Registered Contract: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Region: Federated Suns System: Merope Galactic Coordinates: X: 213.25 Y: -323.46 Days to Jump Point: 5 days Planet: Merope Primary Planetary Climate: Temperate Approximate Population: 48 Million People Capital City: Armidale Contract Type: Riot Duty Primary Operational Terrain: Urban, Heavy Contract Duration: 4 Months (60 Days in REAL TIME) negotiable Employer: Taurian Concordat Employer Contact: Deuces Wild Captain Justin Tian Command Rights: Liaison Assigned Forces Recommended: A Company Strength Detachment Supporting Forces: Deuces Wild Enemy Forces: Terrorist/rebel faction Supplement Contracts Offered: Objective Raid Bounty Per Word: 700 C-Bills Minimum Bounty: 12,000 Word Transcript Bonus Salvage Bounty Target: 68,000 Word Transcript Bonus Salvage Category: Type-C Salvage PLANETARY DETAILS: Merope is a world teetering on the brink of success or catastrophic failure. A border world between the Federated Suns and the Taurian Concordat, it has exchanged hands between the two realms a number of times. A slightly arid, temperate world, Merope is predominantly rolling hills and grasslands with some prominent coastal mountain ranges on all three continents. The relatively pleasant environment is excellent for growing certain crops though soil for farming must be imported as the worlds soil is too acidic for many cash crops. Industrialization has been a boon to the world and its small population is heavily invested in production of various goods with markets in the Periphery. Recently however, some of those markets have begun drying up as the Taurian Concordat makes inroads in its own production development. With the majority of the population employed in industrial jobs, Merope faces the very real possibility of an economic depression. Government and business leaders have taken steps to keep this at bay, lowering production levels and cutting wages to keep the economy afloat. However, the situation continues to deteriorate and as the unemployment rate goes up so does the number of protestors on the streets of Armidale, demanding assistance from the government they pay taxes to. Socio-Industrial Levels: Technological Development World of moderate advancement; average educational systems and medical care; microelectronics can not be manufactured. Industrialization Level Basic heavy industry at level of 22nd century; fusion engines possible but no complex products (including BattleMechs). Raw Material Dependence World/system produces some of the raw materials needed and imports the rest. Industrial Output World has a small industrial base that may produce a limited number of products for export. Agricultural Dependence World has and environment producing most foods, but relies on some imports for food not capable of being grown. EMPLOYER SITUATION REPORT: Considerable civil unrest has been building on Merope over working conditions and the general low quality of life in the midst of an economic depression. The Federated Suns had deployed the Wolf Dragoon Gamma Regiment there both as border protection and in an effort to keep the unrest from getting out of control. With hopes of a peaceful resolution, Federated Suns officials, Dragoons and a small team of Taurian Concordat observers hosted meetings with the protestor leaders. During one of these meetings there was a bombing. There is very little intelligence on what exactly happened and who is responsible. The Dragoons and Federated Suns have tightened their grip on the system. However, rumor has already spread that the Federated Suns is pointing blame at the Concordat. During an ongoing investigation into the incident, a nuke has been detonated at the Wolf's Dragoons base of operations, Fort Chaldwell, and it sparked a full scale planetary rebellion. When your unit's contract ends with the Wolf's Dragoons in February, you will immediately convert over to the employ of the Taurian Concordant to offer your unit's assistance and expertise in the investigation. This effort is to be seen as the Concordat cooperating fully with the Federated Suns in the wake of this escalating tragedy. While there, you will gather what information you can on this incident and who was responsible. The Concordant will attach a liaison officer to coordinate you efforts on behalf of the Concordat. PRIMARY OBJECTIVES: 1) Contain and Prevent further rioting 2) Gather information on who was responsible for this attack SECONDARY OBJECTIVES: 1) Conduct search for missing Taurian Concordat observers 2) Convince the Federated Suns that the Concordat was not responsible for this attack MISSION SYNOPSIS: Protests continue and the investigations are ongoing. Things are going to escalate suddenly from a direction no one expected; a competent police force. Investigating a person of interest, they show up to do an interview...no hard evidence on him....but by chance they show up during a meeting of a rebel cell. Some of the rebels panic and open fire. As the apartment was a major weapons cache and it has some incriminating evidence, the Rebels act immediately. They take to the streets, attack government and communications centers...and someone detonates the nuke at Fort Chadwell. There's going to be chaos on both sides....the Rebellion achieves surprise, but they weren't quite ready to move. It's not coordinated. One team of Deuces Wild (Jason's crew) will manage to mount up and take on a lance of Plieadies Sabers in the city, temporarily driving them back. Dragoons are out of touch as is the main command of the AFFS. Lauren Keene ends up in temporary command of the AFFS in Armidale. They abandon the administration center and move to the Starport, which is easier to defend. As soon as things start getting rough, Jason's going to send word to the Rabid Wolves and keep them in the loop. You're welcome to stage out of the Huntress or come up with your own base of operations somewhere. I think we'll go for roughly six weeks of fighting in game. The early Rebellion seizes a number of locations but can't quite get a grip on Armidale. The first two weeks should be fairly even in fighting....but the rebels aren't professionals and have finite amounts of equipment and limited repair facilities. Once the Dragoons rally things start going bad for the Rebellion. Attrition starts wearing them down. The third week, they start losing ground. Week four, there's word of Dragoon reinforcements on the way and things start falling apart. Throughout the fighting, there's rumor of Dragoons committing atrocities in retaliation for losing near a regiment of personnel in the nuke. (One battalion of Mechwarriors and supporting forces) we could make it just rumor or have a small command that's actually committing these crimes and we cross them...(maybe they get away, rogue mercs now, and we run into them in a future contract) After several clashes, we'll come to realize the identities of our better equipped opponents; Second Regiment of the Longwoods Bluecoats and rogue elements of the Taurian Concordat. I think one big battle against the Sabers (the former concordat officers) should shatter them. After that, the rebellion starts to fail. (And we've protected our employer from being accused of fomenting the rebellion) The fighting winds down as new negotiations begin. The rebellion failed to overthrow the government...but now the threat of another uprising is taken seriously. The bloodshed is enough to bring both sides back to the table more determined to find a solution. No one ever knows for sure who set off the nuclear weapon. It's assumed it was the rebels though their leadership insists they never had a nuke. DJ and Tamryn. The search is called off as the fighting escalates. Afterward, the AFFS is finally able to pass on a message that had been set to arrive the day the rebellion began: they had positively identified Tamryn Silvers. She was killed instantly in the bombing. No trace of DJ was found....but Jason has his own theories..... Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 9:43 pm FS-RD-04-02 #01 Federated Suns Capellan March Ridgebrook PDZ Merope Armidale Downtown Mercy General Hospital Monday, 4 January 3097 12:10 Local Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bulls Eye’ Whitley pulled her coat up around her neck with her good hand as she walked along the bustling sidewalk amidst hordes of Armidale pedestrian’s. They were out in droves either going to lunch or coming back from an early one. There were cabbies honking horns, food trucks, and lunch cart vendors all clamoring for attention. It was cold enough out that it caused her nose to run and she could see her own breath as she breathed. But it was nowhere near as cold as Tharkad had been one year. She had learned a very valuable lesson from that mission to the Lyran Alliance capitol world. You buy your coat from the planet that you will be spending the winter months on and not from the world you are traveling from. She snuggled up inside of her Merope bought winter coat against the 2 degree Celsius wind chill factor whipping down into Armidale from the nearby mountain. Now it began to snow. Brrr. Her good hand was in reference to her right hand because her left arm was broken. It had been broken during the explosion that had removed the top two floors were the delegation had been meeting two almost three weeks ago that her Rabid Wolves were providing security for. She pushed the painful memories from her mind. She had business to deal with. She was being followed. Cathryn was headed back to her Dragoon sponsored apartment but she had taken the circuitous route around the block when she thought she had seen a man, or it could have been a woman, following her. So she picked up her pace and fast walked around the next block until she was certain the she wasn’t being tailed. It was a bad habit of hers that she had developed from her time in the Outworlds Alliance Intelligence Agency, always imaging that someone was watching her; but it had kept her alive on several occasions when her hunch turned out to be correct. After thirty minutes of wandering around in a seemingly haphazard path, she finally entered her apartment building through a side service entrance, grabbed her mail from the resident mailbox and made her way to an elevator. Taking the lift up to two floors above hers, Cathryn then walked back down to her own floor. She reached her own apartment and quickly entered, latching the door behind herself, and put her ear to the door to listen for movement out in the hallway. Satisfied, she stomped the snow from her boots and checked her trip line monitor and sensors. None of them had been tripped so she deactivated them, wiggled out of her coat past her broken arm, hung it in the closet, started a pot of coffee, and made a pit stop in the bathroom to go pee. Cathryn returned to the living area of her Spartan apartment. It was equipped with a functional mauve colored couch with a matching recliner, a coffee table, two end tables, two lamps, a bookshelf, a computer desk, complete with a laptop computer, and a sixty inch holovid projector. The kitchenette was much the same. A faux wooden, square table with four cushioned chairs. It came with all the standard kitchen appliances, stove, frig, etc., with a Keurig, microwave, electric can opener and a whole host of other small kitchen appliances that were the latest rave. Grabbing her coffee, Cathryn sat down at the computer desk, booted it up and while waiting for it to come online so that she could enter her 256bit encrypted password, she leafed through her snail mail. Cathryn Whitley’s heart caught in her throat and her skin paled to alabaster white as she came across a small slip of parchment slid in between her mail. It simply read: Look Close To Home She immediately performed her entry ritual but in reverse and within a few minutes Cathryn had flagged down a hover cab and was on her way to Mercy General Hospital. The cabbie turned out to be a ‘Chatty Cathy’ so Whitley had to shut him down. “Look a here, I’m really not in the mood so why don’t you put a cork in it and just drive the hack and I’ll make it worth your while.” He fell silent for the remainder of the ride. Cathryn had called the Rabid Wolves’ Cryptography expert, Mickey Gurevich, he hadn’t answered so she left him a voice mail and marked it urgent. Mickey was ex-Davion MI6. He’d done a stint in MI4 and MI5 (Covert Operations and Counterinsurgency) before landing in MI6, but in MI6 he really excelled. The Davion’s MIIO department called in Mickey when things went wrong. The ultimate in damage control, Mickey made problems go away, as in permanently. Before she’d reached the hospital, her wrist communicator beeped twice, she checked it and it was Mickey calling her back. A three inch tall Mickey popped up on her holowatch comm unit. Well at least it was Mickey’s face but his body was an avatar’s. “Hey Mick, how’s it going? We got ‘Auricles’.” Cathryn quickly announced. Most civilians didn’t know that the projecting outer portion of the ear was called an auricle’ which was the Rabid Wolves’ code for ‘We got people listening’ so be careful of what you say. “Acknowledged,” Mickey responded to Cathryn’s warning. “I’m doing good, ‘Cat’. All things considered. Why? What’s up?” “I have something I need you to take a look at for me.” “Will do. Anytime. Your message was marked urgent,” said Mickey. “Yeah, it kinda sorta is. How soon can you meet me at Mercy General?” Cathryn asked. “WHAT HAPPEN? Has the Sergeant taken a turn for the worse!?” True tormented concern edged Mickey Gurevich’s voice. “No, no. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight,” cooed Cathryn. “But its nothing like that. I have something I want you to look at and the sooner the better. I fear it might just be embedded with a Fire Capsule.” A Fire Capsule was a tiny incendiary charge implanted in sensitive documents which contained enough incendiary to destroy the document it is contained in with minimum additional energy output. Cathryn looked up into the cabbie’s rearview mirror to see if he were paying attention. She figured he’d perk up at the mention of a ‘Fire Capsule’ and he just may catch on. But he showed no overt signs of having heard a word she’d said; Which was probably best for him. “Awh Damn Whitley! Don’t scare me like that,” berated Mickey. “Ok then, I can be there in like 40 to 45 minutes. How would that be?” “That would be just perfect Mick. See ya soon.” “Oh, Wait a sec. ‘Cat’?” Mickey called out as he remembered something. “Yeah, Mick. I’m still here,” Cathryn responded. “Yeah, I logged into my ComStar account and I keep getting the error message, ‘Incompatible version’ and I’ve . . . “ Cathryn cut him off, “What version are you using?” “Huh?” Mickey responded more irritated at Cathryn cutting him off than at the question. “Whats The Version Number Of The Software?” she annunciated each word like she was speaking to a retard. “What the phuck do you mean? The latest version upgraded two days ago. 2.3.” The irritation clearly evident in Mickey’s voice now. So much so, that it garner a glance in the rear view mirror from the cabbie. “Uh uh, Sugah. Its supposed to be 3.0. It was pushed out last night,” replied Cathryn. “Well thanks a whole phukkin lot.” It was a snide remark. “For what?” Cathryn walked right into it. “For uploading it to me.” “But I haven’t.” “You will.” And Mickey’s avatar wavered briefly and disappeared as he hung up the phone. Cathryn arrived at the Hospital ahead of Mickey and had at least twenty minutes to spare before her Cryptography Specialist was due to arrive. She paid the cabbie with two 20 Pound D-bills and told him to keep the change. She entered the Hospital from an obscure entrance in the west wing and Sergeant Edward ‘Blaze’ Rockel was in the east wing. She walked clear across the Hospital four floors below the one where Edward was a patient on, walked up two flights, and took the elevator for the last two. During the course of her trans-Atlantic Hospital trek, she ducked inside an empty employee lounge, removed her overcoat, donned a Hospital employee’s lab coat, working her broken arm through the sleeve and proceeded down the hallway. As she rounded the corner, two doors from Edwards room, she collided with a Doctor Garret. She yelped as the impact sent slivers of pain arcing through her broken left arm. Dr Garret apologized emphatically and even offered to exam her. Unbeknownst to the Doctor that Cathryn’s ‘good’ hand had instinctively fallen to the butt of her hold out Nakajama Laser Pistol. Doctor Garret was strangely familiar to Cathryn. He had sandy brown hair, well trimmed beard, moustache, and goatee with the most remarkable hazel colored eyes. He was definitely ‘Lady Killer’ materiel. Excusing herself from Doctor Garret she waltzed into to Edwards room and greeted the only other occupant besides Edward, Corporal Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov, without looking up. Anastasiya was Maskirovka. Cathryn didn’t know if the young girl was ex or not. It hadn’t really mattered at the time. Anastasiya had been suffering from a severe case of alcohol poisoning with a BAC of .67. She had been trying to drink herself to death before the doctors had pumped her stomach. And when she sobered up, she was like an automaton of destruction. Her call sign should have been ‘Great White Shark’ for the way she killed without remorse or feelings for the lives of the people she snuffed out. Thinking about it even made Cathryn shiver. “Hey Girl.” Anastasiya looked at the Sergeant Major quizzically decked out in a Doctor’s lab coat but she had learned some years ago about the eccentrics of Cathryn so she took it all instride. “Hey Bull’s Eye,” Anastasiya glanced down at her own chronometer. “You’re kinda early though, aren’t you?” “Yep, but I had something I needed to tend to. How’s he doing?” “Doctor said he’s showing extensive brain activity which is always a good sign but he’s not out of the woods just yet,” answered Anastasiya. “Mmm hmm.” “ ‘CAT’! Are you even listening?” “Yes. I heard you. Extensive brain activity. Not outta the woods. I can walk and chew gum at the same time. Sheesh. Take a break. Go get something to eat.” Normal Cathryn would have gotten in the Corporal’s ass for using that tone of voice with her, but they were all dealing with a lot since the explosion and Cathryn realized that they each handled it differently so she gave the Corporal some leeway. “Yes Ma’am. I could use something to eat. You want something?” asked Anastasiya. “No thanks Ana. I’m good. You go ahead.” But just before Ana closed the door she asked Cathryn what was she studying so intently. “Tracking Bug Locater. Don’t ask.” Cathryn had placed a Tracking Microphone Bug on the good Doctor Garret. The familiarity had been from that afternoon when she ‘thought’ someone had followed her to her apartment building. She’d only gotten a glimpse this afternoon out on the street but now she was almost certain. Cathryn Whitley deliberately walked over and examined Edward’s chart. She didn’t know what she was looking for it just somehow reassured her that everything would be just fine in the end. Edward Rockel. ‘Blaze’. He was, no that sounds morbid. He is ex-Loki, Lyran Intelligence Corp. But after being betrayed by one of his own his distrust of LIC runs deep. All he wants to do is to settle a score with Clan Wolf and then after that, who knows. She walked from the foot of the bed where his chart hung up to beside him. She reached out with her good hand and ran her fingers along the side of his chocolate face. She recalled the events leading up to the course of the events as if it were just yesterday. It was 9am in the morning. The meeting was just getting started. Her team, the Rabid Wolves in Grey Death Battle Armor, was performing their security checks, two had anti-mech machine guns and two had anti-mech small lasers. She figured that they wouldn’t need flamers nor SRMs for this op. They were supposed to be the deterrent while an Infantry platoon of Dragoons were the warning. They had all four checked in. Mickey on the ground floor providing perimeter security, Edward had just confirmed that the meeting doors had been closed and it was about to get underway. Ana was patrolling the egress routes, the elevators and stairwells and Cathryn had been on