads of information on it.

“The XO and I agreed on a 2 steps plan to make planetfall. This will also mean that our command will be divided up.
I will take my squad and Sg. Newcombs squad and we will pair up with Sg. Wolfe and her Gallowglas.”

He looked up as he heard the moarns of Pierre Munoz. He didn’t like where this was going and he was smart enough to figure it out well before others in the unit did.

“Yes Pierre? Any questions?”
“No…” his eyes widened as he looked at Jan “NooooNononooooonono… This is going where I think it is, right?”
“Yes it is…” Jan grinned while he watched the soldier melt right in front of him

“As we speak the Gallowglas is being put into a cocoon and is prepared for a drop insertion.”
More moarns were to be heard by the squads…

Landing in a dropship always put a strain on men and material but a drop-insertion was twice as hard on a unit.
This again was reinforced by the fact that his command was almost pure Battle Armour who suffered even more under such an insertion.
Now, the worst drop insertion was to be had by battle armour troopers in fourlegged BA, simply because they were simply not designed for jumping, let alone controlled falling from a height of two meters or above.
And this would make them jump from a distance tenfold that height.

“AND we will do the same insertion, just from a higher altitude, as well. We will perform a halo jump with the Rottweilers and Fenrir BA.
Who here has never trained this before?”

Several hands rose, among them Corporal Saara Durrani and Bonnie O’Mellerick.

“Great! We’ll make sure you get a detailed rundown of what’s going to happen and I’ll share a videolog of my last halo insertion so you get a feeling on what’s happening when this is done…”

He pushed several buttons on his slate and forwarded critical mission information to those two squads.

“I want you to work with the tech staff on preparing your machines for the insertion. For the Fenrir BA’s it is energy weaponry only. Pierre? We will field ER Medium Lasers. Saara and Wilma, you will configure for Medium Pulse Lasers.
Make sure you have your full field equipment stored and secured ON your machine. We will need all the infantry and off – Battle armour equipment we have including tents, cooking gear and so on and so forth.

For the Rottweilers… I want you, Alec to keep the standard equip on your machine. Please see the rest of your squad to be equipped with the Remote Sensor Dispensers that we brought and the ‘King David’ light Gausses.”

He looked upon the assembled faces

“Any questions so far?”

Bonnie rose her hand “Sorry Hoss but what about when we dispensed the sensors? You want us to run around naked? The KD is a nice toy but if we run into something more tanky than the jaw of a five year old we’ll be fuckin’ shafted…”

“Good question Corporal.” Jan answered “We’ll drop additional sensors for you to run around with alongside our insertion so you got more toys to run around with AND” he quickly added as she opened her mouth to disagree “We’ll also drop the lasers of your battle armour so you can reconfigure them once the net has been spread.” And with a smile he added “And it’s Jan or Lutenend… or Leutnant”

“Sure Hoss” she answered with a grin.

“Back to topic! We will be isolated in the field for an extended period of time so pack your teddybears, clothes INCLUDING civilian gear and everything else you need for camping. Don’t get silly though, we need to keep a low profile.”

A chorus of ‘Ayes’, ‘yes’es and ‘natürlich’s was the answer.
Jan nodded and moved on:

“About Sergeant Wolfe” He made a sign towards the Mechjock who kept herself in the back of the room “she’s a highly appreciated addition to the team, we’re just sorry we could not get her a Tarantula to equip her with a matching ‘Jack”
Laughter filled the room
“Do you have any questions Sergeant?”

“Not really. Just an offer: Anything of value that needs to be secured and or is heat sensible or should not be transported outside of your BA, you can hand it to me and I’ll have it secured in the back space of my cockpit. Naturally nothing big…”

“BEER!” someone yelled and laughter filled the room again

Jan interjected before the mood got too lighted “Naturally we thank you, Seargant and NO, no alcohol!!”

He gave the assembled group a stern look.

“Just be glad she’s with us. Her Gallowglas has an ECM and she’s our only hope to get busted out of real trouble should some arise!
Back to the plan, gents, ladies!”

He collected himself
“The rest of you will be under the command of the XO and go to ‘paradise islands’ You will be tasked to search for the Gearheads and you’ll support their efforts to secure the Island.
Staff Seargant Trumbull, you’ll be my voice in this. Don’t lose your sight on the mission – it’s the plan to find the Gearheads and secure/salvage what we can find. Good luck with that!”

Grim professionalism had taken over
“Any other questions? No? Very well, good luck and if there is anything you need, you know where to find me.”

Jan watched them disperse and they had almost left when something else came to his mind

“AH! One more thing: I need two volunteers to sit down with me, Sergeant Wolfe and her tech team and go through everything regarding her machine. We will have no support in the field and I want us to be able to fix minor stuff.” He smiled for a second and before someone could leave, hide and/or volunteer he said
“Thank you Corporal O’Mellerick for volunteering, who else?” she sighted while Alec Newcomb, her commander and recent victim in the tech training exercise burst out in laughter…

It ultimately was Master Tech David Whitehall who rose his hand and said: “I once worked on mechs and I know the Gallowglas as I was assigned tech for that type of machine for over two years during my military service. If Sergeant Wolfe takes me with her on the secondary seat in her cockpit I could provide support for the BA and advise all work on the mech.”

“Sergeant? Would this be okay for you?“

The woman nodded and said “Having a tech who can properly fix my machine in the field? Hell yes! It will be a bumpy ride though Mr. Whitehall.”

Jan nodded
“Then it’s done. I want you all to work on your machines, get together with the tech staff. Equipment and ready reports are expected to arrive within 48 hours. Dismissed”



Word Count 1182
CONTRACT TOTAL 27,086

LA-SC-08-01 #19

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
System's Zenith Jump Point
Inbound
Union Dropship 'Sword of Valor’
Bridge
January 7th 3096 0515 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Outside the bulkhead of the Opal Hunt, an Invader Class LIC JumpShip, that had volunteered for the IAC strike force's fleet element, came to full charge. As the Opal Hunt recorded maximum hypercharge in its banked and shielded accumulators, the crew began the delicate and time - consuming work of furling the jump sail and preparing for the hyperspace transition. This was the busiest time of all for the JumpShip crew, but it was time that hung heaviest on the troops and warriors aboard the DropShips. They could only continue their routine of eating (those who still could), gambling, sleeping, work details, and worry.

And then the time for suppositions was over. At last the jump sail was collapsed and furled, tightly rolled into the narrow mast that jutted from the ship's stern like a monstrous stinger. Aboard their JumpShip, Captain William ‘Scratch’ Autry gave his command.

In a moment, space opened around the Opal Hunt and the ship vanished into it. The next moment, the same fold of space opened twelve light years away, and the Ingersoll Armored Cavalry strike force rematerialized. The star below them was a Class A2V, larger, brighter, and more orange than the sun of Chara, and just under 4 AU distant. Radar swept the area in all directions, pinpointing a bright, hard return from a large object some 50,000 kilometers away.

That would be the 'Telsa' Recharge Station, and the presumed hiding place of any Marik fighters on hand to deal with intrusions such as this one. IAC AeroSpace Fighters were deployed. The JumpShip itself fired up its station keepers but did not unfurl its sails. Those huge, fabric disks were easy targets. Though the ship could not jump again until it had recharged its accumulators, no captain dared open his sails until the threat of enemy fighters was past.


. . .



With the fall of Galatea, the Marik commanders knew that it wouldn't be long before the Lyran Alliance came gunning for the nearby world of Mizar. They were expecting it, the troops were expecting it, and even the battle computers were predicting a 73 percent chance of an attack within ten days. But the clever Captain of the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry, managed to take them by surprise after all.

First came a lightning strike by a platoon of Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry’s SAS Platoon troops who planted explosives at the huge radar Recharge Station at the system's zenith jump point. By crippling the microwave relay dish aimed at Mizar 4 AU away, no warning of the attack could get through to the Marik forces onworld. At the same time, an unmarked Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry Invader popped in from less than 50,000 klicks away. Even before unfurling its sail or engaging its station - keeping thrusters, the ship disgorged two Union Class DropShips and an Mule, which headed straight for the two Marik Invader Class JumpShips parked at the station, jamming the JumpShip’s communication signals as they went.

The JumpShip crewmen repeatedly ordered the DropShips to change course, but the three vessels just kept on coming. Then they began frantically radioing the Recharge station for further instructions, but the only reply they got was electronic noise. How could those Marik crewmen have known that IAC SAS saboteurs had just transformed the Recharge station's communications gear into wreckage and debris and that a furious firefight was raging in the comm center at that very moment?

Meanwhile, the DropShips had begun spearing the Invaders with high-energy lasers, crippling them. By the time the JumpShip crews had gotten to the weapons lockers, or had even realized that they were under attack, Steele Dagger battle - armored invaders had already boarded the ships and were turning the passageways into slaughter pens.

. . .


Aboard the Union Class DropShip, the Sword of Valor, the troops still waited. There was little gaming now and no bull sessions. Eyes searched the gray - painted bulkheads endlessly, as though they might see past them and into the surrounding vacuum. They could hear nothing, of course, and so were dependent on word passed down to them from the control room. Each man wondered if the ship's captain would actually let them know if they were about to be hit . . . and what possible good it would do to know.

The IAC’s Executive Officer Gunther ‘Python’ Price was on the ’Sword of Valor’'s bridge, which was linked to the bridge of the Opal Hunt by an open vid - link. The ’Sword of Valor’'s captain, 1st Lieutenant Peter Grimaldus, was shaking his head as he examined the banks of monitors, then turned from the screen to face Gunther. "I think that scares me more than an assault wave of enemy ships incoming at 5 Gs."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"That's right, sir. ‘No damn thing’. ‘Viper’ reported that our fighters dispatched two heavies and now were turning up a blank at the Recharge Station. There's nothing there ... and nobody except our SAS Battle Armor Squads." He checked his monitor screens again. "The patrols are returning. It looks as though the Marik Commander has left the jump point to us."

Gunther worried at this piece of information for a time. It was possible that the entire Marik space strike force was concentrated at the opposite jump point . . . but foolishly unlikely. Radar and IR sweeps of the entire system had so far produced equally negative results. So, it looked as though Agatha Rousset - Marik's defense of Mizar would be concentrated near the planet itself.

The word finally came from the Opal Hunt. Throughout the fleet, DropShip brackets opened, and grapples dropped silently clear. The DropShips began drifting away from their JumpShips like seeds scattered from slender pods. Once clear of the JumpShips, and refueled now from the stores of reaction mass aboard each larger vessel, the DropShips calculated vectors and accelerations and began the long boost toward Mizar. Behind them, metal foil parasol two kilometers wide began unfurling against the stars, as the strike force JumpShip began the process of recharging for the next jump.

From jump point to star was 8.9 AU. From star to planet was 5.37 AUs. Simple geometry gave a distance between jump point and world of a hair under 4 AU, or over 576 hours of travel at a constant 1 G or 24 days.

Gunther had been over the figures in his head many times already.

Each person in the two DropShips, the ’Sword of Valor’ and the Mule Class Cobalt Charm, Gunther included, now bore the expectant and frustrated attitude of one waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Standard doctrine called for a defending force to meet an invading fleet as far off from the planet as possible, to inflict as much damage on the incoming fleet before the DropShips had a chance to release their precious 'Mechs or to land and disembark them. But her advance team had reported the same lack of concern from Marik on their approach too.



Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Inbound
Union Dropship 'Sword of Valor’
Deck Three
Command, Coordination, and Communication Room
January 27th 3096 0915 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Gunther stood in the 'Sword of Valor’'s 3C Room awaiting the arrival of 1st Lieutenant Jan 'Wandler' Luftensteiner, four days away from making planet fall on Mizar. Captain Erik ‘Harlequin’ Ingersoll had suggested that the two of them , Jan and Gunther, meet to work out the details of the search operation. Jan wanted to have the meeting before the 'Sword of Valor’ landed. Gunther was flexible, they in fact could meet before the IAC touched down, but Gunther thought it would make more sense to conduct the meeting AFTER the unit landed that way they would have access to see the terrain and make decisions based on that and not rely on supposition. But when Gunther discovered that Jan intended to make HALO drops, he had conceded, “Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, then you are absolutely right, we should have the meeting before we land.” Gunther had invited the DropShip Commanding Officer, 1st Lieutenant Peter Grimaldus, to attend the meeting because he would be an instrumental part in the operation as well as the squad leaders from each battle armor unit, and Sergeant Veronica 'Dancer' Wolfe. He had been meaning to ask her how she had come by her callsign, ‘Dancer’.

The three Battle Armor Sergeants, Zain Trumbull, Alec Newcomb, and Nicholas Hummel sat on the other side of the table and were shooting the shit until Jan arrived. Corporal Vido Santiago, the Indra IFV commander, was chattin’ up Veronica. Gunther and Peter stood and talked amongst themselves. Jan had reached out to the Executive Officer and had informed him that he was running late due to his uploading some last minute information to his dataslate.

Gunther had pulled out a cigar and proceeded to cut the end off of it.

Peter gave him a questioningly look and uttered, “And exactly what in the Devil of Sam Hill do you think you’re about to do with that?” Cutting his eyes to indicate the stogie Gunther was placing up to his lips.

Gunther returned the 1st Lieutenants gaze and replied, ”What? With this? I’m about to smoke it. Why?”

“Not on my ship you’re not! Air is at a premium on the ship and the scrubbers are working overtime as it is. Now I won’t allow if from the Captain and a sure ain’t gonna allow it from you neither.” Peter snatch the cigar from Gunther’s grasp and succinctly broke it half in two and defiantly crossed his arms across his barreled chest. “And don’t you go trying to intimidate me with those spooky devil eyes of yours!”

Gunther stood there looking at the DropShip CO and lucky for him Jan walked through the hatch opening, as it hissed open and then shut quickly behind him.

“Sorry I’m late ‘Python’. However, duty called.” Jan offered as he rounded the table to sit with his men and placed some data disc on the table. “Sergeants. Corporal.” Jan greeted his men.

Gunther waved off Jan's apology. They were all late sometimes. “Ok, now that the 1st Lieutenant is here we can get started.” Gunther and Peter both took seats opposite the battle armor pilots. Veronica sat to Gunther right. “Ok ‘Wandler’. This is your area of expertise so I’ll be following your lead.”

Jan looked up from his dataslate, “My main question is how you want to coordinate the two efforts, ‘Python’?”

“Which two efforts?” queried Gunther. “All we are task to do is search for the Graniston’s Gearheads Battalion until Captain Ingersoll makes planet fall. What other effort are you referring to, Lieutenant?”

“Well utilizing primarily the Rottweilers to spread a sensor net. For that I will propose to drop them on the main continent of Solasia with equipment, reloads, weapons, rations for the boys and stuff and a backup squad of Fenrirs. In the meantime the second Rottweiler squad and the ‘Mech Forces would go and search for the Gearheads on the Utopian Isles. Two efforts, one more clandestine as the Mariks will know where we landed.” Jan summarized his plans.

“So I take it that your Rottweilers Squads that are dropped on the main continent will be making a HALO drops then?”

“That was my idea,” answered Jan. “To get them isolated onto the continent of Solasia with as little chance for the Mariks to find are unit as possible. Because in my honest opinion, if they run into an engagement their Mission has failed.”

“Gotcha. Makes sense,” pondered Gunther. Turning to his left he asked the DropShip CO, “Are you ok with this Peter?” The 1st Lieutenant shot Gunther an emphatic nod. Turning back to look across the table to Jan and his troops,”And the 'Mechs will keep the second squad of Rottweilers shielded with their ECMs.”

“Absolutely - and the Hauberks are a 'unit fight' item anyway.”

“They can always stay back and stand guard over the ’Sword of Valor’ and the Cobalt Charm against infantry intruders.” Suggested Gunther as he rubbed his right hand back through his Mohawk. His face wrinkled up as if he were deep in thought. Then Gunther blurted, “What do you think of splitting the two 'Mechs up? One on the Solasia continent and one on the Utopian Isle? Or do you think it would be too easy to detect the 'Mech on the mainland?”

Jan perked up. Seemingly he liked the idea as a truly evil grin spread across his countenance. “What two ‘Mechs are the Options here? My Dawgs have shown that it is possible to hide battlemechs, given their weight and their height and such.”

“The Thunderbolt equipped with ECM and the Gallowglas also equipped with ECM, sixty five and seventy tons respectively.” Gunther said the last part for the benefit of Jan’s battle armor sergeants because he was sure Jan already knew the weights of both battle ‘Mechs.

“Well,” Jan began, “. . . the Gallowglas has an energy only loadout, something that's always good to have when you’re deployed out in the field for an extended period of time. XO, you're in the Thunderbolt right? Having both 'senior' officers on Solasia and neither of us with our main force on the Utopian Isle would be unwise I guess. But we could also switch it up though. Have you go with the T-bolt onto mainland and coordinate the web - efforts and I go on the island.” Jan suggested good naturedly.

“Yes Sir. I pilot Thunderbolt, No, I meant send the Gallowglas to Solasia . . .” Gunther quickly back peddled out of that looming catastrophe. Captain Ingersoll would have his hide if something ever happened to the ’Sword of Valor’ and the Mule Class Cobalt Charm’ with all the units supplies while Gunther was off gallivanting around Solasia. “I will need to stay close to our Landing Zone. Sergeant Wolfe can handle herself.” Gunther offered with his crooked metal smile while acknowledging Veronica.”

“Yeah, I’ll be good,” Veronica chimed in. “Thanks for your vote of confidence, XO.”

“PERFECT!” Jan intoned. “Then we have a plan.” Jan appeared to be genuinely happy about the plan he had come up with. “You get the Hauberks and one squad of Rottweilers. Sidebar XO, will you please remind me to insist on some Afreet PA(L)s after this mission?”

Gunther replied to Jan’s ‘sidebar’ through chuckles, “Sure thing, but I'll remind you only if you help me to persuade the Captain into purchasing a Tracked BattleMech Recovery Vehicle, a Standard Paramour Mobile Repair Vehicle, a Standard MASH Truck, and a GESV Trailer w/a Bunker configuration.” Both Lieutenants laughed out loud.

“Getting back to the subject of our meeting,” Gunther redirected their focus. ”Do you really think we can keep a ‘Mech hidden? So you get the Gallowglas and two Fenrir's then?”

“Uh-uh. I’m sorry. My bad. I did say you get the Hauberks and the Rottweilers. But I get the Gallowglas, the Rottweiler and one Fenrir.” Jan corrected the XO. “You get the second Fenrir and the Hauberk, Deal?”

“Okay, that works for me.” Gunther acquiesced.

“Sounds like a plan and you find me some nice Gearheads.”

“I have some intel from the Captain,” Gunther interjected before the meeting was adjourned, “Force Commander Stravkas' Highlander's has a gauss rifle and well, he basically hunts officers with his gauss rifle.”

Jan shuddered, “Well I'm glad then I'm no important target.”

Gunther emphatically intoned, ”Yes you are too. 1st Lieutenant. I need you to be careful out there.”

Word Count 2,650
CONTRACT TOTAL 29,736
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE

	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
    
LA-SC-08-01 #20

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Upper Atmosphere
Union Dropship 'Sword of Valour’
Deck Two
Bridge
January 31st 3096 2200 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

The in - run to Mizar turned out to be uneventful, even boring. Only three events broke the monotony of the month long trip. The first was an Aerospace fighter attack wave, it came twenty days into the passage, long after the DropShips had flipped end for end and begun their decelerations. Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry lone Halo flight’s, fighter pilot launched from the DropShip, eager to extract vengeance, and accelerated at high - G toward the assault formation that was spreading across the fleet's screens.

'Sword of Valour’and her sister Mule Class DropShip in the IAC adhoc DropShip Fleet, the Cobalt Charm had been opposed during the final few hours of their burn to Mizar by what appeared to be the last flights of AeroSpace Fighters Marik could muster. It was a light fighter Squadron with a flight of Sabres, a flight of Poignard, and a flight of Lancers.

Though the Marik pilots fought bravely, there was little doubt as to the outcome of the attack. The Marik fighters were battered aside by the inbound DropShips and harried to death by the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry lone Corsair aerospace fighter. Still, they managed to inflict some damage. The 'Sword of Valour’, a Union Class DropShip belonging to the IAC Seraphrim Squadron, took heavy LRM fire from a mottled gray Lancer that jammed one of her ‘Mech bay doors. Though the ’Sword of Valour’ was still operational, some of the IACs units would be forced to queue up to use the remaining door in that bay.

The second came just three minutes before the Union Class DropShip, the ’Sword of Valor’, was due to begin its shallow entry into Mizar’s stormy atmosphere. At about twenty two fifty hundred hours, on the 31st of January, the ’Sword of Valour’’s sensor tech, 1st Sergeant Sierra Palomino, reported that a large electromagnetic and tachyon flare had blossomed and faded outside the system’s thermosphere. The emission profile was consistent with that of departing Invader Class JumpShip. When the word was passed, 1st Lieutenant Gunther ‘Python’ Price felt an unaccustomed chill. The Opal Hunt had jumped to the system's Pirate Point. The ’Seraphim’ and ’Sword of Valour’ were now truly on their own.

The third event came just two minutes later, when a ground - based sensor sweep triggered the ’Sword of Valour’’s transponder. A thrill of tension passed through the ship as the passengers and crew waited for the Marik’s response. Here was the first, and most critical, test of Hauptmann Eric Von Patton’s intelligence. Was the code correct? Was there some vocal exchange in addition to the electronic password? If they were challenged, would their bluff hold up?

For several long minutes there was no sign of a response from the planet below. Gunther supposed to 1st Lieutenant Peter Grimaldus, the ’Sword of Valour’’s CO, that Marik might be discussing what to do with the ’Sword of Valour’ masquerading as the ‘Harry’ if the IFF code wasn’t one hundred percent correct. All during that time the only sound heard on the DropShip’s bridge was the mournful and irritatingly high - pitched beeping of the radar warning system. The unpleasant tone was a constant reminder that the ship had been detected and was now being “painted” by tracking radars.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the interrogation signal ceased. The tracking radar was switched off, and the New Regime seemed to have lost interest in the ’Sword of Valour’.

“What happened?” Gunther’s voice was a fierce whisper, as though he were afraid to talk too loud, lest Marik hear and take a renewed interest in the ship.

“I don’t know,” Grimaldus replied, scowling at the ’Sword of Valour’’s instruments. “It’s not supposed to work this way. Once you’re on radar, you’re on radar until you land. Flight controllers don’t just shut down tracking systems like that.”

“Maybe they’ve got some sort of passive system?” Grimaldus’ co – pilot and First Mate, Master Sergeant Rose Malone, suggested.

“Maybe,” Grimaldus allowed. “But I wouldn’t want to rely on it. Passive systems are far too unreliable when it comes to holding a good track on a moving object.”

“I can only come up with two answers. One, they’ve got some kind of tracking system our electronic warfare suite can’t detect. Or, two, they’ve switched over to standby and will pick us up again once we enter our landing profile. For now, we have to assume the former. We have to assume that we’re still on some kind of sensor screen, though there isn’t much we can do about it.”

“So what do you suggest?” Though Executive Officer Gunther, like all Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry’s ranking officers, had received basic instruction in DropShip operations, he understood little of the more technical side of space flight.

“For now, we stick to the plan,” Grimaldus answered. “We go in just like we’re supposed to. We’re a nice friendly civilian DropShip carrying parts and supplies for the factory on Wunderland. If Marik doesn’t believe our story, we’ll have to think of something else.”




Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Upper Atmosphere
Union Dropship 'Sword of Valour’
Deck Six
‘Mech Bay
January 31st 3096 2345 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

“Executive Officer Price?” A voice sounded in his ears.

“ ‘Python’. Go.”

“Executive Officer, we are over the drop zone. Request permission to deploy the Recon Force.”

With a nod made of equal parts satisfaction and apprehension, Gunther said, “Permission granted. Deploy the Recon Force.”

“Very well.” The ’Sword of Valor’’s captain, one 1st Lieutenant Peter Grimaldus, sounded relieved. As soon as the ground forces were deployed, the DropShips could pull back and await the message signaling that the landing zone was secure. “’Sword of Valor’ to all Main LZ Drop Recon Force commands, commence drop in five … four … three … two … one… Drop, drop, drop!”

The very second Grimaldus’ third “Drop” blared from his headset, the remote feed to Executive Officer Gunther ‘Python’ Price’s ‘Mech was cut off and he kicked over to a small local transmitter attached to the outside of his ceramic drop pod. While it was not powerful enough to establish communications over distances much more than a thousand kilometers, it would at least keep him in contact with his own Recon Force until he shed the protective cocoon and went to ground so that he could bounce his communications suite of his Thunderbolt off of the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry’s ’Sword of Valor’’s orbiting comms array.

Faintly, through the huge, egg - shaped drop capsule and the thick legs of his Thunderbolt, Gunther felt the trembling of the big spheroid DropShip as the first wave of velocity dropped free of her armored hull as her retro thrusters kicked in. Though he hated the waiting, cooped up inside the blind, silver - gray world of the drop pod, he would have to take his turn. As the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry Recon Force commander, the overall leader of the IAC Utopian Isles contingent, his place was in the middle of the “stick” of two battle armor squads to be dropped. All the units had to queue up from the same launch bay door because the other one had been damaged. With each barely perceived shudder of the huge vessel, his turn drew ever closer.

“Hang on, Trumball,” he called to his recon forces XO, Staff Sergeant Zain Trumball in the Fenrir armor. “By my count, we’re next.”

Making an orbital drop was in some ways a study in contrasts. MechWarriors experienced a sudden switch from the sensation of motionlessness aboard the coasting DropShip to the stomach - churning acceleration of being punted out the ship’s drop tube, and then back to the feeling of floating in space. Gunther, of course, knew better. Though he couldn’t see the cloud - shrouded bulk of Mizar rushing up to meet his plummeting ‘Mech, he was well aware of the fact that he was encased in over a sixty five tons of armored BattleMech and protective drop - pod, at an increasing rate of about ten meters per second, per second.

Then there was the contrast in noise level. Inside the ’Sword of Valor’’s ‘Mech bay, it was relatively quiet, save for the tactical feeds coming in through his pod’s service umbilical. When the umbilical was detached, it became deathly silent, save for Gunther’s short conversation with Zain Trumbull over their short wave communication and the beating of his own heart. As soon as the Thunderbolt and its protective pod were launched into space, the quiet was broken by a faint hissing sound that soon became a high keening, then a basso roar. The sound was generated by the massive, egg - shaped capsule slicing its way through Mizar’s upper atmosphere. Gunther knew that the outer ceramic covering of the pod was heating rapidly due to friction with the air. Were it not for the pod, his ‘Mech would burn up in the atmosphere long before ever reaching the planet below. If some small, hidden fault in the capsule’s outer surface should suddenly manifest itself, the result would be the same.

Gunther glanced at a multifunction display that bore a series of rapidly decreasing numbers. He knew that the figure represented his estimated height in meters above the planet’s surface. Estimated, because his ‘Mech’s sensors were unable to penetrate the pod’s thick skin and give him an actual altitude.

Maybe this is why Zain hates orbital drops.

As the pod fell, and the roaring sound grew ever louder, Gunther thought he could feel the temperature inside his cockpit begin to rise as air friction began to heat and wear away the drop pod’s outer, ablative surface. The pump set into his command couch kicked on with a loud thump, sending a wave of coolant flooding through his MechWarrior cooling vest. The incredible amounts of waste heat generated by the ‘Mech’s power plant and weapons could fry a warrior in very short order. To combat that unpleasant occurrence, ‘Mech designers installed a number of heat sinks to bleed off the high temperatures that would otherwise cause the machine to shut down, its ammunition to explode, render its electronic control and targeting packages balky, and incapacitate or even kill its pilot.

Even so, the temperatures inside a ‘Mech’s cockpit during a pitched battle could rise as high as forty - six degrees Celsius. To fight this oppressive heat, the MechWarriors of the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry wore cooling vests that circulated the same ethylene glycol - based solution as their ‘Mech’s heat sinks.

Gunther felt the rush of fresh coolant flowing through the suit’s tubing. this was followed by a mental wave of gratitude to Master Tech Sergeant, Niclas Heidrich, who had inspected the coolant vest, as he watched the cockpit’s internal temperature continue to rise on a secondary display screen.

A high tone sounded in his ears.

“Hang in there, Zain,” he called. “That’s the one - minute warning.”

Sixty seconds later, the huge gray ceramic and steel egg split apart, leaving Gunther’s huge, boxy ‘Mech falling toward the ground below. Now, his sensors worked, and he could tell exactly how far above the surface they were. Eighteen kilometers, still a long way above the ground, but at the rate the Thunderbolt was falling, it wouldn’t take long to cover that distance, unless …

With a massive snap, a five - petaled blossom of parachutes bloomed into existence overhead. The dropping ‘Mech suddenly slowed, its feet orienting violently downward. The chutes weren’t intended to bring the massive war machine gently down on the landing zone. It was falling far too fast and weighed far too much for that. The quintuple nylon canopy was merely intended to slow the ‘Mech’s fall and orient it feet - downward. In that way, the jump jets built into the ‘Mechs feet would provide enough braking power to bring the Thunderbolt down safely. Such measures were necessary in all BattleMechs even those that lacked integral jump jets.

For the first time since entering the drop pod, Gunther looked around with his own eyes. As far as he could see, there were bright white streaks blazing against the night sky. It looked like a massive meteor shower, but he knew that the blazing smoke - trails were not tipped by rapidly eroding chunks of nickel - iron, but by multiple – a ton mechanisms of ceramic and steel and death. Other, smaller streaks, not as visible, but just as significant, laced the dark sky. These were the trails of drop pods, already split open to deliver their cargo of death into Mizar’s atmosphere. Every four of these dull black strands meant another IAC Recon Battle Armor Squad was on its way to Mizar.

“Executive Officer, I have the beacon,” Staff Sergeant Zain Trumball reported with a calm voice that belied his admitted and extreme anxiety. “Altitude now, eight kilometers.”

A guidance discrete flashed into life on Gunther’s head’s up display. The small green circle indicated the point toward which he was supposed to steer his dropping ‘Mech. A gentle tap on the jump jet throttle swung his massive Thunderbolt onto a course for what Trumball called “the beacon”. In reality, their landing zone was a broad, relatively flat expanse of ground one hundred fifty kilometers due north of a major city and well outside the continental capital of the Utopian Isles.

The small flashing light on his Thunderbolt’s HUD gave Gunther a mark toward which to steer his descending ‘Mech. In theory, if he stayed on target, according to the guidance discrete, he would hit his assigned LZ with no trouble. The theory also stated that a fixed landing beacon increased the chances for hitting the correct landing zone. In this case the theory would probably be correct.

The landmark provided a perfect landing beacon for IAC Recon Force. Though the area could never serve as a landing zone for the entire Company, their ‘Mechs’ sophisticated computer systems were able to key in on the beacon and determine the actual location of their landing zones.

“Sixty seconds,” Gunther called, as the altimeter clicked over to read four thousand meters. Clamping down hard on the jump jet throttle, he fired the jets for a long, twenty - second burst, slowing the Thunderbolt. If he did hit the ground hard, at least now he was moving at a more or less survivable rate of descent.

At two thousand meters, Gunther gave the jets another long burn, taking even more speed off his fall. Then, a scant five hundred meters off the ground, he lit off the powerful reaction - fuel jets in a final braking burn. The sixty five ton, humanoid ‘Mech shuddered with the incredible amount of kinetic energy being spent to bring it to a safe landing. The whining roar of the jets tortured Gunther’s ears as he struggled to keep the decidedly top - heavy machine in an upright landing position.

With a heavy, jolting thud, the Thunderbolt touched down. Gunther bent the ‘Mech’s thick, armored knees to absorb the last of the machine’s downward energy. Bringing the ‘Mech upright again, he flicked a cover locked control, and was rewarded with a firecracker series of sharp, flat cracks as a dozen explosive bolts fired, dropping the drogue chute to the ground.

“IAC Recon Force, this is ‘Python’. Check in,” he snapped into his communicator. “ ‘Python’, this is Fenrir Bravo.” Staff Sergeant Zain Trumbull was, almost predictably, the first of his battle armor commanders to respond. “Fenrir Bravo has landed and is moving to secure our western perimeter.”

“ ‘Python’, Indra Unit. We’re down and safe.” Corporal Vido Santiago, the battle armor platoon’s veteran vehicle commander, was far less formal than his more spit – and - polish counterpart. “We’re patroling the eastern perimeter.”

The Executive Officer received no response from his Hauberk Battle Armor Sergeant, Nicholas Hummel, about the status of his Assault Squad. Gunther waited several long minutes before he tried him again. “Hauberk, this is IAC Recon Force Actual, I say again. Sit - rep.” Gunther waited exactly sixty seconds before he broadcast his messaged to each Hauberk Battle Armor squad member’s frequencies. Five minutes went by and still no answer. He then reached out to the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry orbital AeroSpace Carrier Command, the ’Sword of Valor’, their Union - Class DropShip and gave a brief synopsis of the situation to its captain, Peter Grimaldus, who then routed orders down to Halo Flight’s solo AeroSpace Pilot, 2nd Lieutenant Nathan 'Fencer' McMasters, to refuel and re - launch to perform a flyby of the Hauberk’s Squad LZ to determine what the status was of an entire Assault Squad, It had to be the iron ore in the isle for the whole squad to be out of contact. Or so Gunther hoped.

Word Count 2834
CONTRACT TOTAL 32,570
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE


    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
    Contact: Contact Gunther Price


LA-SC-08-01 #21

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Upper Atmosphere
Union Dropship 'Sword of Valour’
Small Craft Bay
Landing Zone
February 1st 3096 0045 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

First Lieutenant Peter Grimaldus turned his attention to the one man on the bridge who wasn’t one of his officers or men, the only Combat Engineer officer aboard. “Commander, Landing Force, is the landing force prepared to land?” he asked in the voice that had caused several navy officers over the years to request a transfer from his command, and driven many a chief petty officer into early retirement.

IAC Combat Engineer 2nd Lieutenant Damien Markov stood calmly with his back to the bulkhead, near the port - side hatch of the bridge, out of everybody’s way. When the 1st Lieutenant spoke, he slid easily to attention and said quite calmly,

“Yessir, the landing force is prepared to land.”

First Lieutenant Grimaldus’ glare asked how 2nd Lieutenant Markov could know his Combat Engineers were ready to land when he hadn’t left the bridge since the command to ready the landing force was given.

“1st Sergeant Yawmgoth saw to it, sir.”

“1st Sergeant Yawmgoth,” 1st Lieutenant Grimaldus repeated, as though continuing to pass orders and responses. Stone - faced, he turned his attention back to his bridge duties.

The ship’s executive officer, 2nd Lieutenant Natasha Drake, looked at Markov and wondered how he could have replied so calmly.

Markov winked at the Natasha, then calmly turned and left the bridge.

The voice that followed the klaxons was a carefully modulated female voice, but the effect it had in the DropShip’s number two occupied troop hold was the same as that of a grizzled old chief bos’n snarling out orders.

Twenty - odd Combat Engineers, the occupants of a troop hold designed to house the 113 junior NCOs and enlisted men of an infantry company, stopped doing whatever they had been doing and checked out their gear, made sure their lockers were empty, the deck around their racks was clear, and their weapons, packs, and duffle bags ready to be picked up and carried to the S7 – P Bus Small Craft, nicknamed ‘Scarab’ across the Inner Sphere, waiting in the well deck.

The troop hold was right out of navy tradition. Cots were stacked four high, with two feet of head space between the top of one mattress and the springs of the next one up. A stack of battleship - gray lockers separated the head of one stack of racks from the foot of the next.

The rows of ‘rack – and – locker’ stacks were separated by meter – and – a – half - wide aisles. Even though space wasn’t as scarce in the modified – by - IAC DropShip as it had been on the standard Union Class DropShip, the third – to - last thing any midshipmen on an assault dropper wanted to do, to the Combat Engineers, it was to make transporting them too comfortable. If they were too comfortable, the Combat Engineers might want to stay aboard instead of making their assigned planetfall. If they stayed aboard, they’d probably want to take over, and the second – to - last thing any self - respecting midshipmen wanted was to have Combat Engineers in charge.

The last thing any midshipmen on an assault ‘Mech transport dropper wanted to do was make planetfall with the Combat Engineers — if the Combat Engineers are going in, planetside is probably too dangerous.

None of the Combat Engineers galvanized into action by the voice ordering them to prepare for landing were more animated than a stocky, diminutive 1st Sergeant who bounded from his rack in the NCO corner of the troop hold and barked out: “You heard the word, people! Make sure your gear is stowed and your duffle bags secured.” He marched through the nearly empty hold, doing his best to give everything a gimlet - eyed once - over. “We’re about to hit the beach. Anything you don’t have with you when we go over the side, you’ll never see again. Look sharp now.”

“Who died and left him God?” someone stage whispered.

“I heard that, Mcintyre,” 1st Sergeant Yawmgoth snapped. In three strides he stood nose – to - chest with a Private 1st Class who was as much bigger than any of the other Combat Engineers in the hold as Yawmgoth was smaller. “Nobody had to die to make me God. I’ve got more of these than anybody else here does.” He tapped a thumb against the two bronze chevrons and nova device pinned to his utility shirt collar. “That makes me God. Step aside for inspection.”

Mcintyre almost managed to suppress a sigh as he took a step to the side and pivoted to face parallel to his rack. He casually came to attention.

Using a series of quick, sharp movements, Yawmgoth made sure Mcintyre’s pack and duffle bag were securely closed. He opened the small locker at the rack’s head to satisfy himself it was empty, then flipped the rack’s thin mattress to check for anything stowed under it. Disgruntled that Mcintyre’s gear was impeccably packed and ready for disembarkment, Yawmgoth snatched Mcintyre’s M61A Laser Rifle Combat System from its belay at the head of his rack. Using parade - ground motions, he inspected the weapon. The battery wasn’t in it — it was unloaded and clear. His close scrutiny found no corrosion, dust, or oil buildup. Disappointed at not finding anything wrong with the weapon, he thrust it at Mcintyre so fast the big man almost didn’t get his hands up in time to stop the M61A from slamming into his body.

“Square away that mattress, Mcintyre,” Yawmgoth snarled. “I don’t want any sailor - boys complaining we didn’t leave this hold shipshape.”

“Aye aye, 1st Sergeant,” Mcintyre said in a long - suffering voice. He was glad the trip was over and he might never again see the runt who had ridden him for the whole voyage.

“Everybody, open your lockers and stand your mattresses up,” Yawmgoth ordered. “Gear and weapons inspection.” He briskly went through the small portion of the troop hold occupied by the Combat Engineers being deployed to the IAC on Mizar. Everyone was fully packed, not a strap was out of place, every weapon was immaculate.