the roof inspecting two Pinto VTOLs. That’s when she noticed a repetitive flashing red light from the corner of her visor. She moved to go investigate and that’s when she had discovered a string of lights that appeared to line the entire roof top. They hadn’t been there a half hour ago. She had checked. Closer inspection revealed that they were all attached to blocks of military grade C4. The roof had been rigged to blow and the meeting was on the top floor. Cathryn was a blur of action if you can call anything a blur when moving around in a one ton suit of armor. The very first thing she’d done was to send out an area wide broadcast to every member in the Dragoons platoon and her three Battle Suits. She had seen the timer and it was counting down from 66 seconds. She shared this information via the broadcast and instructed Edward to take out the wall the door was attached to because they had 128 delegates to evacuate in under a minute and she did not want them bottlenecking through that one entrance. Edward took it a step farther and not only did he take out the main wall but he put man sized holes in the three adjoining walls as well and one in the floor. She instructed the Dragoons to block off the elevators and roof access and to force the civilians to descend using the stairs and the fire escapes. Having given all the instructions she could think to give she raced across the roof top and tied the fire hose around her Grey Death Battle Armor waist and leapt from the roof. Her battle armor was not equipped with jump jets so she didn’t want to risk a fall from30 stories straight down. She’d hoped that the fire hose would be long enough to get her far enough away from the blast before it pulled taught and pendulum arc her against the building and she would use her machine guns to cut a hole in the brick and mortar. It almost worked. But right when the fire hose pulled taught, the charges went off and she fell the last 15 stories. She left a one meter impression in the ferrocrette below and busted her arm before losing conscious. Accounts in the aftermath told a story of Edward never even trying to save himself. He was more concerned about the civilians than his own skin. He stayed there on the top floor, directing and ushering out civilians, until it all came crashing down around him. As if he thought he would be protected by his suit of Battle Armor. Pictures taken after they dug his limp comatose carcass from the rumble a day later showed him devoid of anything that ever looked like a Grey Death Battle Armor. It was so tattered and shredded you could see clear through to his blood soak skin suit he wore beneath it. A Dragoon Military hearing had convened and found the her Rabid Wolves were abdicated of any negligence or wrong doing, however; they were being prevented from investigating the incident, stating a conflict of interest. There was a rap at the door. Cathryn had drifted over to the window during her reverie and uttered, “Come in,” as she used her good hand to wipe a tear that was forming in the corner of her eye. Mickey Gurevich had arrived. It was time to go to work. (2758) Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 9:46 pm FS-RD-04-02 #02 Federated Suns Capellan March Ridgebrook PDZ Merope Modonodes Armidale Wolf’s Dragoon Gamma Regiment Facility Repair Bay 3 Delta Tuesday, 5 January 3097 16:00 Local The Rabid Wolves’ Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bulls Eye’ Whitley and her Staff Sergeant Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich had shown their credentials to the Wolf Dragoon’s sentry and had flagged down a jeep for a ride to the repair bay nestled deep inside the Wolf’s Dragoons Gamma Regiment’s base. Mickey had a laptop bag and he placed it on the seat between the two of them. The base was a hive of activity even at this hour. Officers, non-comms, technicians, AsTechs, and civilians crisscrossed paths all on one self-important mission or another. Their driver had to stop several times, yielding the right of way to its larger brethren, BattleMechs and Tanks as the moved in and around the base. The heavy footfalls of the BattleMechs and the rumbling of tank treads or hover fans was a welcoming respite from the noises of the city. Cathryn felt more at home with these sounds rather than the honking of hover car horns. “So what happened with the Tracer that you stuck on this ‘Doctor’ Garret fellow?” Mickey asked Cathryn. “He is suspect. He’s up to something,” replied Cathryn as she shivered against the cold evening air in the open jeep. Mickey’s brow involuntarily furrowed, “Elaborate.” He blew his breath onto his hands in an attempt to keep them warm. He wore a heavy parka and a beret but he had forgotten to grab his gloves. “Well, the good ‘Doctor’ made seven stops before the battery in the transmitter conked out. Five of them last night, two this morning. At first I had assumed that the battery was defective when I lost all sound last night on his fourth stop because its rated for 24 hours but then it started transmitting again and I got full audio and location on stop number five. It appears that his fourth stop was shielded by an ECM and a White Noise generator. The other six stops all fit in with a Doctor’s cover story. Three were restaurants, one was a female acquaintance, one was to a medical supply store, and then to his residence. I crossed referenced the address via my holomap.“ Cathryn said, gaving Mickey the exact details. “And what about the clandestine fourth stop?” queried the Staff Sergeant. “It’s address points to an Industrial Plant thirty five kilometers south by southwest of the capital in a rural town named Tethys,” Cathryn answered. “But why would an Industrial Plant be shielded with an Electronic Counter Measures Suite and a White Noise Generator?” Mickey’s brow furrowed again. “Exactly!” exclaimed Cathryn. “Sounds like we need to make an excursion to Tethys and find out.” “Uh uhmm,” interrupting their conversation, their driver respectfully cleared his throat to get his passenger’s attention. It seemed that they had arrived at the Repair Bay and had been sitting there for at least thirty seconds. “After you get past the guard’s station, Battle Armor Repair will be down the left branching hall then to your right. You can’t miss it. It’ll have a huge sign that says ‘Battle Armor Maintenance, Repair, & Overhaul’.” He hopped out to help Cathryn out of the jeep because she was a woman but she ignored his hand and got out on her own, broken arm and all. “Cheers!” offered the young driver. Mickey grabbed his bag and the Rabid Wolf exited the jeep to follow the driver’s directions. After signing in at the Guard’s station, where they were both issued hard hats, goggles, and ear plugs; Cathryn and Mickey zigzagged their way along the hallway and through the Dragoon’s personnel until they made it to the Battle Armor Repair Bay. Upon opening the doors they were met with the typical sights and sounds of any military repair bay throughout the Inner Sphere. Technician’s and AsTechs were busy working on various suits of battle armor with welders and acetylene torches, sending sparks sputtering off into the distance, they were shouting and yelling to be heard over the din, and it smelled of lubricant and hydraulic oil. Mickey pulled out his Descartes Mk XXV computer from his bag and punched in a few keystrokes. The Mk XXV was the newest model of the popular Descartes Series Computer. And it’s primary function was to program and run diagnostics on military hardware, be they Vehicles, AeroSpace Fighters, BattleMechs, and yes even Suits of Battle Armor. “Our suits are over there in Repair Bay 3 Delta, Sergeant Major,” he said indicating a bay in the far corner of the facility. The two Battle Armor Pilots wound their way through the sea of Technicians until they made it to the bay labeled 3 Delta. This was Cathryn’s first time actually, physically seeing Edward’s destroyed suit of armor. Oh yeah, she had saw pictures of the destruction but here in person it look so much more worse. What little was left of the Gray Death Suit had been sawed in half to remove Edwards body. He had fallen into a coma from the tremendous blast. Cathryn felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Looking back, misty eyed, it was Mickey. “Your coat. We may as well get started.” She nodded. Mickey had just saved her the embarrassment of outright bawling. They both removed their cold weather gear and Mickey hung them up in a nearby locker. Edward’s suit wasn’t good for anything. No salvage, no spare parts, nada, nothing, zip. It had absolutely no salvageable parts. Mickey connected the Descartes Mk XXV to each of the other three suits diagnostic ports via a data cable and ran the diagnostic test on them. Ana’s and Mickey’s suits got through the diagnostic routine with a 97% and a 90% respectively. All they required was some ammo reloads, 100kg of Gray Death, ArcShield Diamond Weave armor patches, and their regularly scheduled maintenance. Her suit, on the other hand failed miserably. Her suit’s heads-up displays inside the helmet included the Pilot’s vital signs and those of her squad and it also linked the sensor mounted above the barrel of the modular weapons mount to her Sightlock Targeting and Tracking Computer, ensuring unerring accuracy; was malfunctioning. The helmet’s photolenses which react to ambient light levels, protecting the wearer’s eyes from intense light levels. They also enable her to see in infrared and ultraviolet was completely offline. Her Suit’s Vox unit and rebreather diagnostics were inconclusive. Her Gray Death helmet was designed to filter out the worst pollutants before they got to the wearer. In old concept designs, the front of the helmet was designed to lift up like the visor of a medieval helmet, but the design never made it into production. The osmotic gill, which is used to filter oxygen from high-moisture environments was mangled and in need of repair or more likely, replacement. Her ArcShield Diamond Weave Armor was breeched in two places through all three layers of protection. The first layer was an extremely strong titanium alloyed interlaced with tempered steel, the result of crystal alignment and radiation treatment, which also made it very brittle. The second layer was a ceramic, cubic boron nitride, which combined with a web of artificial diamond fibers acts as a backstop to the steel layer. These two layers rested on top of a titanium alloy, honeycomb structure which provided support and a layer of self-sealing polymer sealant which allows for space and underwater operations. The breeches were in her left arm and the adjoining side torso armor. Gray Death battle armor featured dual technology circuits, one set inside the torso armor, the other mounted on the outside in armored cabling. Nutrient dispensers, drug injectors and bodily waste filters are also housed inside the armor’s torso. Well per the diagnostics the system was fouled, meaning it didn’t know which one was which so it couldn’t decipher nutrients from bodily waste. Ewww. The backpack exhaust vents to prevent overheating via a bank of coolant coils across the hood were clogged full of dirt and debris, but that was an easy fix. Battle Armor Suits requires a great deal of power and so housed a large neutrino battery in its backpack, which can sustain the armor’s power levels for 96 hours. Without it the myomers in the suit would fail, leaving the wearer encumbered by the weight of the armor. Her suit was showing that hers was missing but in fact it wasn’t. They were both looking right at it. But what it was missing was the plastron that covers the power cables that kept them safe from enemy fire. Electronic sealant strips and flexible joints ensure that battle armor is fully enclosed for use in hazardous environments and even in the vacuum of space. Of her combine total of 14 sealant strips, 9 of them were either torn or bleeding out oxygen. Her bank of recoil suspensors , which were conceal inside her modular weapons mount, were all broken. And her Gray Death Clear Channel 3G com unit was busted all to hell and back. All-in-all, Cathryn was looking at, at least a cool million D-bills to get the suit back up to spec. “Sigh.” Where was she going to get that kind of money? (1577) TOTAL 4,355 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 9:50 pm FS-RD-04-02 #03 Federated Suns Capellan March Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope Modonodes Armidale Taurian Concordat Embassy Communications Room Wednesday, 6 January 3097 0900 Local “Before you blow your top,” Leftenant Daryll Stringer, the Rabid Wolves Federated Suns contact told Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bull’s Eye’ Whitley, “listen to the whole contract. This is a good one, ‘Bull’s Eye’. A real good one.” “Stringer, I don’t blow my top. Your top, maybe.” The old wooden chair creaked as Cathryn leaned back. It felt so rickety, she thought it was going to send her in a tumble to the floor at any minute. Sergeant Major Whitley, Staff Sergeant Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich, and Corporal Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov were sitting in a secure communications facility in the Taurian Concordat embassy, a room within a room with an encrypted communications link back to the Zenith space station. They had the option of using video and seeing Stringer as they spoke, but the vote not to do so had been unanimous. “So tell me what the story is,” said Cathryn. “Why are we being jerked off one wild goose chase and put on another?” “How’d you know there was a new assignment?” Cathryn rolled her eyes for the others. “Wolf’s Dragoons won’t allow us to investigate the bombing due to a conflict of interest and I know you won’t just allow us to take a vacation while we’re still getting paid. So just spill it, Daryll,” she told Stringer. “Garret. Nickolas Garret.” “That’s it?” she played it off. “The name doesn’t mean anything to you? Jesus, ‘Bull’s Eye’, where have you been? This is only the most infamous International scumbag going. I bet Stepanov knows who he is.” “Yeah, he’s at the top of the Who’s Who of Inner Sphere Scumbags,” said Anastasiya. “Where did we get this?” asked Cathryn. “MI2. Came from the top. I think Darwith huddled with Ambassador Spencer, and here we are.” Stringer gave them everything he knew about Garret, which wasn’t all that much. The Federated Suns either didn’t know or wouldn’t say where exactly he was going. Their Ministry of Intelligence had several indications that he had moved anti-spinward from the Confederated Magistry planet Quimberton . . . a favorite of Ana’s . . . and theorized that he had crossed the border, several months ago. Several groups tied to his organization had transferred funds into bank accounts used by the Maskirovka, and Taurian Ministry of Intelligence had several leads about where he was along their border. “Yeah, Taurian intelligence,” said Cathryn. “TMI with IQs equal to their shoe sizes.” “The assignment is to locate and apprehend,” said Stringer, ignoring Cathryn. “Apprehend as in arrest, as in bring him back alive? And what do I do when he tells me to phuk off?” said Cathryn. “Rhetorical question, Daryll,” she added quickly. “MI3 involved?” “No. They’re tied up.” “Where’s Depp?” Lance Corporal Kevin Depp was the Rabid Wolves’ defacto Battle Armor Tech from the MRBC. “I put him on a freighter to Merope’s southern continent for early insertion. We’ve asked for a liaison from the Wolf’s Dragoon Gamma Regiment’s security section. Where do you want him?” “Tethy,” said Ana. “I don’t know yet,” said Cathryn. MI3’s posture struck her as odd; if they bothered to pass something along, they almost always provided a complete dossier and at least a liaison to feedback notes. “Listen, I want to talk to Minister Darwith Daniels.” “Why?” “I’m having some trouble with my 401 K.” “You don’t have a 401 K plan.” Mickey and Ana both started to laugh. Cathryn grinned, relaxing a little.“Get him for me, will you?” prodded Cathryn. “I can’t just snap my fingers and get him on the HPG,” an exasperated Leftenant Stringer replied. “Use the Bat Phone, Robin,” quipped the Sergeant Major. “Come on ‘Bull’s Eye’. Daniels is traveling. I don’t know where he is. I can send him a priority alpha, though,” Stringer attempted to negotiate. “Tell him I want to talk to him, not you. Say it’s important.” Cathryn was not letting this one go. “OK. Listen, James wants you to meet him on Ridgebrook. He wants to talk to you. He’s pretty upset about ‘Blaze’.” “What about it?” “The fact that he’s incapacitated and out in a coma. He wants you on Ridgebrook . . . ” “There’s been a change of plans. I’m not going to Ridgebrook.” “Hey, ‘Bull’s Eye’, you can’t blow him off. He’s your benefactor.” “All right. Let me talk to him.” “He’s not here, ‘Bull’s Eye’. And it’s the middle of the night on Terra. Like four a.m.” “The way you’re calling him James and everything, I thought you were on the golf course or some shit.” “ ‘Bull’s Eye’.” “Wake him up.” “Come on,” Daryll pleaded. “Look, I’m not going to Ridgebrook. Why should we go to Ridgebrook from Merope and then turn right around and have to lift off again?” She looked at the calendar. “Depp’s going to Celaeno region on the Merope continent of Nysiades?” “Yeah.” “Hold him there. Tell him that he’ll be joined by Staff Sergeant Mickey Gurevich in week or maybe ten days.” In addition to being the Rabid Wolves Cryptology expert Mickey was also the Wolves resident Demolitions expert. “What should I tell Jam . . . Ambassador Spencer?” “Tell him I’ll be in Tethy. Actually, probably Armidale, with Wolf’s Dragoons and them Gamma boys.” “He really wants to talk to you.” “My satnav communicator is on twenty-four/seven.” “What about Stepanov and Gurevich?” “They can get their own girl or guy, whichever.” “ ‘Bull’s Eye’, listen. Spencer is going to be pissed.” “It’s better to be pissed off than pissed on!” exclaimed Cathryn tossing the communicator on the table. The other two Rabid Wolves looked at her. Cathryn folded her arms across her chest but then reached across and picked the com unit back up. “You OK, ‘Bull’s Eye’?” asked Stringer. “Maybe you need a rest.” “Yeah, a nice long rest,” Cathryn said. “So Spencer wants to chew my ass out in person, huh?” “Well, I don’t know that he wants to chew you out.” “Oh, come on, Daryll. But hey, who knows? Maybe some hot-looking blonde who graduated magna cum laude at daddy’s law school can run covert ops better than an ex-OAI Agent can.” “Listen, you don’t have to like it,” said Stringer. “You just have to do your job.” “You know what, Daryll? I’m going to take your advice,” said Cathryn. “Tell ‘James’ he can look me up on Merope if he wants, because I don’t have to like it, but I have a job to do.” This time when she tossed the communicator down, she got up and left the room. (1151) TOTAL 5,486 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 9:52 pm FS-RD-04-02 #04 Federated Suns Capellan March Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope Modonodes Armidale Wolf’s Dragoon Gamma Regiment Facility Sub Level Conference Room Thursday, 7 January 3097 1000 Local Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bulls Eye’ Whitley stood as patiently as possible in the small booth in the basement of the reinforced Wolf’s Dragoons Base, waiting as the equipment behind the titanium and ferrocrete walls scanned her for high-tech bugs. Security here was so meticulous that no one . . . not Cathryn, not the Rabid Wolves Small Craft Pilot Captain Johnny Yee, not even Colonel Tobias Milesine. . . could bypass the bug scan, let alone the weapons and identity checks. But the ritual only heightened her anger. The small green light in the center of the ceiling lit. Cathryn stared at the door, willing it to open. When it did, she walked down the hall to an elevator that opened as she approached. She didn’t have to press any buttons once inside, which was fortunate; she would have broken either the panel or her fingers with the jabs. The elevator opened a few seconds later fifty feet below the level where she had started. Cathryn walked to a stairwell at the far end, ignoring the two Elemental armored troopers, with an upside down ‘L’ insignia on their right shoulders; that were flanking the entrance. Downstairs, her heels echoed loudly on the cement floor as she strode to the small conference room next to the secure communications suite used to support Wolfnet operations. The door to the conference room was ajar. Cathryn pushed it open and found Wolfnet's Private 1st Class Felix Harris sitting alone at the far end of the conference table. “Why wasn’t I told?” she demanded. “I did tell you.” “You waited three hours. I heard about it from the Mercenary Review & Bonding Commission first, for cryin’ out loud.” “I know, uh, that was a mistake. My mistake. I called your office and Anastasiya said you were with the Colonel. So I waited.” “You should have used the personal satnav vidphone. That’s why I have it.” Harris tried not to act intimidated, but Cathryn Whitley’s fury was not easily withstood. Though only thirty-three, she was one of the most respected ‘women’ in the Intelligence Community, serving as the Colonel’s counsel and his personal representative to her Rabid Wolves contingent, in effect, Harris’ boss. Complicating matters was the fact that she was pretty good looking, too: touch up her nose, add a little makeup, maybe hire a hair stylist, and she could pass as a model or at least a Periphery actress. “The Taurian reaction was better than expected,” offered Harris, trying to salvage what he could of the situation. “The tailor turned out to be Ahmed Abu Saahlid. They wanted him for terrorist activities, so . . . ” “Why was Gurevich on Nysiades in the first place? He didn’t clear that with me. He exceeded his authority. He was told to proceed with caution on the entire operation.” “I think getting Mickey Gurevich to proceed with caution, Sergeant Major Whitley, would be well beyond even your considerable abilities,” said AFFS Captain Lauren Keene, striding into the room behind Cathryn. “And I think you would be doing the Wolves a great disservice besides.” Harris’ military training kicked in, and he jumped to his feet. “Captain.” Cathryn felt her face burn. “My Intelligence unit will not be a rogue organization,” she told Lauren. “I quite agree,” said the AFFS Captain softly. She pulled a chair out and sat down. Cathryn took a moment to gather herself, putting on what she thought of as her Battle Armor face: neutral, reserved, calm. She wasn’t exactly sure where she stood with Lauren. The Colonel had appointed Lauren Captain partly based on her recommendation; she had known Lauren from a stint in the Federated Suns, when as a retired ‘MechWarrior Pilot she had acted as an informal and valuable ‘consultant’ to some of the ranking members in the Alliance Military Corp. But they had had a few disagreements after Lauren’s enlistment, when as Intel counsel to the Colonel Cathryn recommended against some of Lauren’s suggestions as a matter of principle. And now that the Colonel had accepted Cathryn and the Rabid Wolves Intelligence, she wouldn’t blame Lauren if she saw her as an interloper. The promotion effectively usurped the Captain for operation’s authority over the Wolves, and since the Rabid Wolves reported directly to Cathryn, it tended to keep her cut out. Cathryn had heard from others that Lauren implied she had herself suggested that Cathryn accept the contract, acting as the Colonel’s eyes, ears, and conscience on sensitive covert missions concerning the joint Merope delegations. It hadn’t happened that way; the Colonel had had the idea himself. Or so Cathryn believed. “I called over to your office to find out what was going on,” Lauren told Cathryn, answering her unasked question about why she was there. “When I heard you were on your way, I thought it would be wise to join you in person for an update. Unless, of course, you have an objection.” “I have no objection at all,” Cathryn told her. “You’re an Officer in the AFFS.” And without her transportation authorization Cathryn’s position was just a rubber stamp. Lauren smiled. She pressed her finger to her lip in a thoughtful pose, inadvertently emphasizing the scar on her cheek that was a souvenir of a nasty incident during her salad days as a ‘Mech Pilot. “Private Harris was just giving me a briefing,” said Cathryn. “And I would be pleased for you to hear and offer your insights.” Harris recounted the events on Electra and Maia, adding very little to what Cathryn and Lauren already knew. With the ULTRA war over, the Federated Suns MIIO had made a dozen arrests in the ULTRA Terror Campaign earlier in this year; Cathryn had been with the Colonel when the Field Marshal, Robin Kim, personally briefed him. Among the charges were conspiracy to commit terrorism and several counts of tax evasion. From what she had seen, Cathryn thought the tax evasion and related currency violations would be hard to prove, but the terrorist case were slam dunks. She kept that opinion to herself. She also didn’t share her opinion that the group was a collection of schizoid crazies who would have been ignored if they hadn’t had access to a few billion Pounds and if the Federated Suns MIIO didn’t need a political score to shore up its standing with its citizens. No one would have respected her opinion anyway, the rantings of a Periphery Denizen. “The Federated Suns MIIO felt it had to go ahead with the arrests,” said Cathryn. “With Rockel out in a coma, there was little prospect of gathering more information about the groups that ULTRA may have been trying to contact.” “Good timing with the Colonel’s foray into the Pleiades Cluster coming up,” said Lauren. That was the sort of comment from the AFFS Officer that threw Cathryn. She knew . . . and she suspected that Lauren did as well . . . that the Colonel thought just the opposite. Anything involving the Pleiades Cluster had the potential to throw off the delicate peace he was trying to foster between the Davions and the Concordats. The arrests were preferable to terrorist activity, certainly, but only just. “So the ULTRA Campaign is wrapped up?” Lauren asked. “From the MRBC point of view, yes. But there are a few things ‘The Surgeon’ wanted to look at,” said Harris. “He thinks he may be able to get more information about the group’s contacts, maybe leverage that into information about the terror cells involved in the bombing last month that we have poor intelligence on. There were some phone calls preceding Rockel’s coma to a terror cell on Nysiades. It may be a wild goose chase, but you know Gurevich.” “He does love wild goose chases,” said Lauren. The Captain didn’t say anything else. Cathryn sensed Lauren had come not about this . . . the briefing could have been done over video conference. . . but because she wanted to talk about something else. “I think we’re in a wrap-up stage on the ULTRA Terror cells. The action on Maia was unfortunate,” Cathryn said. “Unavoidable, I would say,” said Lauren. “The Tikonovians used that word,” said Harris, sensing he might escape without further roasting. “Is there anything else at the moment, Felix?” asked Cathryn. “No, ma’am.” “I think the Captain and I might spend a few minutes reviewing some budgetary matters,” she said. Thinking of how she was going to get the money to repair her Gray Death Battle Armor Suit. Harris was only too happy to be relieved. “You dealt with Davion Intelligence Leader masterfully,” said Lauren when they were alone. “I simply told the Field Marshal that executive privilege is an important principle that must be maintained,” said Cathryn, aware that she was being buttered up for something else. The head of the Intelligence Committee had asked for a public session on the recent attempt by unknown Insurgents to explode a dirty bomb above Merope; her inquiry would have undoubtedly revealed enough about our Rabid Wolves that their efficiency would have been threatened. Turning her back was a no-brainer and one of the easier tasks Cathryn had accomplished the month before. “Gurevich exceeded his authority by going into Nysiades without clearing the operation first,” said Cathryn. She knew Lauren and Gurevich had a long-standing personal relationship, and guessed that was her concern. “I don’t think there’s a question about that. This was a Federated Suns MIIO operation, and he went overboard. It was just ‘The Surgeon’ being ‘The Surgeon’.” “That may be.” Cathryn smiled wryly. She had known Gurevich for a long time, and would have been surprised if Gurevich hadn’t gone off in his own direction. Getting the Rabid Wolves involved in this border dispute had been overkill, but it precluded the possibility of a mess if the Federated Suns MIIO, as usual, bungled. More important for Lauren, it positioned Whitley’s Rabid Wolves for a more serious task. “I wouldn’t want to micromanage Gurevich,” Keene said. “Sometimes a horse has to be given his head.” “Or a man enough rope?” suggested Cathryn. “If we have the proper people in place, we learn to trust their judgments,” said the Captain. “I’m not here to second-guess you or to stick up for Mickey.” “Okay.” Cathryn folded her arms. Talking to Lauren was like playing three-dimensional chess blindfolded: sometimes it was a struggle simply to know where the pieces were, let alone dissect her strategy. “MI2 has obtained information that a member of a Suicide Cell will be en route to Merope for a meeting within the next few weeks or he may already be on world,” said Keene. “General Nickolas Garret.” “Garret would leave Menke?” Cathryn thought about sharing the information that she had 'bumped' into Garret, but in hindsight she kept her mouth closed. “MI2’s information is almost always correct, especially if they’re passing it along. Nonetheless, we haven’t been able to confirm it. Not through the ordinary channels. Our dedicated resources in the ConMag are skimpy. Wolfnet is sifting through intercepts, and our staff on New Avalon and down at the Farm are sifting the wheat, but we have no verification.” Nickolas Garret had been a member of a Freedom Movement before the war. He had been identified by the House Steiner’s intelligence service as well as confirmed by Whitley’s Rabid Wolves as the leader of 'A Terror Cell', a mere two days ago, as resistance movement responsible for more than two dozen strikes against various Davion and Taurian Concordant targets in the last twelve months. Capturing him and putting him on trial would be a major coup. Especially now, with the Merope government teetering on the brink of war against the Taurian Concordant. “We have to get him if we can,” said Cathryn. “Even if it’s a long shot.” “I quite agree.” (2039) TOTAL 7,525 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 9:55 pm FS-RD-04-02 #05 Federated Suns Capellan March Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope Nysiades 75k outside of Celaeno Terrorist Safe House Thursday, 8 January 3097 0200 Local A cold hand grabbed Corporal Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov as she fell from the Small Craft, wrapping itself around her throat and squeezing tightly. Her heart jumped in her chest, and she felt her eyeballs freeze over. She was breathing oxygen from a small bottle strapped to the side of her Gray Death medium battle armor . . . a necessity when jumping from 35,000 feet . . . but even her lungs felt as if they had turned to ice. “Looking good,” yelled Staff Sergeant Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich over the short-burst radio link inside their helmets they were using to communicate. Dexter ‘Turbo’ Peters and Noe 'Bear' Conners from Wolfnet had gone out first in their Elemental Armor. Anastasiya’s unfamiliarity with the procedure had cost the second pair a few extra seconds, which at four hundred knots translated into nearly two kilometers. And counting. Between the wind howling around her and the tight helmet, Gurevich’s words sounded more like “luck of gold,” and it took a few seconds for Anastasiya to decipher what he was talking about. By the time she figured it out, the Caerleon-Class Small Craft she’d jumped out of had disappeared. Anastasiya struggled to get the Gray Death Suit into the ‘frog’ position she’d learned nearly two years before at the Sarna Infantry Airborne school. Since that time, she’d made more than two dozen jumps, only three of which had been high-altitude, high-opening forays like this one, and none had been at night. Gurevich said it would be easy . . . her body would remember how to do it once she stepped out of the Small Craft . . . but the only thing her body remembered was how cold it had been … not half as cold as this time. Gurevich, arms spread and legs raised as if he were a miniature aircraft, zoomed toward her. On the left side of his HUD he had a small altimeter, which had a sound alert wired into his helmet’s ear set. On his right he had a GPS device that looked like a miniature compass. An arrow dominated the display, showing the direction to their destination and a countdown of the altitude. Mickey switched his visor’s viewport from lowlight to full night vision as there was virtually no moon light out tonight. The Small Craft had been going nearly four hundred knots when they jumped out, which meant they were, too. Their trajectory to the landing zone had been calculated before takeoff, then tweaked ever so slightly a few minutes before the jump to account for the wind. “Let her rip,” he told her, the altimeter buzzing in his ear as they fell through 30,000 feet. Anastasiya’s first tug on the handle was too tentative, and the para foil failed to release. But her interpretation of the problem was that she wasn’t in the proper position . . . true enough, as it happened, though this had nothing to do with the para foil deploying . . . and she struggled to push her head downward and get her arms out before trying again. As she did, something whipped by and tapped her on the head. It was Gurevich. Worried that she was having problems, he shaped his body into a delta to gain speed in her direction, then flared out to slow down. He misjudged his speed slightly in the dark as he pulled close and rather than paralleling, flew past. He recovered, sailing to the left and then back around, inching forward. It felt like inching. In fact he was moving at over a hundred miles an hour. “We have to pull now,” he yelled into the radio. “We’re getting off course. Hey! Hey! You ready? Ready?” Anastasiya thought Gurevich was the one having trouble, and she started to maneuver toward him. “Pull” said Gurevich, motioning at her. She reached to the handle and yanked, feeling the gentle tug of her harness as the para foil unfolded above her. And now it really was like they said it would be: her arms moved up as she took stock of the para foil and herself, making sure the cells had inflated properly and orienting herself with the aid of a GPS device inside her helmet and slightly off to the right side. She was back in control, or at least as much in control as anyone being held up in space by engineered nylon could be. . . . . 8 January 3097 02:20am Local Conners reached the bluff overlooking the Safe House ahead of ‘Turbo’. He lay down the Ceres-Bike, a Flashbang ZZ10000 motorcycle and increased the amplification on his Elemental’s night-optical visor, which looked like a very thick piece of a windshield. The wraparound glass combined generation-four infrared and starlight enhancement technology with electronic magnification to a factor of ten. While not as powerful as the new gen-four devices being tested by Seventh Kommando Special Forces units, the visor’s light weight was more than fair compensation; they were more than powerful enough to illuminate the rocky desert terrain below. Conners could see a warren of ‘rabbit’ holes and days-old tracks through the gritty soil. The holes were the entrances to tunnels used by dissident Insurgents, who used them to avoid the burgeoning Merope government’s surveillance aircraft and patrols. “What’d you do, tune the bike?” ‘Turbo’ asked, walking up next to Conners. “Less wind resistance.” Conners rested his right hand on his Rorynex as he surveyed the desert. While the fewer than a thousand Gamma Regiments Infantry troops still stationed at Fort Chadwell were concentrated near Armidale and the northern fields, Conners figured the population of Celaeno and certainly the natives of Merope could stop the Insurgents if they really cared to. But smuggling goods to dissident Insurgents was a lucrative business, especially for the local commanders who averted their eyes. “We can put the main post down in those caves. Watch the Safe House from here,” Conners told ‘Turbo’. “Let’s go mark a landing spot for the Seventh Kommando Special Forces Team.” “Shouldn’t we wait for ‘The Surgeon’?” “He knows where we are.” . . . . 8 January 3097 02:25am Local Anastasiya stepped forward as the ground finally came up to her armored legs. She twisted slightly and crumpled to the ground as she landed, falling on her Gray Death’s Armor right side. It wasn’t pretty, but at least she was down. She got up, expecting Gurevich to fall on top of her any second. Gathering in her para foil, she looked around for a convenient place to hide it. Ten yards away a small collection of boulders huddled together on the ground. That would do. With the para foil stuffed between the rocks, she took stock of her situation, checking her position with a GPS device built into her helmet. Their rendezvous point was about five miles away, on a ridge overlooking the nearby valley. She was supposed to hit no farther than a mile away. It was an inauspicious start to their unsanctioned mission with the ‘Surgeon’. He had convinced her that it would be a whole lot easier to ask for forgiveness later than to ask for permission before. She knew Gurevich’s reputation. Depending on whom you talked to, he was either easy to get along with or the biggest Son-of-Bitch in the Inner Sphere, but everybody agreed he was driven; he’d probably be mad that she had fallen so far away. Anastasiya checked the squad frequency, then decided it would be better not to call in until she was a little closer. Trudging her suit in the direction of the rendezvous area, she’d gone about a quarter of a mile when a rich baritone echoed in her headset. “Oh come tell me, Sean O’Farrell, tell me why you hurry so.” “ ‘Surgeon’?” she said. “I’ve got orders from the captain,” sang Gurevich, “for the pikes must be together, by the rising of the moon.” Anastasiya dropped to one armored knee, scanning three hundred and sixty degrees around her. The only thing nearby were rocks. “Where are you?” she said. “ ‘Surgeon’?” The sound of a motor in the distance made her freeze. She brought her anti-personnel mounted Rorynex submachine gun up. “ ’Surgeon’?” “Yee-hah!” he shouted over the radio. Anastasiya whirled in time to see the shadow of a Flashbang ZZ10000 motorcycle, fly over the rise behind her. The bike had two very large mufflers at its side to dampen its engine sound. “Gurevich,” she said. “You’re expecting someone else?” he asked, skidding down the hill. “How did you get down so fast?” “Hop on. The bikes landed back on the other side of the hill. I just about tripped over them when I came down. Good thing you took your time going out; we would have been all night finding them.” “No thanks. I’ll walk. There’s no way that bike will support two Battle Armored troopers. Hell, it barely can hold one.” . . . . . 