“All right, people,” Yawmgoth said after looking them over one last time, “stand by for further orders.” He spun and returned to the NCO corner, of which he was the sole occupant.

“Are all sergeants in the fleet as full of crap as that?” Private 1st Class Herman Saebo asked Mcintyre, who stood next to him.

Mcintyre shook his head. “Negative on that. Yawmgoth’s a pogue and wants everyone to think he’s as tough as a real Combat Engineer.”

“Pogue.” That’s another Terran Combat Engineer tradition.

They preserve ancient language. “Pogue” was the word twentieth - century U.S. Combat Engineers used to describe noncombatant Combat Engineers — clerks and cooks and bakers and other nonfighters. A “real Combat Engineer” was in the fighting arms; an infantryman, artilleryman, tanker, recon, technician, air crew — anyone who pulled a trigger, cocked a cannon, snooped and pooped, or dropped bombs.

“We’re grunts, he’s a pogue. With any luck, we’ll never see him again.” Mcintyre paused in thought for a moment, then added, “I don’t know how he got his second stripe. The man is in serious need of an attitude adjustment.”

“Attention on deck,” someone shouted moments later.

“As you were,” 2nd Lieutenant Markov said before the Combat Engineers in the troop hold could scramble to their feet.

“How’s it going, Private 1st Class Mcintyre, you ready to land?”

“You know it, sir.”

Markov stifled a smile. “How about you, Private 1st Class Saebo, ready for your first duty station?”

“Gonna get me some, sir.”

“Sir!” 1st Sergeant Yawmgoth scrambled out of the NCO corner and snapped to attention in front of Markov.

“The landing force is ready to land. I inspected the men myself.”

“I knew you would, Yawmgoth.”

Yawmgoth frowned when his rank was omitted. Some of the other Combat Engineers exchanged quick glances. Someone let out a quickly cut - off guffaw.

“We’ll be heading for the well deck any minute now. Get everything ready and stand by for further orders.”

Markov started to turn to leave the troop hold, then turned back. “For those of you who haven’t done this before except in Boot Camp, get ready for the ride of a lifetime. It’s a little more exciting the way we do it here.”

As soon as the officer was gone, Yawmgoth spun and stared each man in the eye, looking for any sign that would tell him who had laughed. They all looked innocent. He started to turn back to the NCO corner when the klaxons again rang and blared throughout the ship, followed by the melodious voice saying, “Landing Force, prepare to land.”

“Fall in, people!” 1st Sergeant Yawmgoth shouted. “Line ’em up, line ’em up, line ’em up!” He scurried along the line of Combat Engineers who scrambled to shrug into their packs, shoulder their duffle bags, and hoist their M61As. He snorted angrily when he couldn’t find anyone who didn’t have everything ready to move out. Then he took his place facing the middle of the line.

“Platoon, a – ten - hut!” he shouted.

The Combat Engineers shuffled their feet, but nobody made a serious attempt to come to attention; they couldn’t in that narrow space with the loads they were carrying.

“Right HACE! Fo - art, HARCH!” Yawmgoth had to duck back as a shouldered duffle bag nearly hit him in the head. He stutter - stepped in place for a moment, then realized there wasn’t enough space in the narrow aisle for him to squeeze along the line of moving Combat Engineers to take his place near the head of the column.

“You forgot something,” someone said softly as he walked past. Yawmgoth couldn’t see who it was because the man’s duffle bag blocked his view of his face.

Yawmgoth started to snap out when he realized what it was he had forgotten. Red - faced, he scrambled back to the NCO corner to get his own pack, duffle bag, and weapon.

The “well deck” was at the bottom of a ladder at the opposite end of the short passageway outside the troop hold. Like its namesake in seagoing amphibious landing ships of ancient Terran - bound navies, the well deck was located in the lower, forward part of the DropShip’s hull — though the designations “lower” and “forward” were arbitrary in DropShips. Unlike its predecessors, the well deck didn’t open to the seas to let water in so amphibious Small Craft could float out. Inner Sphere DropShips never settled in water seas — not on purpose anyway.

Neither did the well deck contain numerous Small Craft. Two ‘S7 – P Bus’, or ‘Scarabs’ were suspended from the well deck’s overhead aerospace fighter bays. This Union was modified to transport four into combat but only utilized two for its Aerospace fighter, of which one was vacant due to it being shot down in the fight for the ‘Telsa’ Recharge Station. Each shuttle could deliver two IAC Musketeers or Condors, to a planetary surface.

In one drop, two platoons of infantry could be delivered to the surface to make an amphibious assault. After off - loading their hover vehicles, the shuttles returned to orbit to pick up the next wave in the unit’s remaining Condors and the ship’s own Small Craft, which weren’t as heavily armed or armored as the Musketeer, but were faster on the water. If necessary, the two Condors in the ship’s own complement would join in a landing. It was necessary for this drop.

Nobody waited for orders when they reached the well deck, and nobody listened to the orders 1st Sergeant Yawmgoth shouted; they all headed directly to the one shuttle that would land them on Mizar. Preparing to land was something the Combat Engineers had drilled on many times; everyone knew exactly where to go and what to do when he or she got there. 2nd Lieutenant Markov led one contingent onto one Musketeer, and 1st Sergeant Yawmgoth shepherded the other onto the second. The other five drop pods in the well deck were loaded with supplies and equipment destined for the IAC’s military forces planetside and would follow the Combat Engineers’ shuttle. Saebo grimaced at the thought of being on the Musketeer with Yawmgoth.

Both Musketeer were loaded on to the first shuttle; there weren’t enough men making the landing to need three — and just enough to justify using two. The second shuttle mounted to two Condors. The Combat Engineers went directly to their assigned stations on the Musketeers and stowed their packs and duffle bags in the locker spaces below the vehicle’s seats. Then they made sure the seats that normally faced the center line of the vehicle were secure in the acceleration webbing that hung from the overhead and held them in a front - facing position. Other straps anchored the webbing to the deck. Satisfied, they climbed into the seats and buckled themselves in. As each man secured himself in his webbing he shouted out that his position was ready, and punched a button in the webbing to tell the computer he was ready to drop. When the buttons on all deployed webbings were punched and its own sensors in the buckles verified the messages, the computer’s voice intoned to the driver — a IAC core non – comm officer, because these Musketeer belonged to the ground forces and not the Navy —“All personnel secured. Vehicle ready for drop.”

“ ‘Scarab’ One ready to drop,” the shuttle’s driver reported to the ‘Sword of Valour’, and his computer verified the message.

“ ‘Scarab’ Two ready to drop.”

“Well deck, stand by for zero atmosphere,” the computer voice said. Even through the walls of the Musketeer and the shuttle outside it, the Combat Engineers could hear the whisper of the well deck’s air being sucked out.

“Open drop hatch,” the voice said.

Inside the Musketeer the opening of the bay hatches beneath the shuttle was felt rather than heard by the Combat Engineers.

“Stand by for null - g,” the ship’s voice intoned. The Combat Engineers and the tank crews tensed themselves for a sudden loss of weight.

“Null - g,” intoned the ship’s voice. “Three, two, one, mark.”

The shuttle’s gravity generators shut off. Everywhere in the ‘Scarabs’ and on its surface, people and objects slowly drifted upward from whatever direction had been “down” for them — anyone or anything that wasn’t secured to a surface would drift away. Inside the Musketeers and the Condors there was a slight shifting of webbing as weight went away from the overhead support straps and newly floating mass was pulled into equilibrium by the deck straps. Dust particles that had been held to the ship’s hull by gravitation drifted away.

“Whooh!” Clearly one of the Combat Engineers hadn’t done this often enough to become accustomed to free fall.

“Belay that,” snapped 1st Sergeant Yawmgoth. He was secretly glad he hadn’t been the one to make the noise — in eight years, it was only his third time in null - g.

The klaxons rang and blared throughout the ship and through the speakers on the four Hover vehicles. The computer generated female voice said, “Land the landing force.”

Waiting in nervous anticipation of his first real orbital drop, Saebo told himself it was only his imagination that lent a note of sarcastic humor to the voice. But he didn’t have time to dwell on the thought.

The shuttle was attached to a launch - plunger in the overhead of the well deck. On the command to land the landing force, a 100 - psi blast of air ejected the shuttles away from the DropShip.

Saebo knew he was supposed to yell when the acceleration cut in, but the sudden four - g force that slammed him toward the overhead turned his planned yell into a scream of near terror. Somehow, this didn’t seem quite the way he remembered it from the practice landing they’d made from Outreach. The deck straps on the webbing straightened and went taut with the sudden movement, and made the fine adjustments needed to stop the webbing from slamming its human cargo into the overhead.

One second and three hundred meters from the closing bay doors, the shuttles’ engines fired up and added three g’s of forward momentum to the four vertical. The roar of the shuttle’s engines, soundless in the space outside it, was loud enough inside to drown out the yells and screams of the men in the Musketeers. The tank crews were veterans of orbital insertions and remained silent. Small rockets on the bottom of both ‘Scarabs’ ignited in unison to cancel the downward motion of the entry vehicles, the aft retros firing more strongly than the forward ones to aid the main rockets in giving them a slight downward thrust. Less than ten seconds after launch, the ‘Scarabs’ was already past the one – and – a – half – kilometer - long SAT. Only the downward thrust from their main engines kept them from being flung into a higher orbit.

“ ‘Scarab’ One is clear of the ship,” the shuttle’s driver, Melanie 'Lobo' Lynch, reported. “Request permission to commence atmospheric entry.”

“ ‘Scarab’ Two is clear of the ship,” the shuttle’s driver with the Condors aboard reported.

“Permission granted” was the reply. “On my mark, commence atmospheric entry. Four, three, two, one, mark.”

Melanie Lynch punched the button that controlled the topside attitude rockets. The shuttle’s computer got confirmation from the ship’s launch control computer and executed the command. Small vernier rockets above the shuttle’s nose fired briefly to angle the shuttle downward sharply and convert its orbital velocity of more than 32,000 kilometers per hour into downward speed. Five seconds later the main engines shut off and the shuttle went into an unpowered plunge. The second ‘Scarab’ followed suit. If their path had been straight down,they would have catastrophically impacted the planetary surface in under two minutes, but their glide angles were calculated to take five minutes to reach 50,000 meters above the surface, where their wings would deploy and forward thrusters would fire to drop the shuttles’ speed to something that could be controlled by powered flight.

Saebo’s digestive system reacted violently to the sudden drop from multi - g thrust to weightlessness. His intestines abruptly bloated, his stomach twisted and churned, his body tried to gag; he fought to keep from vomiting. He forced himself to swallow and twisted from side to side. Then he remembered to relax, concentrated on relaxing. First his legs, then his lower abdomen, his upper; next his chest, his arms, his throat; finally his head. The bloating in his intestines decreased, the twisting and churning of his stomach eased. He felt no more need to gag. He sighed. Then somebody else lost it a few feet away and Saebo had to fight his digestion again.

“Clean that up yourself, Combat Engineer,” Melanie shouted. “I’m not here to nursemaid puking buzzards.”

“What the fuck’s a ‘buzzard’?” Tech 3rd Class Rob Rakovich asked as he wiped vomitus from his chin.

The Combat Engineers cursed at Melanie, but no one moved to get out of his or her webbing and teach Melanie her place. Tech 2nd Class Brian Duka, closest to Rob; who had lost it, grabbed the nearest suction tube from the overhead bin and started cleaning up before the vomitus could settle on anything.

“Sound off,” 1st Sergeant Yawmgoth croaked from his webbing as soon as he had control of his voice.

“Rakovich.”
“Mcintyre.”
“Saebo.”
“Duka. . .” and so forth through the alphabet, just like Boot Camp, until each of the fourteen Combat Engineers aboard was accounted for as present and conscious. “High speed on a bad road” was how the infantry described the fall from the top of the atmosphere to the beginning of powered flight fifty kilometers above the surface. It was an apt description. By the time the braking rockets fired and the wings began to deploy, the shaking and rattling were so hard the ‘Scarab’ felt as if it was coming apart, and someone screamed in fear.

Someone called out something about ‘cherries’, and another soldier laughed.

The braking rockets and deploying wings quickly cut the angle of the shuttles’ dives, cutting both of their speeds in half by the time they reached the top of the troposphere. When their wings were fully extended, huge flaps extended from them to further brake the ‘Scarabs’ speeds. When their wings finally bit into air hard enough for controlled flight, Melanie turned off the braking rockets, fired up the jets, and maneuvered the craft into a velocity - eating spiral that slowed their descent as well as the shuttle’s forward speed. At a thousand meters altitude, Melanie pulled out of the spiral and popped the drogue chute. At two hundred, she angled the jets’ vernier nozzles downward. Seconds later the shuttle rested on the surface of the Sea of Spelnook, along side of its sister ship, a hundred kilometers offshore from Mizar’s smallest inhabited landmass, the Utopian Isles.

“Ready Musketeer to hit the beach,” Melanie ordered.

“Musketeer One, ready to hit the beach,” said the first Musketeer’s driver, Private 1st Class Anna Dickson.

“Musketeer Two, ready to hit the beach,” said the second Musketeer’s driver, Private 1st Class Antonette Brun.

“Ready Condors to debark,” the second 'Scarab' pilot ordered.

“Condor One, I rrrready,” droned the first Condor’s driver, Private 1st Class Neda Wandaba.

“Condor Two, ready and waiting,” intoned the second Condor’s driver, Staff Sergeant James Markay.

They revved up their engines. The curtains fluttered, then rose stiffly around the air cushion that lifted the Musketeers off the ‘Scarab’s deck. Melanie opened the aft hatches and lowered the ramp, and the two Musketeers drove out to splash onto the surface of the ocean and link up with the Condors who were already hovering nearby.

“Musketeers in line formation, Condors cover their flanks. Let’s move out!” came the command from the Armor Lance Commander, 2nd Lieutenant David Salazar. In seconds they were zipping at top speed, across the wave tops toward the distant shore.

Aboard the Sword of Valour, as soon as the shuttle was forcibly ejected from the Aerospace fighter launch bays, the DropShip began the routine to launch the supply pods. Gentle puffs of air eased the pods out of the drop chutes. Gentle blasts of the pods’ rockets pushed them into glide paths that would bring them to the planet’s surface in three revolutions around it. There was no great rush. No enemy was attacking the DropShip, no foe threatened to shoot down the S7 - P Bus Small Craft as it made planetfall. There was no need for the supply pods or their cargo to suffer the strains of an assault landing.

The Combat Engineers reporting to the IAC command on Mizar could have landed in the same sedate manner as the supplies and the later shore - liberty runs that ferried the DropShip’s midshipmen planetside. But the Combat Engineers have an image to maintain, a reputation to uphold. They make planetfall the traditional way.

The Hover craft didn’t stop on the beach, or even just beyond it. They continued inland off - road at an acute angle to the shoreline, the drivers gunning the hover tanks as fast as they dared over the moderately rough terrain. The tankers were determined to demonstrate they were just as tough as the Combat Engineers. It was a ride of the kind all the Combat Engineers had experienced at least once before: no air and no cushion.

At a flip of a lever on the driver’s console, the seats swiveled down and around into their ground mode, vertical, facing the center line of the vehicle. The webbing that held the Combat Engineers into their acceleration seats withdrew. Saebo groaned with the change in attitude. The upright seats seemed to magnify every bounce and shudder of the vehicle.

“Hang on back there,” Anna yelled to her jouncing passengers. “The ride’s going to be rough from here on.”

“Rough?” Private 1st Class Mcintyre yelled back. “On a highway like this?” He laughed.

Anna grinned through gritted teeth, floored the acceleration lever and held her thumb pressed against the overdrive button. A red light began flashing on the console. Anna ignored it and kept her thumb mashed against the overdrive button. Since it was an combat vehicle, the Musketeer didn’t have an automatic override that would kick in when the driver exceeded safe speed for the terrain. The bounces became higher and the jounces harder.

“PFC Dickson, you wanna slow this ride down, honey? Before you bust a skirt.” The hover tank commander, Sergeant Felicia Vance, suggested slash ordered.

The Musketeer screamed, then shuddered violently when an undercarriage air nozzle slammed onto a rock. The Musketeer veered wildly, and Anna had to release the overdrive button to fight it back onto a straight path. Sweating and hoping there was no damage, she kept her thumb away from the overdrive after that. She couldn’t afford to get in trouble with the Captain.

They reached the IAC bivouac without further incident or damage to any of the other hover vehicles. At the LZ perimeter they were met by two Hauberk Battle Armor suits that led them to the interior so that they could set up camp.

Word Count 4243
CONTRACT TOTAL 36,813
Last edited by Gunther Price on Sat May 13, 2017 1:33 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE

 Name: Mesha Seville
    Callsign: ‘Viper'
    Rank: 1st Leutnant
    Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA
    Flight: Angel Flight (Command)
    Squadron: Angel
    Assignment: Squadron Leader
    Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry
    HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE
   

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Turn Over
Union Dropship ‘Seraphim’
Deck Four
Aerospace Recovery Bay
January 21sth 3096 09:05:00 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

The power levels dropping to zero Ensign Erryne ‘Sidewinder’ Nashiro let the Jagdvogel glide along the open deck, her hands reaching back over her head pulling the canopy release levers, a loud popping sound followed by a steady hiss as the atmosphere pressure inside the omni fighter equalized with that of the ‘Seraphim’ Recovery bay. A moment later the reinforced canopy hatch sliding up and back before a double - click was heard and the canopy rolled its full length forward along the mounting rails.

A few moments later the 60 ton craft slipped into its waiting berth, her Technician 1st Class, Daniel Tønsberg, wearing Angel Flight colors appearing a moment later collecting her helmet and resting it on the rail hook before helping her loosen the straps, his trained hands pulling on the release buckles of the five point harness one after the other until she was at last free of the craft and able to pull herself upright.

Tech Sergeant Robbie Vandenbroek walked up and approached the two, “How did she handle?” he was referring to the handling of the Jagdvogel since he and the tech crew had to virtually rebuild the Aerospace fighter after it was disable in the fight for the ‘Telsa’ Recharge Station.

“Like an eel slithering through seaweed,” Nashiro replied matter – of – factly.

“Playing pretty rough out there today ... “Tønsberg inquired as he began performing his checks of the aerospace fighter’s displays and control surfaces.

For Nashiro's part it took a few moments to realize what he was talking about. Only then offering a brief shrug as her gaze passed along the length of the craft and the numerous tracer burns and scorch marks that scored the craft from stem to stern. Even lowering the power settings of the fighter’s energy weapons for training safe, the Lasers still left marks, the ash black scoring clearly showing the hits while softer burns were common for angled hits and near misses.

Not bothering to subdue herself she stretched herself to her full height, her muscles protesting worn and swollen joints issued loud cracks and popped sounds one after another in rapid succession. “The 1st Lieutenant and I just take the idea of killing each other very seriously ... “ She offered finally pulling herself over the side of the craft and down the ladder.

A look of uncertainty passed over Tønsberg’s features before he finally managed to nod his head in agreement as he pulled the pilots duffle and handed it and the neuro-helmet down to her before returned his attention to the craft.

Clearly the humor of the comment had been lost in the translation Nashiro noted before turning her attention to the adjoining berth where the1st Lieutenant’s Jagdvogel was being chalked, the canopy releasing and sliding forward just before ‘Viper’s own tech 1st Class, Cornelius Vagle, climbed the ladder and began helping her egress the craft. A few moments later 1st Lieutenant Mesha Seville joined Nashiro on the flat - top dropping her own helmet and duffle without ceremony onto the deck between them.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d be tempted to say that your medical recovery was bullshit and you have been logging flight time under the radar.” Mesha noted aloud drawing her fingers to the wet tangle of her tangle of jet black hair.

“Sure as hell doesn’t feel like it ... “ Nashiro snorted dropping her own helmet and duffle beside the 1st Lieutenant’s. “Only time I’ve managed to log between training and medical is in the sim and that don’t count for shit in the real world ... “

Mesha nodded her agreement. “I’ll second that ... how is the leg anyway?“

Nashiro gave a passing glance back over her shoulder at Tønsberg as he climbed down the ladder and began pinning the craft. “It’s alright. Won’t be dancing anytime soon.” Her gaze then catching the no smoking signs strategically posted everywhere. “I need a smoke ... “

“I need a drink ... “ Mesha echoed back.

“Thirty minutes then ... A quick shower, change of clothes, I’ll grab a case from the bar and meet you in the cave for debrief.” Nashiro suggested.

Mesha frowned shaking her head ‘No’ before glancing back at her own bird. “Better make it an hour, the bird started making noise after the 5th engagement. No alarms but best not to chance it with us flying sortie here in the next few days.“

“In 60 then Lieutenant... “ Nashiro nodded offering a sharp salute.

Mesha returned the salute in her own fashion.“ ... Ensign.”



Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Turn Over
Union Dropship ‘Seraphim’
Deck Three
Aerospace Ops Debrief
January 21sth 3096 12:34:00 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

The Mission debriefing lasted almost 3 hours as they cycled through the 10 or so odd engagements they had run through during the two plus hours of flight time they had clocked. Out of the 10 Nashiro was proud to say that she had matched Mesha with 4v4 kills each, the last two ending in a draw ... if one could call mutual annihilation a draw.

All that aside, Nashiro was rather pleased with the end results, not that she had noticed any overall improvement in her performance but then her scorecard wasn’t worse for being out of the saddle for the past two plus weeks. Rather it showed a marked improvement in number of graded categories.

“On the curve anyways ... “ Mesha noted at last. “I wouldn’t hold my breath if you’re looking at ranking a top - gun slot. “

Nashiro almost laughed her ass off at the comment, pulling the cigarette from her lips. “Please ... I’ve been pulling the trainer slot since I signed on with the IAC. The only way I’d get to compete is if you fired me and stuck someone else in the trainer job.”

Mesha nodded her agreement. “True enough, can’t be neutral and compete at the same time. That said, I have been thinking about having you drop the Trainer slot now that you’re pulling my wingman, I don’t know maybe tag ‘Fencer’s future wingmate with the slot.”

“Please ... “ Nashiro offered sinking back into her chair. “ ‘Fencer’s a great XO but couldn’t manage a training program any better than he plays cards. And his Tech Sergeant, Halvor Ogg, has no clue how to manage his own flight’s paperwork let allow a training program for all of the flyers ... “

Mesha shrugged collecting another can of beer from the case and popping its tab. “Well it’s not going to be an issue until we’ve settled into this contract. At that point I’m thinking we might need to shuffle the line - up a little. There have been a few requests ... Jenny for instance “

“Misses I have the hots for that clanner dude, what’s his name ... “ Nashiro noted.

“The very same... “ Mesha nodded her confirmation doing her best to suppress a laugh.

“That chick has no sense ... “ Nashiro shrugged.

“Oh she has sense enough, just a horrid taste in men ... “ Mesha noted aloud.

“Well it’s not like he isn’t handsome enough if your into that type ... I mean he is like three times her size.“ Nashiro stated returning the cigarette to her lips.

“It’s his bulge, I think, its like eye level for the girl ... I suspect she wasn’t breast fed as a child.” Mesha smirked letting her gaze rest on the displays briefly.

“Something they’d have in common no doubt.“ Nashiro offered trying to suppress her growing amusement at the visuals.





Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Turn Over
Union Dropship ‘Seraphim’
Deck Three
Starboard side
Crew Quarters
January 21sth 3096 22:07:00 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Punching in the last digits of her access code she keyed the doors lock, the hatch sliding open a moment later. Nashiro hissing annoyance as she cleared the hatch pausing only long enough to close the door behind and abandon the helmet and duffle she carried without ceremony on her bunk before she started into the bathroom pulling absentmindedly at the fittings of her neuro - suit.

Having stripped down to the waist in just her panties she paused briefly in front of the mirror noting with annoyance the marks left from where the buckles of the 5 point harness had dug into her flesh. Her finger testing the tender flesh above her breast briefly before turning her attention to collecting her medication from the shelf and depositing two of the tabs in the palm of her hand before downing them with the aid of a finger of alcohol from the vodka bottle beside her bunk.

Releasing the buckle of her neuro - suit it slid down her thighs onto the floor where she stepped out of it slipping a moment later into the all embracing warmth of the shower. The jets of heated water driving into her cold tired flesh purging the pain from her mind as the warm washed over her banishing the stench and mire collected over the past several hours of seat time and the work that followed in the tool bays performing the required refits on the Jagdvogel’s bombing racks to be used in the coming strike.

As it happened the refit was moving along a great deal faster then she had feared it would. Luck favoring the foolish in this case given that a majority of the bombs being pulled from long term storage in the ‘Seraphim’’s hold had already been assembled with the intention of being used in a dive bombing sortie in one of the past engagements. There use was never called for it appeared and thus they were returned to storage as they were. Half of them probably have stale fuses and are most likely duds now.

Slipping from the shower she dried herself pausing just long enough to collect her flight suit from the floor and drape it over the rail before returning her attentions to drying her hair and the possibly of dropping by the DropShip’s mess - hall to grab a late evening meal. Or rather that was here intent up until she heard a familiar rap on the hatch ... two soft taps followed by a two second pause and then a final tap.

Frowning her annoyance she collected her yukata from its place near the door and drew it over her shoulders, tying the sash around the middle as she keyed the door to open. “A little early this evening ... “ She inquired softly.

The youthful features of the midshipmen security officer smiled in his familiar quirky fashion not daring to meet her eyes as he ran his fingers through the length of his blond hair. “Maybe a little ... “ He managed finally in offered reply.

“Alexander ... “ She said aloud noting the name tag as her gaze drifted down the uniform to his other hand and the bag of carry out it held. ”Not to point out the obvious, but food is not necessarily the way to a woman’s heart.“

“What about Chocolate? ... “ He said, bringing the bag forward and opening it for her review.

Her frown only faded slightly as she noted the contents of the bag conducting a quick review before taking hold of the labelled bottle of blue tinted glass lifting it eye level. “I’m just wondering when does your duty - shift start again? “

Ryan’s smiled sheepishly. “Its tomorrow night ma’am.“

“Ahh ... “ Nashiro exhaled aloud. “So what’s on the menu?“

“No clue ma’am, something with noodles ...something else with rice.” He paused for a moment. “green vegetables, eggrolls, and some kind of fruit salad.“ nodding his head certain that he had covered all the basics he continued. “The chocolate and Soju I just added on for good measure.“

Nashiro reflected for a brief moment before at last standing aside motioning her head for him to enter. “It would be a shame to put all that effort to waste I guess.“

Word Count 2061
CONTRACT TOTAL 38,874

LA-SC-08-01 #23

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Continent : Wunderlund
Country: Hamburg
City: Hanseaten
Highway 43
February 6th 3096 03:05:00 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Dammit! Rogers thought viciously as the news truck hit yet another sand dune that frequently drifted across the highways on Wunderland.

"Can't you drive?" He barked at the tri - vid tech sitting in the driver's seat.

The driver simply grunted and gave Rogers a side long glace before returning his attention to the road.

"Damn these roads out to the Barbarian villages! How is that I, graduate of the MacTavish Academy of Journalism, end up here on this tourist dirt ball?! And now these low - bred morons I work for are sending me. ME! Out to this Marik's little piece of hell, because of some cock and bull story about a big raid! This is a savage contested world. Why is a raid important enough to drag ME out of bed? They should have sent that new kid, what's his name?"

Rogers looked at the driver to supply the name. When the driver didn't even look at him he continued.

"Ahh, it doesn't matter. Oh well, If they've been particularly brutal this time maybe I'll get a story worth Inner Sphere attention and finally get off this piece of shit … ass - embattled world!" Looking over he noticed that the driver (what is his name?) was grinning. Rogers took this to mean that the driver saw the wisdom of his little tirade and mentally raised his opinion of him a couple of notches. I must remember to find out his name.

The tri - vid tech didn't respond to any of this. Truth be told he secretly hoped that the raiders were still around; the thought of recording Rogers grisly death brought a small smile to his face. With that shot I might get some recognition and get out of dealing with wankers like Rogers.




Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Continent : Wunderlund
Country: Hamburg
City: Hanseaten
S.& I. Broadcasting
February 6th 3096 03:25:00 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

"DAN! Yeah we're here settin' up." Rogers yelled into his phone over the static, "YEAH, Heh, Hell it looks like Chauldrey must have gone and pissed in Blake's holy cereal or something! The whole place is smashed flat. We're going to open here and maybe venture in to get some real action from there.What? Yeah, yeah, ok. Dan? We're ready. 20 seconds, ok."

“… And now we take you to the scene with our award winning reporter Kevin Rogers. Kevin can you hear us?”

“YES Sara, I'm here in Hanseaten which is, as you can see behind me, the site of a major attack. From what we've been able to determine, allegedly the 10th Marik Militia struck the city shortly after night fall. Planetary officials confirmed that a brief distress message was received by Central Authority communications people in Nouveau Paris at about 21:05 yesterday. Central Authority fighters were dispatched to Hanseaten to investigate but no word has been heard from them since they radioed their initial proximity to Hanseaten. At this point there is no word of survivors. I am going to mount up and head into the city to show our viewers the full extent of the destruction and offer my assistance to any survivors.”

“Kevin? Do you think it's safe to enter the city? Can you see any signs of the attackers?”

“Well, Sara, it is most likely very dangerous in there right now, I urge our viewers to stay away from Hanseaten at all costs. I am a trained professional and understand the risks involved, but I believe that our viewers should be aware of the full extent of this despicable act. Perhaps we can offer some comfort or closure to viewers who have family in Hanseaten. Again, this is a VERY dangerous situation and I urge all of our viewers to stay clear of Hanseaten, rest assured that I will assist anyone who I encounter.”

“Ok, Kevin, we'll stay with you as you enter the city. We apologize to our viewers for this interruption of our regular programming, but to reiterate, a massive attack has occurred in Hanseaten. What we know at this point is that a force displaying the 10th Marik Militia markings attacked Hanseaten shortly after dark. All attempts at contacting people in Hanseaten, including representatives of General Chauldrey's staff, have failed. Our own sister station AAZM is off line and we have been unable to reach them at this time. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the people of Hanseaten and their families both on and off world. Our senior war correspondent Kevin Rogers is currently on the scene and risking his life to get into the city.”

“Sara? As you can see we are approaching the main gates of Hanseaten which have been blown apart! The gates and most of the walls are down and on fire! We are going to get out of our truck and proceed on foot from here.”

“Right Kevin, be very careful.”

“We are now scaling the debris and should be able to provide you and our viewers with a clear shot of Hanseaten for the first time since we lost contact yesterday. We're almost at the top of this pile, and… Dear God! ….”

Genuine stunned silence followed for the next couple of seconds as Rogers and the station crew attempted to wrap their minds around the vision of destruction.

“Ahhh, Sara? Are you receiving this?”

“Y-yes, Kevin.”

“Hanseaten is gone! All the buildings are smashed flat! Everything is on fire. I don't hear sirens or other sounds of rescue personnel. Sara, I believe it's safe to say that there were very few survivors, if any. My thoughts and prayers go out to the victim’s families.”

“Kevin, we are going to leave you for a few minutes. I've been informed we have a representative from the Central Authority's office live from the steps of the main administrative building. We'll keep monitoring you from the station and cut back instantly if you have any word of survivors. Now over to Karen at …”

Kevin Rogers
News Correspondent
Solasia Broadcasting Company


Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Utopian Isles
Mountain Range
Northern Edge
Forest
February 6th 3096 08:00 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

The sand storm raged, blocking out the sky and creating a darkness deeper than any starless night. A lone figure staggers toward the edge of the forest refuge, electronic device nearly pressed against his nose. His transport had given out just 70 meters from the edge of the forest, but the walk these few meters felt like trying to swim from the Nadar JumpPoint to the planet without a space suit.

The figure slowly takes shape in the lull created by the massive trees. Ugly, brown, tweed jacket whipping around behind him, with one sleeve torn off and wrapped around his right leg to stem the bleeding from the gash left by the shrapnel. Matching Brown tweed pants and mustard yellow shirt were ripped and torn, yet complemented by the universe's worst tie. Another series of gashes in his left arm and forehead cycled between closed and openly bleeding as the burning sand buffeted him. Staggering past the first tree line, the man collapsed around the back of the third tree he encountered. He continued to check his device, which was starting to blink on and off due to sand penetration. The remaining alcohol in his system, combined with the predictable ensuing hangover, added to his frustration.

"DAMN this phukking planet!" He screamed at the surrounding trees, "AND DAMN those aerospace jocks and their thrice damned fighters!"

With that frustration expelled from his system, the Marik Business man reflected that it was good that his Captain General was not present to have heard his outburst. Or his negligence the night before, when he allowed those that he has been negotiating with for the past month to feed him a steady stream of Kaszy Ivans! The ground around him began to shift and stir.

What now?! Is the whole planet against me? Or is this some unknown side effect of those DAMNED Kaszy Ivans?!

As the Free Worlder tried, unsuccessfully, to leap to his feet, four shapes rose, wraith like, out of the sand and dirt. The four shapes, weighing in at more than one ton each, were equipped with enough Mimetic Armor to stop a direct hit from a Extended Ranged Particle Projection Cannon and the mimetic armor was designed to mask the various signs of human life.

"Had a little slip of the tongue, Buru hairu?" Sergeant Nicholas Hummel smiled at the Free Worlder through his Hauberk mimetic armored visor.

The Marik business man slumped back down, realizing that the four heavy anti - mech grade weapons pointed in his direction, along with his current state, ended the debate about his ability to address this new threat.

"Ichio." He responded to the Hauberk armored trooper in the latter’s native tongue.

Word Count 1525
CONTRACT TOTAL 40,399
Last edited by Gunther Price on Sun May 14, 2017 10:47 am, edited 1 time in total.
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE
	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS

LA-SC-08-01 #24

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Utopian Isles
Mountain Range
Northern Edge
Forest
Victor Bravo 117
February 6th 3096 16:00 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

First Lieutenant Gunther ‘Python’ Price raised his Thunderbolt's right barrel as a visual cue for the column of his IAC troops to halt. Gunther had ordered the immediate evacuation of the camp after hearing the reporter's description of the devastation that occurred in Hanseaten. He surmised that anyone who would completely destroy a civilian population would be coming back to finish the job and they would start with his group. During the breaking down of the camp a messenger had arrived bringing word from 1st Lieutenant Jan 'Wandler' Luftensteiner. The waves of relief at hearing that all of Jan’s people had survived nearly overwhelmed Gunther's exhausted mind. He sent the messenger back, it was Private 1st Class, Josh Sa, in the speedy Rottweiler armor, with a message detailing there new location.The column of IAC troopers had been traveling for 10 straight hours and operating under radio silence, leaving each of the tank crews and battle armored troopers alone with only their own thoughts as company. The going had been slow.

Gunther had purposely chosen a round - about path to get to the rally point Sergeant Nicholas Hummel had indicated in his message. The column was also moving at a tortuously slow pace due to fatigue and those that had to walk due to lack of vehicles to transport them. Not to mention that most of the Battle armor needed thorough maintenance, due to their exposure to the sandstorms from extended patrols in the field so couldn't move at anything better than a slow limp.

But we made it! Gunther thought as he sat staring out of his canopy. Where is Nicholas?

Loose sand blew all around, brushing swirling designs across Gunther's field of vision. At nearly one hundred meters from the edge of the forest the signs of the violent storm beyond were now ever present. Gunther risked exposure and swept the area with his 'Mech's sensors.

Nothing? Where are they? Could the enemy have intercepted them? Gunther thought as the creeping depression brought on by the march and nagging guilt at having left his men back on the other continent of Solasia caused him to, again, question himself.

A sudden rapping on his overhead canopy caused Gunther to snap his head back in surprise. His MW Neural Helmet collided with the back of his seat causing Gunther's head to bounce around roughly inside. When he finally managed to get his Mohawk haired head under control and properly angle himself to see straight up, there was Nicholas, dangling upside down by a cable and his armor was mimicking suppression camo. From the look in his eyes, Nicholas was clearly struggling to suppress his laughter.

Cutting on his external speakers Gunther boomed, "Dammit Hummel! I march all this way to find you playing in the trees!"

"Sorry boss," Sergeant Hummel barked between short coughs of laughter, "I couldn't resist. We knew someone was coming and got ready. When we confirmed it was you, we stayed put to make sure we could help if you were being followed. But .. when I got the all clear .. I just couldn't resist. Is your head alright?" With that last question he nearly laughed hard enough to fall from his precarious position.

"Right," was all that Gunther could think to say. A combination of relief and embarrassment flustered his ordinarily quick wit.

"We're setup over there about forty meters," The Sergeant pointed off to the right, slightly back into the forest, "there's a cavernous spot to park all the 'Mechs, including the Captain’s whenever they arrive, so they are well hidden. Oh, and we've got someone you should meet."

"Right," Gunther wondered who on terra, Nicholas could have encountered out here during one of the Utopian Isles' vicious sand storms, but he figured he'd find out soon enough. He turned his 'Mech to face the indicated direction, as other members of the Hauberk's team descended to the forest floor. Gunther proceeded to issue orders to the rest of the column, "follow the soldiers to the new camp, Hummel? Want a lift?" Gunther nodded his BattleMech’s blocky head at Sergeant Hummel indicating the battle armor hand holds on his Thunderbolt.

"Don't mind if I do, " Nicholas called as he cut his ties to his support cable and performed a half somersault onto the 'Mech's shoulder before scampering down and locking his Battle Armor’s hand onto a rear mounted hold.



Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Utopian Isles
Mountain Range
Northern Edge
Forest
Victor Bravo 117
February 6th 3096 16:40 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Gunther stood atop a small mound surveying the progress of the combined group of his and 2nd Lieutenant Andrew MacManus’, the IAC Quartermaster’s, people as they went about establishing the new camp. Their progress was going well under the expert direction of 2nd Lieutenant Damien Markov and his support platoons, the Combat Engineer and the Field Engineering platoons, who were breaking the large assembly into smaller groups and positioning each sub camp for camouflage and defensibility. Gunther had to admit that this was an excellent location. He hope Captain Ingersoll would approve.

Due to the shape of the terrain, each sub camp was positioned in such a way that they would look like extensions of a hill or fill in a small valley to create the illusion of a continuous mound. The 'Mechs, Battle armor, and vehicles were safely stored in a large underground cave whose entrance was nearly invisible until you were actually standing in the opening. Staff Sergeant Ådne Kaloxylos, the assistant quartermaster, had explained that the composition of the rocks, their natural formation and the heavy iron content of the trees and surrounding vegetation all conspired to create the visual illusion that could not be penetrated by sensors. He wouldn't have found the cave if one of the Battle armor troopers hadn't fallen in after jumping over the hill from the other side. The techs had already begun converting the large natural formation into a functional service and re-arm depot that would go a long way to making the severely damaged units battle ready. A full hospital with a functioning triage and trauma unit was being erected further back in the cave by 2nd Lieutenant Dr. Daniel Ellis, Chief Medical Officer’s, Field Medical Squad.

It had taken the better part of the last two hours to get the 'Mechs and vehicles ushered into the cave and round up the stragglers from the long march.

And now to find out more about this ‘guest’ Sergeant Hummel has been talking about, Gunther thought as he headed in the direction of the new command center Master Tech Sergeant Niclas Heidrich had already established under the exposed root structure of one of the largest trees. Gunther had to duck under an overhead branch as he entered the command center. He stopped short just after entering as he took in the impressive difference between the nearly undetectable and very natural looking exterior and the inside which was filled with various portable computers, all interconnected, displaying an incredible array of views of the camp, the surrounding areas, and technical readouts from seismic and passive radar installations.

Damn! Heidrich has been busy! Gunther noted that one of the 2nd Class technicians, Elliot Ross, was wearing an oversized headset, seemed to be cycling through listening devices that looked, on the visual display, to be scattered throughout the camp and, if the map on the display was to be believed, up to seven hundred meters around the camp!

I've got to remember to submit him for a raise after this! Gunther thought with earnest.IF we get out of this he morbidly, added to remind himself of the gravity of the situation.

Spotting two massive one ton Hauberk battle armored soldiers standing guard over a third man, who by the looks of his clothes could be the universes tackiest used hover car salesman, Gunther started to walk over to their enclave. As he approached he got a closer look in the dimly lit center. The man had bandages on his head and arms and a leg wrap and splint on his right leg and he had been shackled. A horrible tweed jacket was draped over the back of the chair.

There is something else, a look in his eye, the cut of the man's form. He is no used hover car salesman. Although, he must have some really important information, 'cause I might have shot him for just wearing that tie!

"So," Gunther began.

"Ahh, you've meet our guest," 2nd Lieutenant Damien Markov, the Combat Engineer CO, called as he entered the command center.

"No, actually, I was just about to. But, since you're here perhaps you can handle the formal introductions," Gunther replied in a mock aristocratic tone.

"My pleasure," Markov seemed to be truly enjoying the theatrics as he continued, "1st Lieutenant Gunther Price, let me introduce you to Mr. Jason Marden," Markov paused with a broad smile painted across his face, obviously waiting to see if Gunther could derive some important nugget from simply hearing the man's name.

Jason Marden? I don't think I've ever heard of a Jason Marden. What could I possibly get from just hearing that nam … Marden?! That can't be it, can it? Isn't that a … SAFE Ministry Head name!

Before Gunther could verbalize his thoughts, Markov, either because he'd seen the conclusion of Gunther's thoughts written on his face or out of impatience, blurted out, "The Free Worlds League’s National Intelligence Agency’s Espionage Arm, SAFE."

"FWLM SAFE!" Now Gunther truly was shocked! "Are they …" Markov was already shaking his head no when the prisoner jumped into the conversation.

"NO! SAFE would never . . . "

But Gunther cut him off. "Yeah, I'll bet that's what you told everyone before the United Leadership of the Tikonov Republican Army Invasion!" Gunther snapped angrily. The prisoner seemed to see the irony as he tried to jump to his feet, only to be thrown hard back into his chair by Private 1st Class Christian Espe, one of the battle armor troopers standing guard.

Markov stepped in close to Gunther in a smooth half turn and placed a restraining hand on Gunther’s shoulder. "No Gunther. This guy wouldn't have been caught unaware in harm’s way, if it was them."

At least that reasoning makes some sense, Gunther thought as he eased up a little in Markov's grip but remained locked in a hard stare with the man in the chair.

"Ok, if it wasn't them, then what's he doing here?" Gunther asked without blinking. He suddenly recalled the information forwarded to him from 1st Sergeant Veit Way. The IAC were in it up to their eyeballs. SAFE had been seen boarding the Seraphim in a secluded conference with the IAC’s own Marik born 1st Sergeant Veit Way. Was Veit Way a double agent working for SAFE? Had he fooled Captain Ingersoll? No. Gunther would not allow his demons to even go there. Veit had proven his loyalty to the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry and more importantly to Erik himself. According to Veit Way SAFE was also involved, feeding the IAC information as recently as this past month. This agent was the trifecta. SAFE was rumored to be on par with Steiner’s own LOKI Squads or even the Capellan’s Death Commandos. So what did that say about Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry since they had captured him? Hmm? No wonder they had two Hauberk Battle armor troopers guarding the prisoner.

"I'm here on business." Replied the Free Worlder in a defiant tone, interrupting the IAC Executive Officer’s reverie.

"What kind of business brings a SAFE Agent all the way to the interior worlds to Mizar?" Gunther barked, the look in his eyes daring the Free Worlder to give him an excuse to feed him to the two anti - mech Hauberk Battle Armor hovering right behind him.

"A shipment of EndoSteel and BattleMechs." Markov replied flatly before either of them could continue their little love fest.

Word Count 2031
CONTRACT TOTAL 42,430
Last edited by Gunther Price on Sun May 14, 2017 10:49 am, edited 2 times in total.
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE

	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
    
LA-SC-08-01 #25

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Continent : Wunderlund
Country: Hamburg
City: Hanseaten
6 Klicks East
February 9th 3096 06:00 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

It took time in the morning for the two Battle Armor Squads, Fenrir Bravo and the Hauberk Squad, to work the stiffness out of joints that had spent too many hours in too cold air lying on too cold ground. As softly as they could, they hulked and spat the night phlegm from their chests, those who didn’t have the last watch. They wordlessly excused themselves for whatever momentary privacy they could find in cracks or behind scraggly bushes to void themselves; they worked saliva about their mouths and wiped at fuzzy teeth with dirty fingers. It was the kind of morning they’d all been through before.

Staff Sergeant Zain Trumbull checked his GPS while Corporal Tommy Cochon and Private 1st Class Christian Espe scouted for sign of overnight enemy activity in their vicinity . . . or current enemy presence. When the two came back to report all clear, Trumbull gathered the men and one woman around him. “We’re still six kilometers from Hanseaten,” he began. “My guess is the Free Worlders who attacked aren’t there anymore. Probably they’ve all left this area. But we don’t know that for sure, there might still be a few of them around, maybe observers to report to their Force Commander about the IAC’s response to the attack, maybe a reaction force to take on targets of opportunity. And we don’t know what kind of communications they’ve got. If they have spotters with targeting acquisitioning gear, and those spotters see us, we could have an AeroSpace Fighter flight on our asses.” He paused to look at his men. They understood what having AeroSpace Fighters on them meant. “We’ll move the way we did yesterday. We’re not out of it yet. Order of march will be the same; Cochon on point, Bonaiuncta and me in the center, Ito and Kaneko right flank, Hummel and Waratah left flank, and Espe bringing up the rear. Slow and easy. Water discipline is still in force. Chow down now, but eat lightly; these rations have to last longer than we expected. Maybe a lot longer. Questions?”

Nobody asked any. Trumbull signaled Kaneko and Cochon to sit with him while they ate. He gave Cochon the GPS to study so he’d have an idea of how to proceed when they started moving.

After fifteen minutes he stood and said, “Saddle up, we’re moving out.”

Two minutes later they were on the move. They left no trash to mark their passing. They went slower than they had the day before, and frequently stopped to look and listen for any sign of other people, tanks, ‘Mechs, or Battle Armor. They heard nothing but the cries of wind and wild animals.



. . .


Trumbull paused on a low ridge facing forward on their line of march and lifted his helmet to spit out the small pebble he’d had under his tongue to induce the flow of saliva in his mouth. The others stopped and dropped into security positions, facing outward, weapons at the ready. They panted in the intense heat. Down on one knee, Trumbull checked his GPS heading again, then looked back to the south. He tried to ignore the carrion - eaters he saw wafting in the sky beyond the ridge, tried to tell himself they were crows being kept aloft by city children guarding the fields.

“Recognize this place?” Espe asked the others.

Trumbull busied himself for a moment selecting another pebble and popped it into his mouth before re-positioning his helmet back into place.. The others followed his example.

“Big Barb’s and a schooner of beer must be just over that ridge,” Espe joked, pointing to the south with a grimy armored forefinger.

Trumbull smiled briefly. He knew that if the IAC Squads could joke, they still had fight left in them. “Just over that far ridge there,” he said, “is Hanseaten and the river.”

“Omigod!” Hummel whispered as he staggered forward. Trumbull held out a restraining arm. “Not so fast, Sergeant. We aren’t home yet. Until we know different, we will assume the city is occupied by FWLM, and we’re going to approach it just like any other unknown position.”

The IAC Squads said nothing, just stared at him. Then Espe nodded. Trumbull was right; rushing toward the city without knowing what was waiting could mean death. “Hummel, you come with me. The rest of you cover up here and watch us. We’ll signal if everything is okay.” The sun was well beyond the meridian when the pair at last crawled to the crest of the ridge beyond which lay the river valley and the city of Hanseaten. On the way, Hummel could think only of Mas Fardeed and his snug little two story house and the happy hours the platoon had spent there during their visit to the city.

Cautiously, Trumbull crawled behind a clump of desert grass and, using the vegetation as cover, peered over the ridge. The city was just a burned - out ruin on the lip of the bluff about five hundred meters from the ridge. The few buildings still standing were deeply scorched. Nothing moved down there but dust devils and minor debris blown about by vagrant breezes. And the carrion eaters that hopped ungainly from spot to spot, tearing at lumps on the ground. He wondered where the APCs were, whether them not being there meant some of the others got away, or if he now had to worry about the Free Worlder having an armored vehicle. Then he put the APCs and the rest of the platoon out of his mind.

Trumbull knew nothing was alive down there but the buzzards. Still, he lay for a long time watching. Once, a long time ago, the company in which he’d been a senior corporal walked into an obviously dead city . . . just like Hanseaten is now . . . only to discover the city had been surrounded by an enemy battalion using it as bait. He wasn’t going to walk his two IAC Squads into a trap. Neither was he going to assume that there weren’t a few Free Worlders left in Hanseaten scavenging whatever booty wasn’t destroyed by the fire.

He lay there for the best part of an hour, watching dust devils, debris, and carrion - eaters, then got to his feet and motioned Hummel to come up beside him. Hummel could not help an involuntary gasp of horror at the sight.

“The Stingrays,” Trumbull said. “You’ve never seen that before, have you?” he asked. “A Stingray is a killer. With an all energy load out. That’s what they do. They kill.” And the Stingrays that struck here, he said to himself, were new Model F - 95’s. Hummel sank to his knees beside him.

“Signal the others to come up,” Trumbull said tiredly as he slumped down beside Hummel.

The sun was just setting when the others joined the pair on the ridge. The small group lay disconsolately on the ridge looking down at the destroyed city. They knew there was no use searching for survivors. Still, the wells should be full, and that meant a temporary end to water discipline for them. Yet Trumbull hesitated to move forward. He was waiting for night to fall. That would hide them from any Free Worlders who might be roaming in the vicinity, and it would reduce their exposure to the horrors he knew lay amid the ruins, the seared and blasted remains of people his men had come to think of as friends.



Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Continent : Wunderlund
Country: Hamburg
City: Hanseaten
Ground Zero
February 9th 3096 23:45 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Silently, they picked their way through the rubble of Hanseaten. There was no moon, so the IAC Squads moved almost as much by memories of how the city had been laid out as by sight. Heaps of slag lay all around and everything was covered by a thin layer of ash that was so strong that it overwhelmed their suits filters and filled their nostrils and irritated their lungs as it drifted up from under their feet. An eerie silence pervaded the scene, and that was the hardest thing for the IAC Squads to endure. Only the day before, the city had been full of smiling, happy people, and the contrast was numbing.

And now that the sun was down it had turned cold again.

It took them an hour to find a well that wasn’t half filled with ash or didn’t hold a decaying body. The water was cool and sweet and plentiful.

“Don’t get too used to it, people,” Trumbull said. “We’ve got a long walk ahead of us and we don’t know when we might get more water.”

After refreshing themselves, the IAC Squads located the still - standing portion of a wall up by what used to be the front gate and made camp behind it for the night. They huddled together for warmth. Two watched the darkness while the others tried to sleep. An hour slipped by and then two. The guard changed.

“Phukit, nobody can sleep,” Espe muttered.

“Well, try, gawd damn it!” Trumbull whispered. “If you can’t sleep, just lay still and rest.” He rolled over onto Hummel, who let out a grunt. “Sorry,” Trumbull muttered.

“That’s okay,” Hummel replied, “I wasn’t asleep either.” They were all silent for a few minutes. “Remember the last time we were at Mas Fardeed’s house?” Hummel whispered to no one in particular. They were all silent again for a long moment.

“Yeah,” Espe answered.

“I could never get enough of that goat’s milk cheese,” Trumbull said.

“I wonder if any of ’em got out?” someone wondered aloud. There was silence again for a while.

“Well,” Hummel said, “old Mas Fardeed said that our presence in his city was proof that there is a God and he really loves us, or something like that, remember?”

“Yeah,” Lance Corporal Iweko Ito said. “I wonder what kind of a God would let something like this happen to good people like them,” she added from the darkness.

“Just my thought,” Hummel responded. “I mean, we weren’t religious in my family or anything, and I never thought much about God or any of that stuff until I came here. But old Mas Fardeed, he was a very religious person and he believed in some kind of God.”

“God’s a Battle Armor Marine,” Cochon said sarcastically. “He just kicks ass and takes names.”

“I mean, it just figures there’s got to be somebody in charge,” Hummel insisted.

“Maybe,” one of the others said, “but maybe not.”

“No, no, I think maybe there really is a God, but he’s just there, behind the scenes, kind of, watching us try to figure things out,” Espe offered.

“God is an idiot, then, to have made so many stupid assholes,” Cochon snorted.

“I believe in God,” Trumbull said from where he lay, sandwiched between Hummel and Espe. “He’s a joker,” he continued. “He . . . or It . . . is like a kid who likes to put small animals into glass jars and watch ’em try to get out. But I’ll tell you one gawd damned thing: tomorrow morning, two hours before dawn, we are gonna get up and start walking about 240 kilometers in that direction,” he pointed due south, “back to HQ. And when you duck shits are all safe back on Outreach, drinking beer at Big Barb’s and trying to snatch a passing titty, you’ll know one thing for sure: an IAC Battle Armor Marine is the finest thing God ever made, he knows it, and he’s satisfied with it. Now shut the phuck up and let me sleep, ’cause I got a big day tomorrow.”

Word Count 2003
CONTRACT TOTAL 44,433
Last edited by Gunther Price on Sun May 14, 2017 10:50 am, edited 2 times in total.
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE


LA-SC-08-01 #26

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
System's Zenith Jump Point
Olympus-Class Recharge Station 'Tesla'
Docking Bay 2
February 7th 3096 0445 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Zero-G combat was not a course of training most soldiers underwent. Infact, it was almost exclusive to two types of soldiers in the modern battlefield, even among the Clans: naval Marines, and Special Forces soldiers. Thus it surprised many to find out that Captain Ingersoll had actually undergone the LAAF's VGCS, Variant Gravity Combatant School, a fancy name for a Nagelring class where you underwent week long advanced hand-to-hand combat training on a dropship making the round-trip to the jump point, under varying boost to simulate everything from free fall, to 2.25x G. The basics of zero-G firearms use is also covered, using heavy pistols and rifles firing over-charged blanks. Erik was one of the rare mechwarrior cadets at the Nagelring who chose to take most of the advanced and specialist combat training on offer at the Academy, which was unsurprising considering the number of social-generals-in-training in attendence there. As the two shuttles landed on open gantries, Erik engaged his mag boots and braced himself, the FB M24B rifle tucked tight against his shoulder. They could hear hard rounds impacting and bouncing off the fairly thin armor of the shuttle, more designed to shrug off cosmic radiation and the heat of re-entry instead of weapons fire, but the FWLN Marines were wisely using frangible rounds, much as the Cavalry's SAS teams were loaded with.

The side door opened of shuttle B, and Erik's squad immediately came under fire, but their armor was proof against any but the luckiest of hits with such non-penetrating ammo. The Free Worlds marines however, were wearing duty fatigues and occasionaly hastily thrown-on kevlar vests, which provided only superficial protection against anything but a glancing hit. With his legs braced, and the magboots anchoring him to the deck of the shuttle, Erik unleashed 6 single shots in rapid but methodical sucession, downing 4 marines with gaping chest wounds that were surely lethal, and the last two simply keeping one's head down as he had time to duck behind some metal shipping crates.

The rest of Alpha Squad began fanning out, only 3 other shots echoed acros the docking bay as the marines didn't have time to arm themselves and deploy in strength. Two marines pushed off and nearly gave themselves concussions by flying headfirst into the bulkhead from thieir reckless retreat back into the corridor, chased by gunfire. Ninja raised her M24B and tapped her underbarrel grenade launcher, to which Erik nodded his head and headed towards another corridor. Ninja racked the slide on her grenade launcher, and after lining up the corridor, she fired off a round. The little 40mm grenade fired out of it's launcher, hit a curved surface she was aiming at, and then kept going down the corridor the 2 marines had fled down. When the grenade detonated, the explosion was much longer and stronger than usual, and after a perceptible 2 seconds of explosion, suddenly there was almost a vaccum and the corridor imploded. Ninja moved up to the corridor to check her handiwork and was rewarded with the sight of the two marines' bodies, smashed up by the shockwave and also burned by the fire. Thermobarric explosives, or fuel-air bombs, were the perfect ordinance for use in a boarding action, as the lack of fragmentation meant there was a very high pressure, high temperature explosive, but with almost no fragmentation or shrapnel, meaning no penetration, less chance of damaging the corridor itself or causing any hull breaches.

The IAC's SAS teams were all highly trained professionals, many of them qualified as mechwarriors and having served as mechwarriors when not needed for a specific operation. Even so, their Zero-G assault training was top notch. They quickly cleared through the station, the three teams annihilating the very light, and even lighter armed, resistance that had been left to save the station. The advance Loki team having destroyed the main comlink for the station meant that no alert was deployed in time, and within 10 minutes, the bridge of the station was secured, and it took only another hour to fully secure the rest of the station; the Marik defenders simply didn't leave a defensive force that was up to stopping a determined assault force, clearly relying on their ace aerospace flight to deter any small dropships, but the IAC had clearly caught them unawares.

It was only 0630 in Nouveau Paris when Captain Erik Ingersoll reboarded the Seraphim with Delta and Gamma squads of the SAS and began the long burn to the planet below. Soon enough he'd rejoin his command, and so he and his 2 companions shucked their borrowed battle armor suits and began running through their diagnostic routines for the battlemechs, eagar to get back the to style of warfare they excelled at. SAS Alpha remained abord the station, joined by the Loki team who immediately blended into the background of the station's regular crew, many of whom were the original Lyran-born crew, and had simply not been replaced yet, happy to run the station at peak effiency for the return of the Alliance to the Mizar system.

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Upper Atmosphere
Union Dropship 'Seraphim'
Low Orbit
Bridge
February 7th 3096 1900 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Captain Ingersoll came aboard the bridge and immediately made his way to the comm system. The commtech had already slewed the tightbeam array towards the pre-planned landing zone, confirmed via encrypted beacon as the Sword of Valor's current location, and activated the comlink.

"Sword of Valor this is Harlequin, confirm receipt of transmission."

"Roger Harlequin, we have you on secure tight beam. Good to hear your voice Captain."

"Good to have my voice heard Sword. We are making low-obrit now, we'll be down in about 1 hour. Inform the XO and have him get me a SitRep once I land. Time to gather up some Gearheads and do some damage to these Mariks." Captain Ingersoll heard a chuckle on the other end of the line.

"Roger that Captain. See you soon."


Word Count: 1037
Campaign Total: 45,470
Captain Erik Ingersoll
Callsign: Harlequin
Commanding Officer, Ingersoll's Armoured Cavalry Mercenary Unit

    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
    
LA-SC-08-01 #27

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Utopian Isle
Mountain Range
Plateau
Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry Landing Zone
February 7th 3096 05:30 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Laid up on a single occupant cot outside the cave in one of the sub camps under a tent, 1st Lieutenant Gunther ‘Python’ Price sighed in contentment. It felt nice to just lie down and do absolutely nothing. Stripped down to his tank top and boxer shorts, he enjoyed the cool air against his bare skin. Despite knowing there was work to do, he needed to rest, something he'd been telling himself for the past few days, but ignoring it repeatedly. Today reminded him that overworking leads to stress build - up, followed by a very exhausting crash.

But all those thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind when junior tech, Technician 2nd Class, Brian Duka, came barging in through the flap in his tent with an urgent message.

“Sir, 1st Lieutenant, I hate to disturb you Sir, but the Captain, err Captain Ingersoll will be grounded within the hour and he wants you up and about to deliver a Situational Report when he lands, . . .Sir”

Gunther instructed tech Duka to wake up Private 1st Class Jennifer Hastings, the Indra Driver, and have her meet him out front in thirty minutes, dismissing the junior tech as he rose from the cot. Adrenaline had kicked in and taken over because the fatigue he was feeling was all but gone now. Gunther scurried to the latrine to relieve himself and went back to his tent to get dressed. He washed his face first, then his arm pits and his crotch in a large basin of water, however; he didn’t have any teeth to brush but he did gargle to kill the night time dragon breath. He donned the same uniform he wore yesterday as it wasn’t too rank however he put on a fresh pair of socks and then pulled on his boots. Nothing was worse than jungle rot to a ‘Mechwarrior’s feet. He fired up a cigar and went outside.

Outside his tent the camp was just beginning to stir. He passed several of the early birds getting up for the day or the night owls winding down after being up all night, either out on patrol or monitoring the IAC sensor net. Gunther sauntered over to the area that double as the IAC’s makeshift Mess Hall and grabbed a cup of joe from one of four coffee dispensers. The rule around the IAC was if you took the last cup you had to start the next one. Gunther in fact did drain a dispenser however he saw the Assistant cook, Private 1st Class Jochen Mcintyre, approaching and so he beguiled him into starting the refill, “Hey PFC Mcintyre, get that for me will ya?” Gunther said nodding his head in the direction of the coffee dispenser stand while moving the cigar to the corner of his mouth.

“Sure thing Gunny!”

Mcintyre replied way too enthusiastically for this time of morning. This one was definitely an Early Bird. Gunther made it to the front of the camp and Jennifer was already parked and standing outside the thirty five tonned APC chatting with the camp sentries who were changing out shifts. Two Combat Engineers were leaving and two Field Engineers were coming on.

“Good Morning ‘elltee’?” greeted Jennifer.

But before Gunther could remove the cigar from his teeth and muster up an answer, four more vehicles came careening to a stop not more than two meters from the wheeled Indra, on cushions of air, spraying them with debris and dust. It was the IAC’s armored hover lance.

“Rumor got around that the Captain was grounding so I kinda of sorta figured that some of those DropShip guys and Engineers will need a ride from our LZ to our camp so they wouldn’t have to hump it for what, 20 or so klicks.” Offered Jennifer in the way of an explanation; with a crooked smile plastered all over her freckled face.

. . .

When the small convoy was half way to the LZ, aboard the Indra, Gunther fired up the vehicles light active probe comm suite, “ ’Seraphim’ Commanding, this is IAC Executive Officer Price, welcome to our little slice of heaven.”

“Hail ‘Mechwarrior,” responded the Communications Technician. “Heaven you call it? It must be better than the hell of being cooped up inside a DropShip for damn near a month,“ chuckled 1st Sergeant Veit Way. “Standby ‘Python’. We’ve been waiting for you. The Captain wants a sit rep.”

“ ’Python’ standing by.” Gunther lost track of how long he had actually waited for Erik to come on the line. It was either five or ten minutes but he was too busy enjoying his cigar to really pay much attention. But when he heard the Captain's voice through the static inference, he was suddenly raptly attentive.

“Hey XO, how’s everything going down there?”

“Pretty good Captain Ingersoll. The ’Sword’ and the ’Cobalt Charm’ are in geo synchronize orbit and are vectoring in on the LZ’s position and will be landing minutes behind the ’Seraphim'. I thought it would be best to keep them up there so that all they would have to contend with was aerospace fighter attacks and not being overrun by ‘Mechs AND strafing attacks from the air. No contact with Marik just yet. Jan thought it would be best if we split the search teams up and I began searching the Utopian Isles and he started on Solasia. The last time Jan checked in, he’d had no luck finding the Gearheads location, nor have I. However, we have uncovered evidence that they’ve been here on the Utopian Isles and were in at least two major engagements. We actually found and salvaged some arms and legs, all kinds of actuators, three cockpits, weapons, heat sinks, jumpjets, and we’ve even managed to salvage three fusion reactors, a Pitban 240, a GM 260, and a VLAR 300.”

“Hmmm.”

“I don’t know if you’ve been following the news feeds on your journey in system but the media is pointing the finger at Marik for raising a civilian city. I dispatch the battle armor to investigate and verify. They have confirmed that the city is destroyed to a man and Staff Sergeant Trumball is almost certain that it was performed by Stingrays, the F-95 variant. In Lieu of the Marik killing off an entire civilian population I decided to relocate our base to grid Victor Bravo 117. Its about 20 klicks west by north west of our LZ. The combat engineering platoon has been able to establish a fully functional service and re-arm depot. The field engineering platoon has set up a seven hundred meter sensor net around the camp with full fusillade. The field medics have instituted a full hospital with a functioning triage and trauma unit.”

“Uh - huh”

“Jan missed his last checkpoint. I have him checking in every 12 to 16 hours. If he misses two consecutive checkpoints we’ll need to go looking for his unit. He has Sergeant Veronica Wolfe piloting the Gallowglas as part of his unit, and he gave me Fenrir Bravo and the Hauberk battle armor as part of mine. A few of my guys have sustain some grievous armor damage, Corporal Tommy Cochon, Private 1st Class Shimei Kaneko, Private 1st Class Ed Bonaiuncta, and Private 1st Class Christian Espe. They are going require complete armor rebuilds. No one is hurt though, its just their armor. As you already know, we are down an aerospace fighter pilot, Ensign Jessica Garro was killed in action while securing the 'Telsa'. Her fighter was totaled. McMasters is taking it kind of hard, taking higher than normal risked when he’s in his bird. On our way in we encountered six light fighters and he engaged them all as if he had a wingman. The DropShips drove the squadron off but not before they warped a bay door stuck. Per Engineering Officer, 2nd Lieutenant Natasha Drake, we are going to need a dry dock to effect the repairs. They were able to replace the armor in that location however. The rest of the unit is in tip top shape. Personnel is experiencing the usually when getting acclimated to a new clime and setting up a new camp, you know, colds and flu's; sprains and pulled muscles." Gunther paused and then as an afterthought he added, "Oh yeah, and Sergeant Nicholas Hummel and squad captured a one Jason Marden who claims to be a SAFE Agent, although I haven’t vetted it yet.”

. . .

The tank crews from the IAC stood several hundred meters back from the blast pit, paved out by the combat engineers, as the DropShips made their final thunderous entrance into the Utopian Isles airspace. The hiss and crack of cooling metal filled the air with its gentle rhythm after the brutal onslaught of the mammoth plasma drives. The abrupt shaking of arms and shuffling of feet marked the IAC crew troopers increased anticipation as the screech of metal and massive whine of hydraulics broke across them like an incoming wave.

The group grew even more eager as the main DropShip, the Seraphim’s ramp descended to clang onto the hastily laid ferrocrete, looking for all the world like the opening of a mouth into the black maw of some metal beast who’d come down from the stars.

Not a one warrior among them, that did not immediately recognize the slow, rhythmic pounding and the whine of servo actuators that echoed out of the ghastly hole. Only once it emerged into the full light did Jennifer shout it out and most of the tankers took several steps back, awe written large on their flush faces. A Timber Wolf . . . a Clan – designed BattleMech . . . stood at the top of the ramp and raised its arms, as though stretching after a long slumber, luxuriating in the warmth of the new dawn sun. The move further mesmerized the tankers, and only the 1st Lieutenant steely grip on the situation kept the tankers from moving farther back.

Of course, the Timber Wolf weighed seventy five tons and its twenty - five foot height marked it as a heavy BattleMech . . . a good design, but it could not stand up to an assault BattleMech. The ’Mechs began to move down the ramp, next was a Templar, and bringing up the rear was a Penetrator, their thundering steps echoing across the make shift landing zone. Once more, the steel grip of the 1st Lieutenant stayed the tankers, though his control became more tenuous as the monstrous machine towered closer and closer: the thudding of the reaper come to claim his due.

Unnoticed, three squads of SAS Battle Armor moved along in the ’Mech’s shadow, puppies at the foot of their master.

Word Count: 1833
Campaign Total: 47,303
Last edited by Gunther Price on Mon May 15, 2017 3:55 am, edited 3 times in total.
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE


Postby Wandler » Mon May 15, 2017 3:38 am
Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Above IAC away squad LZ
January 31st 3096 05:30 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Falling.
The feeling of free fall has always been an item of contempt for humans.
Nobody likes it. It means giving up control, something soldiers never really liked.

Jan looked around, his Fenrir still freefalling to the ground.
Around him the rest of his squad, basically at the same altitude and falling the same speed.
Behind him the armoured shell of the Galloglas falling at the same speed, terminal velocity and behind this misconceived egg were a group of smaller dots also falling with them.

His plan had been simple: Have the Fenrir touchdown first, then deliver the Gallowglas and finally, with some margin of error and the ability to alter the landing zone, have the Rottweilers come down last.

“All elements come in.” he spoke and quickly he was answered by the group under his command. Every single pilot reported successfully.

He looked at his display. The altitude was still dropping drastically and the countdown for the parachutes was approaching.
Secondary countdowns for the Rottweilers and the Gallowglas reached zero and well above him the parachutes of the Rottweiler squad opened successfully.
That made him sigh in relief but then he noticed that the Gallowglas had succeeded to get out of the shell BUT was still dropping like a ton of bricks.
Wolfe hat fallen past the ‘secure opening’ point and was falling into the red zone.

Jan cursed the fact that something was going wrong and had no chance but to open a connection to her
“Dancer come in. You missed your mark. You have to open the parachutes. Are you experiencing a malfunction?”
No answer.
He waited for five seconds while his stress level rose with every red digit appearing on the overclock on his display while simultaneously his time for opening the parachute was approaching rapidly.
At this rate the Gallowglas would soon reach a point where it would overtake them due to the mass difference AND was approaching the point where it could no longer safely land!
“Dancer?!” Urgency was filling his voice
“Hang on Wandler. I got something on my sensors. I am…. “ suddenly here voice changed from a ponderous one to a highly alerted one
“I’m marking two targets now! We have bogies in the LZ, I repeat LZ IS HOT!”
Jan cursed and pulled up the map. The stronger sensors on the Gallowglas had proven invaluable already!
He got the feed from Wolfes machine. Two items were made out in the LZ moving along a vector that let him assume it is walking speed.
There was no successful ID of the machines… yet but a weight estimation between 50 and 80 tons for each machine. That was a hand full of work for them!”
“Dancer I need you to deploy the parachute. You are reaching the deadzone in seven seconds. I need you down there!” his voice was filled with an urgency he rarely had felt.

The assault mech could take the punishment if he got under fire but his BA… they were not cut out for that kind of engagement.
“Blue squad. We will overshoot our mark by six seconds. Prepare for a rough landing in a hot LZ, Dancer my calculation tells me that we’ll land almost simultaneously you…”
At this moment the onboard computer identified the first machine as an Guillotine “… Dancer your target will be the Guillotine. My squad will keep the second mech busy until you’ve dispatched of your opponent.
Green squad, you will keep out of the fight. You are not equipped for such an engagement.”

A chorus of ‘yess’ and ‘ayes’ came over the aether but Jan was fully occupied with watching Wolfe deploy here parachute and his own altitude meter change from green to blinking green, to yellow and finally into red. He counted the seconds until he sent a beeping sound through his squad, indicating that parachutes had to be deployed in this instant.
Like one man the squads parachutes opened and the sudden pull on him shot blood in his head.
He cleared his vision and saw the Gallowglas shot right through them.

“I have an ID on the second mech – it is a Shadowhawk!” Wolfe yelled over comms.
Jan watched her align her arms and aim at the Guillotine.
“Everyone. We will land right on top of them and get them entangled in a short range fire fight. This way we will cut down on the efficieny of the AC and LRM armament of the two mechs down there. Brace for a hard landing, weapons hot, engage at will.”

Glancing at his altitude meter he saw that they were coming in at a dangerous speed.
While the Gallowglas had Jump jets to dampen the fall, his BA were dependant on one-use smartjets that were attached to the legs. Those were hard-wired to his altitude meter and would fire at a certain height.

“Everyone – we would enter sensor range of the mechs below us. Amp up the ECM’s everyone, I don’t want them to get a word out if we can avoid it!”

He was watching Wolfe as she was falling towards the two mechs. They still seemed oblivious of the fact that death was falling from the sky but this would change soon as they all entered weapon ranges

“Entering weapons range. Lock on the Guillotine. Waiting for ECM range…” Wolfes voice had calmed down significantly.

“Blue Squad. Prepare to engage as well” was Jans command as he slightly tilted his Fenrir to get the Shadowhawk into firing arc for his turret.

Then, merely two seconds later he had the impression, he could hear the snap on the Gallowglas’ parachute as it suddenly got detached from the falling mech.

Suddenly the Gallowglas opened fire, striking bolts of green and blue into the Guillotines arms while the blast of the PPC was leaking over the right shoulder and onto the back of the mech. It shuddered and came to a sudden halt, turning left and right, searching for an attacker.
“The rear armour is hit! See if you can get an angle onto the left shoulder of the machine. All units, open fire!” Jan almost yelled as he gave the command, pushing the trigger for his own ER-Medium laser.
He watched the Guillotine figuring out the point of origin of his attack, raising both hands and shooting onto the falling Gallowglass. Meanwhile the Boardcomputer recognized the machine as the -5R variant with the heavy lasers, a potent and good design that was well known to Jan, it also was more deadly for his squads than a pure LRM boat would have been…
But Wolfe was ready for the riposte, fired her thrusters for a split second and thus altering her position enough so the laser shots passed through below her without causing any damage.
Then the Fenrir Squads Laser fire hit and he watched the green bolts of the Med Pulselasers track and trace over the shoulder and finally bite into the inner parts of the machine.
Molten Metal and plastic ran out of its side, almost like blood as the laser had melted components and internal parts of the poor Guillotine.
Suddenly two vents on the top and front side of the mech sprung open and an explosion was vented into the open. Obviously Private Munoz’ pulse lasers had struck the RLM ammo in the left side, causing the CASE to kick in.
“Fantastic shot Blue 4! You halfway disarmed the Guillotine!” Jan heard himself say as he watched the Gallowglas fall, kick in his jets on full power and finally impact on the ground, going down to a knee as the not completely compensated fall hit the mech.
At the same time the Shadowhawk kicked into action, spun up his AC and started shooting onto his incoming squad.
His BA was hit by parts of the AC’s fire but it was not the regular one shell hit, nor was it the pellet alike cluster ammo of an LB-X cannon, it was more like a machine gun.
His eyes widened “Rotary AC! Rotary AC on the Shadow Hawk. All units prepare for heavy impact!”

At this moment he heard a scream from Josh Sa from Green squad
“Aaaah! My shute is busted!!! I’m… I’m FALLING!”

Jan looked up and saw the parachute of Green 3 in tatters, hanging from the fast-falling Rottweiler.
He tried to compensate with paddeling his legs, but to no avail.
The Rottweiler was doomed, he knew it, Josh Sa knew it and everyone else as well.
Jan still had another 10 seconds before he would reach dirtside and in that time there was pretty much nothing he could do for Josh besides try to calm him down.
“Josh, we will get through this, try finding a slope or a tree to land in.”
“Negative Hoss. I’ll… I’ll make this sucker pay!”
With open mouth and while the Gallowglas approached the Guillotine and nailed him with another volley of laser fire, this time without the ER-PPC, most likely due to heat restrictions, Jan assumed, the Rottweiler paddled into a head-down position, put his legs close to the body and pointing ‘upwards’ and fired his thrusters.

It was almost as if time froze as everyone watched the BA turned bullet whirl towards the
Shadow Hawk.
The mechs pilot basically had two options: Try to shoot the donkey sized bullet out of the air or dodge the approach. He decided to do the first, rose his arms and aimed his Rotary AC.
The laser shots went off wide, most likely because he had to rise the arms in a hurry and the Rotary… did not fire at all. One of the notorious jams that those weapons encountered when fired too rapidly.
It was like the mech had frozen to a pillar of salt, nothing happened for a split second until the jump jets activated but this must have been the worst decision the pilot could have made. It takes a moment until a mech starts to rise onto the cushion created by the jets and the Shadow Hawk did not have that time, in fact, most likely only a hard dodge aside would have LIKELY saved the machine.
With a loud “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHHHHHHHHHHHHH” the Rottweiler impacted into the ShadowHawks big head, obliterating himself, the head and both pilots.
Like a beheaded giant the Shadowhawk Stood there for a second until the kinetic energy and the shutting down gyro forced it crashing onto its back.

In all that time Jan had landed and his squad assembled to circle the Guillotine. This variant did not have the infamous back-lasers so they were pretty save behind it and with parts of its rear armour already gone, he was easy prey. The laser that remained was no match for the massive armament and weaponry on the Gallowglas and after the death of the Shadow Hawk Pilot his fighting spirit seemed broken anyway.
Facing the odds he quickly powered down his machine and left the cockpit, hands over his head.

Jan smiled over this engagement and he could not have hoped for a better result during this disaster.
One lost Rottweiler, albeit a sad event, was much better than losing a Fenrir, or even the Gallowglas.
“Wandler. I think they did not get a word out. We need to move the mechs and disappear ASAP.”
“You are right Dancer.” Switching to his commands frequency, looking around
“Everyone. Collect as much random scrap metal party lying around as possible aand sink them in the little lake half a click down south.
Dancer, can your passenger move the Guillotine?”
“He says he can move it either way. If the pilot gives up the controls he can walk it over easily after a neural reconfigurate of the helmet or he can maintainance mode walk it into hiding but that won’t be fast.”

Jan nodded and accelerated his Fenrir over to the rest of the Rottweiler squad and towards the captured Guillotine pilot.
He opened the Fenrir, got out and saluted a man in Marik uniform who seemed pretty beaten.
“Your name… Captain?”
“James Milano”
“Welcome to the Ingersoll Armoured Cavalry, Lieutnant. You are our guest… for now. Would you mind surrendering the Guillotines controls so we can march it off the battlefield?”
He knew he asked a lot but Jan had made the experience that a little friendliness could go a LONG way.
“I will unlock lower commands over the mech but keep weapons locked. In exchange I want the right to search for Sergeant Salazars” He pointed over to the ShadowHawk “Dog Tag and if we find it, would ask for the right to take with us the corpse and burry him accordingly if you decide we have time for this.”
Jan noticed the crucifix tattoo on a rosary on his left hand and understood.
“I agree. He tapped his comms beads and spoke: “Green squad. Search for the Remains of both pilots. We have agreed to take both bodies with us, also bring me the Tags of the Marik pilot, Sergant Salazars? ASAP.”