8 January 3097 04:15am Local Two hours later, Gurevich watched as a large Trireme VTOL skimmed across the desert terrain toward the chemical glow light Conners had placed to guide it. The chopper shook the desert as it rumbled a few feet over the terrain, flying NOE, Nap-of-the-Earth, to avoid the enemy radar stations to the west. The VTOL’s immense blades kicked a sandstorm around it as it flew. Gurevich instinctively shielded his visor with his arm as the bird settled in. A company’s worth of the 5th Jump Infantry Battalion Merope Militia augmented by two Nighthawk PA-L armor veterans and an AFFS BattleMech Company intelligence officer began emerging from the rear. The men and their equipment had been assigned to support the Rabid Wolves Merope Command, providing on-ground security and extra eyes at their base of operations in the desert wilderness. Additional troops were on call to be used for the actual ‘snatch’, assuming conditions allowed. What they didn’t know was that these orders were signed off on by the Staff Sergeant and not the Sergeant Major. The whole unit was AWOL. Gurevich watched for the AFFS intelligence officer accompanying them. He wasn’t particularly hard to spot; more than twice the age of most of the soldiers, he walked with a nervous hop away from the VTOL, ducking even though it was unnecessary. “Matthew Delleroso?” yelled Gurevich when the man reached him. “Yes,” said the AFFS Inel Officer. “Mickey Gurevich. Call sign ‘The Surgeon’. Step into my office.” He motioned back to a run of rocks twenty yards away where he’d parked his bike. The landing area was about a quarter mile from the small caves and overhangs where they’d located their base camp. “You know Garret?” Gurevich asked the Intel Infantryman. “I saw him some years ago,” said Matthew, whose ears and bones still reverberated from the VTOL ride. He greatly preferred quieter modes of transportation, though he knew better than to mention this to the Mercenary; in his experience Mercenaries never found machines quite noisy enough. “You think Garret would go through one of the tunnels?” asked Gurevich, sitting on a rock near his motorcycle. “I thought he liked to travel in style.” “We all adapt,” said Matthew. Something about the Mercenary was very familiar. “All right.” Gurevich wasn’t sure if Matthew was parroting the intelligence report he’d seen or if he was its author. In his experience, the MIIO intelligence people demonstrated a wide range of abilities, from extreme competence to extreme ineptitude. As a rule, the more confident they made themselves sound the less able they were. “So we watch for a car that meets him?” “Possible. It may be a wild goose chase.” “Not what I want to hear.” “You want the truth or what you want to hear?” said Matthew, who knew that the latter was almost always preferred, especially by Mercenaries. Putting the question bluntly sometimes saved problems and sometimes not. “Truth. Always.” Gurevich smiled at him. “But all truth is relative.” Matthew shrugged, though he did not agree; the Federated Suns truth was absolute, after all. “What we think will happen is that he’ll come across the plains on foot, get picked up and driven to one of the abandoned military camps northwest of here, where a conventional plane will meet him,” said Gurevich. “We’re going to stake out the camps so we can hit them when he’s there. On the other hand, he may just take a car all the way across the desert. If that happens, we take the car.” “What if you miss?” “Then we punt. We find out where he’s going, and we try to get him there. Problem is, we’re not sure where he’s going. Unless you are.” “There are so many rumors about Garret you can make something up, and it is just as likely to be true.” “We think tonight,” said Gurevich. “What do you think?” Matthew could only shrug. “Can you ride a motorcycle?” “Not well.” “You’re my passenger then. Come on.” Gurevich picked up the motorcycle. Matthew hesitated. He did not like motorcycles and had had several bad experiences with them. Federated Suns Capellan March Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope Nysiades 75k outside of Celaeno Terrorist Safe House Thursday, 8 January 3097 21:15 Local Wolfnet’s Private Noe Conners turned to the House Davion Trooper and gestured at the car that had turned off from the highway. It rode across the open desert, approaching the foothills two kilometers away. “Is that for him?” “Who can tell? But the car is like the one that left from Orion in the afternoon, an old Aston-Martin Fiver Traveler.” Just like a FedRat, thought Conners, never a straight yes or no. Orion was a small city southeast of the much larger city of Celaeno. The Davion intelligence officers there had prepared a list of half a dozen suspicious vehicles, all with single drivers. The theory was that the vehicle would go over alone and wait for Garret to slip through, a practice often employed by criminals and others trying to escape the planet without documentation. The Aston-Martin would have been thoroughly searched before being allowed over the border. Two shadows came from the rocks. “You see a face?” asked Conners. Matthew shook his head. Conners looked over at ‘Turbo’, who was using his satnav radio system to talk to the Rabid Wolves Captain Johnny Yee back in the Caerleon-class Small Craft, the Night Owl, up in Merope’s orbit. The com unit had a ‘local’ discrete-burst mode for short-range communications with other team members on the ground and a longer-range mode that used satellites to communicate. The latter was easier to detect; though the transmissions were encrypted and virtually unbreakable, the presence of the radio waves could lead someone to the user. “Where are we, ‘Turbo’?” asked Conners. “I just uploaded the video. They’re looking at it.” “What’s the UBD see?” Conners asked. A Bullet Suicide Drone, or “unmanned Bullet drone,” was hovering overhead, helping with the surveillance. It would follow the vehicle to a spot where it could be ambushed. “Nothing so far.” “Tell ‘The Surgeon’ what’s going on.” “Already have,” said ‘Turbo’. “Hold on,” said Conners. “There’s another car coming.” The trick was to let the Aston-Martin get far enough from the area so that any of the local members and enemy spies nearby wouldn’t be tipped off but to not let it get so far away that they couldn’t stop it. With two cars, the task became more complicated, especially once the two vehicles got on the nearby road and headed in different directions. Gurevich and Anastasiya staked out the first car, which was moving northwest-ward; Conners and ‘Turbo’ followed the second, traveling two miles to the south. Just to make things even more interesting, a third one appeared soon after the second made its pickup. Two 7th Kommando Special Forces Agents were detailed to follow that one, staying close enough to trail them but not take them unless ordered to do so by Gurevich. The first car took a turn off the highway onto a packed dirt road in the direction of a safe house a few miles west of the area. The road wound around a series of dry streams, or wadis, and loose sand traps. Since they were on motorcycles, Gurevich, Anastasiya, and the two Seventh Kommando Special Forces Agents traveling with them were able to sprint ahead and check out the site. Gurevich sent the Special Forces Agents down the road to watch, in case his hunch about where the Aston-Martin was going proved wrong. As he and Anastasiya approached the camp, Matthew warned that a SUV was parked in front of one of the buildings. The Davion Intel Agent had taken over for ‘Turbo’ and was watching the Bullet Drone’s video feed. The vehicle had not been there in the afternoon’s satellite snapshot. Gurevich and Anastasiya got off their bikes and went to scout the base. A low ridge sat to the south about a quarter mile from the fence. Standing at the top, Gurevich could see most of the base area. “There,” Gurevich told Anastasiya, pointing to the second building in the row. “You can just barely make out the shadow inside.” “How many people?” “At least two.” He pointed to the road beyond the Safe House. “Maybe they’re forming a caravan here. Or maybe waiting for a plane. You could land the Trireme VTOL on that road at the back there.” Gurevich dropped down, sliding to the bottom of the hill. They were no more than fifteen minutes ahead of the Aston-Martin; if they were going to take it here, they had to get a move on. “What we have to do is take out the guard by the gate, then the person or persons in the building,” Gurevich told Anastasiya. He took the heavy grenade launcher from his pack and stuffed a dozen plastic shells in his bandolier, which was already bulging with magazines for the Rorynex submachine gun. His armor compartments had anti-personnel, class-c, concussion and smoke ordinance, along with ammo for his pistol and slugs for his combat shotgun, which he had over his right shoulder. “Are we taking these guys prisoner or what?” asked Anastasiya. “Garret’s the only one we have to apprehend alive,” said Gurevich. “But, yeah, we dunk these guys if we can. Have your gas filter enabled. Heavy Crossbow?” Anastasiya held up the weapon, which was very similar to the type used by deer and other game hunters all across the Confederated Magistry. A marriage between a miniature rifle and high-tech bow, the weapon fired a titanium arrow over fifty yards, was as accurate as a rifle at that range, and would send its missile like arrow through the side of a skull. It could also fire two different types of nonlethal ammunition: a syringe like dart with a fast-working anesthetic and a lollypop-shaped hard plastic arrow that was supposed to stun someone struck with it. The anesthetic was related chemically to sodium pentothal, the barbiturate commonly known as truth serum. It worked even quicker though it left the subject feeling as if he or she had a full-body hangover. Anastasiya didn’t trust the lollypops and had left them back at Fort Chadwell. “Wait until I’m outside of the buildings if at all possible,” Mickey told her. “But if you have to shoot, shoot. He doesn’t have a vest. Shoot at the chest.” Gurevich jogged to the west side of the safe house, taking advantage of the integral Infra-Red and electronic signal suppression system in the Gray Death armored suit which duplicated the effect of a combination ECM and IR sneak suit near the fence, which obscured the view. He found a hole under the fence and crawled into the compound between the two warehouse buildings at the southern end of the compound. Anastasiya used a drainage ditch to cover her as she closed in on the guard. She found a brace of weeds thirty yards from the entrance and got into firing position. The guard, clearly bored, stood with his gun down against his leg. She took a grenade out just in case . . . no sense fooling around if she missed . . . and flicked the safety mechanism to off on her Rorynex. “Anastasiya, where are you?” hissed Gurevich in her ear. “Here,” she whispered. “Just tell me when.” Gurevich hunkered on his haunches. There was no sign that there were more people than the guard and the one whose shadow he’d seen in the large building to his right. The building had a window at the back; he was tempted to try and get in that way but decided it was too risky. Nor did he have anything to use to booby-trap the exit. “Anastasiya?” “Yeah?” “After you take out the guard, I want you to get to the west side of the southern-most building, all right? There’s a window there. You think you can cover it?” “Yeah, but . . . ” “No buts. Wait until I’m ready if you can.” Anastasiya steadied the crossbow, zeroed in on the guard. She’d first used a bow when she was twelve years old, hunting with her father at his cabin on Cumberland. He was a detective back then, two years divorced from her mother, a much heavier drinker than now. She could feel his hand on her shoulder, gripping gently, his thumb pressing as the buck walked toward them in the field. The guard turned toward her. Suddenly he started to bring up his rifle. Anastasiya pulled the trigger on her crossbow. The weapon made a whispery ‘thwang’ as it shot. She watched through the visor as the arrow struck the guard flat in the chest. He shook, stunned, not quite comprehending what had happened. Then he started to grab at the arrow, stopped, raised his gun again, then fell off to the side, knocked unconscious by the massive dose of synthetic narcotic in the tip. Gurevich heard Anastasiya’s heavy breathing over the radio and realized she’d shot the guard. He moved up the side of the building, reached the corner, and glanced toward the front. He saw no one. He checked the heavy grenade launcher . . . he figured he would hit anyone coming out in the chest with the tear gas round, which would knock them down at very close range . . . then knelt on one knee to wait for Anastasiya. Anastasiya ran to the stricken guard, made sure he was down, then grabbed the dart and his rifle and went to the back of the building. Gurevich caught a glimpse of her as she ran. “Ready?” he asked. “Let me catch my breath.” “Not enough time. Use the gun if you have to. Enable your gas filter.” Without knowing exactly how the building was configured, Gurevich decided on a simple, two-step plan: tear gas grenade in window, then duck. Standard grenades needed about fourteen meters to arm; this was a precaution against the grenade going off too close to friendly troops. The arming mechanism in these rounds allowed them to explode as soon as they struck something. Gurevich rammed the metal butt end of the heavy grenade launcher through the window, breaking the glass. Then he pumped the round inside and grabbed his combat shotgun. A man emerged from the building; Gurevich fired point-blank at the man, striking him in the chest, neck, and face with the plastic pellets in the shell. “ ‘Surgeon’?” asked Anastasiya. “Watch the back, watch the back,” he yelled, reloading the grenade launcher and pumping another round inside the building before jumping to land over near the man he’d shot, who was writhing on the ground. Though the shotgun pellets were plastic, he’d been so close to Gurevich that the round cut as well as bruised his face, and he wailed in pain, temporarily blinded. Gurevich put him temporarily out of his misery with a shot of Demerol. As he rose, he heard Anastasiya scream into his headset. ………….. 8 January 3097 21:20pm Local Corporal Anastasiya Stepanov’s scream was followed by a steady rattle of gunfire from a KA-23 subgun, followed by a Rorynex’s sturdier whistle. Staff Sergeant Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich ran around the north side of the building, aiming to flank whoever had come out. “Anastasiya,” he said as he ran. “Where are you? Sit Rep?” She didn’t answer. When he reached the back corner of the building he threw himself down, moving forward slowly on the ground. Something moved near the doorway. Anastasiya. She bent down, reaching for the doorknob. “What are you doing?” said Gurevich. “Duck!” she told him, flipping a grenade in through the crack and then sprinting her Gray Death armored suit back toward the berm ten meters away. She made it just as the grenade went off. Gurevich rose on armored legs and walked toward the doorway. Two men lay sprawled in the dirt nearby; a third had been killed inside the building by Anastasiya’s grenade. None of the men was Garret. “Run up and cover the front of the building,” Gurevich told her. “You’re not going in, are you?” she asked. “Just get up there and make sure no one came out while we were playing back here.” The interior of the building had been divided in half by a wall that ran only partway to the high ceiling. Except for the dead man and a few scattered cartons, the room at the back was empty. Gurevich moved inside as quietly as he could in Gray Death battle armor, then raised his heavy grenade launcher and pumped an anti-personnel ordinance of tear gas over the wall. He pulled up his combat shotgun, aiming it at the open doorway, then ran forward to the wall. Though he had a pretty strong suspicion that the front half of the building was empty, he rolled on the floor and crawled his way inside. A hundred boxes or more lined the wall on his left. The rest of the place was empty. The boxes were filled with brand name athletic shoes, according to the writing on the side. “Is this where Garret is going?” asked Anastasiya when he came out. “I don’t know yet,” he told her. “Let’s go put down markers for the airborne guys and then hide.” “I’m sorry I had to shoot,” said Anastasiya. “Forget about it now. Come on. Their Aston-Martin should be about ninety seconds away.” (4485) TOTAL 12,010 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 9:57 pm FS-RD-04-02 #06 Federated Suns Capellan March Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope Nysiades 10k outside of Celaeno Terrorist Ambush Site Thursday, 8 January 3097 21:25 Local Nearly ten kilometers to the south, the Wolfnet Operative, Private Noe ‘Bear’ Conners, stopped his bike in the desert and pulled out his mini tablet holomap from a compartment on his Elemental armor, correlating his position against the integral GPS device. He flipped the radio into satellite mode. “Delleroso, is he still coming this way?” “Yes,” said the Davion BattleMech Company’s Intelligence Trooper. “Where’s he going?” asked the other Wolfnet Operative, Corporal Dexter ‘Turbo’ Peters. The two Seventh Kommando Special Forces Agents they’d taken with them pulled up behind them. “Maybe for that military airfield at the corner there,” said Conners. “Let’s move up the road to the intersection with the airport.” …….. 8 January 3097 21:30pm Local Gurevich hid his battle armor behind the SUV as best he could, and Anastasiya crouched at the edge of the building as the battered Aston-Martin rounded the turnoff and headed for the Safe House. “You have the first guy out. I have the second,” said Gurevich. “Make sure that your helmet is sealed and that you turn on your filtration system. This gas is worse than CS by a factor of ten.” “No way.” “Try it and see,” said Gurevich, readying the grenades. The Aston-Martin stopped alongside the SUV. The two men inside made things easy by getting out at the same time. ‘Thwack’! Anastasiya’s crossbow landed in the driver’s left shoulder, where the plunger tip injected enough anesthetic to knock him senseless within three seconds. By then, Gurevich had knocked the second man to the ground with a plastic round to the head. He soft-tossed a tear gas grenade into the car as he ran to the man, smashing a fallen pistol beneath his armored foot. Though the man had been knocked unconscious by the blow, ‘The Surgeon’ injected a heavy dose of the sodium pentothal to keep him out. A fog of tear gas enveloped the area; Gurevich and Anastasiya had to pull the two men all the way to the fence before they were clear. Gurevich cursed when he lifted his helmet’s visor. Neither of the men in the Aston-Martin was Garret. He took out a small vidcam to transmit the pictures back to Delleroso. “I don’t know who they are,” Delleroso said. “They may be with the Maskirovka, but most likely they are just members of the rebel faction.” The Maskirovka was the Confederated Magistry’s National Intelligence Agency. “The Rebels sell athletic footwear?” asked Gurevich. “Maybe. It might have been stolen inside the Capellan March and stored here, to be sold elsewhere. The external agencies bring in goods and wares, and the scum steal it away.” “All right. We’ll get them picked up anyway,” ordered the Rabid Wolf. “Where’s the third vehicle and what was it?” he asked. “A Saturnus. I do not think it belongs to the Maskirovka,” answered Delleroso. “Which would be why they would use it, no?” asked the Staff Sergeant. “I don’t think they are that clever,” replied the Davion Intel Officer. “But I do,” said Gurevich. He pulled out his mini tablet holomap and propped it up on the hood of the SUV to orient himself. As he did, Conners told him over the radio that the second Aston-Martin had just passed the airstrip. “We’re going to be too far behind now to catch him if he stays on the highway,” said Conners. Gurevich looked at the map. The highway headed southwestward for over a hundred miles before approaching civilization; there were few places on that stretch where it could turn off. The VTOL with the Seventh Kommando special operations forces aboard could make it across the desert within a few minutes and get ahead of the car, but if they missed the ambush they wouldn’t get another shot. And Gurevich and Anastasiya would have to take the other car out by themselves. “I’ll have Delleroso’s Nighthawk Armored Troopers set up an ambush down the road,” ‘The Surgeon’ told Conners. “Just keep following.” ……….. 