Jan watched the Senior Tech climb out of the Gallowglas and jog over to their group.

“So that’s my ride now Hoss?”
“Ja. Take care of it. Lieutnant, please let me escort you over to the Gallowglas. You will ride in cuffs in the cockpit if you don’t mind?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Dancer. You’ll have a passanger. The officer from the Guillotine. Make sure he’s treated well” giving him a glance “But don’t take any chances. Secure him well”
Jan looked at the pilot
“Sorry but we are not taking any chances.”
“I understand.”

When Jan had returned back to his machine he assessed the situation. That had not gone half bad but they had to find a way to transport the Shadowhawk off the LZ.
“Dancer, do you copy?”
“Yes, Wandler, just finished securing the package.”
“Very well” he had to grin for a second
“Can you carry the Shadow hawk?” We have to get moving and I don’t wana leave it behind.
“We could assist each other. If the Guillotine is able to utilize his hands we sould be able to transport it.”
“Good idea. Let’s get going.”

Slowly the convoy came into movement, heading towards a remote farm that Jan had singled out as their temporary base of operations and where the supply drops had landed if they had not been carried away by wind and/or weather.
It took them several hours to get there as the Shadow hawk limited their speed greatly and the Guillotine was only able to perform limited walking speed with the partial lockdown established by the Marik officer.
Still Jan was happy they were able to move this efficiently.
Night had fallen but the farmouse seemed abandoned, if this were the case his hideout location was even better than anticipated.
A short sweep around by the Rottweiler squad showed that there was no one was at home but there were enough stables and a big barn so they could hide the mechs and the BA.
Lastly, the supply drops had landed dead on-spot around the farmhouse with one even landing in the ourtyard.


************************
Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Above IAC away squad LZ
February 8th 3096 06:30 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Oce they had arrived, stored away the mechs and the other heavy equipment he had the officer locked up in the basement and took a minute to sit outside and drink some water. He activated his comms while munching a cereal-bar
“Green leader, I need that antenna up. We are already..” he looked at his clock “… almost ten hours past the second agreed radio contact and I need to report.”
“Ten minutes Hoss. We’re concealing the dammn thing as we speak but two hands down makes a lot of stuff more difficult.”
“Take your time, I understand”
He nodded. It WAS a blow to the unit, maybe, hopefully the first loss of ground troops for the unit. He won’t be forgotten…

Thirty Minutes later the antenna was up and via a micro-satelite Relais that they had dropped in Orbit Jan radioed unit command.

“Wandler for Python… Wandler for Python can you hear me?”
“I receive you Wandler. You had us scared! What is your situation?”
“We have successfully made our insertion but ran into a hot LZ.
The LZ got traversed by a patrol. Two bogeys. An GLT-6WB Guillotine and a SHD-7M ShadowHawk. We engaged them in a vertical engagement while landing managing to disable and subsequently have the pilot surrender.
One of green Squad crashed into the head of the Shadow Hawk in a deliberate attempt to use the BA as a missile and managed to kill himself and the opponent.
We retreated to our target location and set up base here finding no resistance and no traces of being followed.
I am giving my men a night and day to rest and will start sweeping, as well as spreading the net tomorrow night.
Damage is negligible on all machines but Green three who is a complete loss. One POW. Salvaged both mechs. Any questions?”



Word Count: 2835
Campaign Total: 50.138
	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
 
LA-SC-08-01 #29

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Utopian Isle
Madeira
Elysian Mountain Range
Victor Bravo 117
Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry Bivouac
February 8th 3096 06:45 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

If the IAC Executive Officer, Gunther ‘Python’ Price, had thought the paperwork was never ending before; he now realized it had been just a drop in the bucket. After all of their pain on their first mission, the IAC had managed to earn quite a bit of military hardware and was once again growing ... by fits and starts. Now, as the second in command over all of the company, he had more responsibility than ever before. Oddly enough, despite his occasional complaints he actual found that it suited him. Once a workaholic, always a workaholic, he supposed.

Signing off on one set of transfer orders to accept a new recruit into Halo Flight. He was promoting the Corsair Bravo Technician, tech 1st Class Jenny - Theodora Heinzel to Cadet and assigning her to the IAC's second Corsair. Well, he was potentially assigning her to the IAC's second Corsair as soon as they got a replacement for it. He was promoting from within the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry. Gunther turned to the next set of papers. It was with a bit of relief that he realized that the ‘to do’ pile was now considerably smaller than the pile of completed forms. With a bit of luck he might even be done with this before dinner time. The first weeks of a new mission were always the busiest but Gunther knew he had no reason to complain. His last assignment with the Royal Knights had lasted all of a week. At least this tour was measured in months rather than weeks and after the hell of the last unit assignment, it couldn't have come at a better time.

He refused to think on that though. Dwelling on past disasters, no matter how hard they had been for the him, was a sure path to depression. He learned what he could from it, grew from the experience, and used it to do better next time. It was the only way to handle the stress of a mercenary life.

At least until they located the Granston’s Gearheads he had the opportunity to do some of his work. Gunther was busy compiling the unit readiness report for Captain Ingersoll. He had queried all four of the Master Tech Sergeants, Battlemech, Armor, Battle Armor, and AeroSpace, the three DropShip Engineering Officers, and the Chief Medical Officer , 2nd Lieutenant Dr. Daniel Ellis. Per the Battlemech Master Tech Sergeant, Niclas Heidrich, Niclas had communicated with his counterpart, David Whitehall from the Battle Armor Staff, who was riding shotgun in the Gallowglas on Solasia, and David had reported that the IAC's Gallowglas was operating just fine, the captured Guillotine was going to need an interface hack to get the weapons online, and the captured Shadow Hawk needed a head assembly and a cockpit. Gunther recalled that his Battle armor recon team had recovered an intact set of ‘Mech sensors and salvaged a functional life support system. Given enough time and depending on what’s left of the head’s internal structure, the IAC's Battlemech technical staff could possibly fashion a Shadow Hawk head and get that unit added to the IAC's TO&E. Heidrich added to the list that Ward’s Mad Cat’s ER small laser and medium pulse laser were fouled by sand getting in behind the crystals and were offline until someone could get in there and clean them out.

The armor report had been light from Master Tech Sergeant Stephen Reyes. The thirty ton Indra Infantry Fighting Vehicle had mowed down a tree damaging its front side Ferro – Fibrous armor and causing its Light Active probe to go on the blink. And the impact of the vehicle against the tree, snapped it in half, and the hundred year old giant fell onto the top of the Indra damaging two of its Anti – Personnel Gauss Rifles. Reyes reported that all his hover tanks were ship ship.

Gloria Nedermeyier, the AeroSpace Fighter’s Master Tech Sergeant’s report had been brief, too. Mesh’s Jagdvogel still need some Ferro – Aluminum armor work done to her bird’s right wing, and McMaster’s Corsair also had sand and dirt clogging the firing crystals of his ER Large Laser and a medium pulse one, too. Gloria also mentioned something about one of McMaster's fighter’s double heat sinks not venting heat up to its full capacity and needing to be replaced.

Well, Hell, on this planet of perpetual daylight under two suns, Nothing could vent heat up to its full capacity, Gunther had remembered thinking.

And the Grand Daddy of them all came from Tech Sergeant Kenia Bruin, of the Battle Armor Support Staff. She was filling in for David Whitehall. Gunther had already known about his four Battle Armored troopers needing armor, as a matter of fact, his two squads had returned to camp last night. But Fenrir Alpha’s, PFC Wilma Fogo needed her armor patched, Delta SAS Trooper Staff Sergeant Elizabeth 'Joker' Haas got off the DropShip yesterday and you could see her skinsuit through the holes in her ‘Assault’ armor, and Gunther didn’t know if Kenia reported that the entire five man point’s handheld anti- mech grade lasers needed repaired on just a few of them. Alpha SAS Troopers Master Sergeant Jason 'Ghost' Reinhardt and Staff Sergeant Young 'Stalker' Park, both need their armor repaired. The Infiltrator Squad also needs two of their magshot carbines worked on. And Gamma’s Steel Dagger Point, Staff Sergeant Arnold 'Terminator' Camperdown, can’t get his SRM 3 launcher to fire with the trigger nor on manual override.

The DropShip’s problems were light in comparison. The ’Seraphim’ needed repairs to a Heavy Gauss Rifle mounted on the bow and an ER medium laser cleared of particles of sand. Like wise, reported by Engineering Officer, Natasha Drake, the ’Sword of Valor’ had an Artemis IV Fire Control System that was no longer painting targets and a ER PPC that wouldn’t fire and that’s right, you guessed it, due to sand in the firing array. And IAC Tech on loan to the ’Cobalt Charm’, Tech Sergeant Coffey Thirlwall, reported that the Mule Class DropShip was all hunky dory. She wasn’t actually there on loan it was more of an assignment from the IAC Quartermaster, 2nd Lieutenant Andrew MacManus, something about making him sleep better at night knowing that our supply ship had a responsible IAC personnel on board.

And finally the Good Doctor Ellis reported no patients on his or the other Doctor’s rosters, just some simple bruises and sprains assigned to his Senior MedTechs.

Included in Gunther’s unit readiness report to the Captain was the transfer of inventory from the ’Cobalt Charm’ to the IAC Bivouac. He was transferring 5 tons of consumables, like water, rations, food stuffs, medical supplies, etc , five tons of each, standard Battle armor patches, Inner Sphere Stealth Battle Armor patches, Clan Stealth Battle Armor patches, Clan Improved Stealth Battle Armor patches, and then five tons of Ferro Aluminum armor.

Gunther was just finishing up when he got the call from 1st Lieutenant Jan 'Wandler' Luftensteiner. The Executive Officer listened intently to what Jan had to say and when he was done he responded with, “No. no ‘Wandler’, I don’t have any questions for you at this moment. As usual, you’ve covered all points of interest. Captain Ingersoll is on the ground now, so going forward make all your reports to him directly. I am just about to give him a unit readiness report. I’ll update it with the data you’ve just given me. Expect a call back from the Captain within the hour. If you don’t hear from him, proceed as normal. God Speed and Good Luck 'Wandler'. ‘Python’ Over and Out.”




Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Utopian Isle
Madeira
Elysian Mountain Range
Victor Bravo 117
Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry Bivouac
February 8th 3096 10:00 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

It had taken some time to get away after the briefing. Gunther had needed to check on a few things with the rest of the non comms and see to some red tape that needed arranging for the various equipment and man power moves happening in the IAC. That of course and the general confusion of so many transports, vehicles that weren’t true transports but temporarily pressed into service to perform transportation duties, coming and going from the ’Cobalt Charm’ had held him up a bit longer than he would have liked. They didn't tell you about that part of the military life in all the glitzy advertisements for mercenaries. Once a unit got to any size at all, paperwork, red tape, and one's bank statements became a bigger enemy than anything met in the field.

Finally though, he was back outside in his sub camp and heading towards his tent. Absently returning the salutes of various IAC Troopers as he walked. Gunther was clearly a man with a lot on his mind. It was only when one of the salutes was accompanied by a voice calling to him that he paused long enough to register the intrusion into his thoughts.

“You needed something 'Einstein'?”

Unless there was a reason to do otherwise, Gunther always referred to his Thunderbolt Technician and girlfriend, Tech Sergeant Deana Herron, by her call sign. It just seemed to fit the elite Technician who had graduated Valedictorian from a Federated Suns post graduate school. She was both smart as a whip when it came to figuring out non standard ‘Mech issues and yet a good significant other, even after all the trials they had been through together. When she spoke up about something, Gunther knew it was wise to listen.

“I just wanted to see you real quick Baby,” she said, seeming to study Gunther's face as she fell into step beside her commanding officer and lover. “Over the years I've found that I can tell how deep the trouble is with a new mission by seeing your expression. It's a good barometer for me.”

Gunther couldn't help but smile a bit and shake his head. “And now that you've seen me? What does your barometer say?”

“It says this is pretty deep stuff. Kind of what I expected after hearing the Master Tech Sergeant’s briefing. There are a lot of ways this could go wrong .... but the potential for profit is beyond belief.”

Again Gunther nodded. Deana’s observations were very close to what he had been thinking. Some folks were probably fearing a trap of some sort since they were on the outs with the Marik government but that was highly unlikely. Agatha had better things to do than trap a small mercenary command. It just wouldn't be good business for her and would probably drive other mercs from seeking employment with the Free Worlds League.

No, his worries were more in the lack of information. It looked to him like there were lots of players behind the scenes here. Wheels within wheels, grinding off to heaven only knows where. Until they knew who the players were, and what they might be after, then they would be in danger of getting in the way of the plans of someone much larger than the IAC was.

“It is deep, but not beyond our capabilities,” he finally said after a short pause. “We are just going to have to be on our guard though. This is going to require as much guile and wit as military skill.”

Deana nodded her understanding as they continued to walk. Now she too seemed deep in thought. It was a long moment but finally she spoke again. “Yeah Sugar, I was afraid you would say that.”

His face showed resigned amusement at the situation.

“Anyway, I left some papers on your desk. Requisitions mostly but there are also some memo's from the ’Cobalt Charm’s’ crew since they are part of the company temporarily. Pretty standard stuff but it all needs your initials.”

Gunther sighed, thanked Deana with a quick kiss and watched then as she saluted and turned to walk away. A mission so heavy in intrigue was not Gunther’s cup of tea at all but he had no doubt that his CO would do just fine. For himself, Gunther had grown up amid such intrigues in the Citizens for Davion Purity movement. That was part of why he wasn't quite satisfied yet with the official explanation of what they were about to do. Nothing involving the Mariks was ever that easy.

Walking the last few paces across the gravel to his tent and adjoining quarters the newly minted Executive Officer stopped long enough to check out the pile of papers he had to review before going out on patrol. Lighting up a stogie, Gunther settled in to do battle with the dreaded paper work. Hopefully he would get a little down time. He would need the time to think and try to deduce what the hell they were stepping into here.

Word Count: 2840
Campaign Total: 52,331
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE
	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
    
LA-SC-08-01 #30

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Solasia
Camurus
Ponchatrain Forest
100 kilometers North of Nouveau Paris
Last Year, 3rd Quarter, 3095 time unknown

Captain Hans Guderian took a shallow breath and then exhaled slowly as he let his crosshairs float over a Marik Militia Trebuchet and fired. Twin beams of coherent green light leapt across the divide slagging armor on his opponent's chest. Master Sergeant Mikael Stepanovich brought his Crusader up alongside Hans' Penetrator and added the fire of his medium lasers, scoring more hits on the already damaged enemy. Hans allowed himself a slight smile of satisfaction as the lighter ‘Mech's pilot thought better of continuing the confrontation and fell back into cover.

A quick glance up and down the line showed that the situation was temporarily stabilizing; Hans' two heavy lances fell back slowly, laying down covering fire as they did so, while his striker lance floated on his left flank adding their fire when needed. He felt pride in their disciplined and orderly retreat, the Granston’s Gearheads were a mercenary outfit, but Hans was a long service veteran of the LAAF and he had successful ingrained the discipline of the regular military into the heavy company. But that discipline was being sorely tested, Hans estimated at least two companies of the 10th Marik Militia opposed his single company and it was only a matter of time until the enemy could bring those numbers to bare effectively.

"Not looking good is it, Sir?" Master Sergeant Stepanovich used a laser link to privately communicate, the cheerful tone in his voice totally at odds with the gravity of the situation.

"I’ve seen better days." Hans responded as he lined up his next shot. Tactically the situation was poor, his company was outnumbered and on the back foot, the medium lance was scattered in a meaningless skirmish a good 5 km off to his left, while his accompanying infantry platoon, 2nd Lieutenant Dustin Fillipe’s Anti-Mech SRM Jump Infantry, had been badly cut up in the initial engagement and were regrouping somewhere to his rear. Just to top it off the Battalion Commander, Major Alexander Granston, was missing in action, leaving him in overall command. Strategically it was actually worse, all contact had been lost with the Mizar HQ when the attack began and Hans had no idea what was going on with the rest of the unit except that the explosions to his right suggested someone, at least, was still fighting. It also meant they were cut off, retreating in the wrong direction, with no plan beyond making it through the next half an hour.

"We've made it through worse though."

That was true Hans reflected, the Granston Battalion had a well deserved reputation for getting into, and then back out of, tight spots. Hans himself had certainly seen worse, today was bad, but very little compared to watching the blinding flashes and the rising mushroom clouds over NouveauParis.

Sudden movement on his radar screen caught his attention, breaking his train of thought.

"Alpha Actual to Alpha Striker Lance Leader, watch your right flank." He calmly transmitted a warning across the radio as a fresh lance of medium ‘Mechs emerged from a wood line on the far right of the field, maneuvering to flank 2nd Lieutenant Maximillian Jacobi's lance. Embolden by the appearance of reinforcements the lance of Marik Militia ‘Mechs that had been engaging Lieutenant Jacobi's lance from the front pushed forwards putting them under further pressure,

Hans switched his fire to the lead ‘Mech, a Crusader, even as he did so he keyed his mic again. "This is Alpha Actual to Alpha Battle Lance Leader, switch flanks."

"Roger" 1st Lieutenant Beatrice Fairbrooks’ response was instant, the only other regular officer in the company, his battle lance was already moving to the aid of Lieutenant Jacobi's embattled lance. Even so, that barely evened up the odds, Hans grimaced as he brought his LRM 10s back online, he was short on ammo and had been hoping to save what was left for a little longer. Carefully he picked his moment, waiting for the Crusader to reach optimum range before opening fire. His Penetrator’s two ERLLs blasts struck the oncoming ‘Mech first before the two flights of HE warheads smashed into its chest. For a moment it looked like the enemy ‘Mechwarrior might keep his balance when a flight of LRMs crashed into his right leg. Master Sergeant Stepanovich had served with Hans for two years now, he didn't need the importance of focus fire explained to him. The ground shook as the 65 ton bulk of the enemy Crusader came crashing down, not out of action, but it was enough of a shock to slow the forward rush of his lance mates. Beatrice's ‘Mechs were now in action alongside Jacobi’s, but the enemy was dangerously close and the attrition was beginning to take its toll. Private 1st Class Nathan Merrit's Rifleman was already making for the rear, too badly damaged to continue the fight even if he had any ammunition left to fight with, when a blinding explosion rocked the company. When the smoke cleared Private 1st Class Alex Morrow’s Lineholder was a smoking wreck, victim of a catastrophic ammunition explosion.

" ‘Chute seen." Hans wasn't sure who made the shout, he was too busy repositioning to cover the gap in the line opened up by the two missing ‘Mechs; while he was relieved that Alex had escaped the inferno, he was acutely aware that his ‘Mechs were running critically low on ammunition. He fired another volley into the Marik Crusader, taking its leg off and sending it crashing to the ground for a second time. However, the return fire was becoming increasingly accurate as the range shrank, one of Beatrice's ‘Mechs was forced out of the line, smoke billowing from the Bushwacker's ruined right arm. The Gearheads needed a break and soon. Continuing to fall back Hans glanced behind him and with a smile realized they were about to get it. A wood line lay just 200 meters to their rear and his sensors were picking up a series of ultraviolet flares. The enemy might not realize the significance but the Gearheads did, the flares marked safe lanes between infantry positions. The infantry of the Artillery Platoon had got their heavy guns into position and were preparing to give the enemy the good news.

"All Alpha callsigns, fade and counter." Hans ordered as he maneuvered his ‘Mech into the woods. The remaining ‘Mechs of the heavy company followed suit, temporarily fading from their enemy's sight. They formed a line on Hans's ‘Mech, a quick glance up and down that line showed serious damage to their armor plating. A strange calm covered the field for a moment as weapons fire halted, neither side able to see the other well enough to engage. "Steady troops, steady" Master Sergeant Stepanovich spoke quietly and reassuringly over the radio. Hans counted the seconds in his head, willing the enemy to push on heedlessly, to over commit to the kill, when suddenly the woods lit up as the infantry platoon opened fire with their sniper artillery pieces. The infantry had waited until the enemy ‘Mechs were all but on top of them and the sudden onslaught threw the enemy advance into confusion.

"On me!" Hans ordered as he started his Penetrator forward, bringing it into the firing line. An enemy Guillotine had stopped just in front of the infantry's line, surprised its pilot was trying to locate the well - hidden gun positions to return fire as Hans' ‘Mech all but ran into it. Flicking off the safeties, he alpha struck, medium lasers, ERLLs, and LRM 10s stores into the flat footed Guillotine. It tried to fall back to its left but ran straight into Stepanovich's Crusader which finished the job with a series of laser blasts and a flight of SRM. The Guillotine slumped back, its fusion engine off line. Up and down the line the same story played out, caught on the wrong foot the attacker's momentum had been shattered and their forces thrown back in disarray, their ‘Mechs, retreating as quickly as they could. Hans breathed a sigh of relief as he maneuvered his ‘Mech back into the woods breaking line of sight. The enemy was far from defeated but this set back would cause them to hesitate, which would buy the Gearhead’s time to regroup and crucially buy him time to figure out how they were going to get out of this mess.

NPC
Captain Hans Guderian
PTR-6T Penetrator
1st Company(Med - Heavy Mech Company)
Company Command Lance
Commanding Officer
GRANSTON'S GEARHEADS BATTALION

Word Count 1448
CONTRACT TOTAL 53,779
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE
	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
    Contact: Contact Gunther Price

LA-SC-08-01 #31

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Solasia
Camurus
Nouveau Paris
The House of Merchant Berenir
10th February 3096 1010 Local (Nouveau Paris)

Private 1st Class Alex Morrow was aware of sound before he felt the pain. There was a low and steady roaring in his ears, like surf against a rocky coast, but with a steady, rhythmic pulse that was maddening until he recognized it as the beat of his own heart. Somehow, though, the pain had lost its knife's edge. He hurt, but not as much. Not as much as what? He struggled with the idea, a vague sense of passing time, of horror and wrenching loss, but could not remember.

The pain receded somewhat. Encouraged, Alex opened his eyes. He winced at the sudden glare, but managed to get them open and carefully survey his surroundings. He did not recognize the room. Bare plaster walls with chipped patches high up by the wood - beamed ceiling were close around his bed. A table, a clothes chest, chairs, and a mirror completed the list of furnishings. A narrow window let him see a patch of orange sky beyond dust motes dancing in a shaft of bloody light.

Light. It must be ... daylight! The long night was over!

He sat up suddenly, then sagged back onto the bed, hands clasping his dizzy, pain - wracked head. His head was wrapped in bandages, he found. Someone had carefully tended what was obviously a fairly serious head wound.

A door opened somewhere behind him, and Alex sensed someone enter the room. "So, awake at last! I thought I heard you yell."

Alex didn't remember yelling, but decided anything was possible with his head feeling as it did. He turned slightly, and focused on the speaker.

The man was a young member of Indigenous Population, somewhat shorter than Alex's lanky stature, and stockier, with wide, stubby - fingered hands that were stained with grease. He had the pale skin of a native Indig, which looked even paler next to the unruly black hair and deep, dark eyes. He wore a casual, knee - length tunic, white except for a triangular shoulder panel that caught the red light in shifting patterns of warm color.

Alex's eyes went back to the Indig's face. Recognition clicked somewhere behind the ache in his skull. "I know you! Ah ... Claydon, isn't it? Right! Senior Astech Claydon. You were on Jessica McDaniels's team!"

Claydon inclined his head with a wry smile. "At your service, Private 1st Class, though I can hardly admit to the title anymore. That's not exactly healthy now."

"Not . . . what? Why?"

Claydon jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the window. "It's not safe to admit to being one of the Gearhead's pets. Not any longer."

Alex wrestled with that concept for a while, then let it go. He decided to concentrate on more immediate questions. "Where am I?"

"My Father's house, of course. I brought you here after the attack."

"Your . . . Father?"

"Yes. Berenir is his name. He's a merchant. He's done business with you folks. Doesn't share the local prejudice against you Mercenaries. He's the one who got a doctor to come in and tend your wound."

Alex touched his bandaged head. "Then I have you and your Father to thank for saving me."

Claydon grimaced. "You'll be able to show your thanks by getting well and out of this house and away from here. If the neighbors knew we had YOU here ..."

"What makes me so unpopular all of a sudden?"

"All of a sudden? What have you been using for eyes, PFC?"

Alex ignored the bitterness in Claydon's voice. "Is it because of the War?''

"You ought to know that most Indigs think Major Granston was betraying them to Marik. When the War broke out, off - worlders' and especially mercenaries stopped being welcome around here."

Claydon's casual mention of Alexander Granston brought tears to Alex's eyes. Memories flooded back unbidden, memories of the battle with running, black - armored figures in the smoke - filled Vehicle Bay, of the horror of that instant as an enemy Highlander painted with the stylized Marik Eaglet descended toward the Major's 'Mech.

Emotions clamored within him, a mix of grief, shock, and loss. "The Major is dead," he mumbled.

"I know. I think they all know . . . now."

"It wasn't his idea ... to concede, I mean."

Claydon shrugged. "It's all the same. He was the leader that Land Grave Smythe left up there in the Castle. The people looked to him, and when word came that we were being given over to those filthy Free Worlders ..."

"Who told you about that, anyway?"

Claydon shrugged again, and said nothing. Alex couldn't tell if he didn't know or wasn't telling.

Betrayal. And more betrayal. There had been enemies among the Castle workers, that much was certain. Alex remembered the astech Stefan standing at the black - armored vehicle Captain's side, pointing him out to the enemy. Perhaps Stefan had been the one who had leaked word of the arrival of Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry to the people of Mizar. Alex remembered now that the first anti - Free Worlder student riots had begun shortly after the last batch of astech recruits had arrived at the Castle, and Stefan had been among them. Alex had been one of those assigned to guide them through their physicals and indoctrination lectures.

Alex felt a cold, growing resolve. That was ONE traitor he would find before he left this dustbowl planet. And after he found the man, he would kill him. If the Indig had set up the attack on the Castle, he must be involved with Alexander Granston's ambush and death as well. It begged too much of coincidence to think that the 10th Marik Militia landing at the spaceport and the assault on the Castle were unrelated.

There were still so many unanswered questions. Who had laid this extensive plot? If it had been House Davion, then why? His thoughts circled back to a groove in his memory. Who was responsible for killing the Major?

Alex held his voice rigidly in control. "So? Why'd you save me?"

Claydon went to the window and leaned against the sill, his face and tunic catching the red - hued sunlight. He spoke quietly. "I went up there looking for PFC Jessica. She was ... a friend. A good friend. She taught me everything I know about teching."

"I know she spoke highly of you," Alex lied. Private 1st Class Jessica McDaniels had been a hard woman to know, and Alex had never been very close to her. Certainly, the Granston’s Gearhead Pilot would not have discussed the performance of a member of her lance with anyone but the Major, not even the Battalion Major's protégé. Alex did remember a scene he had happened to witness one day in the Repair Bay. The dark-skinned Jessica stood with this hand on Claydon's shoulder, an expression of complete and relaxed patience on her face as she explained some arcane twist of 'Mech circuitry to her protégé. Most of the unit's staff Techs relied on the astechs as raw muscle power and little more, acting the part of overseers more than mentors. Evidently, PFC Jessica had subscribed to a markedly different philosophy. Another testament of Alexander Granston’s people skills.

The astech paused, then turned to face Alex. "I wasn't in the base when the attack took place. That's what saved me. I was here, at home, on a 60 - hour pass. But we could see the battle at the port even from down here, and pretty soon we could tell the Castle was under attack too.

"We knew the House Steiner had cleaned out the Castle. We watched what was left of your Battalion heading down the Avenue Coraza toward the spaceport. But by daybreak, it looked like the 10th had pulled out of the Castle and followed them. There was a lot of gunfire going on at the port.

"I figured the Mariks would be back to the Castle soon, but I thought I might find out what happened, and maybe find out if the PFC had gotten away."

Alex saw Jessica in his mind's eye once more, kicking back in slow - motion horror across the well deck of an APC transport, blood geysering from half a dozen shocking wounds. "PFC Jessica ... she was killed. I was there."

"I know," Claydon said softly. "I found her in the Vehicle Bay. And then I heard you groan, and saw you were still alive.

"There was an awful lot of blood on your head. The doctor said scalp wounds bleed a lot, and I think that's why they left you. They must have thought you'd been shot clean through the head, and left you for dead. But the bullet just creased your scalp." Claydon touched the left side of Alex's head. "Here."

Alex repeated the gesture, and felt the burn of the grazing wound under the bandages. He remembered the sight of the vehicle Captain’s, Nina Gerro’s, gun barrel leveled at his face, and suppressed a shudder. The woman must have fired only a single shot and not checked the results closely. If she'd fired that deadly massive weapon on full auto . . .

"I put you on a skimmer - sled I found undamaged in a storage area and brought you out. Doc Jamis said you have a slight skull fracture, but that there was no brain damage, and you'll recover."


"Thank you," Alex aid, feeling how inadequate were the words.

Again, Claydon shrugged. "I couldn't very well just leave you there." He paced away from the window, passed close by Alex's bed. "Like I said, if you want to thank us, you'll hurry up and get better and then get out of here. If the anti - Mercenaries find out we're keeping you here ..."

Alex remembered the riots, the burnings, the screaming mobs of people when rumors first circulated through the city that Mizar was being turned over to Marik. "Yeah, I can imagine."

"Can you? I doubt that!" Claydon's bitterness was fully visible now. "This city, this entire planet is wide open to House Marik's 10th Militia now . . . and it's YOUR fault."

"Hey! Not MINE. I didn't have anything to do . . ."

"Your people then, same difference! Look, I thought Mizar was a protectorate of the Lyran Alliance! Why abandon us? Why hand us over to those monsters?"

"We weren’t handing you over. We were opening up trade agreements is all."

"I don't remember much of their last raid," Claydon said. "Just confused pictures of people running ... a night sky on fire ... a cave crowded with scared and screaming people ... I was pretty young at the time. But I remember my mother. She was killed when they burned Mizar . . . killed or carried off as a slaves." He shook his head. "I prefer to think she was killed."

Alex was silent for a long moment, eyes shut. He'd had no idea that such angry, bitter feelings ran this deep among the people of Mizar. Finally, he opened his eyes. "Why did you help me, Claydon?"

The astech paused before answering. "I don't know. Maybe it was because of Jessica. If it hadn't been for her, I'd still be working a stall on the Street of the Merchants, maybe dreaming of following my Father someday as a prosperous Mizarian merchant. For a time ... for a time . . . there was something better. I can't put it into words. It's gone now ... all gone. But I figured I owed the PFC this much, at least."

"Do you hate me ... for what's happened?"

"Hate you? Personally? No, I don't think so. I don't even hate the Lyran Alliance for what happened. I do think your people were stupid for trying to bargain with those devils."

As there seemed no answer to that, Alex decided to change the subject. "How long have I been out?"

"Seventy days or so. The Doc had you on something to make you sleep."

"Seventy DAYS?" That was two standard months. "It's seventy days after the attack?"

Claydon nodded.

Numbers clicked into place. Seventy days! "God! What happened to the Battalion? You say you saw them moving toward the spaceport?"

"That's right. Most of them got out before the 10th encircled them at the castle and took off just before dawn."

"They . . . they got out? You're sure?"

The Indig nodded. "Sure. I've worked on your ‘Mechs before. I know what they look like - Linebacker, Crusader, Penetrator, and a host of other mediums and heavis, A Stygian Strike Tank, a Byakko Assault Hover, some HMMWV, Jump Infantry, Field Artillery, and AeroSpace fighters." He held up a clenched fist, imitating the graphic symbol of House Steiner. "I saw the unit patches on the 'Mech exit panels. It's a good thing Marik's people didn't have any fighters handy. The 10th took some shots at them from the ground, but I think they got away clean. They did it in an orderly sort, jets full out, they fell back in classic overwatch formation, returning as good as they got. The firing stopped down at the port then, though I saw lots of the 10th Militia running around putting out fires after that."

Alex sagged back into the pillow. He felt a quiver of relief in the knowledge that the Battalion had gotten away. Captain Hans Guderian must have organized a good enough defense to keep the enemy off the battalion, or maybe Ranold Schmidtt had managed to hold a perimeter with the DropShips guns until the Castle forces had reached him.

His relief was quickly overwhelmed by a rising despair. If Claydon was right, Alex had been left for dead. Though still alive, he was alone and far from safe on this hostile, god - forsaken world. He’d have to make it through the Sears Mountains on his own.

NPC
Private 1st Class Alex Morrow
KW1-LH3 Lineholder
1st Company (Med - Heavy Mech Company)
Company Command Lance
Direct Support
GRANSTON'S GEARHEADS BATTALION

Word Count 2394
CONTRACT TOTAL 56,153
Last edited by Gunther Price on Thu May 18, 2017 5:01 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE

LA-SC-08-01 #32

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Solasia
Bahrain
IAC Recon ‘Base’
Glazer Farm
On an abandoned Farmhouse
10th February 3096 20:15 Local (Nouveau Paris)

Jan sat on the porch and drank some water out of a glass they had found in the houses kitchen.
He leaned back and enjoyed himself for a minute.
His little away team did very well actually.
They had seen a higher density of patrols by the 101st, especially the odd looking Huron Warrior was patrolling around but so far they had not been close to being detected at all.
Naturally the 101st knew that their XO had gone missing but it seems that their engagement had been short and decisive enough. No word had gotten out.

In the meanwhile his men were spreading the net.
First around their base, now across a larger forest area and they were working their way towards the bigger cities and transportation hubs.
He felt bad for the Rottweiler squad as they had the most work to do of all of them.
But this is also why he orderd his command to have food and accomondation ready for them at any time, had his Fenrir squad double as tech support and guards.
So it had become easy for the group around Alec Newcomb… sleep, run, hide, eat, repeat…

Simultanously Pierre Munoz had managed to get one of the old jeeps that were in one of the barns back to run and they had started to run errants into town, buy groceries, listen around and double as newly moved in farmers…
It had all worked out so far so things were looking good.

Jan looked at his watch. He was just in time. His ‘Prisoner’ and been invited by him for dinner, and he intended not to be late.

When Jan came into the dining room of the farm he found Captain Milano sitting at the table, looking down on a set of silverware in front of him.
“You are giving me a knife?”
“I am giving you proper means of enjoying dinner Captain. If you wana try and stab me with this…” he looked at the butter-knife “good luck but I’d rather enjoy the meal.”
They got served by Wilma Fogo who had come up with a fantastically smelling dinner for them. She served each of them a plate and then left with a sly ‘enjoy’ towards the two men.”
Silently they both started eating
“So why the treatment? What do you want from me?”
Jan looked up, trying to be looking bewildered by the opening “Nothing actually” he lied “I just figured we could share a meal. Sitting in the basement, all alone, must be kinda annoying, right? I tried to be nice”
“Mhm”
They kept eating
“I must say, I was surprised when you landed ontop of us. We had tracked your dropships to the isles. When did you start your drop?”
“It was a halo insertion for us. Rottweilers and Fenrir are not built for this, but my men are trained and it worked out. We had planned on not meeting anyone in the LZ so, seeing you there was a bit of a let down for us…”
“Do tell me” the Marik officer laughed
“Ja well… We just got lucky I guess, you did not see us”
“Ah – we were searching for someone but not above us… “
“Hmm?” Jan played to be interested but not curious
“We had downed the Gearheads Eisensturm in the area some time ago.” He stopped, obviously pondering if he should go on
“But so far to no avail?” Jan tried to keep the flow of the conversation running
“Yes. Sad days…”
“True.” He stopped for a second, then moved on
“We tracked a Huron Warrior patrolling the area, you know… One of yours?”
“No, we got none of those on our roster” the Marik lied but his shoulders, who had stiffened, betrayed him
“Interesting. We shall try to catch that one then. Maybe it’s a Gearheads machine”
“Good luck with that” he smirked. Obviously the Gearheads had eluded them for quite some time now
“Mhm”
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, what would be your lances or companies base of operations? I don’t want to be rude and you know our forces… Knowing what area to avoid would benefit us all I think”
He looked Jan directly in the eye and said “Can’t tell you this, Lutenend. You should know better than that.”
“True, I’m sorry Captain.”
“No worries, I’d have asked as well.”

They kept eating for another five minutes but the conversation was dead, still, after they were done and the Marik was due to go back to the basement he said
“I appreciate the hospitality Lutenend, I really do. Thank you for treating me properly.
“Naturally Captain!” Jan smiled

He looked after the leaving Marik who was companied by one of his men when his comms bead went live
“Hey Hoss… you down for some good news?”
“Sure Bonnie what’s it?” she was always putting some extra time into tech stuff, she was a talent of rare capacities!
“I think I can tap into the 101s comms frequency.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nae Sir! Look I hooked up the still working comms computer from the Shadow Hawk. We luckily brought it along. It’s a standardized model for the Marik forces. The Guillotine machine accepted it. And with it not being locked out… we don’t have the full bandwith… but I got the general comms lines. Running passive sensors on the Guillotine on low power we can listen to limited range comms, but still, we hear it.”

His mood instantly lighted up
“Fantastic news – maybe I’ll promote you to a tech after all” Jan joked quickly pacing through the farm and towards the barn.

Word Count 975
CONTRACT TOTAL 57,128
	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS

LA-SC-08-01 #33

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Solasia
Camurus
Ponchatrain Forest
75 kilometers West of Nouveau Paris
3rd Quarter, 3095 time unknown

Despite the effect of the cooling vest, sweat ran down the brow of Captain Joachim Ulbrecht as he pushed his Warhammer to the limit trying to match the maneuvers of the Marik Militia Guillotine opposing him. At 22 he was less than half the age of his fellow company commander and keenly felt the pressure of the heightened expectations that brought with it. Accepting an ER medium laser blast he responded in kind. His own laser fire went high, but the ER PPC burst struck true, the kinetic force smashing armor on his opponent's right arm. Joachim knew he needed to finish this fight quickly, his company was scattered over a 4 square km area and while he was dueling this Guillotine he couldn't spare enough mental capacity to regroup them. Switching direction suddenly, he threw off his opponents aim; the incoming laser fire passing harmlessly to his right. Joachim returned fire scoring hits across the Guillotine's chest.

The day hadn't started well and didn't look to be getting much better. When the 10th Marik Militia attack on their Castle base of Operations in Nouveau Paris had started, Joachim's heavy company had lead the Gearhead’s Battalion's counter attack following the established plan for just such an event. But their attack had gone in unsupported, with no sign of the neighboring formations that should have been counter attacking alongside them, their sister 'Mech company and their armor company. Joachim's ‘Mechs had been badly cut up before Captain Hans Guderian's heavies had been able to relieve them, with two destroyed, Private 1st Class Jack Williamson's Shadow Hawk and 1st Lieutenant Sergio Vinatelli's Defiance; and a further three of Joachim's 'Mechs rendered unable to continue the fight. Just to add insult to injury this medium slash heavy reinforced company had set upon them as Joachim had been trying to rally his troops. The resulting battle had dragged them further and further away from the heavies and scattered his ‘Mechs even further. While they were slowly winning the engagement, they were effectively removed from the main battle and unable to affect its outcome.

"Bravo Command Actual, this is Alpha Command Actual. Report situation."

Because I need another distraction, though Joachim. "Engaging enemy heavy demi company." Joachim paused as he engaged his jump jets, clearing a small hill, firing as he went. "Outlook positive."

"Good to hear, I need you to redeploy to my right flank and regain contact with the rest of the battalion."

"Wait out." Joachim considered the order, it made sense, it would work, if he could get his men in order quickly enough. "Will do, give me ten."

"Roger, out."

Joachim's Warhammer was rocked by another laser strike, he brought his weapons up to respond, but not quick enough as the Guillotine ducked behind a wood block, the trees exploding in a blaze as Joachim's ER medium laser and ER PPC fire slashed through them.

"Allison I'm going to drag this bastard in front of you, finish him for me." Joachim radioed his wingman, Master Sergeant Allison Vautier, as he broke off to his left towards Allison's Verfolger firing as he went. As he did so he tried to order his thoughts. First problem, regrouping. Easier said than done, his ‘Mechwarriors were each engaged in their own personal duels and while they had loosely stuck to their wing pairs, any real sense of order had long ago broken down, which had frustrated all his efforts to direct the engagement so far. Another laser beam stuck home on his right arm, the Guillotine pilot had taken the bait, chasing after his slower opponent. Joachim kicked in his jump jets, propelling him into the cover of the Ponchatrain Forest. Sensing victory the Guillotine followed only to run straight into Allison's line of fire. A burst of 150mm auto cannon shells took off its left arm while laser fire burned its chest armor. The pilot fired his jump jets in a vain attempt to escape, but bracketed between Joachim and Allison's ‘Mechs he stood no chance, a final shotgun blast from Allison's LBX found a gap in its weakened armor protection, knocking out its engine.

"Thanks for the assist, cover me for a minute."

"Got it boss." Allison was the company Master Sergeant and by rights should be addressed more formally, but the medium company paid little attention to rank or procedure.

Joachim faded into the tree line as Allison recommenced her long range duel with a circling Apollo. Keeping one eye on the progress of his company, Joachim scanned his computer's map of the area, mostly flat with numerous large patches of woods, looking for an area to regroup. Glazer's Farm he decided, sheltered inside a dense clump of trees, it would force any attackers into short range, which would give Joachim's mediums and heavies the advantage over their Marik foes.

"All Bravo call signs,this is Bravo Command Actual, break off and regroup at farm Grid 0345 4721 in Bahrain."

A chorus of ‘Rogers’ came back across the radio but even as Joachim started towards the farm he could see the plan unraveling. Private 1st Class Lawrence Brooks and Private 1st Class Bart Scott had made a break directly for the farm, but in doing so had left their opponents free to focus on Private 1st Class Brian Thompson and Private 1st Class Alexis Strom who's slower fighting retreat had left them isolated and facing most of the remaining enemy ‘Mechs. Staff Sergeant Leslie Allen and 2nd Lieutenant Arnold Schwarzchild had got bogged down dueling with an enemy Awesome, while at the extreme right of the line Private 1st Class Racquel Martinez and Private 1st Class Paul Wagner were once again heading in the wrong direction, focusing on hunting down a lone Raven that had crossed their path as they fell back.

Joachim felt his frustration rise, worse he knew he was responsible for the disorder. When Joachim had joined the then heavy company it had been a basket case, poorly trained pilots with worse morale acting as little more than glorified auxiliaries to the 1st company. Since then he had worked hard to instill a sense of pride, of self - belief, of brotherhood. The turnabout had been remarkable and as individual pilots his company were unrecognizable, but in doing so he had neglected training for company or even lance level engagements, now they were paying for that lack of preparation.

He took a deep breath. One problem at a time, he thought, Racquel and Paul can hold their own for a bit longer, focus on those who can't.

"Lawrence take Bart, move 500m South East, East, cover Leslie and Arnold's withdraw then retreat with them to the farm."

"On it Boss!"

"Brian, Alexis, hold your position I'm coming for you, Allison follow me."

Joachim kicked in his jump jets, clearing the patch of woods, firing a wild blast at the Apollo as he did so. He missed but it made the Apollo's pilot duck into cover. Allison's Verfolger broke cover to follow him, their target, a pair of Marik Militia ‘Mechs cutting off Brian and Alexis's retreat, a Wraith and Jackal.

"I'll take the Jackal, you take the Wraith." Joachim radioed Allison. "We just need to get their attention."

"Just love playing bait Boss you know that." Allison joked, she had taken up position just behind Joachim, her ER PPC arm sweeping across likely firing points, searching for the Apollo. "Let's do this."

Preoccupied with sniping at Brian's Hollander II, the Jackal pilot didn't notice Joachim bearing down upon him until it was too late. ER PPC and laser fire raked the light ‘Mech as Joachim lashed out with his foot, crushing armor plating on the Jackal's left leg. Its pilot reacted quickly, breaking at full speed for his own lines, Joachim's slower Warhammer in close pursuit.

Allison blew past the combat, angling for the Wraith that was making a bee line for Alexis' Eisenfaust. Allison wasn't going to make it she knew, her opponent was too fast and already at Alexis’ rear while she exchanged fire with a Huron Warrior. Alexis picked her moment perfectly; just as the Wraith entered effective firing range she pulled back on the throttle throwing her ‘Mech backwards. Laser fire and SRMs shot past her as did the charging Wraith, moving too quickly to adjust for her movement. With a triumphant grin she opened fire, the Wraith dodged to the right, avoided the worse of it, but the impact of a heated stream of plasma from her Plasma Rifle made its pilot think better of a second pass.

"Your late Allison … again." Alexis mockingly chided Allison as she locked onto the Huron Warrior for another volley of 150mm Cluster munitions from her LBX auto cannon. "Brian fall back, I'll cover."

Allison laughed to herself, your car breaks down once on the way to one mess function and no one will ever let you live it down. She added her laser fire to Alexis' covering fire as Brian fell back to their position. "Time to go people." Switching frequencies Allison radioed Joachim,"Boss we're on our way to the farm."

"Roger." Joachim replied as he broke off pursuit of the Jackal, disappointed to have not been able to add it to his kill tally. Glancing at the tactical display he was glad to see the withdraw starting to take shape. Lawrence's group had successfully disengaged and was already most of the way to the farm. His own group would be there shortly and had easily enough firepower to keep their opponents at bay. Once Racquel and Paul came in they would be able to redeploy as ordered.

"Mech down, Mech down! I repeat we have a Dervish down!" Racquel's voice cut through his sense of growing calm. "Paul's down! He's unconscious! Three plus enemy ‘Mechs closing on our position!"

"Roger on our way." Joachim shouted his response without thinking as he wrenched his ‘Mech round. A quiet voice in the back of his head made him pause. 'I'm making the same mistake I always do. What is the mission?'

A glance at the tactical display confirmed his thoughts, the withdraw had fell apart again as every ‘Mech in the company headed straight for Paul's fallen ‘Mech. "Belay that! Leslie, Sergeant Ernst Model, you are to proceed to the our company's right flank then make contact with friendly forces operating on that flank. Ask Captain Guderian for details. Lawrence, Bart, cover them."

"But Boss." Bart protested.

"No time, we've got this, get going."

"Will do." Bart didn't sound happy but neither did he argue further.

Joachim checked the display, glad to see his orders being obeyed as he pushed his ‘Mech to its maximum speed towards Paul and Racquel's position. "Everyone else, follow me!"

NPC
Captain Joachim Ulbrecht –
WHM - 9D Warhammer
2nd Company(Med - Heavy Mech Company)
Company Command Lance
Commanding Officer
GRANSTON'S GEARHEADS BATTALION

Word Count 1847
CONTRACT TOTAL 58,975
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE
	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
   
LA-SC-08-01 #34

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Solasia
Camurus
Nouveau Paris
The Castle
Granston’s Gearheads HQ
3rd Quarter, 3095 time unknown

When he was in one of his more somber moods, Major Alexander Granston would characterize his 56 year military career by a series of loses, his wife, his son, most of his closest friends, numerous battles. But never an entire command, not in a single day and today, he told himself grimly; was not going to be the day that that changed. Keeping his Fafnir at full flank speed, he swung his heavy Gauss Rifles to the right and let off a blast at the Crusader that was tailing him. The range was hopelessly optimistic and he wasn't surprised when the blasts went wide, but it served to keep his tail at a respectful distance.

Earlier this morning he had been at the COs conference at the Mizar Castle HQ, they had been thrashing out the final details of tomorrows assault on the 10th Marik Militia positions, it was to be their moment, the moment they showed the rest of the LAAF how the Gearheads did business. Then the sky had turned to fire as artillery and bombs rained down to cover the dropship borne, head hunter assault on the Castle HQ and the dream had turned to dust. Granston and his adjunct, Sergeant Major Jack Hortenz, had made it to their ‘Mechs, most almost everyone else had, too, most of them. The ground defense company had quickly been overrun and as far as Granston was aware several of his infantry and AeroSpace senior officers had not escaped, certainly Captain Jessika Heinkel, the infantry Company’s CO, had perished trying to organize the resistance of her troops. That Granston had claimed two kills in the melee, did not make him feel any better, in the long run those 'victories' would be meaningless. With several of the senior officers dead and the communications array put out of commission there was no longer anyway to centrally control the battle. Battle, that might be the wrong word. From what little radio traffic was making it through the jamming it appeared that all forward units had been either overrun or cut off by the Marik Militia blitzkrieg while the reserve formations were nowhere to be seen. This was no longer a battle, it was a rout, the Granston’s Gearheads were defeated and all that was left to do was find his troops and extract them from the chaos, somehow.

His ER medium lasers recharged he let off another extreme range shot. The enemy scouts were tailing him from a discrete distance, none of their ‘Mechs were powerful enough to willingly tangle with a Fafnir, especially not the one painted pitch black. He had fought Marik Militia long enough for them to know who he was and they had a wary respect for 'Midnight' and her pilot. They wouldn't directly confront him, rather they would cage him and deal with him in their own time. Granston was tempted to turn about and turn the tables on then, but Midnight's armor was scorched and scored by weapons fire from the earlier engagement and he knew from bitter experience that even the most powerful ‘Mech could be laid low if certain actuators were crippled. He couldn't afford to get embroiled in meaningless fights right now, he had a job to do. An ammo explosion to his left caught his eye, a Trebuchet had got a little too close and bursts of fire from his companion's particle projection cannon had laid it low.

"Great shot Nick!"

Jack Hortenz smiled at his COs mistake. Nicholas 'Nick' Hortenz had been Jack's father, but he had also been Granston's protégé and close friend until his death in 3068 fighting the Capellans on Tall Trees. It was Nick's Fafnir that Jack now piloted, taken from Clan Smoke Jaguar during Operation Bulldog, it was painted in the tradition Gearheads green and brown disruptive pattern rather than the all black livery of the Granston family.

"Sorry Jack." Granston sounded sheepish, he regularly made that mistake when his blood was up, almost seeming to forget which particular war he was fighting.

"No problem, Sir." Jack replied, he didn't take offense, his father had been a local hero and while he aimed to eventually surpass his father's achievements, he knew that people intended it as a compliment when they told him how much he reminded them of his father. "We've passed the last emergency rendezvous point, if they aren't here where are they?"

That was the question Granston had been trying to solve for the last ten minutes as it became increasingly clear that the leading edge of the Marik Militia advance had overrun the Lyran Alliance rear area and that the expected counter strike by the Mizar Planetary Defense Force had failed to materialize. Currently Granston and Jack were caught up in amongst the leading wave of the Marik Militia attack, surrounded by the medium ‘Mechs searching for targets for the main body. That main body already sat astride the Gearhead' axis of retreat.

"As they are not here and there is no evidence they have been, I have to assume they have been cut off and retreating away from the main body. That means they are still on the far left of the line and if we can skirt round the main body sooner or later we'll meet up with them."

Granston left out the unspoken assumption that the Gearheads were still alive and fighting. Other people seemed to be, there were enough explosions to his right to suggest that at least parts of other units were still offering resistance, regardless of how hopeless.

"Fighting to our front Sir, insignia's Mizar Militia."

Ahead of them a scratch battalion of armor and infantry was mounting a valiant defense around a group of light transports, a company was pushing them hard, mounting vicious slashing attacks of the embattled convoy.

"Shall we give them a hand."

Granston thought about it for a second. "No, we haven't the time and they will slow us down."

"We can't just leave them Sir!" Even over the radio Granston could hear the hurt and outrage in Jack's voice. Jack was still very much an idealist, a believer in ‘Mechwarriors as modern day knights and all the baggage that came with it. Granston has had most of that nonsense knocked out of him over the years. Leaving the Mizar Militia to their fate left a nasty taste in his mouth, but going to their rescue meant abandoning the attempt to reach his own men. War required ruthless decisions and Granston knew the cost of letting emotions get in the way of making those decisions.

"Sir!" Jack protested again.

Even as Granston justified the decision to himself, he could feel his resolve slipping as he watched the Mizar Militia fight for their very lives. Their final heaviest remaining tank, a Demolisher; faltered under sustained fire yet bravely keep its momentum. A pair of escorting Bulldog tanks rallied round it, turrets pointing in opposite directions as they tried to maintain an all - round defense. Weapons fire impacted their hulls, scoring great gouges in their armor yet they kept on firing. In Granston's mind, some people simply deserved to be rescued.

"Fuck it." Granston swore loudly, angry at himself for wavering and angry at the world in general for putting him in this position. "Follow me, track my targets."

"Yes Sir!" Jack's heart soared, delighted in his CO's change of heart.

Smoothly Granston brought Midnight round with Jack following hard on his left flank. The company's fire support, a Trebuchet, saw them coming and turned to engage. A quick twin heavy LRM launch cracked through the air, passing just to Granston's right. Jack and Granston returned fire, their combined weaponry punching holes in the medium ‘Mechs armor. Smoking it tried to retreat, but too slowly as a second volley ripped off its right arm.

The rest of the company began to react to the newcomers. A Bombardier lumbered back towards the stricken Trebuchet, a Hermes and Raven broke for cover while a pair of Huron Warriors pressed the assault on the Mizar Militia. ER Laser fire from the Bombardier impacted Granston's right flank but he ignored it as he closed on the Trebuchet. Two more ER medium laser blasts from his Fafnir staggered his enemy, but didn't fell him. Granston switched to his Heavy Gauss Rifles; as another LRM 15 shot flew past him, far too close for comfort. He held his aim until he got the solid tone that signified a lock on, two silvery slugs leapt from his ‘Mechs torso mounted guns, their impacts hit the left and center torso of the Trebuchet, they both blew gaping holes in the ‘Mechs ripped and scoured armor, the pilot ejecting as internal fires raged through the ‘Mech.

"Switch target, Bombardier, go left."

Jack knew what Granston wanted, as Granston went right the Bombardier would have turn to keep him in arc, expose its rear to Jack's guns. The Bombardier's pilot knew it too and started to back up, but he'd gone too far from his own support. Lacking arm weaponry, the heavy class ‘Mech couldn't keep both enemy ‘Mechs in its front quarter at the same time and in choosing to continue engaging Granston, died to repeated laser blasts to the rear from Jack's guns.

Granston knew he now faced a choice. Ideally he would want both Mechs to engage the Huron Warriors, but the two Marik Militia light ‘Mechs, the Hermes and the Raven, would soon reappear at his rear. Individually they posed little threat, but if left in his rear he would likely suffer the same fate as the Bombardier Pilot. Yet if he split his force he wasn't sure he could take both Huron Warriors alone. Shaky contacts began to appear behind him on his sensor screen confirming his suspicions, he made his choice.

"Jack engage the light ‘Mechs, I'm going for the mediums."

"Roger."

Granston glanced up at his HUB as the the two ‘Mechs separated. His armor was in a bad way, several sections showed red, nearly depleted. 'This is stupid' he thought to himself, 'absolutely stupid.' He could feel his anger rising as he singled out the nearest of the enemy ‘Mechs. They were mounting alternating slashing attacks on the Demolisher, now the only Marik Militia assault class vehicle left smoldering. Granston waited until his target slowed to turn and then fired. One Gauss Rifle shot went wide the other impacting the Huron Warriors right arm amputating it at the shoulder. It went cart wheeling across the battlefield. Warning sirens went off in Granston's own cockpit as the Axe Man's return fire stripped the last of the armor off Midnight's left arm, seizing the shoulder joint.

"Come on then you bastard." Granston shouted to himself as the range between the combatants closed. Another Gauss Rifle slug along with a trio of medium lasers impacted the Axe Man, but failed to score telling damage on the enemy’s pristine armor. Laser fire and 15 LRMs flew the other way, blasting off more armor from the Fafnir, the temperature in Midnight's cockpit spiked noticeably as a pair of heat sinks were put out of action by penetrating shots. Granston didn't notice, focusing entirely on his enemy, he closed to point blank range, firing from his last cassette of Gauss Rifle ammo as he did so. Weathering the storm, the Axe Man came on, swinging its hatchet, smashing the Fafnir's right shoulder heavy Gauss Rifle gun port. Snarling with rage, Granston lashed out with his ‘Mech's leg, the contact staggered the Axe Man, but it soon recovered raising its hatchet for another strike. Pressing on regardless, Granston lashed out again, this time the knee joint buckled and the Axe Man fell to the ground. Without a second's pause, Granston stepped forward and brought his other foot down on his fallen opponent's cockpit, crushing it underfoot in a tangle of twisted metal and blood.

The remaining enemy Huron Warrior turned to face Granston and hesitated. Midnight's armor was almost entirely depleted, out of ammo, with critical internal damage. But the Huron Warrior pilot didn't know that, all he saw was a fiery avatar of death, crouched over the remains of his dead comrade, glaring at him as its next victim. In that moment his nerve broke, turning his ‘Mech, he ran as fast as he could to get away. But, in his haste he forgot the Demolisher he had been engaging. Seconds late the Huron Warrior crashed to the earth, victim of a catastrophic ammunition explosion as the Demolisher's 280mm auto cannon shells penetrated its weak rear armor.

Breathing deeply to calm himself, Granston took stock. Jack's opponents had broken off and would not likely be back any time soon. His ‘Mech was seriously damaged, but not crippled while only the Demolisher, two Bulldog Medium Tanks, a Pegasus Hover Tank remained of the Militia's combat units. The scout company that had been circling him was still there, but they were showing no interest of closing to engage.

"This is Major Granston, Granston’s Gearheads. Who's in charge here?"

"I think I am Sir. I'm Lieutenant Falken, Mizar Militia, Escort Division." The Demolisher pilot responded. "Thank you for the save, thought we were done for."

We might well still be. Granston kept that thought to himself, the junior officer didn't need to hear that right now. "No problem." He was about to continue when he noticed the Pegasus.

"Do you have communications with the fleet."

"Yes Sir, Ikari's Colossus Class DropShip is trying to set up an extraction LZ. We're heading there now, so are some other units."

Granston knew Commodore Ikari from old, a fellow veteran of Operation Bulldog, she had a flare for the dramatic. But more important than that, where you found Ikari you inevitably found the Vengeance class dropship 'Furious' and Captain Frank Voight's compliment of aerospace fighters. A plan started to form in his mind's eye.

"Has anyone taken command of the evac yet?"

"Not that I'm aware of, we haven't made contact with any formation bigger that a company." Falken replied.

"Right, I'm taking command." Granston didn't bother waiting for the Lieutenant's consent, he simply assumed he had it. "Patch me into your comms net, callsign ‘Rider Leader’." He smiled to himself.

"I have a plan."

NPC
Major Alexander Granston
Fafnir Prime
1st Battalion
Battalion Command Lance
Commanding Officer
GRANSTON'S GEARHEADS BATTALION

Word Count 2429
CONTRACT TOTAL 61,404
Last edited by Gunther Price on Thu May 25, 2017 10:31 am, edited 1 time in total.
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE

	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
 
LA-SC-08-01 #35

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Solasia
Bahrain
IAC Recon ‘Base’
Glazer Farm
Abandoned Farmhouse
Shun VTOL
‘Spectre’
Troop Bay
11th February 3096 1010 Local (Nouveau Paris)

Painted in a charcoal gray with no markings but a small Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry flag on the vertical stabilizer, the Tengo Aerospace Industries Shun VTOL Transport, affectionately known to the members of the IAC as ‘Spectre’, soared above a cushion of pearl white clouds blanketing the glaring waters of the Sea of Grace like a giant, featherless pterodactyl over a Mesozoic landscape.

The Shun VTOL came with the appearance of battle armor in the arsenals of the Clans in 3050, and changed warfare as the Inner Sphere knew it, and it was soon after that that the Inner Sphere began seeing nations attempt their own suits and ways to transport them. The four - man squads required something more substantial in terms of capacity than the existing APCs did, and over time as battle armor have increased in variety so too have the means of moving them about. By the 3080s, there's no doubt that an army isn't complete without armored infantry - they're as much a vital asset as any Battlemech. But the fact remains that moving them can be difficult sometimes, and anything that ensures they reach the field safely is vital. Having them shot off the hull of an Omnimech before they reach the field, then is subpar. So too is finding the vehicle they were moving around in has been disabled or destroyed, and they've become the eggs inside a smashed egg carton. So if a commander wants to move them safely, but quickly enough that they arrive when you need them to. It appears that the Shun is an impressive testament to the manufacturer’s efforts.

Start by opening the engine bay, as usual, and there is a surprise there. Even in the 3080s, where vehicles are as likely to have advanced and expensive equipment as a Mech, finding an XL engine in a mere transport chopper is a surprise - and hints at just how intriguing this aircraft really is. The non - fossil fuel power plant means heat sinks, which see use in the armor, and the miniscule weight means the Shun moves at a respectable 121 kph max movement curve. That's not going to win a ton of awards- the stalwart old Karnov, for example, runs rings around it. But it's plenty enough to quickly move in and drop off the troops, and at the end of the day anything the Shun does revolves around doing that job as efficiently as possible. One hundred twenty one kilometers per hour is fine for transport duty.

The armor is perhaps not a huge surprise to battle armor – the Shun is equipped stealth armor on this, with the ECM suite needed to power it and the heat sinks to run it. The speed, combined with the armor's bonuses, should mean that Shuns will be hard to hit as they approach an LZ. The surprise is in the amount of that armor - even if a Shun does get hit by lucky shots, it's not likely to care. An Assault Class Autocannon test isn't often used on a VTOL - why bother? But here it is, completely stymied by six tons of protection, ALL locations (rotor aside obviously), can survive a blast from a 419mm round without even breaching the armor. The front and rear have five inches of Hellespoint plate armor, the sides another three, suggesting that Shuns are intended to land in amongst an enemy formation to unload their deadly cargo, and thus might take fire from any direction as they do so. Dropping a Shun, then is a challenge - it's hard to hit it to begin with, it doesn't much mind if it does get hit now and then. This is one tough egg carton.

The eggs inside will have to provide their own fire support, because Shuns don't really waste much time on helping the cause. Two Mydron Magshot gauss rifles are fitted under the nose, sharing one ton of ammo. These give nice range to the Shun, without using the heat sinks up. But ... not much damage, so enemies aren't likely to run for cover to escape an angry Shun. Maybe they should though ... tucked in with those rifles is a TAG laser. What's worse than an impossible – to - kill chopper showing up with a horde of armored infantry in your backfield? Getting nailed by homing missiles called in by nearby Catapults and the like as the Shuns make their drop. Ohhhhhh, that’s gotta hurt. It's one of the few things not devoted to making infantry delivery on the Shun, but it's a huge capability for it. Even after the troops are dropped off, a Shun can make high - speed(ish) passes on tough enemy targets, relying on its stealthy, tough skin to protect it, providing support to artillery. If a commander love using Arrow artillery, that's no small consideration.

The Shun has a one - ton targeting computer guiding the Magshot gauss rifles. This is an odd choice on the Shun, since really it doesn't help the guns a great deal, not nearly as much as, say, more Magshots or a couple of rocket launchers would. But, if the designers had already investing in an XL engine, stealth armor, etc., why the hell not go totally nuts?

Finally, the infantry bay ... a cavernous, 12-ton bay that can hold three squads of battle armor, or four of regular infantry, or a full week’s worth of supplies and rations for an infantry platoon. There's no shortage of fun ideas for what to stuff in there. A few Shuns hauling Battle Armor can wildly change the tide of a battle with ease. Even regular infantry, like SRM platoons, aren't to be forgotten. Surprise anti - Mech platoons dropped into a choke point can be very concerning.

Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry Staff Sergeant Markus Glass was quite at home in his cockpit office flying over the open sea. Normally, he flew back and forth between battle zones, insertion areas, and the bivouacs scattered around any given planet, transporting troops, equipment, and supplies. This trip they had been abruptly pressed into service by the IAC’s XO to fly the hurriedly assembled technical teams with repair kits, armor patches, and provisions to the main Solasia continent and drop them off at the IAC Recon Base which was an old abandoned Farmhouse called Glazer Farms.

Glass looked more like a public relations director than a pilot. White hair neatly trimmed, always ready with a smile, he was always volunteering to help out the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry. On most flights, he read a book, while his copilot, Sergeant Amy Glass, a half pint FedRat whose feet could barely reach the helos rudder pedals when she was seated, tended the controls and instruments. Almost reluctantly, he glanced from his book, The Eirstien Papers by Charles Dirge, out his side window and then at the Global Positioning System display.

“Time to go back to work,” he announced, putting aside the book. He turned and smiled at Tech Sergeant Kenia Bruin, who sat perched on a stool behind the pilots. “It’s almost time to begin pre breathing, Tech Sergeant, and acclimate yourselves to the oxygen.”

Kenia stared through the windshield over the pilot’s heads, but all she saw was cloud cover. She assumed that a corner of the main Solasia continent was looming unseen ahead and below the VTOL.

“How’s my time?”

Glass nodded at the instrument panel. “We’ll be over your release point in one hour. Are your men ready and eager?”

“Ready, maybe, but I’d hardly describe them as eager. They’ve all jumped from an aircraft at thirty - five thousand feet at one time or another, but not while it was traveling at well over hundred kilometers an hour. We’re used to feeling the aircraft slow down before the ramp lowers.”

“Sorry I can’t bring you in closer, slower, and lower,” said Glass sympathetically. “The trick is for you and your men to land on the farm without your chutes being discovered in the air. My orders state in no uncertain terms for me to make my flight appear to be the routine supply run to McMurdo Sound in a normal flight pattern. I’ve shaved it as close as I dare without raising suspicion. As it is, you’ll have to glide nearly ten kilometers to your target zone just outside the security net.”

“The wind is blowing from the sea, so that’s in your favor,” offered Amy.

“The cloud cover helps, too,” Kenia said slowly. “And if Marik has a functioning radar system, the operator will have to have four eyes to detect us from the exact moment we exit until we deploy our canopies.”

Glass made a slight course change and then said, “I don’t envy you, Tech Sergeant jumping from a nice warm airplane into an icy blast one hundred degrees below zero.”

Kenia smiled. “At least you didn’t hand me the tired old pilot’s line about ‘jumping from a perfectly good chopper.’ I appreciate that.”

They all laughed for a few moments at the inside joke among professionals. For decades, parachutists had been posed the question, “Why do you jump from a perfectly good helicopter?” usually by pilots. The stock answer Kenia usually gave was “When a perfectly good helicopter exists, then I’ll quit jumping.”

“As for the cold,” Kenia continued, “our electrically heated environmental suits will keep us from turning into icicles while we descend to a warmer altitude.”

“The clouds extend, too, within a thousand feet of the ground, so you’ll be falling blind most of the way, since your compasses and GPS instruments are ineffective,” said Amy.

“The men are well trained for that. The key to a successful high - altitude, low - opening infiltration jump is to exit at the correct grid coordinate upwind, and have everyone under canopy at relatively the same altitude.”

“We’ll put you out on a silver quarter. But it won’t be no picnic.”

“No,” said Kenia solemnly. “I’m sure that in the first minute after we drop from the chopper, we’ll wish we were falling into a fiery hell instead.”

Glass checked the instrument panel again. “After you and your men finish pre breathing, I’ll decompress the cabin. Immediately afterward, I’ll pass on the twenty - and ten - minute warnings to you JumpMaster, Private 1st Class Jaime Holt. Then I’ll notify you over the intercom when we’re six minutes from the release point. At two minutes out, I’ll lower the ramp.”

“Understood.”

“At one minute out,” Glass went on, “I’m going to ring the alarm bell once. Then, when we’re directly over the release point, I’ll turn on the green light. At the airspeed we’ll be flying, you’ll have to get out quickly as a group.”

“Our intentions exactly.”

“Good luck to you,” said Glass, twisting in his pilot’s seat and shaking hands with the Tech Sergeant.

Kenia smiled faintly. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Our pleasure,” Glass said genuinely. “But I hope we don’t have to do it again anytime soon.”

“Nor do I.”

Kenia stood and straightened, left the cockpit, and walked aft into the helicopter’s cavernous cargo bay. The eight men and women seated inside were a serious - faced group, dogged and dead calm, considering the uncertain peril they were about to encounter. They were young. Their ages ranged from twenty to twenty eight. There was no laughter or unproductive conversation, no grousing or complaining. To a man they were absorbed in checking and rechecking their equipment. They were a composite of the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry’ finest Technicians, hastily thrown together on the spur of the moment from the Field Engineering Platoon to provide support for a section of IAC Battle Armor and a Gallowglas heavy class ‘Mech that were on recon - operations throughout Mizar. A squad of Fenrir Battle Armor, a squad of the IAC Battle Armor Platoon’s Rottweiler armor, and a rookie ‘Mechwarrior Sergeant, piloting a Gallowglas GAL - 4GLSA . . . a combined band of secret warriors on a mission unlike any ever conceived.

The Technicians were seated on their heavy rucksacks, wearing parachutes, and were engaged in completing jumpmaster inspections. The rucksacks were full of survival gear, food rations, and repair tools for whatever the specialty each member were responsible for. The Fenrir Techs’ brought a ‘Mech grade ER Medium Laser, a 5cm deadly killer weapon and a ‘Mech grade Medium Pulse Laser, an automatic laser that fired a series of laser beams. The team of Rottweiler Battle Armor Techs carried remote sensors, spare magazines, and David gauss rifle shells. The Gallowglass Tech squad brought their spanner tools and repair kits. The BA military grade power packs, fuel cells and armor patches weighed nearly five hundred pounds each and were carried in crates strapped down inside the Shun VTOL. Inside each team member’s visored helmet was a navigation board, complete with a Military Communicator, AV 7 vs Flash, and a holovid marine compass and digital altimeter, both clearly visible to the jumper while gliding under his canopy.

Tech Sergeant Kenia Bruin led the Battle Armor Platoon’s Fenrir Tech Team while Tech Sergeant Patricia Skarsvåg was in command of the Recon Section’s Rottweiler Tech Team. Senior technician, Tech Sergeant Gerda Ch'oe’s Gallowglas Tech Team, the Gallowglas had dropped onto Solasia from the Union Class DropShip, The Sword of Valor incoming from Mizr’s Nadir JumpPoint, was also part of the recon force. The combined group was under the command of Kenia Bruin, a veteran Battle Armor Technician, who had been about to return to Alcor on leave with her boyfriend enjoying the Sumo Wrestling Championship in South Normandy, when she was whisked away on a minute’s notice to take command of the Fenrir repair unit. It had to be the second time in the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry history that separate special units were merged to work as one.

For this mission, every man and woman would be utilizing a new ram air parachute system for the first time, called the MT 1Z or Zulu. With a four to one; lift to drag ratio, the canopy could travel four meters horizontally for every meter descended, an advantage that did not go unappreciated among the three teams.

Kenia scanned the two rows of men. The nearest PFC, Harry Weaver, tilted his head and grinned. A grey bearded grizzled newbie wit with a gross sense of humor, and a friend, he was one of the few who actually looked forward to the suicidal plunge. Harry had been ‘chasing helicopters’ for years, achieving the status of Military Free Fall Instructor at the DMM’s prestigious Special Forces Military Free Fall School on Terra in Yuma, Arizona. When not off on a mission or training, Harry could be found skydiving with civilians for the fun of it.

Kenia had barely had time to glance at service records of Patricia, Carina and Gerda, but she knew they were the best of the best turned out by the Department of Mercenary Management for armored infantry missions. Though she was an old LAAF Infantryman, she well knew the battle armor and armored infantry teams were among the finest Technicians in the Inner Sphere.

As she looked from face to face, she thought that if they survived the jump and glide to the target site, they then had the Marik’s security force to contend with. A well armed and trained small army of fanatics, she was told, many of whom had served in the very same War as the men and women on the chopper. No, Kenia concluded. This would be no picnic.

“How soon?” Weaver asked tersely.

“Less than an hour,” Kenia answered, moving down the line of men and alerting Patricia, Carina and Gerda. Then she stood in the middle of the united Technical Group and gave them final instructions. Satellite aerial photos were carried by everyone in a compartment of their environ suits, to be studied once they had fallen into the clear and opened their canopies. Their target landing site was a large abandoned farm just outside the main campus of Glazer Farms, whose broken, uneven landscape offered them a small degree of protection when regrouping after the jump.

Coordination was to take place once each unit was on the ground and assembled for the repair and refit mission. Any who was injured upon landing would have to suffer the cold and be dealt with later, after the they were secure under the protective umbrella of the ‘Mech and 1st Lieutenant, Jan 'Wandler' Luftensteiner, battle armor recon team, they would organize a rescue team and go back for their wounded.

Satisfied that each person knew what was expected of him, Kenia moved to the rear of the cargo bay and donned her parachute and rucksack. Then she had Patricia give her a complete jumpmaster inspection, with emphasis on her oxygen breathing apparatus for the long fall.

Finally, she silhouetted herself with her back to the closed cargo ramp in the floor and waved her hands to get the assembled team’s attention. From this point on, communication with the entire Tech team would be conducted by hand and arm signals, which was standard operating procedure. The only voice communications until the jump would be between Kenia, Weaver, Carina, Gerda, Patricia and Glass in the cockpit. Once they exited the VTOL and were under canopy, each technician could communicate with individual throat mics over secure frequencies.

“Pilot, this is Private 1st Class Jamie Holt, the jump master.”

“I read you, Jump Master,” came back Glass’s voice. “Ready on the mark?”

“Jump master checks complete. Oxygen pre breathing is under way.”

Kenia took an empty seat and studied her three teams. ‘So far, it was going well, almost too well’, he thought. This is the time when Murphy’s Law came sneaking around, and Kenia wasn’t about to allow Mr. Murphy any opportunities. She was pleased to see the technicians were fully alert and primed.

They wore hoods under their helmets to gain additional protection from the harsh subzero temperatures. Galeforce yellow - lens for fog and overcast were attached to the helmets, resting up on their heads and leaving the technician’s eyes clearly visible to Kenia and the oxygen technician so they could check for any signs of hypoxia. They sported Lyran Alliance Infantry Armor Kit with thick ballistic plate armor. The heating units in their marine environmental suits were activated, and each man checked his buddy to make certain that all equipment was properly organized and in place. Bungee cords and web straps were strategically laced around each technician’s Infantry Armor and equipment to prevent them from being torn away by the great burst of air expected upon their exit from the ramp.

After they checked their radios to confirm that each was transmitting and receiving, Kenia stood up and moved near the closed ramp. Facing her Tech Teams again, she saw that all the technicians were giving her their undivided attention. Once again, she motioned to the man nearest her left with a thumbs - up signal and then he jumped from ‘Spectre’
.
NPC
Tech Sergeant
Kenia Bruin
Battle Armor Technical Support
Fenrir Alpha Squad
Field Engineering Platoon
Support Section
INGERSOLL’S ARMORED CAVALRY

Word Count 3241
CONTRACT TOTAL 64,645
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE

	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
  
LA-SC-08-01 #36

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Solasia
Alamogordo
Sears Mountains
3rd Quarter, 3095 time unknown

'Think small thoughts, think small thoughts.' It wasn't much of a mantra but it made Private First Class Racquel Martinez feel better as her Wolverine hunkered down inside the scruffy forest. Her heart hammered in her chest as she watched the vibration gauge steadily rise as the Marik Militia patrol grew closer. Mechs are not by their nature particularly stealthy, typically a heavy scout like herself would rely upon speed as much as anything to keep her safe. Problem was neither her Wolverine nor her wingman's Dervish were particularly fast by modern standards.

The vibrations stopped suddenly, Racquel couldn't see the enemy ‘Mechs, but she knew they had to have paused right outside the woods. Her mind raced, 'have they seen us', 'what do we do if they have?' She held her breath for what seemed an eternity before her sensors picked up vibrations again. The patrol, apparently satisfied that the woods were clear, was moving off.

"What now boss?" Private First Class Paul Wagner used the laser link to communicate. The radio would risk giving away their position.

"Give it a few more minutes, let them clear the area." Strictly speaking Racquel was not Paul's boss, they were of equal rank and besides their actual 'boss', Captain Joachim Ulbrecht, actively discouraged slavish adherence to rank and protocol, especial in the field. But Racquel had been with the Gearheads from the start and was piloted her family's ‘Mech while Paul had been with the unit a couple of months and his ‘Mech had been salvaged from a scrapheap on Mira. Racquel had somewhat taken him under her wing and for his part he was mostly happy to follow her lead. She counted the seconds in her head, estimating how long it would take the patrol to clear the area.

"Ok follow me." Slowly easing her Wolverine upright she pushed out towards the edge of the woods. Sensors showed clear, but that didn't mean much, the terrain here was broken by steep hills and thick forest that could easily hide a ‘Mech. "Here we go then." Pushing the throttle fully forwards, Racquel broke into the open fast, Paul right behind her. Earlier there had been four of them, but 1st Lieutenant Maximillian Jacobi and Sergeant Keith Steuben had broken off to dummy a Marik Militia lance away from them, opening up a route for the lighter ‘Mechs to slip through and continue their mission to make contact with the main body. Racquel was beginning to wonder if that main body still existed, they had already travelled 31km and were getting nothing but jamming on the radio, nor had they seen any evidence of friendly troops.