8 January 3097 21:35pm Local Sergeant-Major Delleroso moved from the command area at the front of the Wolf’s Dragoon’s specially equipped Cavalry TAG VTOL into the assault bay, where Sergeant Ricardo Melfi and a team of hand-picked 5th jump battalion Infantry and Seventh Kommando Special Forces soldiers were waiting to jump. “Godspeed,” said Delleroso, holding up his thumb. Melfi, about twenty feet away, signaled back. Delleroso found a handhold and watched the team crowding toward the cargo ramp, eager to get into action. They were shadows in the unlit bay, and he tried to keep them that way, anonymous warriors; it made it more difficult to deal with problems if he thought of them as individuals with families and loved ones. Designed to fly through hostile territory at very low altitude to avoid radar, the VTOL used a satellite navigational system to show its flight crew precisely where they were. The chopper banked and began to rise over the target area, a desolate curve in the highway the second Aston-Martin was taking. The men went out quickly, executing an extremely dangerous low-level drop, as if they were stepping off an amusement park ride back on New Avalon. By the time the chopper banked north, the troops were on the ground, squaring away their parachutes. Delleroso went back to his post. Modified from a stretched version of the Cavalry VTOL (officially, the TAG variant), the forward area of the Wolf’s Dragoon Force’s VTOL was equipped with radio surveillance and communication gear similar to those used in the Cyclops CP 10-Z BattleMech, an Olmstead B-40 with a SatNav Module Communications System and a Tacticon B-2000 Battle Computer with a few of the links used by NAIS thrown in for good measure. Delleroso got on the radio to the two Merose Militia Trireme VTOLs that had been tasked for the pickup. The choppers were now airborne over Celaeno and were about twenty minutes from the way point. “We can hear a vehicle coming north,” said Melfi when he checked in. Delleroso checked the image from the Bullet Suicide hover drone. “That’ll be them. Get ready.” . . . Melfi crouched a few yards from the road as the Aston-Martin approached the curve. The trick wasn’t stopping the car; it was stopping the car without killing the people inside. The fact that his men had been on the ground for less than ten minutes made things even more interesting. Two Seventh Kommando Special Forces corporals took positions on the right flank of the road, aiming SRM launchers at the car. SRM stood for Short Range Missiles. The ordinance . . . known as an ‘AX’ Warhead . . . was designed to disable tanks as well as light-armor vehicles and built-up positions, replacing the LAW and AT-4. Essentially a modern version of the First Succession War-era bazooka, the stock weapon typically struck an armored target from the top rather than the side, guided by a laser range finder and a magnetic detector. The warhead normally consisted of two parts, an acid penetrator and a fragmentation grenade: the warhead would penetrate the outer shell of whatever was being attacked, and the grenade would kill whoever was inside. Melfi’s men were using a special NAIS experimental version of the missile. Its titanium and steel warhead did not contain the highly corrosive acid. The idea was that the slug would destroy the front of the car and its engine, stopping it without killing the people inside. “Now,” said Melfi, ducking down. The missile made an unearthly hiss as it leapt from the shoulder of the weapons man. The car veered to the right under the blow, plowing to a halt across the road. As it skidded, an Elemental armored trooper jumped up with what looked like a mortar in his hands. He sighted a red laser dot on the top of the car and squeezed the wide trigger at the base of the weapon. A large, blimp-shaped missile flew from the throat of the gun. The shell disintegrated in midair; by the time it hit the vehicle it had spread into a wide net. Two dozen miniature flash-bang grenades exploded as it hit, the effect not unlike the finale of a massive fireworks display. As the air ripped with the explosions, two pairs of soldiers ran to the car. One man in each pair wielded a pointed sledgehammer, the other carried gas ordinance grenades. The back window and one of the side windows were walloped and the grenades inserted. “Team up! Team up!” yelled Melfi as smoke began pouring from the car. Eight men in Nighthawk Armor came forward, armed with crowbars and chain saws; they were covered at close range by four others in Elemental battle armor with more conventional weapons of war. One of the occupants of the vehicle had managed to open his door before being overcome by the gas. He was pulled down, secured under the netting. The team tore off the roof of the vehicle, cutting through the nylon mesh as well as the metal. “Go, let’s go!” said Melfi. He pulled up and snugged his helmet as the fumes surged from the car. “Do it! Get every one of them out.” By the time Conners got there, all of the men had been taken out and trussed. Two were unconscious, leaning against each other. One lay on the ground moaning. The last sat a few feet away from the others, staring sullenly into the night. None of the men looked remotely like Garret. “Any papers?” Conners asked Melfi. “Nothing. Nothing in the car.” “Take their pictures. Let the Davion BattleMech Intel Agent look at them.” Melfi squinted at him. It was the cross-eyed squint Sergeants reserve for NCOs, even those on special assignments, who give them orders. Nonetheless, he told one of his men to do it. “How far off are the choppers?” Melfi asked. “Eighteen minutes,” said Conners. “We’ll hear them a good way out.” ……………… 8 January 3097 21:40pm Local Staff Sergeant Mickey Gurevich decided the motorcycles were too far away to walk to, so he hot-wired the SUV instead. Telling the two Merose Militia Jump Infantry Troopers he’d posted on the road to come in and watch the prisoners, he took off with Corporal Anastasiya Stepanov to a spot where he thought he could intercept the third vehicle. Driving across the open terrain would have been difficult enough in the daytime, since it was pockmarked with boulders and sandpits, but at night without headlamps it was treacherous, which only made it more interesting. Gurevich had Anastasiya pull the satellite photos from his pack as he drove, trying to dodge the worst of the obstructions. They had more than two kilometers of hardscrabble to get through before reaching a road to the northwest. “Let me see that sat photo with this grid in it.” “It’s two satellite photos,” Anastasiya told him, reaching down to get them from the pack on the SUV’s floor. “Point to where we are and where that other road is,” said Gurevich. “Here and here,” said Anastasiya. He took the photos and held them on the wheel for a second, then tossed them back. “All right. Let’s try this,” he said, pulling sharply off the road. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” “Friend of mine says that,” ‘The Surgeon’ told her. “You Catholic?” “What are you doing?” “Shortcut. Are You Catholic?” “Greek Orthodox, but I went to parochial school.” “Good thing that didn’t come up in the job interview,” said Gurevich. “Would’ve disqualified you as a fanatic.” “I heard you went to Catholic school yourself.” “That’s what I mean.” When he finally spotted the highway, Gurevich misjudged the depth of the ditch along the side of the road and nearly rolled the SUV trying to veer onto the pavement. Anastasiya flew forward, barely keeping her unarmored head from slamming into the dashboard. Belatedly, she began fishing for the Gray Death armored helmet. The Saturnus was behind them now, but with the road and terrain fairly open, Gurevich needed a strategic place to lay a trap. He’d spotted an intersection about three miles ahead on the map. He told Anastasiya they would put the truck in the middle of it as if it had broken down, then shoot out the Saturnus’s tires when it stopped to see what was going on. After that they’d use the crossbow and tear gas routine again. They were still about two miles from the intersection when a shadow loomed over the empty field to his right. Gurevich jammed on the brakes. An airplane flying at very low altitude, no more than a few feet off the ground, passed over the roadway ahead. Gurevich jumped out of the car. “Son of a bitch.” “What?” “Look.” He pointed in the distance. “What?” “You see that?” “The airplane? Is it ours?” “Nah. It’s a little Boomerang thing. Or some Rebel spotter plane like a Boomerang.” The plane continued on a straight line to the west, twelve or so feet above the ground. “Back in the car,” said Gurevich, deciding they’d take the Saturnus anyway. “You really think that was Garret?” asked Anastasiya. “Who else would be flying a plane at low altitude across the Nysiades frontier?” “Dozens of people,” she told him. “Smugglers, drug dealers, some other Insurgent scumbags we don’t know about.” “Nice try, but you’re not going to cheer me up,” said Gurevich. He stepped on the gas, going up over a hill and then down so fast that they went airborne for a moment. That gave him an idea. He hit the brakes and backed up, putting the car off one side of the road. “All right. Out,” he told her. “Take off your armor.” “What?” “Down to your mesh suit just to rip the sleeve,” he said, pulling open his pocketknife. “The left sleeve. Driver’s side. You can leave it on if you trust me.” “I’ll do it myself, thanks,” said Anastasiya, holding out her armored hand for the knife. She lay prone on the ground and hit the emergency release system. “Come on. We probably have less than two minutes,” Gurevich told her. “Get back in the vehicle and open the door and lean out. When they stop and come over, drop the tear gas ordinance. I’ll be over there with the combat shotgun.” “What if they don’t stop?” “I’ll take out a tire with your heavy crossbow. If they don’t hear a gun they’ll stop,” he told her. “And if they don’t we can always catch up to them in the SUV. But if you rip enough of that mesh suit off, they’ll stop.” “Ha, ha.” “Who’s joking?” Gurevich trotted down the road. He had one shell with netting and flash-bangs, a large projectile with a very short range. It was tempting, very tempting, to load the heavy grenade launcher with a high-explosive ordinance and use it on the car; the Saturnus wouldn’t be armored. If anyone asked any questions, it would be easy to claim that the vehicle tried to run him down. No one would know any different. But he would know, and that was enough. Gurevich barely had time to get his weapons laid out and set himself before the Saturnus came over the hill. It moved much slower than the SUV had. Gurevich steadied the heavy crossbow then put it down as the vehicle skidded to a stop. Four men, all with small weapons, got out of the car. Gurevich aimed the heavy grenade launcher point-blank at the tallest of the men and fired. The launcher kicked up as the grenade shot off. He missed the man and hit the side of the truck, igniting the stun grenade and the micromesh net. Gurevich dropped the launcher and thumped two slugs from his combat shotgun into the men who were still standing, the thick plastic bullets pounding the back of their heads. He had to hit one of the thugs a second time before he fell. By then, tear gas had begun curling out of the SUV. Anastasiya scrambled back through the front of the truck, kicking out of the open passenger-side door. As she reached the ground, one of the men began firing a KA-23 in her direction. She huddled low, grabbing for her own gun. Whirling around, she saw one of the men crawling through the truck. He had a pistol; she fired her own gun point-blank into his forehead and watched as his head jerked back and forth. She heard the distinct ‘Crack’ of his neck breaking and a neat little hole appeared in the man’s forehead and started seeping blood. Gurevich ran to the far side of the SUV, grabbing Anastasiya as she staggered backward, coughing from the gas. He pulled her away and gave her a water bottle to irrigate her eyes, then trotted back to the truck. Two of the men were writhing on the ground, one still holding his gun. Gurevich blasted each one in the skull and got the other man for good measure. Then he hit them with the syringes. “You weren’t kidding about the gas,” said Anastasiya when he got back to her. Tears were streaming from her beet-red face. “I meant for you to take a deep breath before you pulled the grenade,” said Gurevich. “How?” He lifted his helmet, and mimicked taking a huge breath but only succeeded in looking like a puffer fish. “You could have run back to the side. It’s all right. Men find hard to resist a woman’s tears.” “You’re on a roll tonight,” she told him sarcastically. “Tell me about it.” Gurevich walked over to the car. Besides a half-dozen guns on the floor of the rear seat, he found a duffle bag filled with hundred-dollar Davion bills. None of the men were Garret. The night had been a total wipeout. DAMN IT! Now Mickey was going to have to answer to the Sergeant Major for his unauthorized use of military assets. PHUCK!!! (3057) TOTAL 15,607 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 10:00 pm FS-RD-04-02 #07 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Haltonbury, Kendrew’s Pub Wednesday, 13th January 3097 21:30 Local Sergeant Major Cathryn Whitley had received a ComStar courier message from a one Captain Jason Tian of the Mercenary Unit the Deuces Wild. It had indicated that his unit was here on Merope to assist in the forensic investigation in the bombing of the Taurian Concordat observers hosted meetings with the Federated Suns in an attempt to clear the Concordant of any involvement; however, the investigation was being hamstrung by the restrictions imposed by the AFFS Colonel, Tobias Milesine, Cathryn’s ‘boss’. She empathized with Jason’s frustration because she was running into a similar road block with the Wolf’s Dragoons. In the message, Jason had also said that he wished to meet with the Security Team that was onsite at the time of this unfortunate tragedy, which was her Rabid Wolves, to interview them on the accounts leading up to and after the explosion and to obtain their battlecam footage, all off the record. Her team, and her particularly, had gone over the battlecam footage with a fine toothed comb and had gathered all the ACTINT, MATINT, and TECHINT that was possible. ACTINT was acoustical intelligence, MATINT stood for materiel intelligence, and TECHINT meant technical intelligence gained from the analysis of the weapons and equipment used by the enemy. But Cathryn wasn’t offended by Jason request. Hell another, fresher pair of eyes may spot something that her team had missed. The missive had also contained two photographs, one of Captain Tian and one of his Executive Officer, Lieutenant Leslie Miller, and an address that was listed as the Kendrew’s Pub. ‘Yes!’ If she played this just right, it was her team’s way to circumvent the Wolf’s Dragoon and their way to get back in on the investigation. Man, but does God ever love the Infantry. Sharing this information with the two members of the Rabid Wolves, Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich and Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov, all Mickey wanted to know was, was this a ‘Black Bag’ operation and who the ‘Consumer’ was. That was Spy Speak for did she want him to break into Kendrew’s Pub prior to the interview and install surveillance and eavesdropping equipment and who was the organization on the receiving end of the intelligence. Cathryn told Mickey, ‘Hell No’. What part of ‘Off the Record’ did Mickey not understand? And that her natural assumption was that the organization was the Taurian Concordant but it seemed strange that she couldn’t find a registered contract with the MRBC concerning this operation. That did raise a few red flags in her mind. But none-the-less, throwing caution to the wind, Cathryn had told the both of them that she was attempting to build some trust with this Captain Tian so that the two units could establish some kind of rapport with one another. Ana had wanted to know who was going to make up the ‘Hunting Pack’. More Spy Speak for Surveillance Team. Cathryn had to reiterate that they were not undertaking a Mission, merely going for a Friendly chat so that each side could get the measure of the other. Cathryn had opted to have Ana accompany her to the meet and instructed Mickey that she wanted him suited and booted in full Gray Death Battle Armor but to maintain a perimeter of two kilometers away. She didn’t want to spook the Deuces Wild. The hover cab pulled up in front of Kendrew’s at nine twenty five and the meet was scheduled for nine thirty. Cathryn climbed out of the cab onto the street side while Ana exit the cab onto the curb. “Audio Check, one, two, one, two . . .” uttered Cathryn in a normal tone. Ana nodded confirmation of reception and two clicks away Mickey said, “I got full video and audio. Reading you loud and clear Sergeant Major.” Image Cathryn was wearing a microphone bug disguised as a button on her infantry BDU's, an ear bud, and a pair of glasses that doubled as a Laser Optical Remote Scanner that was transmitting video feeds to Mickey’s Gray Death Armor. She also had a Hold-Out Needler strapped to her inner right thigh. Her arm was still in a preserving sleeve but she no longer wore the sling. Ana was clad as a typical, all across the Inner Sphere, 20 something year old in form fitting jeans and a tight shortie top, meant to be seductive and deceptive all at the same time. No one would suspect her of being armed but she carried a Mandrake Hold-Out Gauss Pistol in a body holster position between her breast. It was developed for House Liao’s Maskirovka and it was easily concealed, but her’s was the newer four shot variant instead of the single shot model. Anastasiya also sported Carbon-fiber Reinforced Fingernails on her right hand. This was a uniquely ConMag affection, the carbon fiber reinforcements turned Ana’s nails into razor sharp claws, that could easily tear flesh into ribbons and cut through most leathers. And to top it all off, Anastasiya carried Shuriken in various places on her body dipped in sodium pentothal. They were slightly slower acting than her crossbow bolts, but that was just slightly, like five seconds longer or so. Satisfied, Cathryn and Anastasiya waltzed into Kendrew’s. Kendrew’s Pub, Haltonbury Merope, Federated Suns 2130 Hours “Think this is really a good idea, Jason?” Jason Tian sipped his beer with an air of disinterest. Setting the glass down, he turned his attention to the news being replayed for the third time on the holoset over the bar. “No names,” he said quietly, the transmitter picking up on the sub-vocalization of his words. “And yes.” “Keep the channel clear, three,” Elsa Hessler’s voice cut in. Across the table from Jason, Leslie resisted the urge to cringe. She tapped her gloved metal fingers on the table, a move Jason knew indicated frustration from his executive officer. “Well, at least this isn’t a security critical operation,” she mused, taking a drink of a much lighter beer than Jason’s Timbiqui dark. Grunting in appreciation of the brew, she set it aside and stretched in a bored fashion. The bar was very middle of the road in Jason’s opinion. It wasn’t a dive but it certainly wasn’t classy. It was the sort of place that hard working blue collar men and women might rub elbows with lower end to mid-level office workers. Kendrew’s Pub offered a passable assortment of beer and liquor and a relatively decent menu for a moderate price. It was moderately well known for the quality of its hot wings. If this place could be described in a word, it would be ‘safe’. Jason nodded his agreement to Leslie’s assessment. This operation is just the kind of training we need to get back into the swing of things, he thought. Having Adam in on it probably wasn’t the smartest idea though. Still…I was younger than him when DJ had me running around as his spotter. For his part, Adam sat at a corner table, alternating between looking over a datapad and speaking into his vidphone. To the casual observer, his cheap suit pants and dress shirt marked him solidly with the local college crowd. His conversation and the datapad gave the impression of an overworked and highly stressed student with no time to talk to anyone new. It was a good enough cover that Adam was unlikely to be approached. Since his job was to watch Jason and Leslie, that was a good thing. Also, as long as people keep a little distance from the teenage workaholic in the corner, they aren’t likely to notice the body armor under the dress shirt and have no chance at all to see the Mauser and Gray service automatic hidden in his computer bag on the table. A serious operative will probably see through his act, Jason thought. But I don’t think we’re really going to encounter any of them beyond the team we’re here to meet. “Wish we weren’t so far from the Huntress,” Leslie said quietly, turning to see the news. “We’re really exposed out here.” Jason nodded as he took up his beer. “Can’t really