The two medium ‘Mechs slipped round behind a hill and made another fast break across the open ground between it and the next cluster of trees. Racquel decided they'd give it another 9km to make an even 40, then they would return to the rendezvous point Captain Guderian had specified. Any further than that and they would miss the rendezvous time and then they really would be lost.

"Another 20 minutes and we'll call it …. Christ break left!"

Racquel threw her ‘Mech to the side barely missing the Marik Militia Jackal that had blundered out of the woods directly into her path. Caught completely by surprise, the enemy pilot failed to react at first, appear to stare in dumb shock as Racquel and Paul's ‘Mechs hurtled by him, then he turned in pursuit.

"I think he might have seen us." Paul joked across the laser line.

"Maybe." Racquel couldn't see his face but knew he would be sporting a massive grin, he lived for this sort of thing. "Hang a right." She ordered as she brought her ‘Mech round a flat topped hill, looking for any cover that would break line of sight. The Jackal was fast, but had a heat variance that would cause the ‘Mech to overheat if it fired it’s main gun, an ER PPC, to often and they had a head start. However, it was also broadcasting their position and if Racquel's sensors were doing their job at least three other ‘Mechs had responded and were converging on their position. They needed to lose their tail and fast.

"Left side this one." Speed vs cover, the left side of the woods lacked any real cover, but the right side was poor going. Hopefully, the enemy would be deceived but she doubted it. Extended Range PPCfire cut in front of her, cutting a swath through the trees as a Hermes II crested a hill to join the chase. Left, right, right again, Racquel picked routes on instinct, travelling far too fast to properly examine the map as she went. Time was running short as she searched franticly for a way to evade the pursuers. A flight of SRMs impacted Racquel's ‘Mech smashing the rear armor plating. Warning klaxons sounding in her ears she made a break for a tree line, only to stop dead as she found herself staring down the barrels of a trio of PPCs.

Racquel braced, knowing she was far too close to avoid the ambush, she waited for oblivion to wash over her, yet it never came. The world lit up as the lance of Schrek PPC Carriers opened fire on the pursing Hermes II, the impact annihilated the medium ‘Mech, its armor never intended to withstand such firepower. The Jackal' pilot hesitated for a moment and then withdraw sharply.

Racquel maneuvered her ‘Mech into the woods as she brought her breathing under control, genuinely surprised to be alive. Focusing on the tanks flank she recognized the emblem, the clenched fist of the Mizar Planetary Defense Force.

"Hey up, the MPDF’ers" She hailed them on the open frequency. "PFC Martinez, Granston’s Gearheads, thanks for the assistance, we were sent to look for you."

"Captain Mathers, Mizar PDF, not a problem, it's what we do. Switch to channel 16."

Switching to MPDF's radio frequency Racquel and Captain Mathers quickly swapped notes on their respective situations.

"Hang on a moment. This missing Major of yours, wouldn't happen to be a Granston, would he?" Mathers asked.

"That's right, you've seen him?"

"Seen him? He's the one organizing the evacuation! Give me a minute and I'll patch you through to him, I imagine he'll want to talk to you."

The line went to static for a few moments before Major Granston's voice came through, somewhat broken by the ever present jamming.

"Bravo Striker Four, good to hear from you, this is ‘Rider Leader’ report situation."

Fifteen Kilometers away Granston sat in his ‘Mechs cockpit as he grimly listened to Racquel's report. It was much as he had feared, the Gearheads were a good 15km further away that he'd estimated, well beyond the range of the reconnaissance flights Captain Frank Voight's aerospace fighters had conducted earlier and well outside his time estimations for the evacuation flights.

"Ok Bravo Striker Four, I understand the situation, wait out."

Quickly he reviewed the situation. The evacuation was due to begin in 30 minutes, with the last dropship to depart the surface within the hour. The Gearheads were too far away to fight their way to him in time. Nor could he spare any troops to assist their break out. While he'd managed to merged most of the scattered bands of fugitives into a number of company sized battle groups, he knew that they were really paper tigers, too badly cut up to retain much actual fighting power. He had formed two flying columns from the least damaged ‘Mechs, but Sergeant Major Jack Hortenz's Uziel was already heavily engaged to the north and he'd just dispatched the other to parry a Marik Militia thrust in the west. Neither would be available in time. His HQ group was currently unengaged, hidden a mere 5km from the evacuation point as technicians made frantic repairs to their crippled ‘Mechs and tanks but as it stood, none were in a fit state to fight, nor would they be anytime soon. The Gearheads would have to fend for themselves and he'd have to beg Ikari for another pick up at a different LZ.

"Ok Bravo Striker Four, I need you to carry a message back to Bravo Command Actual. I'm sending you some coordinates, a dropship will land there at 1740. That's the only window we've got, make sure your all there. Understood"

"Understood Sir." Racquel replied. "On my way."

"Good luck Private, see you on the other side. ‘Rider Leader’, out."

NPC
Private First Class Racquel Martinez
Wolverine WLV – 7H
2nd Company
Striker Lance
Heavy Recon
GRANSTON'S GEARHEADS BATTALION

Word Count 1462
CONTRACT TOTAL 66,107
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE

	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
    
LA-SC-08-01 #37

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Solasia
Alamogordo
Sears Mountains
3rd Quarter, 3095 time unknown

"Where's the bloody DropShip!"

It was a fair question, they were in the right spot, at the right time, but their ride wasn't, all the more distressing because that had been their only realistic chance of surviving this assault.

"It'll be here." Captain Hans Guderian responded, glad that his XO, Master Sergeant Mikael Stepanovich, had stuck to a private channel. If Stepanovich was on edge the rest of 1st Company would be a lot worse and right now they would need the reassurance of feeling that the command team had this all under control. All the more important because Hans wasn't sure he did. He switched frequencies so he could address the whole formation.

"All callsigns this is Alpha Command Actual." He paused to ensure he had everyone's attention. "As you may have noticed our ride is not here. It will be shortly; in the meantime, we're holding this position to ensure they have a safe LZ to land at. Individual tasks will be detailed soon. Keep your heads up, do yourselves proud, no one do anything stupid."

Switching frequencies, he rapidly fired off orders to his sub - commanders. Stepanovich was to reorganize the heavy lance into a battle ready forward section under Staff Sergeant Geoffry Garret. It was a reserve formation made up of those ‘Mechs that could no longer be expected to stand in the line under Lieutenant Beatrice Fairbrooks. Captain Joachim Ulbrecht was to do the same with the 2nd company and then take his forward section to support the rear guard currently manned by the Infantry Company. Captain Soo Chen of the support group was to start reloading those ‘Mechs of the reserve group that could still fight, if they had ammo to do so, there wouldn't be time for fitting replacement armor. That left the Infantry Company.

"Delta Command Actual this is Alpha Command Actual, what's your situation?"

"I think we've seen better days, but we're holding." Brevetted Captain Mariko Shibata replied after a short delay. The original infantry commander, Captain Jessika Heinkel, had been killed when Marik raided the Castle Complex in Nouveau Paris. Hans could clearly hear the sounds of weapons fire and explosions over the radio. The fighting was obviously not far from her command post. "Nice speech by the way. Really brought a tear to my eye."

Hans ignored the comment, Mariko liked to try and wind ‘Mechwarriors up, it was almost her hobby. "I'm rearming my ‘Mechs, how long can you buy us?"

"As it stands, probably 15 minutes before my casualties start to become untenable. I can give you 25, but loses will be very heavy." Mariko replied.

Hans took a moment to consider it, he needed time to reload, but every round loaded now cost lives of the infantry screening his ‘Mechs. Normally this wouldn't be his call, Mariko outranked him due to the fact that she command more men than he did, but long standing military tradition gave ‘Mech officers seniority over officers in their supporting formation so she would expect him to decide.

"Give me 20 and I can get most of my ‘Mechs back in the field in that time. Call it sooner if you need to."

"We'll do our part. See you on the other side. Out."

Hans watched as the area around his heavy Class Penetrator became a hive of activity. Lacking heavy equipment, technicians were unloading individual rounds from their transports and manhandling them to waiting ‘Mechs. It was hard and dangerous work, but no other option presented itself. Just beyond their perimeter the artillery platoon of the Infantry Company was digging positions to allow for all round defense of the LZ. It was these positions that whatever was left of the two forward companies would occupy when the rear guard withdrew. Joachim's forward section was already in motion, splitting in two to cover the rear guard's flanks and maybe draw some fire away from them. Seconds ticked by and the pressure on the rear guard steadily mounted. A steady stream of casualties was being ferried back to what passed for the field hospital, little more than a series of canvas tents utterly exposed to enemy fire. Incredible a smaller stream was limping the other way, walking wounded making their way back to man the perimeter. Hans resisted the temptation to go forward, to personally supervise the fight. That was Mariko's job and she was doing fine. He should be figuring out his next move, but he kept coming to the same conclusion. He was gambling the entire unit's existence on the arrival of their DropShip, if the navy didn't pull through the Gearheads would cease to exist within the hour. Until then all that was left to do was to resist, to the last round if that was what it took.

"Alpha Command Actual, this is Delta Command Actual, we are withdrawing." Hans could hear the strain in Mariko's voice. She had held on till the last minute and it had cost the Infantry Company dearly, the number of Byakko Assault Hover Tanks emerging from the woods, accompanying the survivors to the dubious safety of the perimeter, was but a fraction of those that had escorted them into battle.

"Roger." Hans acknowledged the report but was already switching to the battalion frequency.

"This is it Gearheads, remember the eyes of your forefathers are upon you, do them proud. Bravo Command Actual, rally behind the heavies, all Alpha callsigns, advance!"

Split into two lines the heavy company advanced, their armor was scorched and rent by weapons fire, but the techs had used the time the Infantry Company had brought them wisely, every ‘Mech carried at least a partial load of ammunition. Hans settled his crosshairs on the first enemy ‘Mech, a Apollo chasing down a Gearhead Byakko Hover.

"Watch my targets."

Hans squeezed the trigger and the enemy ‘Mech rocked back on its heels as LRM Warheads and large laser fire impact its chest. It hesitated and then disappeared in a blaze of explosions as the rest of the company opened fire on it. The ‘Mech collapsed in a heap as its pilot ejected to safety. Dispassionately Hans switched targets, a Bombardier this time, he ignored the return fire as the range shrank waiting for the crosshairs to line up before firing again. Klaxons sounded as a flight of LRMs impacted his right flank, he shrugged it off as he continued to fire upon his opponent until, its right leg crippled, it fell to the ground, out of action. By now the opposing companies had become intermingled, all order falling away as each individual ‘Mechwarrior tried to survive in the melee. With Stepanovich covering his flank, Hans picked out an Awesome as his opponent, matching large lasers against PPCs, swapping volley for volley. He risked a glance at the TAC screen. Staff Sergeant Garret was doing sterling work keeping his section together while Lieutenant Beatrice had kept the reserves in a position where they could fire in support. But, it wasn't going to be enough. A second enemy company was closing fast and would certainly overwhelm them.

"Bravo Command Actual, close order attack, my right flank."

It wasn't an order Captain Joachim Ulbrecht relished, his troops were trained and equipped to fight as skirmishers not assault troops. But it had to be done and he knew only one way to make the order stick.

"All Bravo callsigns. One last push, one last charge, into their right flank. Follow me!"

Joachim kicked his battle scarred Warhammer forward, ignoring the warning that he was pushing the damaged gyro to its limit, he didn't look back, he knew his troops would be following. Joachim picked a newly arrived Griffin as his target, holding his fire till the last moment, he let off a point blank volley as he kicked out, knocking his enemy off his feet. Joachim was vaguely away of the rest of his company rushing in behind him to finish the Griffin off, but he had already swept by, lost in the swirling melee. A Crusader came into view and he gave it both barrels, taking a handful of laser blasts in return before again the tide swept the Crusader from sight and he found himself in a melee with an Axe Man. His Joachim 'Mech rocked back on its haunches as the Axe Man's auto cannon connected The last of Joachim's torso armor falling clear.

"Come on then you bastard!" Joachim shouted as he returned fire. He tried to open the range but trapped in the melee had nowhere to go. The Axe Man rushed forwards, hatchet raised high in the air. Instinctively Joachim raised his right arm to block the blow. The impact jarred his ‘Mech, throwing him about in his harness as the right arm ER PPC’s symbol went black on his HUD. Joachim kicked out with his left leg as he returned fire with both his ER medium lasers. The Axe Man drew back for another blow, Joachim tried to block but his enemy predicted it and the hatchet impacted into the side of Joachim's Warhammer's head.

There was blood in his eyes and he could taste more in his mouth. His ears rang like church bells and for a moment he was too stunned to react. The Axe Man drew back his weapon in triumph, readying the final blow. Just as the hatchet started its downwards swing, Joachim threw his ‘Mech forward under its reach. Swearing and cursing he attacked like a madman, kicking, punching, firing, doing whatever he could do to hurt his opponent. He ignored the steadily climbing heat scale, he ignored the weapons impacts and the mounting internal damage utterly focused on his opponent's defeat. Punching the ruined ER PPC arm forward into the Axe Man's torso he almost felt the armor give way, before both ‘Mechs were bathed in fire as the Axe Man's ammunition exploded. As his enemy slid from his ‘Mech's outstretched arm, Joachim tried to take stock, numerous ‘Mechs were down on both sides, mostly the enemies but the Gearheads were being pushed back, most of their ‘Mechs reporting critical damage. A series of laser impacts brought him back to the battle, a Guillotine bore down on his position, lining up its massive heavy PPC for the killing shot. Joachim tried to return fire, but none of his weapon systems were responding. He tensed his leg muscles, preparing for a last desperate dodge with his jump jets, when suddenly the Guillotine stumbled and fell forwards onto its face, a green and brown Uziel stood behind it, weapons smoking from a recent discharge.

“Jack!”, Joachim instinctively grasped, but how had he got there? Only now could he start to hear the radio over the ringing in his ears.

"It's the ’Warspite’!"

Joachim looked up and his heart soared. Every Gearhead’s rookie recruit knew of the ’Warspite’, the broken down, second hand, fresh off the scrap heap Colossus Class DropShip that had carried the Gearhead’s into battle again the United Leadership of the Tikonov Republican Army during the ULTRA invasion. The DropShip that had been shot up and crippled again and again, yet had always managed to pull through and get her charges out of trouble. Never once had she let her crew down and here the old lady was again, to once more pull the Gearheads out of the fire.

Aerospace fighters buzzed round the battle like angry wasps, engaging any targets that presented themselves as the ’Warspite’ settled down in the LZ, her own guns firing into the enemy ranks. The landing ramp came down and the black bulk of ‘Midnight’ stalked down towards the enemy, firing as she went. Too badly damaged to hot drop beside Jack, she still represented a significant amount of mobile firepower.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are leaving!" Granston shouted over the all units' radio band. "Mechwarriors, cover! Everyone else get on board, NOW!"

It wasn't a dignified or orderly withdrawal, but the sudden appearance of a DropShip and her aerospace fighter escort had thrown the enemy into disorder and confusion. None the less it cost the Gearheads’ ‘Mechwarriors dearly to hold the line for the few minutes needed to get everyone else on board. Slowly they collapsed the perimeter as the technicians and wounded were evacuated, then the heavy/medium company withdrew and the last of the Infantry Company dragged their support weapons onto transports before driving up the loading ramp at breakneck speed. At length only Granston, Hans, Jack and Stepanovich remained outside as the heavy company withdrew.

"We've got this Sir. Go." Hans radioed Granston. Granston made to protest but then remembering the perilous state of his armor turned and ran his ‘Mech up the ramp followed closely by Jack. Firing as they went, Hans and Stepanovich walked backwards up the ramp, until they, too, were inside.

"We're in, go Go GO!!!" Hans tried to contact the DropShip captain, he didn't need to, the main engines were already firing up and the acceleration warning klaxon sounding before the ramp had finished closing. Covered by her escort the ’Warspite's great bulk lifted off from Mizar's surface for the relative safety of a suborbital hop to the Utopian Isles..


. . . .



Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Tamarindo
Gearheads’ Secrete base
Unknown Location
Fourth Quarter, 3095 time unknown

With less than two companies of ‘Mechs aboard, the ’Warspite’'s third ‘Mechbay should have stood empty, instead it was filled with the cries of the wounded as the DropShips overstretched medical teams did their best to help those they could and ease the passing of those they couldn't. Major Alexander 'Rider Leader' Granston walked the aisles, offering comfort and reassurance where he could, a sympathetic ear where it was needed. He was exhausted and old war wounds were beginning to get the better of him, but he carried on anyway, refusing to limp, refusing to reveal just how tired he felt. This was part of his duty and he would carry it out until he collapsed if that was what it took. He owed it to those who had given everything while under his command.

"Doing alright Major?" Brevetted Captain Mariko Shibata propped herself out of her cot bed, her coal black hair matted with blood and a banding round her head covering her right eye.

Granston nodded as he walked over. "Serious?"

"Bit of a scratch." Mariko replied flippantly. "I'll need a new helmet though; this one's got a bit of a hole in it."

Granston managed a bit of a laugh, far from having a bit of a hole, the helmet was damn near in two pieces, it had obviously saved her life. "How's Suko?" Granston was reasonable sure he hadn't seen Mariko's granddaughter's name on the casualty lists.

"Fretting, had to order her to go get some sleep, she was going to worry me into an early grave if I let her." Mariko half - heartedly laughed at her own joke. "But she's alive and in one piece, thanks." She eased herself back down. "Sorry my heads killing me, I'll let you get on."

Granston nodded and turned to look across the hanger. 114 dead, 239 wounded, another 18 missing, nearly a 70% casualty rate. Not to mention 6 ‘Mechs destroyed, the remaining 22 seriously damaged and almost all their spares and heavy equipment lost in the retreat. The reports had made grim reading; he wasn't entirely sure how he was going to make good the damage before the next battle. More worryingly he wasn't sure how he could prevent a reoccurrence of today's casualties.

The intercom squeaked "Major Granston to the Bridge."

Granston walked over to a comm point. "Granston here, on my way." Climbing through the hanger's access hatch he made his way to the ladder way that would take him to the center of the DropShip. Ahead of him, beyond the ladder, the heavy/medium company had taken over an intersection. They were sat in a vague circle, each holding hands, heads bowed almost as if in prayer. Granston wasn't entirely sure what they were doing, but he knew it was part of their post battle ritual, a private remembrance of their dead. He wouldn't have disturbed them, except Joachim had already seen him and stood up to intercept him, resentment plain on his face.

Granston cut Joachim off before he could speak. "Say what they like Captain." He said as he somewhat awkwardly clasped a hand on the younger man's shoulder, yet he met Joachim's eyes with confidence and spoke with utter sincerity. "But you can fight." He nodded and then turned quickly and started to climb the ladder before the surprised officer could formulate a response.

Allison walked up behind Joachim. "Even a broken clock is right twice a day, I guess." She said with distain plain in her voice. Joachim didn't respond, he merely frowned, lost in thought as he tried in vain to find the hidden insult.

The climb wasn't far and the gravity was back to a comfortable 1G, but Granston's legs burned by the time he reached the bridge. Hans stood by top of the ladder, he knew better than to offer his arm to help his commander finish the climb.

"We've received a message from Commodore Ikari. Apparently you have to buy the beers at the next reunion." Hans decided to start with the good news.

Granston forced a smile. "I assume there's more."

Hans and the DropShip's First Mate swapped glances. The 1st Mate nodded and turned back to his charts.

"Intel says we're next Sir. The 10th's next objective will be the Gearheads total destruction."

Granston took a moment to let the information sink in. "Then Captain, we have work to do."

NPC
Major Alexander Granston
‘Rider Leader’
Fafnir Prime
1st Battalion
Battalion Command Lance
Commanding Officer
GRANSTON'S GEARHEADS BATTALION

Word Count 3000
CONTRACT TOTAL 69,107
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE



    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
 
LA-SC-08-01 #38

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Utopian Isle
Tamarindo
Copernicus Caldera
Galileo’s Tower
Search Grid Zulu Tango
March 20th 3096 10:45 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

The ’Seraphim’ had landed at the site the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry Executive Officer Gunther ‘Python’ Price and 1st Lieutenant Jan 'Wandler' Luftensteiner had pointed out as one of two possible locations for the hidden base. The Mizar Planetary Defense Force’s departure from the Utopian Isles in the morning had been a bittersweet one, as they knew in all likelihood that some of their friends in the PDF would be dead before noon.

That prediction was all too accurate. Jessika Winslet had died in her Demolisher tank when its engine went critical after being pierced by a concentrated volley of auto cannon and PPC fire. The PDF had lost four more tanks, but they had repulsed the Mariks.

The PDF were now led by a Robert Feehan, a new recruit they had picked up on Solasia. The name sounded familiar to Captain Erik ‘Harlequin’ Ingersoll, but that was just about the last thing on his mind as he grieved over Ensign Jessika 'Valkyrie' Garro’s death in his tent/office. Leaning against the tent's fabric wall with one hand while he read the after action report, he could barely process the information on it.

The rest of his IAC had been deployed to look for traces of the Granston’s Gearheads' base, equipped with topographic scanners and Geiger counters to detect trace radiation. The place had been nicknamed Copernicus Caldera by DropShip engineer, Technician 1st Class, Arthur Allan; and the name had stuck for convenience’s sake. All this left him in his tent/office back at Victor Bravo 117, supposedly to coordinate his units. He was not doing that though.

Do I love her? This question resounded in his mind over and over again as he replayed the times they had together. He knew that she loved him, but was it just childish adoration, or the love of a mature woman? He had never treated her like a lover until the night before, and even then it was more out of sympathy. In the past, he had simply regarded her as a close friend and an important ally. There had been numerous opportunities for him to reciprocate, but he had never felt the urge to.

And now, it was too late. He could feel the gaping hole in his heart, and it was even worse than when Josh Sa, the Fenrir Pilotr had died. Logically, he knew it was no fault of his that she died, that she knew the risks of combat. But he could not help feeling sorry for never returning her love. It was sadness tinged with regret.

He punched the tent pole in front of him, his fists hitting with such force that a picture hung on the same pole was shook loose from its place and clattered to the dirt floor. He wanted, no, needed the release.

Love cannot be made to order. Cliché, certainly, but no less true even in the 31st century. Jessika had offered her love without reservation, without really expecting anything from Erik in return. Erik, on the other hand, had never been obligated to love her back in return.

Correction. He did love her, but not in the romantic sense. It was the type of love between friends, nothing more, and nothing less. That did not make it meaningless, however. As he straightened up, he straightened out his thoughts as well. He need not feel ashamed that he did not take Jessika to be his lover, but his sadness was genuine and proper, for she had been an LAAF officer as well as a friend. She would have wanted him to avenge her, and to make the best out of the rest of his life.

That was her strong hint the previous night, when she had hinted at her true identity. As they shared their bodies, she had told him her dreams, her hopes for the future. She had also expressed her wishes concerning him, that he would stop wasting time running his Merc unit and return to his homeland. She had said he was too good to spend his whole life fighting for every House and minor faction that needed a merc.

Very well, Jessika. If that is your last wish, I will try my best to accomplish it. A look of determination appeared in his eyes as he set out his goals for the future. I never liked Eric Von Patton anyway.

As Erik walked out of his tent, he could feel a certain apprehension in the air, as though the whole FWLM were about to descend upon the small camp. Almost everyone was hard at work combing the area for clues, the Mechwarriors on over watch in their huge mounts, the tankers zipping through the perimeter in their light, nimble tanks, and the infantry using their eyes and handheld sensors to look for anomalies.

Nobody had any idea what the entrance might look like, but from previous accounts of discovery of hidden bases, a cave or a flat wall was always involved.

Erik was more skeptical, however. They were looking at this from a natural perspective. Who knows what the Gearheads might have thought up? And they might even be smart enough to put up holographic screens or something similar that the mercs are unable to think of, and thus unable to detect it The signs were encouraging, however. The background radiation was a bit higher than usual, which lends credence to the idea that Battlemechs had been used in the area before, probably as a can opener.

The single huge peak in the middle of the caldera had its summit at about 5000 meters above sea level, while its base and the caldera floor was two thousand meters below sea level. Surrounded on all four sides was the sea, about three clicks away from the edge of the caldera, which was about fifty kilometers across in diameter. The mountain in the middle, which they had dubbed Galileo’s Tower, was about ten kilometers across.

Erik had never seen such a weird geographic arrangement, and this was one further sign that they were looking in the right place. Thinking about it just gave him the shivers. They had two days to find the base before the next attack comes. The Mizar Militia had agreed to allow them that much time to repair their mechs, which the techs were doing. The mechs going on the search were either not heavily damaged, or placed later in the queue. Erik had ordered Master Tech Sergeant Niclas Heidrich to concentrate efforts on one or two mechs at a time, which would allow the other mechs to participate in the search.

He would have liked to join a search party himself, but it was more important that he coordinate the overall effort. With the ’Seraphim’ nestled in the shadow of Galileo’s Tower, the search was widening out gradually as they expanded the radius. Erik looked over the grassy plains of the Utopian Isles, marveling at the sheer beauty of the place. The air was tinged with the fragrant scent of wild flowers in bloom, raising the spirits of the mercs, while the tall walls of the caldera gave them a strong sense of security.

It will not last long. Erik thought to himself. Once the 10th Marik Militia attacks, the place will turn into just another battlefield, with the inerasable scars of war etched onto the land. The husks of dead Mechs, the muddy ground churned up by the footsteps of the massive machines, the disposed shells of unexploded missiles and autocannon casings, will mark the land forever as mankind’s, a testament to their urge for conflict.

. . . .

Corporal Tommy Cochon was a native of Elgin, a world rich in resources, but fought over so often by Houses Liao and Marik that its former beauty was a thing of the past. The present sight of the caldera reminded him so much of his homeworld’s former glory that it threatened to bring tears to his eyes.

He had left his home when he was eighteen, the third son who had next to no prospects in the small town he had grown up in. He enlisted in a private militia for two years, before scraping up enough money to get to Outreach, the Mercenary’s Star. It was not long before he managed to get hired by the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry, an up – and - coming merc unit fast gaining a reputation in the hotbed of the Chaos March. He had fought in quite a few campaigns since then, but the present one, for all its brevity, was the most brutal yet.

Master Tech Sergeant David Whitehall was away on Majestica, along with more than half the number of Battle Armor Technical Staff they had. By dint of his rank, Tommy, who normally commanded a subsection of three men, was now in charge of a full section since there were many gaping holes in their TO&E.

He shook his head vigorously, and got back to his task of searching for the entrance to the hidden base. The higher ups had not told them much, only that the Gearheads had a base somewhere in the mountains.

Even the armored infantrymen, as kept out of the loop as they were, knew that was a piece of crock. If the Gearheads really had a base here, they would have picked up the base’s fusion plant signature with their neutrino sensors.

Some eavesdropping and rumor - mongering had long revealed to the troopers the incredible truth, that there were Star League era BattleMechs and a shipment of EndoSteel on the planet. Of course, those BattleMechs were all gone, or Tommy was sure they would have sent the meddling Mercs packing long before now.

Similarly, it did not take them long to realize that the base they were looking for belonged to the Gearheads. If finding the Gearheads’ could make them rich, then surely the Star League BattleMechs within the base will make them wealthy beyond belief!

Best of all, Captain Ingersoll might even have enough money to outfit the field engineers with PA(L) armor. In their battles with the Mariks, Tommy had seen enough of the powerful Longinus Battle Armor to appreciate the edge it might give them. 1st Lieutenant Luftensteiner, who had been promoted to the rank by a grateful Erik for their part in the previous battle, had even allowed some select troopers to try out the armored suits. While they had all come out exhausted, Tommy could see that they had all fallen in love with the idea of Fenrir suits.

Tommy was so engrossed in his thoughts while mechanically sweeping his handheld neutrino sensor from side to side, that he failed to notice an obstacle on the ground.

“What the heck?” He suddenly found the grass rushing up to meet his face, as he tripped over something on the ground. Flinging out his hands desperately to prevent his head from going splat, he knew he had succeeded when his forearms slammed into the ground just before his own face hit the arms, the double impact numbing his arms. “Damn!” He yelled as he lifted his head. “What the fuck was that?”

Shaking off the pain, he pulled up his feet from whatever had tripped him, and stood up. He turned around to look for the offending obstacle, only to see a thin plastic wire on the ground.

A plastic wire? Crouching down for a closer look, he could see that the plastic was heavily marked and scratched from years of exposure to the elements. He decided to follow the wire to see where it led. This could be important.

It was not long before the wire split into several more wires, each leading to a ruined device, which Tommy was able to identify as a camera. He walked around the area for a while, noting the locations of each camera and what they might have been filming. It was not long before he managed to determine the direction they were pointing at.

They were pointing at a jagged piece of wall, with a single long vertical line running right down the middle from the top.


. . . .


Erik was checking the dispositions of his far flung unit when the call came in.

“Sir, this is Staff Sergeant Zain Trumbull. One of my men has found something. Come check it out! The location is at Zulu Tango 3547. I’m gathering my squad at the area ASAP.” There was a short pause. “I think we’ve found it sir.”

There was no need for Trumball to tell Erik what ‘it’ was. It was what they had been searching for the past several months.

Twenty minutes after a hellishly fast ride on a Musketeer hovertank, Erik found himself staring at the Door.

It was simply called the Door, the Mercs surprisingly short of nicknames at the moment.

Covering one side of Galileo’s Tower, it hardly stood out in orbital scans and cursory visual tracking. On the ground though, at fifty meters away, it was plain obvious that there was an entrance of some sort in the side of the mountain.

The Door was about four hundred meters high, large enough for even their DropShips to enter should they manage to open it. Its width was more debatable, but Erik guessed that it was probably very, very wide.

Several field engineers and armored infantrymen with demolitions training were examining the site, trying to find a place to place their explosives. It took Erik several stern orders before they relented.

The 10th Marik Militia had tried everything from vibro bombs to naval bombardment to open up the place, and these attempts had all failed. What could the IAC do to surpass that? No, what was required was a key.

Quickly assessing the situation, Erik ordered the ’Seraphim’ to land near the Door. He did not want his men cut off from their transport if anything went wrong, and it also allowed fire support for his mobile elements.

Despite its age, the ’Seraphim’ Union class DropShip deserved its designation for being a solid fort on the ground. The trio of LRM Bays it carried further enhanced its combat ability, supplying long range fire against unsuspecting enemies. Erik had held off using the DropShips in his battles against the Mariks because he didn’t want to give away the exact location of his three DropShips and could have incurred the wrath of the Marik aerospace units. He did not want to sacrifice their ride home for a chance to damage some Free Worlds League’s BattleMechs!

Word Count 2445
CONTRACT TOTAL 71,552
Last edited by Gunther Price on Fri May 26, 2017 5:28 pm, edited 4 times in total.
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE

	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
   
LA-SC-08-01 #39

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
UtopErik Isle
Tamarindo
Copernicus Caldera
Galileo’s Tower
Search Grid Zulu Tango 3547
Granston’s Gearheads Base
March 20th 3096 10:50 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

The Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry had landed the ’Sword of Valor’ near the Gearheads abandoned DropShip. For two days, they had been scouring the DropShip and the surrounding area for clues to the missing Mercs’ location, as well as repairing their Mechs, savaged in the previous battle.

For Master Sergeant Geoff 'Werewolf' Ward, it was a welcome break from the hectic preparation and combat of the past week. No attack had been dispensed yet from the Mariks, although he was aware that one could arrive at any minute, and with the battle to take place immediately. Running a test on one of his Timber Wolf’s subsystems in the makeshift camp set up by the IAC’s Field Engineers, he heard the sound of a person approaching.

“Good morning. I see you’re hard at work being a tech.” Gunther Price had a grin on his face as he walked up to one of the Mech’s legs.

“I’m doing this to take the load off the overworked tech crews.” Geoff continued to push buttons on the calibration screen in front of him. “What about you? Aren’t you supposed to be assisting the search?”

“Tsk, tsk. So many contractions. Your speech has deteriorated in the Inner Sphere vernacular, my friend.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Geoff pointed out.

“Yea. There’s more than enough people doing the searching today. I decided to stay behind to work on my personal project, as well as keeping an eye on McMaster. You know, because he lost his wing mate and all.”

Since she had been KIA, 2nd Lieutenant Nathan 'Fencer' McMasters had his head buried in the aerospace fighter’s repair panels. Enquiries of progress had always met the following words, “Can’t you see I’m working? Now go away before I come after you with this big wrench!”

That was generally sufficient to keep people away.

“So how’s your life? We haven’t had a good talk like we did on Outreach,” prompted the XO.

Geoff glanced once at the screen results, and satisfied that his Mech was working fine, moved to disconnect the diagnostic wires.

Gunther prodded Geoff farther, “Tell me about your journey through the clans.”

“That is a very long tale. You sure you want to hear it?”

“Yep.”

For the next twenty minutes, Geoff regaled the IAC XO with his exploits with the various clans he had served with, as well as the insights he had gained. Gunther finished up his own work, and the two trudged off to a nearby shed where Tech Sergeant Deana Herron; Geoff; Technician 1st Class, Annelie Vist; was practicing with her harp.

The shed had become a semi - official gathering place, where techs off duty and warriors on rest would gather for some light entertainment by Annelie. The presence of what little alcohol and caffeine the mercenaries had brought with them was one further attraction to the place.

Right now, in addition to Annelie, Technician 2nd Class, Elly Deligiorgis and some of the off duty tankers were present. Most of the techs were working on the Mechs, and only two of them were in the shed, sipping at their hot coffee. The quiet, soothing sounds of the harp resounded through the place. Reaching over for a jug of coffee, Gunther poured himself and Geoff two full mugs of the brew. The two sat down on the stools around a small table, while Geoff finished his tale.

“You actually ingested necrosia?” Gunther exclaimed in shock.

“Aff. For the vision rite, you see. I wonder if anyone had used necrosia for a Nova Cat vision rite before. It was very effective, effective enough to get me here.”

Gunther shook his head in wonder. “You do realize that necrosia can cause addiction, and even death, don’t you?”

“Do not worry. I am not addicted, and I am certainly not dead! It was simply a one - off attempt to merge both rite traditions together. Enough about my story. Tell me about yours. What happened on Luthien? The last I remembered was your Federated Freeman were engaging the Kell Hounds. I thought you had them pinned down, and that red and black Archer in front was going to die quickly…”

“But we just couldn’t get a targeting lock.” Gunther whispered. It was one memory that he knew would haunt him to his dying days.

“You were one of the first Mechs to get within three hundred meters of him. That was no mean feat, considering that he was taking one of you down every twenty seconds.”

“Oh yes, I got close. I was firing with my Mech’s pulse lasers for all they were worth, but everything just missed. I had already taken a pounding from the other Kell Hound Mechs, and that Archer just picked my Mech apart with its medium lasers. I ejected, and was promptly picked up by Kell Hound infantry.” Gunther paused, then added, “I never found out who that Archer pilot was.”


“He, or she, must be one hell of a Mechwarrior.” Gunther said. “I would like the chance to meet that warrior someday. And maybe gut him as payback.” He continued, “The Wolf Dragoons took you in as a bondsman, right?”

“Aff. It didn’t take me long before I was accepted as a warrior. Since then, I have fought in many battles in the Inner Sphere. Now, I have a better idea of why the Inner Sphere fought so hard against us in the beginning.”

“And that is?”

“Their lives are so rich! They have holovids, selection of foods they want, freedom of choice. As long as one has money, almost anything is possible.”

“And you have money now? Getting corrupted, eh?” Gunther asked mischievously.

Geoff snorted. “Not getting corrupted. Just adapting to my new life. You would do the same, if you were in my shoes. The IAC give good pay, from what I’ve observed from other mercenary units. Enough for me to live quite comfortably, and have some savings for the future.”

“The future?” Gunther was stunned. “Who cares about the future? I thought the job of a Clan warrior is to fight, gain glory, and hopefully die before he becomes an invalid! Whatever happened to the fierce Clan warrior views?”

“I have changed. Changed for the better. I do not live for a bloodname, nor for glory and honour.” Geoff smiled. “The clans offered us nothing except a cause to die for, ‘Python’. In the Inner Sphere, I have found the opposite, a cause to live for.”

“I have a family now. I got myself a significant other, a fellow IAC member, and I have a step child.”

Geoff nearly choked on his coffee. “You actually have a child? A freeborn? You’re now a parent? I cannot believe it!”

“Better believe it. Tell you what. When this is all over, come with me back to Malarn. I’ll introduce my family to you. After all, you are my brother.”

“You forget, I have a mission and an obligation to my clan. Even though the truce is over, should there not be some rule against clanners travelling past the truce line?”

Gunther waved off the objection. “No one will find out if we don’t make a big deal out of it. So how about it? You’ll approve of my choice of lifestyle, I’m sure.”

“I think I would like to have a look at the rest of the Inner Sphere.” Geoff gave a slow smile.

“Maybe I could consider it as ‘advanced scouting’!”

“Well. If you’re going to the Malarn, take me with you.” The two warriors looked up to see the petite Deana standing over the table. “I heard tales of the great music to be found on Malarn! There must be something I can learn there!” There were stars in her eyes as she said this. “The first Herron to go to the Malarn! I would become famous when I return to Layover!”

“Forget it, Deana.” Gunther warned her.

“How about your project, your, ahem, Great Work?” She shifted the subject quickly.

“Working on it.” Geoff mumbled.

“What project?” Gunther asked.

“Oh, nothing. It is just an idea from my time with the Bears. I recovered fragments of a music score during one of my quests, and I am trying to put it back together. This would be my Great Work, when it is finished.”

“It’s a full orchestral piece. Master Sergeant Geoff Ward is in way over his head.” Deana retorted.

“I didn’t know you knew music.”

“Well, I do now. Having Deana around was a good idea, though, as she was the one who taught me the basics. I am just making up the rest as I go along.”

“What’s the name of the song?” Gunther finished the last of his coffee.

“Blue Sea Laughter.” Geoff winced, waiting for the inevitable laughter, and was surprised to see Gunther sitting calmly with a smile.

“I’m not the only one who has changed. You have changed as well. All you would think about in the past was combat and fighting.”

Deana interjected, “That is still all he thinks about most of the time. I have to push him not to slack off on his work.” She ignored Geoff’s glare of indignation.

A sudden explosion took away Geoff’s reply.

Everybody in the shed quickly dove to the ground, conditioned by years of training. Sounds of auto cannon fire shrieked through the air.

“What the hell is going on?” Gunther yelled.

“I don’t know.” Geoff answered, his formal speech lapsing into contractions. “Get to our Mechs, now!”

Geoff and Gunther crash-started their mechs, the urgency of the situation precluding the normal slow start, which preserves engine life. The crash start has the unfortunate tendency of greatly shortening engine lifespan, which is why Mechwarriors use it only in emergencies.