be helped,” he replied. “The closer we are to the center of Armidale, the more likely we’ll be recognized….and we’re not exactly out here legally…” Leslie grinned but said nothing. “Lead, we have movement outside,” Elsa said through the discrete earbud Jason wore. “Visual match on Cathryn Whitley. Looks like your guests have arrived.” Cathryn paused in the bar’s foyer as if giving her eyes time to adjust to the lighting or more accurately, the lack there of. But in reality she was scanning for the exits. She quickly found two of them and figured the third one would be off the kitchen to the back of the establishment. Easing into the moderate crowd she did her usual scan of the Kendrew Pub’s patrons. She saw a huge man, ‘Big Bob’ seated at the bar and unless he had a huge tumor growing out of his right side beneath his sports coat, he was definitely strapped. From the looks of it, it appeared that he was packing either a gyro-jet sidearm or some kind of large slug thrower. The next customer that stood out was the ‘Damsel’. She was working some poor dumb schmuck seated in a booth across from her. He was certainly flustered by her ministrations; his face was flushed with color, his tie undone, top three buttons unfastened on his shirt. And she sat across from him, with one unshod foot tickling his crotch and she was wearing a Monowire as a necklace. The monowire was basically a vibro-enhanced garrote allowing it to slice through a victim’s neck, or any other part of their body, with ease. Cathryn had almost missed the ‘College Student’, his cover was actually working brilliantly in this environment but he had made a rookie mistake. He had made eye contact with Cathryn and held it for a millisecond too long. That had immediately perked the Sergeant Major’s interest in him. He had some kind of ballistic padding underneath the dress shirt. She couldn’t tell where his piece was, either in a shoulder holster, in his computer bag, or maybe it might even be wedged off in his belt on his back. But she ‘knew’ that he was armed. As she picked up on each potential threat, she grunted for Mickey to start running facial recognition scans. “Be advised, we have three hostiles inside our AOE. Order of threat assessment, ‘Big Bob’, ‘College Student’, and lastly the ‘Damsel’.” “Acknowledge Rabid Wolf Actual,” responded Mickey. “Facial Scans initiated. Will keep you posted.” Cathryn made eye contact with Anastasiya and then directed her attention to the ‘College Student’ with just her eyes. Anastasiya nodded and went straight into ‘HoneyPot’ mode. HoneyPot or Honeytrap was yet more Spy slang. In espionage, a Honeypot is a trap set to capture, kill, or compromise an enemy agent using sex or sex appeal as the lure. Anastasiya was on the prowl as she slinked her way over to the ‘College Students’ table. Cathryn would have to keep an eye on ‘Big Bob’ herself. The ‘Damsel’ she was not to overly concerned with at the moment, as long as she had her ‘Mark’ in hand, Cathryn doubted she would pose much of a threat. Cathryn spied her contacts seated at a table, having committed there likeness to memory from the photos, and she approached them with her battle armor face on. She reached the table just as their waitress was clearing away their beer bottles. The bubbly waitress’ name was Brenda. Cathryn ordered a Fusion PPC from Brenda the bubbly waitress. “Captain. Lieutenant,” greeted Cathryn as she extended her hand to shake each one in turn. “I am the Sergeant Major that you requested to see. How can me and my team be of service to you?” And without waiting to be invited, took a seat with her back facing the wall where she had an unobstructed view of ‘Big Bob’. From his position at the bar, his back was full on to Cathryn. From this range, if some shit jumped off, she’d drop him like a bull elephant before he could even clear his holster. Jason offered a pleasant smile as Cathryn took the seat at the back of the table. That would make him have to expose his back to the bar but he shifted his chair around to accommodate her. "Sergeant Major Whitley, thank you for meeting with us on such short notice," he said. "Sorry for the odd location. I'd have preferred a formal meeting but the AFFS is not thrilled with us being here in the first place." “Oh no Captain Tian. No need to apologize for the locale. Believe me, ’I’ understand,” offered Cathryn sincerely. “My Rabid Wolves and I were met with the same chilly resistance when we first arrived on world when the indigs, (indigenous population) realized I heralded from the OutWorld’s Alliance. And to make matters worse, the AFFS Captain Lauren Keene and I have history. A sordid one at best,” she admitted. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Cathryn's partner zone in on Adam. Well, figured that would happen. "I understand your team was on security at the time of the bombing," Jason continued. "I'm also told you have two wounded from trying to evacuate people. If the bomb hadn't been so massive...well...you saved some lives. If not for overkill, you'd have saved a lot more." “Yeah . . .” Cathryn replied somberly as Jason's comments stirred up the recent bad memories for the Sergeant Major. “We didn’t save enough lives though, I’m afraid. This,” she continued as she raised her left arm to show them the preserving sleeve, “is a souvenir from our failed security op. We have another team member lying up in Mercy General in a comma as a reminder of our botched operation as well.” Cathryn sighed heavily. Jason went silent a moment as Brenda returned with another beer for him and Leslie and a Fushion PPC for Cathryn. As the waitress withdrew, he took a sip then set the bottle aside. Cathryn’s Fusion PPC was liquor and it came in a shot glass. She paid the waitress with a $20 dollar c-bill. To Jason and Leslie she said, ”This rounds on me.” And to their waitress, Brenda, “Keep the change and bring me another. Make it a double this time.” She reached for the shot glass and downed it in one single gulp. “Ah! That’s good. It’ll put hair on your chest,” Cathryn guffawed just like a guy. Jason grinned at her comment. Half my team would love her for that. Cathryn received a discrete burst communication to her ear bud from Mickey in his Gray Death Battle Armor. She glanced across the Pub to where Anastasiya was chatting up the ‘College Student’ and saw Ana’s right hand go up to her ear to press her own earbud in closer as not to miss anything due to the background noise. “ ‘Big Bob’ aka Terrance Walker, 39, Local Meropian. He’s clean. No arrested no known anti-government affiliations. Employed at Pinard Sub-Systems, a subsidiary of Pinard Electric Motors, as a security guard for 12 years. They make the Taurian Concordant RRV ‘Rock Rover’. Married 8 years to Kimberly Davis. Two kids. Boy and a girl, ages 6 and 4. No interplanetary passport on file. Standby for threat assessment on the ‘College Student’. ‘Surgeon’ Out. ”. "In the interest of cooperation, one small time merc outfit to another, I'm going to be straight with you," Jason said, noting Leslie give him a sharp look. "Our former commander was at that meeting...or may have been. We're here as much to find him and his wife as we are to provide security for the forensic team from the Concordat." “Okay Captain, now you’re speaking my language. Straight with no chaser, just the way I like it.” Cathryn cut her eyes down to her empty shot glass and grinned easily, “As you may have already noticed.” And shot Jason a friendly wink as her grin grew into a teeth sparkling smile. “Awh Wow! I am so sorry to hear about your people being MIA,” Cathryn replied with seemingly no effort at beguiling them, but Jason couldn’t be sure if it were Cathryn or the Fusion PPC talking. He hadn’t known her long enough to differentiate between the two. "So there it is," Jason said. "I know I'm asking a lot...like violating security protocols...so tell me what you want in return for this, and if I can make it happen, I will." “Protocol?” Cathryn gets a truly sinister grin about her, “Protocol, Schmotocol. We in the intelligence community call protocols, ‘Obstacles’. To hell with the Davion Security Protocols, unless you are Davion of course. Then everything I just said is off the record.” Cathryn said the last part with a healthy dose of joviality. Cathryn did not have the wherewithal to inform Captain Tian that, in-fact, her own Staff Sergeant had violated Security Protocol on their recent failed ‘Snatch & Grab’ mission, undermining her authority. It wasn’t pertinent to their working together so why should she have to eat crow? Jason held his hands open, as though showing he had nothing up his proverbial sleeves...which he couldn't as he was wearing a tee shirt and his leather jacket was draped over the back of his chair. “So you can help us out?” Jason grinned sincerely. “Yeah, yeah, sure thing Captain. You scratch my back and I scratch yours type of thing. Certainly,” proposed Cathryn. “I’d do the same with the arm thingy but, you know . . .” with a hunch of her shoulders “. . . the preserving sleeve and all but to keep things above board and as long as we’re laying all our cards on the table, I am packing heat and so is my associate over there.” She nodded in the general direction of Anastasiya. "If you'd let us, we'd like to review your battle footage to see if we can spot them," Jason explained. "I'd also like to hear your thoughts on who may have done this. You've been on world a lot longer than us...and the more I can get my people updated on the ground situation, the better we'll be prepared." “Roger that Captain Tian. I read that in your message that you wanted to review the battle cam footage. It’s been ‘confiscated’ by the Wolf’s Dragoon and its kept in secure file room at Fort Chadwell. However, I do have security clearance to view them and I put in a request yesterday after reading your message for access. The request was due to be approved today by 1300 hours, I just didn’t have time to stop by and pick them up today. I’ll make it a point to stop by to retrieve them this evening and get you a copy. I can have them for you tomorrow anytime you like, just name the where and the when.” “I think it would be best if I refrain from telling you what my team found during our review until after you have reviewed them for yourself, so that way you won’t be predisposed to simply focus in on what we have already uncovered.” Jason nodded at her explanation. “That’s solid thinking,” he replied. “We’ll meet up after my unit’s taken a look and compare notes. If it works for you, I’ll send Adam to pick it up here, tomorrow at ten thirty hours.” He cast a glance at Adam, currently looking nervous as he chatted with Anastasiya. Cathryn looked around and repeated her visual scan of the Kendrew’s Pub Patrons a second time, this go round she was checking to see that no one was showing an overt interest in the three of them seated at her table. Reasonable certain that there was no ‘overt’ interest, Cathryn leaned in closer to the two and began to unfold her professional opinion in a barely audible conspiratorial whisper. “A person of interest is Garret. Nickolas Garret. No affiliations he’s just an International Terrorist. He was actually spotted at the Hospital outside of Sergeant Edward Rockel’s room. Rockel is the fourth member of our team and he’s the one in a coma. I have since requested a squad of the Wolf’s Dragoons Seventh Kommandos to be on watch 24/7. I was the one who bumped into Garret face-to-face,” she admitted, unashamedly as she shook her head. “We have not been able to determine a motive yet being officially barred from the investigation. I did, however, have the presence of mind to attach a tracer to the unsub and we tracked him back to an industrial plant in Tethy, a small town 35 clicks from Armidale. Lost audio due to a white noise generator. We later failed to capture Garret on a ‘Snatch-&-Grab’ Op on the southern continent of Nysiades outside the city of Celaeno. We were able to gain FININT, financial intelligence, in the form of $200,000 dollars’ worth of Davion 100 dollar denomination D-bills. Wolfnet is tracing the serial numbers right now and we should get the results back in a few more days. I’ll get you a few to run your own separated trace on as long as we can maintain ‘Chain of Custody’. We think Garret made it back to the main continent of Modonodes via a spotter plane. No confirmation on that just yet either. But I don’t believe an International Terrorist just happens to coincidentally be on world when a building goes boom. I don’t know about you Captain, but ’I’ don’t believe in coincidences.” “Nor do I,” Jason agreed. “And even if I did, that’s a bit too big of one to ignore. Thanks for that. What can we do in return for your help?" “Yes Sir. All we’re asking for in return, and I think that I speak for all the Wolves, is for an opportunity to work in conjunction with the investigator’s to bring the S.O.B. down who is responsible for putting our friend in a coma. And to putting the screws to whomever it was that made us look like incompetent boobs in front of our employer.” The last part Cathryn said with a little more emotion than she had intended. Jason extended his hand across the table. “Done,” he said. (3763) TOTAL 18,830 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 10:02 pm FS-RD-04-02 #08 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Haltonbury, Slums Thursday, 14 January 3097 1025 Local Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bull’s Eye’ Whitley hugged the morning shadows like a lover desperate for the warmth of an embrace. Yet the shadows betrayed as easily as they saved; danger came. Moving down Fourth Street of the lower Eastside, Cathryn found a moment in the desperation to chuckle. The Mayor of Armidale tried so hard to ignore this part of his beloved city and yet it sat like a canker sore, irritating and infectious. If he didn’t do something about it soon, he’d find it a lot more than just irritating, especially now that the local economy was going bad. Then again, it made her life easier, so she couldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Coming to the intersection of Fourth and Harold, she paused with her back against the wall, waiting. The blare of a far-off horn sliced through the morning; a baby’s cry drifted from a nearby apartment complex; machinery hummed, the ever-present vibrations every city created but that citizens failed to notice; a trawl screeched close by, almost causing Cathryn cardiac arrest. But her pursuers had not discovered her latest backtrack. They’d be on her trail soon enough. Moving onto Harold, she passed Fifth and then crossed the street in broad day light of an equidistant point between two telephone poles; if she held one wish in the world, it would be that whoever created telephone poles burned a long time in Hell. Passing an alley entrance, she froze as a sound caught her attention. She flattened against the wall. Her black clothing . . . thick wool to mask her heat signature without announcing the depth of her resources by the blatant use of a sneak suit . . . blended well into the depths of the alley’s dimness . . . it was an overcast today, Thank God. Closing her eyes, she marshaled her will and centered herself as she’d been taught. Choosing one distraction after another, like a master weaver whose nimble fingers pick apart the skein of a complex weave, Cathryn pulled herself loose until only the twin threads of her hearing and the sound remained. In practice, such trancelike concentration would allow a person to strike her and she’d not immediately feel it. As such, she played a dangerous game in an alley where any wino might come looking for a dime and find easy prey, leaving her beaten . . . or worse. The thumping of her heartbeat came from a remote location, but served as a metronome for the passing of time. No other sounds intruded, but she knew; she’d dealt too often with these particular people to not know they hunted her as surely as a shark who smelled blood in the water when good intel was leak. She’d tried flight before and that failed; it only made her sloppy. For just a moment her concentration shifted and a third strand tugged. The caress of the plastic-coated, verigraph battle ROM of the explosion, scraped against the taut skin of her belly. After another long pause, during which a minute or five might have passed, when no sound vibrated along the thread Cathryn held, she slowly began to reweave the skein of herself, gradually re-twining existence. In another few moments she breathed deeply and released a small, pent-up sigh of frustration. She snorted, moved to the entrance of the street and began making her way once more down Harold, to her waiting contact, Adam aka ‘The College Student’ several kilometers distant and her future meeting; by her calculations, her invitee should already have made it to Kendrew’s Pab and might be just a little agitated and bug out if she could not get there in time. A fiery fist of pain hammered into her still mending arm from behind; she lurched forward and dropped to one knee as her concentration momentarily splintered into a prismatic stream of a thousand points of light. Damn! Sloppy again. No need to be on your guard one hundred percent where the Rebels are concerned. The intelligence branch of these terrorist cells is a joke, a cakewalk. There might have been some truth in that myth at the upper levels. But on the mean streets of the back end of a dark hole, those agents were every bit as dangerous as any she’d dealt with. More, they seemed almost desperate to prove themselves. As though they felt responsible for the splintering of their sect and were out to prove they could match any agency, any individual, that might cross their path. Cathryn thought she’d learned her lesson. Obviously more, and painful, lessons were yet to come. She tugged hard once and regained her concentration, leaving out the thread of pulsing pain that sent lances of agony down her arm, numbing it into uselessness. She immediately dropped to the ground, rolled toward the alley mouth and heard the cough of a well-made silencer, the twang of ricocheting rounds bouncing off pavement. A hot chip of the street sliced her cheek. Once in the alley, she rolled, pushed against the wall with her good shoulder and levered herself quickly to a standing position. She looked down the alley and muttered a curse that would’ve curdled her mother’s ears . . . blocked. They would know they’d hit her and more than likely they knew the alley offered no outlet. After all, she’d discovered quickly enough the world of Merope might be part of the Federated Suns in a geographical sense, but in every other sense it belonged to the Rebellion. Terror agents roamed freely on-planet, and they would know this city, know this street, know this exact alley. The unexpected. She needed to do the unexpected. If they knew they’d hit her, they’d be expecting a strike from the alley floor. Attempt to hide behind a dumpster, or break into an alley door and try to slink away. The sound of the silencer had come from some distance, so she still had a few precious seconds. Unfastening her belt, Cathryn pulled it loose and then swung it around her chest, catching it between herself and the wall. As though she’d practiced the move a hundred times, she quickly bound her now-useless arm to her side. She ran to the large drainage pipe mounted against the wall, where she squeezed between the wall and the pipe. She began to make her way up the pipe. Her fear it might rattle or creak with her movement proved unfounded. Six meters up, she found a ledge and dismounted from the pipe, latching on to a windowsill and edging farther out toward the mouth of the alley. Sweat dripped down her face and began to plaster the wool clothing to her stocky body. The thread of pain could not be refocused and it became a hot pincer grinding against her concentration as she made her way along the ledge. She began to pant from the effort and tears slowly leaked from the corners of her eyes. Almost at the edge of the alley, she stopped. Listened. The inferno of herbroken Radius threatened to flare out all other considerations and black spots swam in front of her eyes as oblivion opened its embrace to accept her surrender. The verigraph copy of the battle ROM crackled against her skin. Her eyes narrowed and the indomitable spirit that had dragged her from the ugliness of Talitha, which made this slum look like the lap of luxury, blossomed in her smoky eyes. Irregular sounds intruded. The slow steps of a cautious man. The steps of a man who wished not to be seen or heard. They drew closer. With a wrenching twist, she realized she could not reach the needler snugged up against her left thigh, the handle positioned for a cross-body draw. She cursed silently. It had been a mistake to immobilize her arm. Still, no going back now. Flow with the blow. How to take him? The information she held could not be lost nor compromised. The man’s head appeared and disappeared like the flicking tongue of a lizard around the corner. Once again, appear-disappear, this time at a different level. With a large-bore handgun . . . she couldn’t make it out clearly from this distance in the dark, but it looked like a Sternsnatcht Python. Leave it to a Rebel agent to try and silence such a monster. . . held out in classic shooter style, the man edged around the corner. He moved to the other side of the alley, eyes, body and gun covering every angle. Her arm began to tremble with the strain of supporting her body, and the flame of pain began to reach critical levels. She could just make out the silhouette of his head as she slowly scanned up the walls. It was only a matter of time before he saw an anomaly on the wall . . . an anomaly that would then feel the force of several large-grain, soft-tip bullets splattering her tissue messily against uncaring bricks. Her mind racing, she quickly came to a decision. Made her choice. From six meters up, with a lame arm strapped to her chest and a body aching with the strain of the climb, she pushed hard away, somersaulted with a half twist and dropped, silently twenty five meters to his rear and she sprinted off into the morning shadows. Flight, today, was the better part of valor. She would live to fight another day. (1634) TOTAL 20,464 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 10:05 pm FS-RD-04-02 #09 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Downtown, Mercy General Room #621 Friday, 15 January 3097 2135 Local It was curious how, as consciousness rejoined him, accompanied by the smell of antiseptics, the electronic chirps of medical machines, a distant throbbing of drug-dulled pain, and the familiar low rumble of the life support machine that his first thoughts were of that ancient video-relic. He parted his dry lips and heard the raspy sound of his own voice. “Toto, I don’t think we’re in the Inner Sphere anymore.” “He’s awake!” The voice was Staff Sergeant Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich’s. “He’s delirious,” said Sergeant Major Cathryn Whitley, a tone of concern in her voice. He opened his eyes a little, squinting against the stinging brightness. Cathryn’s face leaned in front of him, and she spoke slowly and loudly, as though he’d been pierced through the eardrums instead of the chest. “My . . . name . . . is . . . not . . . Toto!” He chuckled, and it came out as a rasp. Cathryn held a straw to his lips, and he sipped, sloshing the water around his mouth to wash away the cotton. “How long?” “My name’s never been Toto, Sergeant.” He looked at her. She was a mess . . . a large purple bruise on her left cheek, the bridge of her nose was still taped, and a half-healed cut on her lower lip. Her skin looked red and slightly parboiled. Sergeant Edward ‘Blaze’ Rockel looked even worse, with bandages seemingly covering half his body, and bruises the rest. His eyes still looked red and irritated . . . from the fire department’s water hoses or smoke, Cathryn couldn’t tell . . . and the big man occasionally emitted a deep liquid cough. There was a brace around one knee and another around one wrist, but nothing appeared to be broken. Nothing appeared to be overly healed either. He had been unconscious for almost a full month now. She wondered how bad she looked, then decided she didn’t want to know. A medic in a green-and-white jacket checked his pulse. Edward glanced up at the man’s chiseled profile and cleft chin, and decided that he must be a doctor. Edward was startled when the doctor turned to shine a penlight into his eyes, and he saw the man’s full face for the first time. A jagged pink scar extended up from the right corner of his mouth to his forehead, crossing his right eye socket. The eye on that side was a silvery artificial orb with a black lens in the middle. He could see something moving beneath the glass as the eye changed focus. The doctor’s eyebrow rose as he saw Edward’s reaction. “Not much to wake up to, I’ll admit, but it’s lucky for you. If it wasn’t for this scar, somebody with my qualifications would never let themselves be stuck on a back water world like Merope.” A shorter, older man with a gray beard stepped forward. “Hell, Doc, you love it, and you know it.” The doctor glanced at the bearded man, but didn’t argue. He turned back and examined the red-tinged bandage taped to Edward’s chest. “The shard of ferro-glass missed your aorta and your spine and only nicked a lung. You’re a lucky man, Sergeant. There are a lot of ways you could have been dead.” You don’t know the half of it. Edward looked past the doctor to study the bearded man. He wore a blue merchant marine shirt, untucked at the waist, and a white cap with captain’s bars pinned in the middle. The only decorations on the shirt were a pair of gold Small Craft wings and a stylized set of tank treads crossed with a red lightning bolt. A tanker’s pin. Why does a Small Craft captain wear a tanker’s pin? He recognized the face as the man who had piloted the Night Owl, the Caerleon Class Small Craft that had brought them to Merope. The bearded man stepped forward, studied Edward for a moment, then wrinkled his nose. “Don’t smell like a Sergeant,” he said. Gurevich stepped in close to him, frowning. “Show some Respect! He just woke up from a coma!” The captain didn’t flinch. He looked up into Gurevich’s eyes. “Well, he’s not my Boss.” Then he looked back at Edward and shrugged. “Still, he’s a customer. Don’t pay to be too rude to a customer, long as they pay.” Cathryn grinned. She liked the man’s pluck. “You’ll get paid, Captain Yee.” The captain tugged at the brim of his cap briefly. “Captain Johnny Yee of the SmallCraft Night Owl. ” “I’ll ask again. How long have I been out?” “Twenty Nine days,” said Gurevich. “We’re well on our way to discovering who is responsible.” “No one is coming after us?” Gurevich smiled slightly. “We pulled two Gs airlifting you to the hospital. I would have never believed a Caerleon could do that without shredding apart. I’ll hand it to Captain Yee; his ship is much more than it seems. “We had some rebel fighters dogging us, but Captain Yee put some missiles across their bows and then pulled a high-G slingshot maneuver that had us all wondering if we were going to clip a mountaintop. But nobody tried to follow us after that, and things cooled off,” finished up Corporal Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov. Edward nodded. “Their attempt failed to neutralize the ‘Peaceful’ resolution, and their attempts to correct that mistake are going to get increasingly messy. We had better be ready.” Captain Yee seemed to remember something, and dug a folded piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. There was a ring-shaped coffee stain on the back. “I reckon that might explain this. Came in for you on the datafax from ComStar an hour ago.” Gurevich glared at Yee. “You read it?” Yee looked indignant. “It’s my blasted datafax.” Cathryn glanced at the doctor, her practiced eyes neither avoiding the man’s scarred face, nor staring at it. “Doctor, will you excuse us for a moment? Apparently I have nothing to hide from Captain Yee, so he can remain.” “Well, ain’t that nice,” said the captain sarcastically. Cathryn looked at Anastasiya. “Read it.” She took the paper, her eyes widening as she saw the name at the top. “It’s from Nickolas Garret.” ‘My dearest, Sergeant Major Whitley. It is with great horror and regret that I apologize for the unfortunate events that befell you during your security duty at the meeting. Imagine my delight when I learned that you had miraculously survived the accidental explosion. Let me assure you that, despite some miscommunication with the local authorities, you were never in any danger. ’ Cathryn saw Gurevich’s mouth curl into a sneer. Anastasiya continued reading. ‘Although present circumstances divide us politically, let me assure you that I have nothing but the highest personal regard for the Sergeant Major and her Intel Squad. Perhaps in another time, we will yet be allies. ‘General Nickolas Garret,’ blah, blah, etc., etc.’ Cathryn chuckled. “Covering his ass.” Anastasiya looked puzzled. “How so, Sergeant Major? He’s allied himself with our enemies, and he’s trying to be cordial?” “He fears I’ll seek personal revenge, or worse . . . that Deuces Wild will ultimately uncover his treachery and he will be repelled, leaving him alone and in a very embarrassing position. He knows it wasm’t a phukkin accident, probably ordered by a lackey, not the General himself . . . not that it matters to me. He knows I know. He knows I have nothing but assassins on in my squad.” Gurevich looked concerned, probably imagining an escalating war of assassination attempts. “And will you?” “What would be the point? Oh, I plan on bringing him to justice for this horrendous act, I’m slowly but surely coming to terms with any acts of revenge. Better to make him worry and fret about it, lying awake every night listening for footsteps outside his door, torturing himself, until one day when I approach him. That day, he will beg for his freedom again. Isn’t that better in the long run?” Gurevich nodded. “The Sergeant Major is wise.” Cathryn grinned. “The bodyguard is diplomatic. I wonder what you’d have said if I’d put a price on the bastard’s head?” Gurevich just looked at her and cocked an eyebrow. “Sergeant,” said Anastasiya, leaning in close to look at Edward’s face, “you look tired.” She turned to the others. “He looks tired.” Yee crossed his arms over his chest. “Tired, is he? Well we’ve still got business to attend to, the Sergeant Major and I.” “Yeah but the Sergeant is tired and we need to vacate his room,” she insisted. “Excuse me,” said Edward. “Do I get a say in this? Hello? Still out rank you. Still a Sergeant.” Anastasiya looked embarrassed. “With apologies, Sergeant, I forgot my place.” “No.” He grimaced as he tried to shift position without dislodging any of the various tubes that ran in and out of him. “I forgot mine, which is horizontal in a bed with a hole through my chest. I am tired, but if we do have business with Captain Yee that can’t wait.....” The trio of Cathryn, Anastasiya, and Gurevich looked unhappy. “Besides, you people look like you need rest as much as I do. I know we lost civilians during the explosion. Almost lost me. I need some personal time.” Cathryn’s eyes clouded slightly when he mentioned lost civilians, and she noticed the muscles of Mickey’s jaw clench. Anastasiya, nothing. Man but was she ever cold. Cathryn nodded, and her and the others headed for the door. “I’ll be back to check on you later.” Mickey didn’t move. “With respect, Sergeant Major, it would be better if I stayed with Edward. I’ve disgracefully subjected him to too much danger already.” “You’re not my mother, Mickey. I put myself in danger, and you scramble to get me out. My job is always easier than yours” . . . Edward grinned . . . “and I’m better at it.” Edward looked at Captain Yee, who stood at the foot of his bed. “Mickey, do you trust this man?” Mickey blinked. “Yes, Sergeant, I believe I do.” “Captain Yee, am I safe here?” “Doc is the best sawbones within thirty light years of Merope. He’s patched me and my crew together from worse than the likes of you. You’ve got two of the fiercest Seventh Kommandos outside watching the door, and except for a dozen or so short-timers who haven’t proved themselves yet, I’d trust my life with any of the Staff here at Mercy General.” Yee nodded. “Yeah, you’re safe here as you can be.” Edwrad bobbed his head in the direction of the door. “Go. Sleep. You’re no good to me the way you are, Mickey. Don’t come back till you’re halfway presentable.” Gurevich nodded and reluctantly headed for the door. He stopped in the door to inspect the two guards and, apparently satisfied, made his leave. Doc looked at Cathryn. “Sergeant Major, he should rest.” Cathryn waved him away. “Don’t you got some pills to go try out or something? We’re leaving right now.” The doctor shrugged and wandered into an adjacent office cubicle. Cathryn and Captain Yee left the room in the doctor’s wake, closing the door behind themselves. They found a small, empty waiting room. “As I said, Captain, you’ve set your price, and you’ll get paid,” Cathryn began. “Aye, you can bet your blue blood that I will. But that’s not what I’m here to talk about,” replied Yee “I owe you a debt beyond that, Captain. You saved a member of my team’s life out there, all our lives, really. I don’t know if I’d have done the same thing in your place,” Cathryn admitted. Her father used to always tell her she was a little too truthful at times. God rest his soul. “I can’t say I know you well enough to judge that. I had my reasons,” said Yee. “Beyond money?” Cathryn asked incredulously. “Reason enough, but it was a chance to give it to those bastards in the AFFS who screwed me,” offered Captain Yee. “I don’t understand,” a bewildered Cathryn answered. Yee waved his hand like he was swatting a mosquito. “Long story. They impounded my scheduled cargo. It takes a lot of C-Bills to lift this big tub, and I can’t afford to go running empty.” “You’ve got paying passengers now, Captain. Do you mind passengers?” Cathryn asked. “Machine parts, they don’t talk back, complain about the chow, or try to tell me how to run my ship.” “It sounds like they also barely pay the bills, Captain. Tell me, how’d you like to sell your ship?” questioned the Sergeant Major. “Sell? The Night Owl? ” Now it was Captain Yee’s turn to look disbelievingly. “What’s an Caerleon worth these days? Eight mil?” “The Owl, she’s worth more. Like your buddy Mickey says, she ain’t what she seems.” “Nine mil?” “She’s not for sale.” “Ten million C-Bills? Surely she’s not worth more than that.” “She ain’t for sale!” “Mind you, I’d want to hire you and your entire crew to stay on.” Cathryn was like a dog with a bone. “She ain’t for sale, blue blood. Some things ain’t got a price.” “That hasn’t been my experience, Captain. Besides, you’ve got bills to pay, and once we leave, you’re right back where you started, except that you’re no longer welcome on Merope.” “She’s not for sale.” He leaned back and licked his lips. “She IS for hire though, if the price is right.” Cathryn smiled. Negotiations had opened. “I’d need a short-term contract. You give me reasonable numbers and I won’t say no.” “Contract? To haul what to where?” asked Yee. “To haul me and my small Mercenary Unit to wherever.” “This isn’t some bloody pleasure yacht, Whitley. The grub is good, but plain, and the beds are soft, but the cabins are small. You think you can live with that?” question the Night Owl’s Captain. “I’ve had worse, Captain, believe it or not. The accommodations will do for now, but I’ll be putting in some new ones as soon as circumstances allow,” she added. “You ain’t hacking into my ship.” “In the cargo hold then. One for my quarters and those of my team, a little over a score for Battle Armor and vehicles, one for supplies and consumables. Maybe you can still haul some cargo on the side.” Yee looked skeptical. “And I get to haul you all over the Sphere?” “That’s the plan. Good pay, dependable work,” stated Cathryn matter-of-factly. “What about the ship?” asked Captain Yee. “Mickey says she’s good. So do you,” responded Cathryn. The captain’s eyes narrowed. “She could be better. I got lots of ideas I just ain’t been able to afford. Better weapons, armor, upgraded systems all over. I take you on board, half the galaxy is going to be gunning for us. I got to know we’ll have what it takes to survive.” “That and more. No expenses spared.” Cathryn extended her hand. “Shall we shake on it?” Yee just looked at her hand. “I’ll sleep on it and get back to you.” He turned toward the door, then hesitated. “Until then, where are we going, Boss?” (2601) TOTAL 23,065 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE FS-RD-04-02 #10 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Haltonbury, Kendrew’s Pub Saturday, 16 January 3097 2300 Local From time to time, Sergeant Edward ‘Blaze’ Rockel experienced moments of gratitude that, unlike most of his fellow operatives, he was not a physically memorable person. He didn’t have the striking, Clan-bred looks of a Tyrince Drummond or a Melvyn Jorgensson, both of whom were the products of generations of selective breeding for strength and symmetry and commanding appearance. And unlike Sinclair LeBeux or Maia Winger, he lacked the easy assurance that came of being born into wealth and high position. He was only a man of average height and average weight, with hair and eyes a nondescript shade of average dark brown and a face that could have belonged to a hundred other men of the same general age and ethnicity. In much laundered street clothes a year or so behind the fashion, he could sit in a workingman’s bar drinking beer with a whisky chaser, and none of the observers would recognize him as a Lyran Alliance Loki Agent. The sharper eyed ones among them might have frowned for a moment, puzzled, before going so far as to remark, “Say, did anyone ever tell you that you look a lot like that guy What’s-his-name—you know, the holo vid actor from Terra?” And Edward would say, “Yeah . . . lots of times,” in tones of bored resignation, and that would be that. This functional anonymity allowed him to nurse his drink and eat salted peanuts at a back table in Kendrew’s Pub, undisturbed by the comings and goings of the shift workers and business men who made up the greater portion of the Kendrew’s Pub’s boisterous clientele. Left alone at his vantage point, he watched the front door of the bar and waited to see if the man he had contacted would show up. He didn’t have to wait for long. The time was still an hour short of midnight when the door opened to admit a broad, heavy shouldered man who walked with a distinct limp. The man’s long sleeved shirt and denim jacket couldn’t disguise the fact that his right arm was a prosthetic attachment. The man’s worn face lit up at his first sight of Edward, and his lurching gait became faster. Edward stood up to greet him, and the two men shared a handshake that turned into a quick hug. They sat down together at the table. The other man spoke first. “Sergeant.” “Corporal,” Edward replied. “You’re looking well.” “Pardon me saying so Sergeant, but you look like shit yourself.” Wilson Turk’s gravelly voice hadn’t lost its Hesperus accent after all these years on Merope. “Bonafide Occupational Hazzard,” Edward waved off Turk’s observation and tried to change the subject. “Married life still agreeing with you?” “I’d sooner be at home on Glengarry than working here in Armidale—but you and I both know life doesn’t always give us what we want.” “Ain’t that the truth.” The waitress came over from the bar. Turk nodded toward Edward and said, “I’ll have one of whatever he’s having.” She left and Turk turned back to Edward, all business now. “I came as soon as I could when I got your call. Whatever you need, Sergeant, I’ll do it. Or try my damnedest, anyhow.” “It shouldn’t be difficult,” said Edward. Edward finished his drink and contemplated ordering another. He decided against it. He had no fondness for drunkenness for its own sake, and he didn’t have either the stamina or the constitution of the young spec ops sergeant he’d been when he learned to drink beer with whisky chasers during the campaign on Kurragin. “I don’t know if all of what I’m about to tell you has made it out onto the streets or not,” he said, after the waitress had brought Turk his whisky and chaser. “It’s probably safest to assume that if you haven’t yet heard something similar on one of the major news feeds, then you don’t officially know about it until you do.” Turk looked