As they got their Mechs moving, the transmissions coming from the other Mechs were enough to inform them of the situation.

While the Mechs of the mercenaries had been searching for the Gearheads, Sergeant Major Joachim 'Jager' Deveraux’s Mech had finally picked up fusion engine signatures from a cave near the DropShips. Moving closer to confirm his find, he had to backpedal quickly when a Marauder came out shooting. The auto cannon the Mercs had heard were the medium bore 105mm auto cannon of the Marauder engaging Deveraux’s Penetrator.

As they moved out, they were joined by Jan’s half - repaired Fenrir Squad, Sergeant Veronica 'Dancer' Wolfe’s Gallowglas, and Erik’s Templar. The rest of the unit had been sent on a wide dispersal search, and all of them were converging rapidly on the site of the battle. It would be several minutes before they were able to arrive, however, so it was up to the four Mechs to assist Deveraux.

Coming up near Sergeant Major, they saw him fighting a brilliant withdrawal action, staying at a distance from the enemy Mechs, and slowly picking them apart with his Large Lasers.

There was a lot of enemy fire, however, and much to their surprise, the Penetrator was almost bereft of armor when they finally spied the enemy force. The most shocking fact was that the attacking Mechs were painted with the insignia of the Granston’s Gearheads.

“Cease fire, cease fire!” Erik was yelling over the open channel. “We have been dispatched to Mizar by the LAAF High Command and I have verigraphed orders that place whatever remains of the Gearheads under Armored Cavalry command for the duration of our operations on Mizar. I need to speak to Major Alexander Granston or whomever is in charge.”

Word Count 1962
CONTRACT TOTAL 73,514
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE

Name: Mesha Seville
    Callsign: ‘Viper'
    Rank: 1st Leutnant
    Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA
    Flight: Angel Flight (Command)
    Squadron: Angel
    Assignment: Squadron Leader
    Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry
    HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE
   
LA-SC-08-01 #40

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Utopian Isle
Tamarindo
Copernicus Caldera
Galileo’s Tower
Zulu Tango 3547
Joint Operations Bivouac
’Seraphim’
Bridge
March 22nd 3096 13:45 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

"GAWD DAYUM IT!" 1st Lieutenant Melissa Mariotta swore as another brief flash followed by a puff of smoke wiped out the most of the remaining lights on the ’Seraphim’s bridge control panels. She stabbed viciously at the last remaining light on her command chair panel with her index finger opening up the ship wide speaker system, "Brig! Make room for our Engineers! … Scratch that, someone round them up and arrange a firing squad! I want it ready in 5 minutes!"

Several decks below the engineers exchanged nervous looks. "You don't think she means it … do you?" asked Casper Nakamura, the newest enlistee of the ’Seraphim’s engineering crew. For a young man already under pressure, that last announcement seemed to age him a good 10 years.

"Naw, she's just in one of her moods," Lena Pavitt responded in her thick British accent. Lena was the oldest engineer among them, the Engines and Engineer with the rank of Tech Sergeant and scuttlebutt was she had attended the ’Seraphim’'s first launch.

"Not that I blame her. We're a long way from a port with tha’ technical know how to maintain the old girl's systems with the upgrade to its transport bays. Not many DropShip’s around and until a year ago ‘I’ had never even heard of a Battle Armor Bay, let alone have the technical savvy to service one," she said while affectionately patting the nearby bulkhead.

"She's probably worried tha' the last power spike might have left us dead in the water, an' she might be right."

Lena sighed and seemed to drift off in thought for a moment as she gazed down at the large pile of cables at her feet. A few moments of silence passed, and then as if waking up, Lena shook off her reverie, clapped her hands together and looked around at the others.

"Alright! Back to it lads! If the lady up stairs is kind enough to have us all shot then we'll get to knock off early and stop worrying about getting off this forsaken dust ball. Until then, let's get the old girl back in flying shape."






Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Paradasia
Aquadilla Airspace
SpacePort
Joint Operations ASF Task Force
Wasp Squadron
Jagdvogel
March 22nd 3096 14:00 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

The fighters of Wasp Squadron broke through the front of the thunderstorms. Under the clearer sky, the open, rolling hills of the countryside were visible around them. The roads 1st Lieutenant Mesha 'Viper' Seville could see were deserted. In places, she spotted the rubble of towns and industrial complexes, high water marks of the 10th Marik Militia battles that had swept over this planet time and again over the last several months. Right on schedule, the forest loomed ahead, thick trees rising to almost a hundred meters high. The fighters roared up and over the forest.

When they reached the edge of the woods nearest Paradasia United SpacePort, a path of newly broken trees appeared. It was as though a giant, flaming hand had swept across them, splintering and burning them despite their sodden condition. As the last trees fell away, the cause became apparent.

Half - sunk in the fields outside the city was the immense sphere of the Granston’s Gearhead’s Vengeance Class DropShip. The pilot must had been making for the spaceport when disaster struck. The ship had gone down, skimming the trees and plowing into the open fields west of the city. Seven kilometers short of its goal, the DropShip had foundered.

A huge hole gaped on the upper surface, the edges blackened and warped outward. Debris was strewn in a trail from the forest's edge to the crash site. High on the elevated side, one of the great unloading doors was open to the sky, its protective armor crumpled and torn. Across one edge, limp as an unconscious man, was the shape of a BattleMech. The giant machine seemed small against the bulk of the transport spacecraft. Even as Mesha registered the carnage, her Ally flown Seydlitz were zooming over the wreckage, two on either side of the DropShip.

Just then, a startling green flash of extended range laser beam split the sky, followed by the stuttering light of tracer fire from auto cannons. The lead fighter of the left - hand pair of Seydlitzs, crossed the streaks of light and disintegrated in a ball of fire. No sound reached Mesha’s ears over the roar of her own engines. Second Lieutenant Marcel Borrowitz was gone.

The author of the Seydlitz's destruction emerged from the shadow of the downed DropShip. It was a Lineholder KW1 - LH8 BattleMech. The whip antenna of the RCA Instatrac Mark XII targeting system was twitching as the machine's torso swiveled to bring the paired rotary auto cannons that made up its right arms to bear on a new target.

Mesha felt paralyzed, stunned by the sudden loss of her pilot. Her hands were rigid on the Jagdvogel's controls, but the other members of Wasp Squadron went into action. B - 1 Flight split and began jinking to throw off the enemy machine's tracking. Second Lieutenant Max Zimmerman threw his Messerschmitt into a steep climb, thereby avoiding the lethal streams of coherent light and armor - piercing shells that filled the air where his fighter would have been. Even Ensign Erryne 'Sidewinder' Nashiro was reacting. She launched a flight of missiles that impacted far short of the DropShip. The Jagdvogels were still too far away to do any damage, but Nashiro's attack had roused Mesha from her shock at the loss of Borrowitz. Mesha took command again.

“Overthrust, ‘Sidewinder’! We've got to get in there.” Mesha's voice was shrill with emotion. She had lost one pilot. She didn't want to lose any more.

“Roger.” As always in battle, Nashiro's voice was emotionless. “I'll take the 'Mech.”

“No! He's mine. Strafe the DropShip.” Mesha wanted the killer for herself. She knew that wasn't a professional reaction, but she didn't care. Arming her missiles, she threw her craft into an evasive roll. Ground and sky flashed alternately across her cockpit. Once, she glimpsed Nashiro's Jagdvogel in the midst of a similar maneuver.

Before they could close to firing range, Mesha caught a flash of sunlight on metal high above the fields. A check of his IFF scanners revealed it to be Zimmerman's ME-811-OA diving down on the crash site.

“No, Max Abort!” Mesha's fear for the young pilot came through in her strained voice. The small fighter was too light to go against a BattleMech that excelled at antiaircraft work.

No reply came from the AeroSpace Fighter weaving a crazy corkscrew path as it dove. All of its weapons were blazing. The Heavy PPC beam caught the Lineholder in its left shoulder and sent chunks of blistered armor spraying from its torso. The 'Mech's own fire cast a deadly net around the fighter, but the small aerospace darted like the winged predator of its name. A burst of fire from the Seydlitz caught one of the twin guns on the 'Mech's right arm, shearing it clean away. Then the fighter cut sideways and roared over the field, miraculously untouched by the Lineholder's weapon fire. Now shielded from the 'Mech by the bulk of the DropShip, Max sped his craft toward the onrushing Jagdvogels. Mesha shook his head in amazement at this virtuoso display.

“Not to worry, boss lady.” Max's voice was clear, though the words were slightly spaced as he caught his breath. “Those tin men are too slow to catch this . . . ”

Max's comment was cut off as missiles arcing up from a concealed position struck his fighter. One hit his port wing. Its explosive warhead and the speed at which he was traveling were enough to rip the wing away from the body of the craft. As the Messerschmitt began to roll, the turbulence tore more pieces from the stricken craft. Trailing flames, it dropped lower. Zimmerman's screams lasted until the fighter plowed into the ground and exploded.

With those screams echoing in her ears, Mesha hit the firing stud. All of his nose - mounted extended range lasers raked the ground at the point where she had seen the killer missiles rise. Gouts of steam rose as kilojoules of energy flash - heated the ground, then flame erupted as the launcher's ammunition exploded. The infantry team who had fired the SRMs ceased to exist. A savage smile split Mesha's face. It vanished just as suddenly when her Jagdvogel rocked under auto cannon fire from the Lineholder, which had now cleared the side of the DropShip.

A swift shift of thrust vectors let her sideslip the fighter away from the 'Mech's searing energy beam and pounding shells. Banking the Jagdvogel around, she came in from the other side of the DropShip.

The Lineholder was waiting for her, its remaining two guns brought to bear on the IAC fighter. Mesha, lost in her fury, bore straight in. Her craft's armor was vaporized by the hellish energy of the 'Mech's ER large laser and the pounding of its 57mm auto cannon shells. She didn't care. Flight after flight of missiles roared out from the Streak SRM launcher in waves of four from beneath her cockpit. Her aim was poor, and most of the shots were intercepted by the trees of the forest, detonating before they reached the BattleMech or striking the trees in front of it. Some burrowed into the heavy plating of the crashed DropShip to send scraps pattering harmlessly against the Lineholder’s armor plating and the scorched dirt around it. Some few others found their target, repaying the BattleMech some of the punishment it was dishing out.

Mesha's lips were skinned back, baring her clenched teeth. Sweat rolled down her face, puddling under her eyes and blurring her vision.

The shutdown alarm shrilled, warning of heat burden above acceptable limits. Her hand stabbed out to hit the override, silencing it. Another stab launched the last of the Streak SRM's ammo.

The Lineholder loomed larger and larger. Mesha cursed the heat, then loosed all of her lasers. Red fire lanced out.

As fissures opened in the 'Mech's armor, a small explosion came from within the machine, followed by a string of larger ones. The BattleMech rocked and toppled backward as its torso ripped open. The Jagdvogel screamed through the fireball where the Lineholder had stood.

Now Mesha had to pay the cost. The heat burden had risen too high for the fighter's cooling unit to handle. The automatic cutoff had shut down the fighter's reactor. The ship was going down, and her with it. To correct a flaw in the Jagdvogel’s design, the engineers had created a new one. The fighter had no emergency ejection system.

Fighting the sluggish controls, Mesha thought that it was lousy to die now after she had wasted the 'Mech. Struggling with controls, she thought that the Jagdvogel's nose did finally come up, a little. Enough?

No.

Maybe.

She was glad she was in an AeroSpace Fighter that had at least minimal atmospheric streamlining. Some AeroSpace Fighters relied almost exclusively on their engines for lift. Lift that the Jagdvogel would need. To avoid crashing ...

Crashing ...

Word Count 1907
CONTRACT TOTAL 75,421

 Name: Mesha Seville
    Callsign: ‘Viper'
    Rank: 1st Leutnant
    Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA
    Flight: Angel Flight (Command)
    Squadron: Angel
    Assignment: Squadron Leader
    Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry
    HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE
    

LA-SC-08-01 #41

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Paradasia
Aquadilla Airspace
SpacePort
Joint Operations Task Force
Mesha’s Crash Site
March 22nd 3096 14:05 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

First Lieutenant Mesha ‘Viper’ Seville never remembered hitting the ground.

When she opened her eyes, the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry Lieutenant was lying on her back, looking up at the sky. A cool breeze blew over her face. The rich smell of loam and humus almost covered the harsher stink of burning oil, plastic, and blood.

“Erryne, she's awake!”

Mesha winced at the shout. The tensed muscles sent pain shooting through her head, closing down her vision to a pinpoint. The vibration of footfalls approaching at a run sent another wave of pain through her head. This one rippled through her back as well. The pleasant warmth of the sun disappeared as the remaining pilots of Wasp Squadron crowded around her.

Something pricked her arm, then Esign Erryne ‘Sidewinder’ Nashiro's voice cut through the haze. “You O.K.? We thought you'd taken up farming when your Jagdvogel plowed in.”

“So did I.” Mesha's voice scratched out of a throat raw from breathing the superheated air in her Jagdvogel's cockpit. “Guess Captain Ingersoll will have my rank disk for that stunt.”

“Damn fool stunt,” Nashiro chided, “but impressive, ‘Viper’. Your cockpit recorder must've been working overtime on the last pass at the 'Mech. Too bad your heroism will go unrewarded.”

Mesha didn't understand what her wingman was talking about. Damn, but her brain was foggy. Nashiro caught Mesha’s confusion.

“The black box is dead,” Erryne explained, caressing the holstered laser pistol at her side. “There's no record of your suicide charge, and” . . . she winked at Ensign Hans Boorman and Ensign Zander Sauckel . . .”we'll never tell.”

The other pilots nodded, grins brightening their faces.

Now Mesha understood. Her Squadron members had pulled the black box and destroyed it. With the box gone, so was the record of her lapse in command judgement. The Captain would never know. Wasp Squadron was rewarding the protective loyalty Mesha had shown for those under her command. To them, such loyalty was much more important than some brass - trimmed Captain’s idea of professional detachment. Mesha didn't even feel the pain her answering smile cost her.

The beeping of the communicator in Erryne's fighter interrupted them. Erryne heaved up and ran to answer it. Sauckel and Boorman were discussing something, but Mesha couldn't focus on their words. Their voices faded from her awareness. Her brain felt sodden. Finally, she decided that they must have given her a painkiller.

When Erryne returned from her Jagdvogel, she was carrying a rucksack. She stopped and spoke quietly with Sauckel and Boorman before bending next to Mesha. “That was the man upstairs. He says it's time for Phase Two. And since we are so nicely situated here, he wants Wasp Squadron as part of the air cover for the ’Sword of Valor’.”

Mesha tried to get up, but Erryne was ready for that and held her down. “Wasp Squadron don't mean you this time, 1st Lieutenant. Your ship's a mess, and so are you. You're sitting out this part of the party.”

Ignoring Mesha’s protests, the pilots lifted Mesha and got her onto a makeshift stretcher. They carried her up a slope and into the shade of the nearby forest. As careful as they were, the unavoidable jolting sent pain through the drug's shield of isolation. Erryne took care to prop Mesha up while the others cut saplings and brush to build a blind. Sauckel spread a thermal blanket over the framework before covering it with brush. When satisfied that Mesha was as well - concealed as possible, Erryne handed her a Binox image intensifier.

“Now, your majesty, you have a front row seat for the festivities. And your own private sound system.” Erryne patted the comm unit lying next to Mesha. The wingman's smile dropped a little. “Stay put, ‘Viper’. We'll be back for you as soon as we can.” Then Erryne was up and calling for Sauckel and Boorman to get to their fighters. Feeling a detachment that she knew was chemically induced, Mesha watched them trot down the slope to the waiting fighters.

A roaring in her ears brought her back from the dreamy fog into which she had begun to slip. She looked out to where the fighters of Wasp Squadron had been. They were gone. The noise, however, was still there. When shaking her head didn't stop the sound, she looked up for its source. Two Aero-Space Fighters with IAC markings shot out over her head. They screamed toward the hard deck and the Paradasia United spaceport at its edge. Behind them came a bulky Granston’s Gearhead Aquarius Small Craft, whose insignia showed it to be First Lieutenant Leonard Hayden’s flagship. Around the ship swarmed about a dozen fighters, and she thought she saw the remnants of Wasp Squadron among them. As she watched, the AeroSpace Fighters spread out in front of the big Aquarius. Like the first pair of fighters, this Squadron dropped to the deck as they blasted toward the SpacePort. Like Wasp Squadron before them, they were trying to come in under the port's defenses.

To Mesha's blurred vision, the attempt at tactical surprise seemed to be working. Port defenses were slow and uncoordinated in response to the closing enemy. The Joint Operations ASF Task Force opened up on the spaceport as soon as they had range. The usual assortment of missiles and rainbow of energy weapon beams bombarded the defenses of the port. Despite the seeming chaos, Mesha thought she could see the Task Force concentrating on gun emplacements and avoiding the landing surfaces and port facilities. She fumbled for the image intensifier.

Just as she reached it, a wedge of four aerospace fighters, and another Aquarius cleared the trees. They followed in the path of the earlier ships. At first, Mesha feared that they were the Marik 10th Militia forces intent on smashing the IAC, but the grinning Granston’s Gearheads - head that adorned each tail fin told her otherwise.

The Aquarius Class Small Craft in the first Squadron was a W1 variant. It mounted two Arrow IV in the nose of the craft that it utilized with deadly efficiency. The new arrival was the M1 variant, but was the more common design for carrying out close quarter assaults and escorted by four Lucifers. Each ship was armed with an impressive array of medium and large lasers, Long Range missile launchers.

When the second Squadron was halfway between the forest and the port, the ’Sword of Valor’ DropShips rocketed down the path. This one, carried the Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry' - logo, but it was a different type. It was a Union Class BattleMech transport ship, able to carry a two lances of ‘Mechs, a full company of vehicles, and a reinforced platoon of Battle Armor.

Mesha switched the comm unit to scan so that it would pick up the IAC battle frequencies. Then she focused the Binox on the port in time to catch the finish of the first Squadron's run. Several of the Joint Task Force craft were engaged with some atmospheric fighters that the Marik Militia command had managed to get into the air. Mesha wondered whether they were brave or stupid for pitting mere atmospheric fighters against the Joint Task Forces’ aerospace craft. The transatmospheric fighters were so superior that the outcome of the fight was a foregone conclusion.

The ’Sword of Valor’ reached the landing field. Mesha could see their landing gear still was retracted even though they were barely ten meters above the ferrocrete. When she noticed that the 'Mech egress doors were retracted, too, and that the ships were not slowing, she knew what was coming. In her years of service in 17th Avalon Hussars, she had heard often enough about this maneuver, but she had never seen it. It took well - trained warriors and reliable equipment to pull it off. IAC ‘MechJocks called it downloading. Lesser men called it crazy.

The Aquarius’ opened fire to suppress any hostiles who had survived the sweep of the fighter cover. The right wing ship dropped back to clear a fire lane for the starboard weapons of its partner as well as for its own port weapons. The ’Sword of Valor’s' BattleMechs appeared at the edges of the bays.

The winds of the DropShips' passage buffeted the mighty machines. Mesha heard the jump command come over her comm unit. In unison, the 'Mechs hurled themselves clear of the ships, some firing jets from back units, others using the jets set into their legs. In either case, the terrible momentum was slowed.

Sparks flew as the 'Mechs skidded to shaky stops on the landing field. One, a Bushwacker, crumpled to the ground as its left leg buckled on contact with the ferrocrete. The remaining BattleMechs began to spread out at top speed. Some opened up with their own weapons as they targeted on emplacements that the aerospace forces had missed. Behind them the Lucifers roared closer.

Again Mesha's comm unit barked with a command. The BattleMechs on the landing field threw themselves prone and ceased their fire. Like the Aquarius’ before them, the Lucifers came in as a staggered vee with clear firelanes. Coherent light, charged particles, and missiles rained on the defenses.

A Marik Militia BattleMech Lance appeared near the control tower, but IAC Command Lance cut down the first two 'Mechs with their lasers and missiles. The third 'Mech, a Shadow Hawk, went to ground while the fourth disappeared back behind the tower. The prone 'Mech opened fire, bringing its auto cannon to bear on one of the IAC 'Mechs. Shell craters pocked the ferrocrete and ripped into the target 'Mech's armor. The IAC ‘MechJock held his fire. The Marik Militia pilot probably never had time to wonder why as beams from the passing Small Crafts converged on the Shadow Hawk's position. As the only fusion - powered combat machine firing weapons on the tarmac, the Shadow Hawk was an easy lock - on for the Aquarius' Arrow IV targeting systems. Limbs flew as its ammo storage blew. The Shadow Hawk's auto cannon fired the last shells in its chambered cassette round as the arm assembly spun through the air.

While the guns of the Small Crafts were wasting the Marik Militia grounded Aerospace Fighters, a third order came through on the IAC battle frequency. Armored Trooper after armored trooper leaped from the hovering ’Sword of Valor’, each wearing an individual jump pack and were suited in battle armor. Like the 'Mechs before them, the Battle Armor used the exhaust as a brake so they would hit the tarmac at something approaching a reasonable speed.

Having laid their troops, the DropShip leaped for the sky to rejoin the rest of the aerospace forces. They would be harassing the Marik Marik Militia troops trying to flee the port, discouraging the arrival of any reinforcements. Mesha knew that part of the mission well. She had flown on it many times.

The comm unit at her side came to life. Now that the time for split - second commands had passed, the channels were clear for normal battle traffic. The IAC 'Mechs were up and attacking again. The infantry, highly mobile with their jump packs, moved swiftly to hold what the 'Mechs had won. SAS Platoon, armored Infiltrator armor, was busy taking the control tower.

Surprise and the lightning assault made the rest easy. In short order, the IAC were in control of the port. From her vantage point, Mesha observed the Marik Militia troops retreating in good order out of Paradasia United SpacePort. As they headed south and away from her, the battle calls and commands on the IAC frequency changed. Victory yells and post battle chatter filled the channels as the ’Sword of Valor’ returned to unload the IAC ‘s hover vehicles.

Mesha relaxed as she listened to the excited talk. The tension of watching the battle had drained her strength. She was drifting off to sleep when the babble cut out suddenly, overridden by the command call buzz.

In the comm silence, 1st Lieutenant Gunther Price’s voice was clear. “Landing zone secure, Task Force Commanding. You may begin landings, as scheduled.”

Word Count 2066
CONTRACT TOTAL 77,478
	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
    
LA-SC-08-01 #42

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Majestica
Dulles
Joint Operations Task Force
Patrol
April 4th 3096 08:05 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Disgusted IAC Executive Officer Gunther ‘Python’ Price took his neuro helmet from its restraining harness and fastened his 5 point harness. For weeks now they had patrolled the Majestica continent and had found nothing, the 10th Marik Militia had virtually vanished. There had been numerous rumors as to their whereabouts but nothing concrete and he could see the frustration on his people’s faces. Now he had to babysit a lance of the newest unit in his command the Granston’s Gearheads, all Privates. The Gearheads had good equipment and the lance assisting them had four mediums in it. Hopefully the pilots had experience and time would tell for these were not mere ‘Mech warriors they facing today but Marik demons bent on the destruction of mankind as a whole as evidenced by their wholesale slaughter of the civilian population of Hanseaten.

Today’s patrol would take them near the coast and that concerned him as Marik had units stashed there and they could appear in a moment’s notice and vanish just as quickly. Hopefully today held no surprises because Gunther didn’t like surprises on patrols. Surprises on patrols spelled disaster if not reacted to fast enough and correctly.

“Ok listen up” Gunther said over the mic. “Gearheads, Privates 1st Class Leslie Drexler and Brian Thompson, will take the outside corridor around us due to them having faster machines. Report any and all contact, no show boating. Stay within our perimeter. Privates Brooks and Strom I want you guys ranging out 200 meters to our flanks. 'Werewolf' you shadow the first two. 'Dancer' you get the second two. 'Jager', you're with me. Got it?”

Moments later all seven ‘Mechs had acknowledged the command and it was time to move out. The IAC ‘Mech pilots were Sergeant Major Joachim ‘Jager’ Deveraux in his Penetrator, Master Sergeant Geoff 'Werewolf' Ward aboard a Timber Wolf, and Sergeant Veronica ‘Dancer’ Wolfe rode in a Gallowglas. The Gearheads Lance consisted of Privates 1st Class Brian Thompson in a Hollander II, Alexis Strom in a Eisenfaust, Lawrence Brooks in his Hunchback, and Leslie Drexler in her Bushwacker. Since they had crushed some of the 10th Marik Militia forces they had sporadic contacts, but Marik seemed hell bent of eliminating any IAC or Gearhead they found. Slowly they moved their way along the western portion near the coast. Minutes turned into hours as nothing happened.

Suddenly the radio and radars come alive.

“ ‘Python’, Gearhead 1, Contact due north, “three Hostiles, Identify following, Yeoman, 6Y version,Trebuchet and a Hermes, Over.”

“Roger, Gearhead 1,” Gunther acknowledged Thompson's contacts.

“Contact due West!” Shouted Brooks so close to Thompson’s alert he almost ‘stepped’ on his transmission. ”three bogies, my warbook has them as, a Jackel, a Raven and a Wraith, Three Over and Out.”

“Roger, Gearhead 3.” Gunther replied. ‘Damn It, they used the cave system to conduct a surprise ambush once again. Man, can it get worse?’ The IAC XO thought to himself.

“ ‘Python’ I have something you should look at.” Storm reported, “I am painting three more tangos, I repeat 1, 2,THREE more tangos” Storm put a heavy emphasis on ‘Three’. “And they’re the biguns, an Awesome, a Crusader and a Griffin.”

“Roger that Private,” Gunther replied as his mind raced for a solution when over his headset he heard Leslie tinny voice in his ears.

“Contact due South.” Leslie reported, “I’m picking up enemy ‘Mech contacts ten, eleven, and number twelve. Identify following, Shadow Hawk, 7M variant, Huron Warrior and an Apollo.”

“Roger Leslie” he said “All unit form on me. Diamond pattern.”

Opening a private Channel to ‘Jager’ Gunther informed him.“ ‘Jager’, this isn’t good. Outnumbered and out gunned, we need to punch through while protecting each other.”

“Copy ‘Python’, Following your lead.”

Switching to Sergeant Veronica’s channel, “Hey ‘Dancer’, ‘Python’ here, I need you to call in an Air Support mission to Airspace Block Gulf – 9, tell them to confirm their targets as we are about to be overran,” Gunther ordered, knowing he would have his concentration divided on keeping his troops alive and calling in airstrikes.

“Way ahead of you elltee. Just got off the horn with the ’Sword of Valor’. Fighters are scrambling as we speak.” She had anticipated his request from weeks of working closely by his side.




Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Upper Orbit
Orbital Track 4622
Union Class DropShip
’Sword of Valor’
Deck Four
AeroSpace Fighter Bay
April 4th 3096 08:07 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

The wait for the other shoe to drop had proven to be surprisingly short one, the alarms aboard ship sounding just short of oh 800 hours in that long drawn out tone that almost every flyer was familiar. 1st Sergeant Thomas Yawmgoth, the ’Sword of Valor’ Communications Technician’s, voice sounding over the loud speakers just after the last note died announcing that the all - go order had been given.

“You heard theman … “ First Lieutenant Mesha ‘Viper’ Seville’s voice echoed as she rose to her feet the fliers around her scattering at once collecting their gear and helmets and disappearing shortly after in route to their fighters.

Collecting her own gear in hand, Mesha motioned her wing mate, Erryne ‘Sidewinder’ Nashiro to take the lead while she paused just short of the portal to glance over the images being relayed from operations. “What’s the damage … ?“ She inquired of sensor tech 1st Sergeant Sierra Palomino, unable to detect a change to the flow of battle on any of the available overhead displays.

Mesha for her part could only shake her head in disbelief as she motioned to the images being relayed over her personnel system. “The word bad comes to mind but might not cover it in this instance … “ Mesha remarked offhandedly, collecting her own gear from beside the chair.

Absorbing the images being display Erryne frowned as well. “That isn’t what I think it is … Is It ?“

Mesha could only shrug before starting through the hatch to the corridor beyond. “Does it really matter?”




Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Orbital Track 4622
Majestica AirSpace
Joint Operations Task Force
In Route - Airspace Block Gulf - 9
April 4th 3096 08:10 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Clocking in at just over the hypersonic threshold at mach 5.2 Mesha guided her Marik salvaged Stingray into a hard turn as she recognized the mountain range just below her aiming her nose south - west towards the target area until the ionization of reentry had cleared and her ships systems restored to operational norms and she’d be able to plot the course to Gulf - 9 airspace.

A short time later static sounded over the box followed shortly by the familiar voice of her wingman. “Tag Angel 21 this is 22, on approach vector coming up on your 7 o’clock position.” ‘Sidewinder’ sounded off a moment later announcing that she had cleared reentry without issue and was currently in trail of Mesha’s own position.

“Copy that Angel 22 … “ She echoed as her attentions remained fixed on the uplink initiating a download of the current sit - rep from operations back aboard the ’Valor’.

“Formations Sound off … “ ‘Viper’’s command sounded over the open frequencies a moment later.

The replies came in rapid secession, a well practiced pattern each unit already knowing where in the stack he needed to sound off in reply. No sooner had Erryne confirmed the count did ‘Viper’ voice sound over the closed Channel to Erryne.

“We’re phukkin scattered all over the damned map here. Confirm our e.t.a. to target?“

“Closing fast, 5 minutes to contact.” Erryne sounded back. “I wouldn’t worry about scattered formations, the intel package from the ’Valor’ confirms that the enemy came down in just as much a hurry as we did and will make the window about the same time we do.”

“How close … “ ‘Viper’ inquired her annoyance clear as air.

“To close to call. " Erryne responded as she reviewed the ontime data. "the first formations are clocking the same speed and distance we are and will likely be over the target area about the same time we are.”

A long silence followed before ‘Viper’ finally replied “Copy that … “



Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Mizar
Majestica
Dulles
Joint Operations Task Force
Ambush
April 4th 3096 08:15 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

As wild barbarians the Marik forces rush forward to cut off anyone trying to escape their carefully laid trap. As they closed, they started to fire at long range at the encircled ‘Mechs. Gunther quickly punched up a grid to look for their escape vector and a miniature icons popped up to show his forces to keep the Lieutenant informed on if anyone began to take serious damage. Minor damage showed on the Eisenfaust and suddenly the Gearhead’s Bushwacker rocked under the weapons fire of the Marik Hermes as its ER Large Laser struck Leslie's 'Mech in the right torso.

‘First round goes to the Mariks’ Gunther thought as they had scored minor damage on his forces. The Hollander II of Thompson had taken the most damage of the unit but so far they had given as well as they had got.

“We need to punch through and get free, Now!” Gunther said looking for a weakness in the enemy’s noose that they were slowly tightening around their necks.

Leslie's Bushwacker took more damage as the Apollo managed to find her well within range and let loose with its Extended Range LRMs. Then the Shadow Hawk found the Eisenfaust and scoured off more armor. Alexis Strom struggled to keep his footing and managed to stay on his feet, avoiding further damage from falling headfirst to the boulder strewn ground. The Eisenfaust took even more punishment from the Huron Warrior and it became apparent that the Mariks were targeting the lighter ‘Mechs to destroy them first and then probably planned to turn their attention to the IAC's heavies next.

‘Jager’ unleashed the hell only his Penetrator could and brought destruction upon the Apollo. Red rivers of molten metal fall from the ‘Mech as sections were destroyed and in the end it still was a salvageable 'Mech for much later. Veronica was not about to be outdone; she reached out with her Gauss Rifle and ER Medium lasers at the Crusader, melting and blasting armor away from the 65 ton ‘Mech. Fortunately for both sides there was a cluster of trees between them and Mother Nature absorbed some of the damage meant for the warring parties.

As Gunther glanced at the armor diagrams he noticed that, except for the Eisenfaust, the rest of the Gearhead's 'Mechs had all sustained some minor damage. Suddenly he was slammed as the Hermes’s ER Large Laser found his center torso. It melted off armor and now Gunther’s Thunderbolt was missing close to half of it's center torso’s armor. He returned fired at the Yeoman and was rewarded with hits but nothing major all his shots did was scratch and dent the Yeoman's armor.

“Gearhead 4, disengage and find a way out.” Gunther ordered. Just as the command rolled off his lips, he saw the Shadow Hawk unload once again on the Eisenfaust and hit with everything if fired, scouring more armor off the stricken ‘Mech. Sensing a kill the Huron Warrior launched an Alpha Stike on the already crippled Eisenfaust and Gunther saw the right leg blow off, cartwheeling into the dust, leaving the hapless ‘Mech teetering, searching for its balance, arms pinwheeling madly.

Gearhead 1 seeing his lance mate helpless, poured fire into the Trebuchet and was rewarded with the Heavy class Long Range Missile Launcher in the left arm exploding, taking that weapon out of action. His next shot hit the ‘Mech in the head but failed to take the Trebuchet down.

The Jackal scored a hit with its ER PPC in Gunther’s center torso and his damage readout showed less than a ton of armor remained. ‘It is time to do something about all this center torso targeting Shit.’ Gunther thought to himself. As he looked for their escape vector, the Bushwacker was pummeled again and its center torso armor diagram turned from flashing yellow to a steady glowing red. Barely any armor was still showing now in it’s center torso. The Raven unloaded on the Thunderbolt and scored hits on its right leg and left arm. ‘Python’ flailed his arms trying to keep his own footing and leaning heavily onto a nearby tree, remained standing. To fall in this melee would have meant his death. He was almost certain of that fact.

“ ‘Jager’, I am taking heavy damage. We need to move now.” He said calmly. He didn't want to spook the Privates. “Make us a hole.”

“Roger that, ‘Python’.”

As he finished giving the command to punch through, the Bushwacker was beset once more by laser fire. Armor was melted off her right leg, left leg and left torso. Gunther knew she could not take much more damage and had to extract not only him self but his unit as well. Once again he struggled to keep footing and managed to do so by the grace of God. It was a close battle so far and it felt like they were on the losing end. The majority of fire was on the Eisenfaust and himself but that couln’t last much longer.

His heat spiked alarmed shrilled in his ears inside the Thunderbolt from constant firing and Gunther decided to leave the warning turned on to make sure he did not shut down due to over heating. Suddenly and without warning,the Wraith stumbled and fell in its attempt to block their escape path and skidded across the packed ground, buckling and scouring off armor plating.

The fight continued in its brutal way as the Huron Warrior fired up the Eisenfaust and the medium ‘Mechs staggered to remain standing. Brian Thompson fired his Gauss Rifle into the Crusader scoring a critical on one of its legs. Unable to move, the Eisenfaust took further fire in its rear armor but still remained upright, missing a leg, and firing its myriad array off small, medium, and large extended range and pulse lasers, with unerring accuracy. Gunther scored a hit with own ER Large Pulse Laser on the Jackal and was rewarded by hitting the left leg and saw all of the armor had been destroyed and only the internal structure kept the ‘Mech on its feet but it was moving slower now, so possibly he scored a critical in that leg.

The Thunderbolt was mauled as the face plating on the cockpit lights up from a head hit. Powerful current was fed back through the neuro helmet, threatening to knock Gunther out but shaking his head he managed to keep conscious. Gunther knew it is just a matter of time until he went down if they did not get out of this ambush and so he pushed harder on the pedals. Suddenly they all saw the billowing cloud of smoke as Leslie Drexler punched out of her dying 'Mech. Floating down on a parachute her command couch landed softly sixty meters away from ‘Python’s 'Mech.

“Cover me while I grab the pilot” he commanded, moving the short distance to the downed warrior. The unit formed a protective cocoon around the two 'Mechwarriors as Gunther did the unthinkable and opened his cockpit and lowered the ladder for Leslie to climb up. For now his ‘Mech was in the worst possible position, not moving with his cockpit wide opened. Quickly Leslie hobbled up the ladder and into safety of the cockpit. ‘Python’ pulled up the ladder and dogged the hatch “Buckle up, its going to be rough.”

It was hard to tell who was getting the worst of this engagement but by the battle read outs the IAC were down one ‘Mech, and two heavily damaged. The 10th Marik Militia forces were starting to suffer damage across the board. As Gunther looked up through his plastisteel cockpit glass, ‘Jager’ unleashed hell from his six medium pulse laser on the Shadow Hawk. The 'Hawk exploded giving them the hole they needed to get out of this trap.

“Good job, ‘Jager’.” He lamented “All out now, fighting withdrawal! Follow the Penetrator!”

As he clicked through the enemies damage he could tell that if given time they could win this battle and turn the tide, but at what cost? Somehow you had to have equipment left to be considered the victor. Suddenly the pilot of the Eisenfaust ejects and one of the other ‘Mechs recovered the pilot. As they move through the breach, the veteran IAC ‘Mech pilots pour fire into the enemy, damaging them without mercy.

Ducking his head down they managed to disengage and get on a heading back towards base. Again he had managed to walk into a clever trap of the 10th Marik Militia and he had the feeling it would not be the last time. “Base, ‘Python’, Returning to base. Have medical and repair standing by as we have sustained moderate to heavy damage and are two 'Mechs down.”

“Roger, ‘Python’, copy.”

Word Count 2895
CONTRACT TOTAL 80,373
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE
	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
  
LA-SC-08-01 #43

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Camurus
Outskirts of Nouveau Paris
The Flying Dutchman Inn
April 29th 3096 22:45 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

"Make a gap." First Lieutenant Jan ‘Wandler’ Luftensteiner pushed two of his fellow officers aside as he placed the round of drinks down on the table and sat down in the space he had just created on the bench. At 31 years of age, the tall blonde haired battle armor pilot held more experience than his junior rank suggested and he laughed heartily as the rest of the table loudly bemoaned his entrance. Seated outside the Flying Dutchman Inn on the outskirts of Mizar's capital the party was in good spirits. Made up of the officers of the mercenary company 'Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry', they had spent the last four months playing cat and mouse with the 10th Marik Militia and were now spoiling for a fight.

"You know, I've been thinking." Jan said as he handed out the round of drinks. He was drowned out by cried of 'Dangerous, dangerous!' in response to his opening statement that ’He’d been thinking’ as the table erupted into laughter. He waited for it to die down out and continued. "We've all shared the story of how we all meet, but there is one story I don't know and can't figure out." He turned to face the shortest of the assembled non comm officers, an unassuming man with short brown hair by the name of Veit Way. "How in the Inner Sphere did the Marik spy end up working for the decidedly Lyran Ingersoll’s Armored Cavalry?"

"Is it any less likely that said the IAC hiring the Local Citizens for Davion Purity Terrorist?" Veit replied with a grin.

"Akk, I know we've had this conversation before Jimmy." Jan replied in an over the top mock Gallic accent. "But the correct term would be Freedom Fighter, no." The table erupted in laughter again, it would be expected that the quiet, reserved Veit wouldn't get on with the loud boisterous Jan, yet the two were fast friends and the back and forth sniping regarding each other's shady pasts was considered great entertainment by the other officers and non-comms. "Seriously though, there's got to be a story there?"

"There is, but I don't tell it well. Gunther, you want to tell it."

Executive Officer Gunther ‘Python’ Price, the IAC member in question, put his beer down. "If I must." He responded with mock resignation. "It all started in 3090, on a planet in Circinus Federation called Baltazar III."

………………………..

A small crowd of onlookers surrounded two men, both stripped to the waist as they wait for their seconds to finish inspecting their weapons. Dueling cultures are not uncommon in cultures dominated by a 'nobility' and it wasn't surprising that the pirates turned semi - legitimate rulers of Baltazar III had adopted the concept as part of their attempt to 'fit in' with the rest of the Inner Sphere. Captain Gunther Price stood stoically as he sized up his opponent. The local's predisposition for dueling, and their habit of using it as leverage in trade disputes was one of the reasons why Price had been attached to the Fed Suns trade mission. His home planet, Malarn, had a similar cultural leaning towards resolving disputes with cold steel.

Every planet is different though, he reflected, the game was the same but the rules changed. On Malarn this duel would never have been allowed, to challenge a guest would be unthinkable and in any case the hosting family's champion would be expected to defend their guest's honor. Here this was all seen as part of a legitimate negotiating tactic. Oddly their main hold up seemed to be his chosen weapon. Baltazar's young nobles favored a light sabre design, Price preferred a medieval style arming sword, the heavier blade better suited his lanky frame and its nature sent a message, it wasn't a dueling sword wielded by an honor obsessed nobleman, it was a killing sword wielded by a trained killer.

Still no one had been paying attention to that message and he'd been dodging clumsy attempts to trap him into a duel for the past four days. In the end they had given up and seized upon a poorly chosen comment regarding the local wine as an excuse to challenge one of the Ambassador's young aids. Faced with the choice of looking weak, letting the kid be killed or fighting the duel himself, Price had accepted the challenge, even if he felt it was a ludicrous idea.

Each man’s second had finished their debate and returned the duelists' blades to the duelists. Price barely knew the Lyran diplomat acting as his second, he had only joined the party a fortnight ago and they had quickly made known their disdain for his unit, the Federated Freeman. Price took his blade silently and banished his reservations, focusing on the young man opposite him. Shorter at about 5' 9'', he moved well as he went through several warm up exercises, Price didn't know his name, frankly it hadn't seemed important. The two duelists met in the middle and crossed the tips of their blades. It was the challenger's prerogative to start the duel.

"En garde!" Price's opponent shouted as he attacked with a serious of short sharp slashing attacks. Price gave ground, keeping his blade low as his footwork kept him out of reach of his enemy's blade. Emboldened, his opponent pressed forward only for Price to suddenly snap his blade up, slamming aside the lighter sabre and taking the offence with a lightning thrust. It was now the younger man's turn to give ground, blood seeping from a shallow cut on the left arm. Balance restored, the two men started to circle each other.

Price broke the dead lock first, stepping in, he alternated slashes and thrusts, high and low to spread his opponents defense before delivering a savage blow to his opponent's brow. With blood pouring down his forehead, the young duelist dropped to his knees as he tried to stem the bleeding with his off hand. His second and his friends rushed to his aid. Deeming the duel over, Price bowed then turned to leave, satisfied that he'd probably avoided killing his opponent.

"The duel is not over; he can still fight."

Price turned sharply, the voice hadn't come from the duelists second, rather an old man from the crowd wearing a faded Black Warriors uniform.

"He can't see through all that blood." Price's astonishment was plain in his voice. "He cannot possibly continue."

"All duels are to the death. George, get to your feet."

The younger man climbed to his feet and picked up his sabre. He tried to look brave but as his eyes meet Gunther's, the fear behind the façade was plainly visible. Internally Price seethed, it was lose - lose, don't kill him and look like a coward or kill him and look like a murderer.

"This is bloody murder." He protested, but was met by a wall of silence as his opponent unsteadily advanced. Initially Price gave ground, unwilling to fight such an unequal duel, but at length, with nowhere left to retreat to, his opponent's incessant attacks forced a reply. Two quick blows later, his opponent lay dead at his feet. Without a word the crowd began to disperse, the fallen duelist's friends picked up his body and carried it away, leaving Price alone. He stared at the blood on his hands for a moment and then started after the old man, only to find his way blocked by a short brown haired man in a Free Worlds League Military uniform.

"Trust me Captain Price, you want to let this one go."



Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Camurus
Outskirts of Nouveau Paris
The Flying Dutchman Inn
April 29th 3096 22:45 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

"It's just to see someone sacrificed so blatantly for points scoring." Gunther fumed as he practically inhaled his breakfast. The inn's owner placed two pints of beer on the table and withdrew quickly. Technically his inn wasn't open for business, but Baltazar was only one step removed from a pirate stronghold and he knew better than to argue when two blood stained men appeared on his doorstep and demanded food and drink. "That kid stood no chance and he knew it, there was no honor in killing him, no purpose, it's just bloody murder to force him to keep fighting."

"I'd have thought a soldier would be at peace with the idea?" His companion replied amicably, eating his own breakfast at a more restrained rate. "When we signed up we knew we might be asked to give our lives for the cause," the Free Worlder mentioned nonchalantly.

"Well yes, but you're supposed to dress it up a bit, tell them they are risking their life for something important, fighting to protect something worth dying for. Not just say, your death will work to my political advantage so go over there and die." Gunther replied, contempt for the Baltazarian's actions clear in his voice.

The other man leaned back and folded his arms thoughtfully. "But is there really a difference?"

"Yes … no … I don't know." Gunther threw his arms up in frustration. "It shouldn't matter but it does." He complained as he sank back into his chair.

"I know what you mean." His companion replied. "Anyway, I never introduce myself, I'm Captain Veit Way of the 11th Atrean Dragoons, currently the military attaché to the House Marik trade mission."

"Ahh the mission spy, explains how you know who I am." Gunther replied bad temperedly. "Captain Gunther Price, 1st Federated Freeman attached to the Fed Suns trade mission, but you know that already."

"True, but it is bad manners to come out and say it." Veit replied coolly.

Gunther stopped and thought for a moment. "Sorry I'm not having a good morning, you just did me a good turn and I'm being a total ass. Mind if we start from scratch." He held out his hand. "Captain, Gunther Price, 1st Federated Freeman, not always a total bastard. Thank you for the assistance. Can I buy you a drink?"

Veit smiled and took his hand. "Captain Veit Way, 11th Atrean Dragoons, totally not a spy." Both men laughed. "And I will take you up on that drink."

The barman put another pair of drinks on the table, Gunther dropped some bills into his hand as payment. "So how in the Inner Sphere did you end up this far rimward of Terra?" Veit asked.

"I'm one of the 1st's 'Crisis Men', good in a fight but a touch of a liability in court." Gunther replied. "My Colonel prefers to put me on detached duty in peace time. Cuts down on the number of dueling injuries to the rest of the regiment,” he laughed. “And Yourself?"

"I volunteered, my wife's pregnant, I thought it best to put a few light years between us until she's calmed down." They both laughed. "I joke, someone had to go and I pulled the short straw. Originally we were both going but obviously the pregnancy put pay to that."

"Comes with the job doesn't it. I missed my niece’s birth. Kind of a kick in the teeth but I was on a deep raid of the CM when my sister found out she was pregnant, couldn't just nip back for the birth. Didn't actually find out till after the fact." Gunther replied sympathetically. "How's your wife taking it?"

"Melissa? Oh she's taking it quite well. She's a mechwarrior herself and we're assigned to different units so we're kind of used to the separation. Still I'd like to have been there." Veit sighed. "I have an arrangement with the local ComStar rep. I've already paid to have the message transmitted so I'll know as soon as she gives birth."

"Well that's something then." Gunther raised his glass. "To families, may they continue to put up with us and not throw us out into the streets."

Veit laughed and raised his glass. "I'll toast to that." He checked his watch. "We'd better get to work, someone's going to notice our absence if we stay much longer."

"True, well good to meet you Veit, hope everything goes well with your kid." Gunther got up to leave, but something made him stop, his tone changing back to serious. "Incidentally, why did you stop me? I could have got the entire trade mission chucked off planet right then and there. Would have left all the Germanium for your guys to snap up."

"True." Veit replied. "But then that would have left your people feeling aggrieved and they might well decide to use force to settle the issue, goodness knows Mariks and Davions don't need an excuse to come to blows. In the long run, a fair deal is better for everyone involved."

Gunther nodded. "Well put. Safe journey Veit."

"You too Gunther, you know they will be coming for you right."

"Oh yes, I'm counting on it."

. . . to be continued

Word Count 2197
CONTRACT TOTAL 82,574
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE

	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
   
LA-SC-08-01 #44

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Camurus
Outskirts of Nouveau Paris
The Flying Dutchman Inn
Story Time
April 29th 3096 22:50 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Veit had expected to see some sort of response to the dead Baltazarian, they didn't seem like the kind of people who let such things go easily. But, kidnaping the Fed Suns Ambassador's teenage son, that was a little much. In fact, it didn't make any sense, it was too serious to be a negotiating tactic, it was the sort of thing the Fed Suns responded to with RCTs, not trade concessions. Maybe it was a splitter faction trying to embarrass the ruling faction, there were rumors that civil war was brewing. But if that was the case they were playing a very dangerous game for little gain that Veit could see. It was particularly strange that after four days there was still no ransom demand. It was a week for surprises though, he also hadn't expected to find Gunther Price waiting for him in the compounds meeting room.

"So why me? I am a Marik spy remember, why do you think you can trust me?" Veit asked.

"I don't." Gunther replied. "But, I know where your loyalties lie."

"And you don't trust your own people because you think it was an inside job." Veit finished the unspoken half of the sentence.

"Don't you?"

Veit nodded, it was certainly his analysist's interpretation of events. The Fed Suns compound was well guarded, for the attackers to have gotten in and out before the alarm was raised was highly suspicious. It suggested a well place inside man.

"And you feel I won't betray you because you don't think I think it would be in the Free World League's best interests."

"I wouldn't use so many words, but yes." Gunther replied slowly losing patience. "Look it pains me to say it but I can't do this alone and there is no one else I trust on this planet. Will you help me?"

Veit looked thoughtful. "Of course a member of the FWLM can't be officially involved in what's highly likely involves breaking multiple laws in a neutral nation. However, if something were to happen to the Federated Suns's Ambassador's son and it came out that the Free World's League had refused to help, that might adversely affect the relationship between our nations." He grinned. "So guess I'd better leave my ID card at home today. Do you have any leads?"

Gunther grinned back and spread a map of the city out on the table. "I got a bit of a break." He started rummaging through his pockets. "I was trying to track their getaway vehicle when two Black Warriors took a dislike to my questions. They are in hospital now, but before they went, one very kindly lent me his van …." Gunther held up some keys. "… and unlocked his holovid phone for me." He produced a vid phone still marked with a blood stained thumb print. "It had some very interesting messages on it. Including a shopping list and a drop off point for tonight."

"McIntyre men or Cirion's?" Veit asked, he doubted it would be President McIntyre's faction, but it payed to double check.

"No idea." Gunther admitted, until that moment it hadn't occurred to him there was any need to make a distinction.

"You know they are going to notice their deliveryman is missing and abandon the drop." Veit looked skeptical at the presumed plan.

"If they were smart they would." Gunther agreed. "But they are Black Warriors, basically pirates, and I just put two of their men in hospital and jacked one of their vehicles. They can't let that stand, they have to respond or they lose face in the local community. They know I'm trying to track them, my obvious next move is to complete the drop off and then track them back to their hide out."

"So they lay an ambush for anyone foolish enough to drive their van up to the drop off point." Veit reasoned. "Except you're not thinking of driving are you?"

"Not a chance, they are expecting a van, they won't be expecting two guys sneaking up behind them." Gunther replied with relish.

"Still poor odds, half dozen or more to one." Veit replied.

"Still time to back out if you're scared."

"Not a chance. Meet me at the crossroads two blocks away at 5pm." Veit pointed at the map. "I'll bring a few toys."

"Me to." Gunther replied offering his hand. "We've going to give the bastards hell."

Veit took his hand. "That we are."




Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Camurus
Outskirts of Nouveau Paris
The Flying Dutchman Inn
Story Time
April 29th 3096 22:50 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

"This wasn't quite my idea of giving them hell." Gunther complained. The two officers were curled up in sleeping bags under the shelter of an abandoned factory's doorway. To any onlookers they looked like two vagrants trying to stay warm as the night drew in, only if they got really close would they notice the subtle glow of the hand held terminal concealed in Veit's sleeping bag.

"You'll get your chance to shoot the place up later. In the meantime, watch." Veit replied as he watched the handheld's screen intently. Overhead a small drone was feeding him a real time view of the area, he'd already identified four parties in the ambush around the drop point and what he suspected was the command post. It all looked suspiciously militaristic.

"There's only four of them in that room. We can take them, interrogate them and be done with it." Gunther continued complaining. His bag of toys had consisted of a Mars Laser Carbine and a satchel full of various grenades.

"And if they won't talk?" Veit responded only half paying attention as he fiddled with the terminals controls.

"Make them." Gunther replied simply.

"You'd resort to torture?" Veit was surprised enough to look up from the screen.

"Well no, just rough them up a little, scare them a bit. Nothing that extreme." Gunther grumbled.

"Might work." Veit said. "But I have two better weapons in play. Boredom and a laser microphone. Put this ear piece on."

It took a while, but as their watch dragged on the enemy in the command post began to lose focus and started to chat amongst themselves. At first they stuck to small talk, but eventually it gave way to complaining about their current tasking and then slowly to complaining about all the tasks left to do tonight. With a practiced ear Veit drew out usable intelligence from their conversations as Gunther worked with a map of the city to try and pin point potential locations that the hostage might be held at.

"Think I've got it." Gunther whispered. "There's only three places that she could be referring to as a 'steel mill'. Ones in use, but two are closed down. However, one of those is right next door to the diplomatic compound, it's no good as a cover location. They must be using this one." He stabbed at the map with his finger.

"I agree, but look at the list of names they keep mentioning. The guard force could be as many as twenty, we can't take that on alone. We'll have to bring in others." Veit replied, concerned.

"Someone will blab and once they do we can forget about finding the kid. Besides your forgetting something, they've got fourteen men here, that only leaves six guarding the factory. If we go now, we've got good odds of getting in and out before this mob know what hit them."

"That's a fair gamble Gunther, if your wrong we both die."

"That's how the game works. You coming?"

"I think I'd better." Veit programmed the drone to return to base and closed up the terminal. "Hate to think what crazy ideas you'd come up with on your own."

Quickly packing up their equipment, Veit and Gunther walked briskly back to Gunther's wheeled car and took a circular route to the suspected hide out. Leaving the car well short of their objective they approached the abandoned steel mill on foot. careful to stay in the shadows. Using his carbine’s optics, Gunther scanned the front of the building.

"One guy guarding the front door, can't see any others. Don't suppose you have another of those drones on hand?" Gunther asked.

"Only had the one and it'll need charging for three hours before I can use it again." Veit replied.

"Old fashion way it is then. I'd assume they are keeping the kid in the mangers office, it will have a good line of sight and be easy to defend." He produced the map. "I'm going to circle round on foot, go in through the loading bay. I’ll take out the guard there,” Gunther reiterated pointing to a spot on the map with his pointer finger, “ … and then find the kid and bring him out the same way. I want you to bring the car round 15 minutes after I set off, we'll go straight back for the Fed Suns Compound, failing that we head for the spaceport."

"You're going to go in alone?"

"Six to One, good odds for a Malarnian." Gunther replied like that should explain everything.

Veit didn't look convinced but nodded anyway. "Fifteen minutes then. Good luck Gunther."

"See you on the other side Veit."

As Veit went to retrieve the car, Gunther set off on a long loop round behind the mill. The streets were deserted at this hour, the industrial complex eerily quiet as Gunther moved swiftly from shadow to shadow. He wasn't surprised to find that the apparently abandoned mill had a brand new padlock on its gate. Slinging his carbine to his rear right shoulder, Gunther took a few steps back and then with a running start, jumped up and pulled himself up so he could see over the brick wall. A lone sentry patrolled the loading bay, his rifle slung as he kicked a stone in front of him. Gunther waited until the sentry's back was turned then heaved himself over the wall and dropped down on the other side. The sentry turned at the sound, but unable to see anything in the twilight, he turned and continued his absent minded patrol. Leaving his satchel behind, Gunther checked his watch and crept up behind the sentry, readying his carbine. He waited until the sentry was about to turn aroud before rising up, carbine held up ready to fire. The sentry turned to find himself face to face with the business end of a Mars Laser Rifle, his eye widened in surprise and the sentry nearly dropped his rifle in his haste to throw his hands up. Gunther put a finger to his lips and used crude hand signals to tell the sentry that he should lie down. Quickly he stripped the sentry of his weapons and tied and gagged him before retrieving his satchel.

Gunther tested the rear door to ensure it was unlocked before pausing for a deep breath. He checked his watch, 3 minutes left. Carefully he pushed the door open and moved into the abandoned mill. Moving swiftly between the massive machinery he quickly located the elevated manager's office, a single light illumined the room which could only be approached by one stairway. Two shadows moved back and forth inside. Another three Black Warriors were grouped around a burning oil drum in the center of the factory floor, trying to stay warm. Moving up to the foot of the stairs, Gunther opened his satchel and took out a pair of grenades. The first, a flash bag, went through the broken window of the manager's office, the second, a frag grenade, went looping towards the oil drum. Shouts of surprise filled the mill followed shortly by a pair of explosions. Gunther was already pounding up the stairs and burst into the room before the defenders could recover. The first died before he'd even realized he was under attack, the second managed to raise his weapon, but half blinded by the flashbang, he didn't have a chance to fire before Gunther's second shot took him in the chest. Setting off a smoke grenade, Gunther quickly moved to the side of the third figure in the room and cut the bonds binding him to a steel chair.

"Quickly Sir, we've got to go."

Temporarily blinded and deafened by the explosions, the Ambassador’s son,William, was barely able to comprehend what was going on so Gunther grabbed him by the arm and pushed him towards the stairs. With smoke covering their descent, Gunther sent another frag grenade towards the fire before pausing for a moment, focusing on the front door. Unsure of what was happening, the front door guard stepped right into his sights, looking left and right as she tried to make sense of the chaos in front of her. She didn't get a chance as two shots in quick succession from Gunther's carbine dropped her.

"This way Sir." Gunther took William by the arm once more as he made for the open rear door. Disorientated and shocked the surviving guards started to open fire, but it was sporadic as they opened fire at random, hoping to hit their illusive enemy. Running through the rear door and into the yard, Gunther led William towards the rear gate. It swung open as Veit, having picked the lock, pushed it open. He dropped to a knee, Imperator Rifle held at the ready as he covered the rear of the mill. Gunther bundled William into the rear seat of the car before moving to cover Veit.

"Get in." Veit shouted as he jumped in the driver's seat.

Gunther threw himself into the car. "Go, go, go!"

The car leapt forwards as Veit floored the accelerator.

"Who are you?" William asked as he started to regain his senses.

"Sir, I'm Captain Price, one of your father's men, this is Captain Way of the FWLM, we've been sent here to rescue you."

Word Count 2366
CONTRACT TOTAL 84,936
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE

	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
    
LA-SC-08-01 #45

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Camurus
Outskirts of Nouveau Paris
The Flying Dutchman Inn
Story Time
April 29th 3096 22:55 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

"I think we have a tail." Gunther stated as he looked out the window.

"Nothing behind us." Veit replied, checking his mirrors. The roads had been clear, all the locals seemed to prefer staying off the street at this hour.

"Above us, that helicopter is tracking us." Gunther replied with concern in his voice. Well above them a civilian helicopter slowly circled around their vehicle, trying to be inconspicuous.

"Ten minutes to safety, let it . . ." Veit started to reply as he turned a corner. "Ahh crap road block ahead."

Three hundred yards ahead the Black Warriors had made no effort to disguise who they were, the center piece of their road blocking being a tracked APC.

"Back up, back up!" Gunther shouted as warning shots were fired at them. Veit threw the car into a U turn, flooring the accelerator as they sped back the way they had come.

"SpacePort then." Gunther stated. "If we can get to one of our DropShips we're in the clear."

"Why?" William asked.

"Because where there are DropShips you'll find Marines!" Gunther replied with a wild grin.

The car careered down the street as Veit pushed his driving skills to the limit, dodging road blocks and trying to stay one step ahead of the encircling forces of the Black Warriors. Each extra turn added distance between the small party and safety as the net grew tighter as more and more routes were cut off.

"This is it, last chance." Gunther commented grimly as they turned a sharp right hand bend. Veit slammed the brakes on as their headlights revealed another road block and a Wyvern Battlemech standing over watch. "Oh that's just cheating." Gunther swore as Veit backed up, ignoring the warning laser shots melting the tarmac around the car.

"Any ideas?"

"Just one." Gunther replied. "In there now!" he pointed at the gateway to a warehouse's yard. The car shot across the road, bouncing up the curb and smashing through the gates.

"This is a dead end!" Veit shouted as he got out of the vehicle.

"Not for both of us, take the kid through the warehouse, stay in cover, get him to the SpacePort." Gunther replied as he ran round the car. He pulled a box out from under the driver’s seat and passed the contents to Veit.

"Flare gun, Red means SOS. White means stop shooting at me. Fire it once you're at the boundary fence and help will find you."

"What are you going to do?"

"Something stupid." Gunther replied as he got in the driver's seat and drove the car back out onto the street, right in front of the pursuing Black Warriors.

"Crazy fool." Veit growled as he grabbed William and propelled him into the warehouse. "This way Sir."

Gunther drove like a madman, erratically swerving from side to side as he did everything in his power to draw attention to himself and away from his ally. If he looked desperate, well he was, the only reason he was still alive was the apparent reluctance of the Black Warriors to risk killing their hostage. But the noose was tightening as he found road after road blocked and with a number of local 4x4's chasing after him his time was running short. Swearing he drove his car through an open gateway into a courtyard. Popping his last smoke grenade, he bailed out of the car and ran towards the door of a large factory unit. Two quick laser blasts took out the doors hinges and he burst through just as the first of the 4x4s pulled into the courtyard behind him.

The factory was an open plain, single story with brick walls and a tin roof. The factory floor was filled with metal stamping presses of various kinds and it was behind one of these that Gunther took cover, taking aim at the doorway. He didn't wait on any ceremony, the moment the Black Warriors showed themselves he opened fire. The first few didn't make it through the doorway, the second group hesitated and paid for their mistake as Gunther's tossed his last frag grenade blasting the trio to smithereens. But the third group didn't hesitate and pushed their wounded comrades past the entrance and into the cover of the multi ton press machines. More Black Warriors flooded through behind, as suppressive fire forced Gunther to duck back into cover. It turned into a deadly game of cat and mouse inside the gloom and shadow filled factory floor. Gunther darted between cover, firing a few shots and then relocating. At first he held the advantage, his enemy had to be aware of where their friends were as they haphazardly advanced, while he merely had to fire at anything that moved. But, despite mounting casualties they kept pushing forward, forcing Gunther back into a corner. Finally, trapped behind a lathe, with nowhere left to move to Gunther settled into a firing position and resolved to sell his life as dearly as he could. The grating sound of metal being torn apart caused him to look up. The Wyvern had torn aside a great chunk of the roof and now loomed through the gap, its flood lights illuminating Gunther as he stood up, too surprised to react. The Wyvern's lasers locked onto his position and Gunther heard the tell - tale sound of their capacitors charging up, he closed his eyes and wait to die.

Moments later he heard the sound of the laser's discharge and was amazed to still be alive, he opened his eyes to see the Wyvern stumble backwards, armor plate melted on its left side. Another volley of laser fire smashed into it and the pilot decided he'd had enough, activating his jump jets and disappearing over the buildings into the next street. Another ‘Mech, stepped into gap and Gunther's heart soared to see it was a Thunderbolt in the purple colors of House Marik.

"This way Sir." A corporal wearing the combat uniform of the old Lyran Commonwealth Marine Service stepped up behind Gunther, the rest of his squad fanning out and laying down suppressive fire against those Black Warriors who hadn't started running when their Battlemech did. "We'll get you back to the compound."

"No." Gunther responded. "Get me back to the SpacePort! He's going to need some help."

Word Count 1095
CONTRACT TOTAL 86,031
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE

	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
    
LA-SC-08-01 #46

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Camurus
Outskirts of Nouveau Paris
The Flying Dutchman Inn
Story Time
April 29th 3096 23:00 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Veit leaned his Thunderbolt round the street corner and opened fire at the Centurion at the far end of the street, scoring hits with the large laser but the LRMs scattered over the building behind it shattering windows and reducing cinder block to dust. He hoped this area was as deserted as it looked, even with just three ‘Mechs engaged they were racking up significant collateral damage. The Centurion returned fire as Veit unsuccessfully tried to drag his ‘Mech back into cover, autocannon shells and LRMs impacted the Thunderbolt ripping chunks out of his armor.

'Time not to be here.' He said to himself. With Gunther extracted and William safely aboard the Fed Suns dropship the 'mission' was complete and there was nothing more to be gained by continuing to fight. Besides, while he was confident he could defeat the two ‘Mechs in front of him, intelligence said there was a lance on this world. The Wasp wasn't a great concern, but the Hunchback was, especially in the close confines of a city fight.

Slowly backing up, Veit tried to guess where his enemies were going so he could slip through the gaps. Fighting like this was claustrophobic as he tried to keep moving. Turning a corner, he came face to face with the Wyvern again, they exchanged fire, the Wyvern taking the worst of it before, much to Veit's frustration, it again jumped clear. He picked a different route, trying to throw his pursers off his trail. Six hundred meters to the Space Port's boundary fence now, nearly there. His ‘Mech's warning siren sounded a lock on warning as two SRMs impacted his rear armor. He turned in time to see the Wasp jump away out of sight.

"Oh what I wouldn’t give for a set of jump jets right now." Veit growled as he randomly took another turn and swore as he found himself face to face with the Hunchback, its black, yellow and white tiger stripe paint job only slightly less intimidating that the massive autocannon on its right shoulder. Veit's Thunderbolt rocked backwards as the Hunchback's first 203mm volley ripped out great chunks of armor from his chest plate. Desperately, Veit returned fire as he back pedaled, lasers and SRMs scored his enemy armor in vain as the Hunchback slowly advanced, its next shot chewing through the armor on Veit's right leg, causing armor breach warnings to fill his heads up display.

"Oh to hell with this."

Veit bulldozed his way through the warehouse to his right, smashing aside brickwork and girders as he strove to put something solid between his badly damaged ‘Mech and the advancing Hunchback. He hoped the warehouse was as deserted as it looked, but he had little time to dwell on it now as his ‘Mech's passage sent packing crates flying through the air. Lowering his ‘Mech's shoulder, he drove his way through the far wall and into the street beyond. 'Got to move, got to move.' He thought frantically as he turned towards the SpacePort, only to find his way blocked by another mech. The Battlemaster, sinister in its all black livery raised its PPC as the Hunchback burst through the warehouse behind the Thunderbolt. Veit's eyes widened in surprise as he desperately swung his weapons up to defend himself. The Battlemaster fired, man - made lightning leapt from the barrel of its PPC, past the Thunderbolt, striking the Hunchback in the chest. Astonished to the point of inaction, Veit watched as the Battlemaster broke into a run. Releasing its PPC to free up its battle fists, it charged passed Veit and straight into the Hunchback. The Hunchback's pilot reacted quickly, backing up, she fired into the charging Battlemaster as it fired at her, missiles, lasers and auto cannon shells criss - crossed the rapidly shrinking divide between the ‘Mechs, both tearing great holes in each other's armor. Pushing through the fire, the Battlemaster swung its great fists, pummeling the Hunchback's upper body, seeking its head and a quick end to the duel. The Hunchback's pilot moved well, dodging back and landing quick kicks to try and knock the heavier ‘Mech off its feet. In the end mass won out, the Battlemaster forced the Hunchback back against the side of a building and its pilot punched out, its battle fist smashing through the already weakened head armor to crush the cockpit behind. The Battlemaster turned to face the Thunderbolt, the smashed armor plating only adding to its intimidating presence.

"Veit you alright?" Gunther's voice was distorted by his ‘Mech's external speakers but Veit, understood it. "I don't have your radio frequencies."

"Mostly, bit banged up. Let's get out of here while they're on the back foot." Veit replied using his own loud speakers.

Gunther considered it. Veit was out of the fight, his ‘Mech had numerous armor breaches, several over ammo storage bins, he would need to withdraw. His own ‘Mech had also taken more than a few hits, you didn't get into brawls with Hunchbacks and come out without a few bruises, but nowhere was breached and the weaken spot over his right torso wasn't a concern, no ammo there.

"No! I've still got a score to settle. Get back to the DropShips, I'll take it from here."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Veit shouted, but the Battlemaster was already in motion. Collecting its discarded PPC it set off, hunting down the rest of the Black Warrior's lance.

He found the Wasp first. Jumping on buildings, trying to get a visual on what was happening, the pilot lingered a little too long in Gunther's sights. A PPC blast, tore into its right arm, crippling numerous actuators. Not a killing shot, but enough to convince the pilot to make himself scarce as the Wasp pilot jumped away and into the cover of the streets. Gunther found the Centurion next, it had been running to the assistance of the Hunchback when it turned a corner and ran straight into Gunther's Battlemaster. Panic fire scattered auto cannon shells across the surrounding warehouses and factories as the Battlemaster fired point blank laser and SRM salvos into the Centurion's armor. The Centurion tried to get clear, tried to fight back, but a SRM found a hole in its armor, biting deep it set off a catastrophic explosion in the ‘Mech's LRM ammo. The pilot ejected as his ‘Mech disintegrated around him.

His comms smashed in the fight with Veit, the Wyvern pilot wasn't aware of the fate of his lance mates. It didn't take him long to realize that things had gone badly wrong when the black liveried Battlemaster turn the corner and raised its PPC towards him. Activating his jump jets he thought himself safe as he put two streets between him and his attacker. His jaw fell open as the Battlemaster followed him, powerful jets launching its 85 ton bulk through the air. 'Battlemaster's don't jump' wasn't a useful thought as Gunther's weapons locked on. The next thought was more useful. The Wyvern threw its arms up in the air.

"I surrender."

His blood up, Gunther still nearly pulled the trigger but restrained himself. There were limits and there were rules, there had to be or it was just mindless slaughter.

"Power down your mech." He replied, keeping his PPC trained on the Wyvern's head. "Tell me what I need to know and you can keep your BattleMech."

"Sure thing boss." The Wyvern's pilot replied jittery. "What do you want to know?"

"Let start with who you are, and why you kidnapped the Ambassador's son."

Word Count 1302
CONTRACT TOTAL 87,333
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE

	
    affiliations: Sergeant Gunther Price
    Crusader
    Fire Support
    Command
    1st Company
    Robinson's Royal Knights (RETIRED)
    FEDERATED SUNS
  
LA-SC-08-01 #47

Free Worlds League
Terra Military District
Duchy of Terra
Mizar System
Camurus
Outskirts of Nouveau Paris
The Flying Dutchman Inn
Story Time
April 29th 3096 23:00 Local (Nouveau Paris Time)

Captain Daventry nervously fingered the open hatch of his Scorpion tank. He, along with his lance and two platoons of infantry had been ordered to surround the Fed Suns compound and arrest one Captain Gunther ‘Python’ Price on charges of 'Breach of the Peace.' It had seemed simple enough at first, except the Fed Suns Ambassador had refused to say where the Captain was, had refused to allow Daventry's troops to search the compound and generally refused to cooperate in the slightest. Then reports started to come in of a firefight in an abandoned steel mill, followed by tales of a ‘Mech duel in the streets of the industrial district. Rumors were rife, but now the radio had gone strangely quiet, nobody was answering his requests for information, instructions or reinforcements. He suspected someone had screwed up royally and that his little command was now sitting in a very dangerous spot.

"Captain, you'd better come see this." The report came from the pair of tanks guarding the rear approach to the compound.

"On my way." Daventry responded as he directed his driver to head towards their position. He soon wished he hadn't. Daventry had been on enough raids to have seen BattleMechs in action and he was no longer bothered by them in the same way that they unsettled many of the younger tankers in his command. That said, if he was going to be bothered by a ‘Mech, the Battlemaster approaching his position would be the one to do it. It presented a hellish vision, black armor rent and torn, it swaggered as much as walked down the street, the decapitated head of a Centurion grasped in its left hand.

"Hold your fire, hold your fire!" He shouted down the radio as he picked up his loud speaker and took a deep breath before speaking with confidence he hardly felt.

"Captain Gunther Price, by order of the Governor of Baltazar, you are to power down your ‘Mech and submit yourself to arrest."

The Battlemaster stopped and turned to face Daventry's Scorpion. For a moment it stopped as if considering its options before the silence was broken by its external speaker, Gunther's voice coming through loud and clear.

"Given that your military has recently kidnaped the Ambassador's son and tried to kill me." The Battlemaster stepped forwards and threw the Centurion's head at Daventry's Scorpion. The head bounced once and came to a rest just in front of the tank. "I'm going to have to go with, ‘Make Me.’ "

Inside his ‘Mech, Gunther weighed up his options. He had to admit the situation had gotten a touch out of hand, ideally he needed to calm the situation down and start talking. After all, the Wyvern pilot had revealed that the kidnaping was the work of Cirion's faction, hoping to use their hostage as leverage against the Governor. Presumably therefore he could 'trust' the Governor's men. The problem was he didn't trust any of the Black Warriors and he was currently sitting inside the greatest remaining concentration of military power on the planet, with no particularly good reason to relinquish that position.

Outside, Daventry also weighed up his options. Quite frankly his orders were now impossible and attempting to arrest Gunther was out of the question. That Battlemaster could easily destroy his lance of Scorpions and likely wipe out their sister lance that was conspicuous in their absence. Once they were gone there was no significant force left to defend either the city or the planet. He could call for the support of his own sides BattleMechs, but it looked like they had already been defeated if not destroyed. Ideally he would like fresh instructions but no one at headquarters was responding to his requests, leaving him in the uncomfortable positions of having to make his own decisions and justify them later.

"Captain Gunther, I am Captain Daventry of the Black Warriors, if you have evidence of your accusations against our forces we would be willing to discuss them, if you power down your ‘Mech and come with us."

"Give me one good reason to trust you Captain."

Daventry paused, to be fair, he didn't have a particularly good one, he had a nasty suspicion that the foreign ‘Mechwarrior was telling the truth and a faction of the Black Warriors was behind the kidnaping. The splintering between groups loyal to the President McIntyre and those loyal to Michael Cirion had become more and more pronounced of late and if he was telling the truth he would be very foolish to trust his safety to Daventry and his men. His radio squawked.

"Err Captain, got another BattleMech at the front gate. FWLM Thunderbolt."

The purple Thunderbolt picked its way carefully through the perimeter of Black Warriors, following the bemused infantry's directions to their captain. "Captain Daventry, I am Captain Veit Way of the Free Worlds League Military, may I suggest a solution?" Despite being fresh from the fight, Veit managed to sound calm and reasonable, a notable contrast to Gunther's aggression. "I will stand here as a guarantee of Captain Gunther's good conduct while we await the arrival of your governor. He has agreed to an emergency meeting with the Federated Suns and Free World League Ambassadors to resolve this unfortunate situation."

Daventry's mind raced. The governor was going to be here, in person, with a potentially hostile Battlemaster running loose. Was he just supposed to allow that? How was he supposed to stop it?

"It has been suggested that the three of us take joint responsibility for the meetings security, to prevent any further embarrassing incidents." Veit continued.

"Yes, yes, that would be satisfactory." Daventry latched onto the idea with the desperation of a drowning man. "My men will provide an outer cordon, if you both provide the inner." He added, trying to retain the illusion of being in charge of the situation.

"I agree." Gunther replied simply and switched off his external speakers. He pinged Veit with a laser line. "Your work I take it?"

"Thought I'd take advantage of the chaos you caused. I gather the Governor wants you and your ‘Mech as far away from here as possible as quickly as possible and is willing to offer some serious concessions to make that happen." Veit replied over the same link.

Gunther smiled to himself "Gunboat diplomacy at its finest."

Veit laughed. "That's one way to look it."


…………………………………



"So let me get this straight." First Lieutenant Peter Grimaldus, the CO of the ‘Sword of Valor’ cut in. "The pair of you, alone, accidentally declared war on a planet and won?"

"That's my Baby." Tech Sergeant Deana Herron replied, hugging her man's arm and kissing him on the check, much to his embarrassment.

"You’re both insane." Peter concluded.

"We're following them, what does that make use Peter." First Lieutenant Melissa Mariotta replied with a smile.

"Idiots, but I knew that when I agreed to follow Gunther and Eric into battle." Peter replied to the group’s general amusement.

"Anyway." Gunther continued, expressing some annoyance at the interruption. "Command counted that as a victory so afterwards I ended up employed as a sort of trouble shooter in the Broder Protectorate between House Davion and House Marik."

"Emphasis on the shooting part right?" Jan added.

"Naturally." Gunther replied. "Which is how I met you of course. Regardless with those sort of missions it was useful to maintain a contact on the Marik side of the border."

"Between the pair of us we did a lot of good work towards keeping the Protectorate quiet and fairy peaceful." Veit expanded on Gunther's point. "When I needed to deal with a problem on the Davion side of the Protectorate, first person I contacted was Gunther to de - conflict with anything the Fed Suns was running and visa versa, I would ensure than anything Gunther was up to wouldn't run afoul of FWLM patrols. We ended up heading a number of very hush hush joint ops to neutralize destabilizing influences and well, spend that much time working with someone you either end up as mates or mortal enemies."

"So when we needed an communications officer for the ’Seraphim’, I knew from the start who I wanted for the role, and suggested Veit to Eric."

"And for my own part it looked like the Border Protector was long gone and my tour was to be somewhat boring for the time being, so I talked my superiors into letting me take a leave of absence with a mercenary group. I get to go do some good and he gets some up to date info on the invaders." Veit dusted off the last of his drink. "Anyway I believe it's my round, who's in?"

A series of 'Ayes!' went round the table as the night's festivities continued.

Word Count 1502
CONTRACT TOTAL 88,835
Gunther Price
‘Python'
First Lieutenant
Executive Officer
Thunderbolt TDR-7SE
1st Company
Command
Sniper
Ingersolls Armoured Cavalry
LYRAN ALLIANCE