unsurprised. “I didn’t know you were still doing intel work these days.” “You’d be surprised,” said Edward. He moved on to the business at hand. “To begin with—how much do you know about the disappearance of the Bishops, Dwayne and Tamryn?” “Only what everybody else does,” Turk said. “Have to admit, it shook me up a bit. I know DJ was pushing a century, but he’d been around for so long it felt like he was going to last forever. Hard to believe they’re missing.” “Not just missing,” said Edward. “Probably Murdered. And my unit is working on the investigation.” Turk whistled. “What did you do to make the Colonel Milesine hate you that much?” “I’m still trying to figure that one out myself,” Edward said. “Cracked the case yet?” “Yeah. Looks like the butler did it.” That earned a weak grin from Turk. “No, it’s far too early to know anything. But there’s a distinct possibility that the bombing was planned by persons very high up in the government.” “How high? As high as Loki?” Edward nodded gravely. “Maybe. But I hope not.” Turk shook his head. “They still don’t give you the easy jobs, do they? Where do I come in?” “You and your people come and go in the government buildings at all hours,” Edward said. “You see the stuff that the workers bring in and the stuff that they throw out; you see who’s meeting with whom off the record; and nobody ever sees you. The custodial staff in a large building is effectively invisible—you could be plotting the overthrow of the government and no one would even notice.” Understanding crossed the other man’s broad face. “Anyone in particular you need me to put the word out on?” “Nickolas Garret.” Turk showed no recognition. “Anything in particular about him?” “Who he works for. Who’s acting as his main sponsor. I’ve got him doing odd jobs for half a dozen radical groups, but I know there must be someone out there giving him a majority of his work, and protection to boot. He’s been in more than one sticky situation and come out smelling like a rose. Someone powerful is watching his back.” Turk nodded. “I’ll get the word out, and we’ll see what people try to tell me.” “Thanks, Corporal.” “No worries, Sergeant. I owe you one.” Edward shook his head strongly. “I thought we’d established a long time ago on Kurragin that I owe you.” “Not the way I figure it. If you hadn’t been with us, we’d never have held down the flank without breaking, and I’d have gotten chopped up just the same.” Edward looked at the other man. Turk’s expression was firm; nothing was going to sway him from his position. ……………… As Edward drove home, Turk’s expression stayed with him. Everyone needed someone they could trust with the important work. He had Stepanov, Turk and a few others. A few people, it seemed, had Nickolas Garret. Garret certainly seemed loyal enough, but his ethics looked quite malleable. Unfortunately, that’s all some people demanded. The people that Edward valued were the ones who proved themselves beyond Edward’s expectations, the ones who did a better job than he could have thought of ordering. Turk was one of those. His face hadn’t changed much from the days in the Hesperus militia, and it didn’t take much to push Edward’s mind back to those days. (1292) TOTAL 24,357 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 10:09 pm FS-RD-04-02 #11 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, Witeran District Saint Croix Office Equipment and Consumables Monday, 18 January 3097 2100 Local At night, the warehouse compound of St. Croix Office Equipment and Consumables, located in Armidale’s industrial outer ring, resembled nothing so much as a large, empty shoebox. The site scarcely looked the same as the busy commercial depot that by day received and sent out crates and pallets of manufactured goods—desks, chairs, computers, short-run printing and binding equipment, cleaning equipment and supplies, and reams and reams of paper. Armidale was the home of the largest bureaucracy in Pleiades Cluster, and the city’s appetite for office supplies was insatiable. This particular St. Croix warehouse was only one of dozens of such ugly rectangular buildings located out of sight of the elegant and historic city center, but conveniently close to the main transit arteries required for making deliveries. This last fact prompted the Plieadies Sabers affiliate, Nickolas Garret, to settle on the warehouses of the St. Croix chain as the target for tonight’s work. Nickolas Garret had sent Hansel to supervise the job. Norah would have liked to come as well, but Nickolas knew that she couldn’t be trusted with this kind of mission. She was an excellent agent provocateur, one of the best at stirring up trouble and being long gone by the time it came to a head, but she was neither patient nor quiet. Hansel, on the other hand, was a realist, completely lacking in vanity. His focus was on getting the job done well and quickly, and getting out. Speed was of the essence, since Hansel had several stops to make before the night was over. Hansel steered a delivery truck up to the warehouse compound’s security gate. The truck was a massive tandem special, two containers in line; the false St. Croix markings on its sides were indistinguishable from the real thing. The cargo inside the two containers, however, was not office equipment. The night guard at the complex gate had been keeping himself awake in his glass enclosed box by watching reruns of For Clan and Honor on a console top tri-vid display. He didn’t look happy to see a big truck stopped at the barrier outside. He came out anyway, a disgusted expression on his face. “You don’t get in without papers.” “I’ve got papers,” Hansel said. He did indeed have papers; excellent forgeries, the best that Nickolas Garret could provide. “Just wait a minute.” He retrieved the forged papers from the truck cab’s under dash compartment and made a show of looking through them before handing them out the window. “Here.” “Not my job to let people in or out. Just my job to watch the gate.” The guard took the papers anyway, and read through them, frowning. His lips didn’t move as he read, but Hansel suspected that it was a near thing. When he was done he raised his head and eyed Hansel with mistrust. “It says here you were supposed to be delivering this stuff at five this afternoon.” “Stuff happens,” said Hansel. “At five this afternoon I blew a flux circuit. I had to spend over a grand in D-Bills getting it fixed, too.” The guard scowled like a teacher listening to an excuse for late homework. Hansel waited calmly. The guard said, “You couldn’t have laid up somewhere for the night, could you?” “Sorry,” Hansel said. “I’ve got things to do at home tomorrow. All I want to do is unload this stuff and be on my way.” “Pass on through, then.” “I need the papers back after you’ve signed them,” Hansel reminded him. “Right.” The guard scrawled his name with a St. Croix giveaway pen and returned the papers. “Ramp’s around behind back. And don’t expect any help from me with the unloading.” “Thank you,” said Hansel politely, but the man was already retreating into his lighted box. The guard pressed a button on the security console, and the gate swung open. Hansel drove the big tandem truck into the warehouse compound and around to the rear of the main building. He stopped next to the loading dock, which was conveniently out of sight from the gate—yet another reason why this warehouse was one of the Plieadies Sabers’ chosen sites. He got down from the cab, went over to the first container of the tandem pair, and knocked on the side panel. “You guys can come out now.” The panel slid open with a metallic groan, loud in the darkness. Hansel wasn’t unduly worried about the noise. Their presence inside the warehouse compound had been accepted and accounted for, and work sounds would be expected. A half dozen men climbed out of the first container. Like Hansel, they were dressed in workers’ coveralls with the St. Croix company logo embroidered across the shoulders in back. Maybe in storybooks and tri-vids the secret operatives made themselves invisible by dressing all in black, but Hansel knew better than that. Nobody in Armidale was as invisible as a manual laborer in his working attire. “We don’t have much time,” he said as soon as the last man emerged from the container. “Get moving.” The men swung a ramp down from the open side panel and began unloading boxes. The labels on the boxes identified them as containing pre-assembled metal filing cabinets and collapsible tri-vid reception tanks, manufactured by third parties and repackaged with the St. Croix logo. Deceptive packaging, Hansel thought with amusement, in more ways than one. The boxes actually held an assortment of pistols—auto-pistols, lasers, and flamers—a few rifles and shotguns, and the ammunition to go with them, enough in this truck alone to outfit at least a company. Not all of them were likely to be needed, but there was no way to tell in advance which of the group’s weapons stockpiles would see the heaviest use on the day itself. It was necessary, therefore, to fully supply all of them. The Plieadies Sabers had sunk a large percentage of its liquid funds into this project. If it failed, the movement would be toothless for a while, money depleted, members dead, or lost in the disappointment of failure. Those kinds of losses could spell the end of the whole organization. We’ll just have to succeed, Hansel thought. Hansel had the key codes for the locks on the warehouse doors. He got them open in seconds, both the small door at the top of the loading ramp, and the big garage style door next to it. Inside, the warehouse was full of containers like the ones being off loaded from the truck. “Jacques, Benny,” he said. “Get down here and move some of this stuff out of the way.” Two men, both built like drilling ’Mechs, detached themselves from the group of laborers. Jacques asked, “Where do you want us to put the stuff we’re moving?” “Stack it a bit higher, move the boxes a bit closer together . . . we want our stuff mixed in with it, but still easy to find in a hurry.” “Right you are, boss.” “And make certain to leave enough room for the big surprise. We don’t want to spoil the day by having it found too soon.” The men laughed and began shifting boxes. When all of the weapons and ammunition had been safely unloaded and concealed, Hansel returned to the truck. He mounted into the cab, started the engine, and brought the truck around so that he could back it through the big door and into the warehouse. It wouldn’t all fit—the cab and the front container were still outside—but the rear container was inside and out of sight. He hit the button on the cab console to open the back door of the rear container and lower its heavy duty hydraulic ramp. That done, he climbed down from the cab again. “All right, take her out.” Two of the men climbed up into the container, the others waited outside it. A moment later a Fox armored car emerged from the truck’s dark interior, was pushed down the ramp and braced by the team to keep it from rolling out of control. “Boss?” said Benny. “How are we going to hide something like that?” “You’ll see.” Soon, the armored car had been covered with a canvas drop cloth, its outline under the cloth obscured by boxes of office supplies—innocent ones this time—stacked on its flat surfaces. Half a dozen similar canvas drop cloths went over random piles of crates throughout the warehouse. “The armored car doesn’t have to stay hidden forever,” Hansel explained. “Just so no one looks at it until Thursday, that’s long enough.” The work crew got back into the truck container. Hansel shut the warehouse doors and climbed into the cab. Shortly afterward, he was signing back out through the compound gate, on his way to repeat the process twelve more times, at different locations, before dawn brought returning workers and increased traffic to the streets of Armidale. (1552) TOTAL 25,909 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 10:11 pm FS-RD-04-02 #12 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Haltonbury, Kendrew’s Pub Tuesday, 19 January 3097 2200 Local Another late evening in a string of too many found Sergeant Edward ‘Blaze’ Rockel once more in workingman’s clothing at Kendrew’s Pub. He was drinking beer with a chaser again, amid a crowd hoping to drink enough to forget the past 365 days. It made him feel old, revisiting the bad habits of his teens, even for a good purpose. The things we do for our profession, he thought; I ought to be at home on Dompaire with Sheniqua, not sitting here drinking by myself. This evening, after a long day of interviews, Edward had found a message from former corporal Turk waiting for him at the Silverado High Raise Apartment Complex asking for a meeting. From one meeting to another to another, Edward thought to himself. I’m really a politician now. He yearned to have someone try to kill him again, if only to break up the meetings. After reading the note left for him at the front desk in the Apartment Manager’s careful handwriting, he’d changed out of his regular clothing and into his workingman’s disguise, then slipped out through the back entrance of the building. This close to the next scheduled meeting of the Merope Government and its Dissident Population, there was no telling when a roving tri-vid reporter or some faction’s spies might decide to get ambitious and stake out the front door. He was certain that most of them already knew where he stayed when he was in Armidale; after all, he’d never made any attempt to conceal it. Fortunately, Madame Flambard’s, the manager, discretion was phenomenal, and she was willing to go considerable lengths to protect the privacy of a returning tenant. The Kendrew Pub was as dim as before and, thankfully, filled with conversation on every topic except politics. People discussed music, vids, sports, their jobs—but not the meeting. Edward let the cleansing flow of casual discussion soothe his jangling nerves. He sat at a table in the back, listening to the scraps of conversation drifting past him while carefully presenting a front of a misanthropic solitary drinker. And as such, he was left alone until late in the evening, when Turk finally showed up. The former corporal collected his own beer and chaser from the bar and joined Edward at the table. “Good to see you made it here,” he said. “I couldn’t tell if the woman I left the message with was going to pass it along or not.” “That’s Madame Flambard.” Edward smiled. “She’s protective of her tenants’ privacy. But extremely reliable.” “Reliable’s good.” “Yes. Your message made it sound like you had some information to pass along.” “Maybe. I’m not sure.” That was unusual, Edward reflected. He didn’t recall Turk ever being unsure about anything, back on Kurragin. “ ‘If it’s worth noticing, it’s worth reporting,” ’ he said — he was quoting himself from that long ago time, yet another sign that he was getting older. “Pass it on up and let somebody else sort it out.” “This isn’t about what you asked me, about the government offices,” Turk said. “I haven’t heard anything from that team yet. This is something different — but if it’s what I think it is, then somebody needs to know about it in a hurry.” “Don’t keep me in suspense, Corporal. Spit it out.” “Here goes, then.” Turk took a long pull at his beer, then settled back in his chair. “The first thing is that my people don’t just work at the government buildings. Armidale gave us our first big custodial contract, all right, and that arrangement is still our bread and butter, but the outfit’s picked up quite a few other clients since you helped me get started.” “That’s good.” “Yeah. Anyhow, when I put the word out that a friend of mine from way back was looking for information about stuff going on where it shouldn’t be, I didn’t expect anything to happen quite this soon. I thought people would still be trying to make up their minds whether they’d seen something wrong or not.” “But this morning, I had the guy in charge of the St. Croix contract show up in my office with one of his people, a kid by the name of Bruno who does cleaning detail in one of the St. Croix warehouses in the outer ring of the city.” “Reliable?” “Not especially. Just not quite unreliable enough to entirely ignore. You know the type.” “I’ve run into it once or twice,” Edward admitted. “You don’t often get that sort volunteering information, though. What happened?” “Well . . . Bruno ran across something that scared him enough to tell his boss about it, and his boss took one look and brought him over to talk to me.” “What was it?” “Bruno says . . .” the skepticism was evident in Turk’s voice “. . . that he was just shifting a crate so that he could run the floor cleaner over that area when it somehow broke open.” Edward couldn’t suppress a low chuckle. “We’ve heard that song before.” “He swears the crate opened all by itself.” “As crates will do,” agreed Edward, still smiling. “Go on. I’m assuming that what he saw wasn’t — what is it that St. Croix sells?” “Office supplies.” “— that the crate wasn’t full of paper clips and manila mailing envelopes.” “No,” said Turk. “It was full of guns.” Edward straightened abruptly. “That’s . . . not what I was expecting.” “I don’t think it was what our friend Bruno was expecting, either.” Turk knocked back the chaser to his beer and continued. “So I told Bruno that I ought to fire him for what both of us knew he’d been up to when that crate came open, but that he’d done the right thing by coming to me about the rifles, so I was letting it go. This time. Then I gave him three weeks’ vacation with pay and told him the weather was lovely in the Azores at this time of year and he should go there and think about the value of being a good employee.” “A good move,” said Edward. “Safer for him, safer for us.” “I thought that it might be.” Turk paused and looked curiously at Edward. “You don’t think that all of this has something to do with Arbitrator Bishop’s disappearance, do you? If he’d found out —” “I don’t think so,” Edward said. “The way I hear it, DJ was nobody’s fool. If he’d learned that someone was caching weapons in Armidale, he’d have come out and said so right away. He wouldn’t have put off the announcement for political effect.” “I guess not. Sorry it wasn’t what you were looking for.” “Just because I wasn’t looking for it,” Edward said, “doesn’t mean that I’m not interested. Or that there aren’t other people in Armidale who need to know about it.” (1205) TOTAL 27,114 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 10:15 pm FS-RD-04-02 #13 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, Airport Annex Building Basement Sergeant Major Whitley's Office Wednesday, 20 January 3097 10:00 hours Local Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bulls Eye’ Whitley refilled her coffee mug from the galley sized urn that somebody on her ad hoc staff had set up in the task force’s basement headquarters and made a mental note to find out whose idea it had been so that she could officially commend their initiative. As soon as she had the coffee cream and sugared to her taste, she withdrew again to her private office to meet her ten o’clock appointment. A message from Captain Jason Tian had come to her private number late last night . . . early this morning, really . . . asking for a meeting and an exchange of information. She’d thought at first about using her proper office, which was located on the same rarified level of Fort Chadwell as those of the other non comms, but upon reflection had decided against it. At the Fort, access was restricted, which meant that people’s comings and goings would be both noted and logged. The offices at the airport annex, on the other hand, had a number of different ways leading in and out. If Jason Tian wanted to arrive discreetly by the building’s service entrance instead of taking the elevator down from the main lobby, he could do it. Tian arrived on the hour, without fanfare, looking like a man who hadn’t had much sleep in quite a while. Cathryn welcomed him into the windowless cubbyhole that served her for a private office. The room had two chairs and a door, which was more than the rest of her task force possessed; it wasn’t much, but it would do. A small video screen in a corner showed looped footage of the riot in Armidale, which Cathryn had been studying earlier. “You look like hell, Jason,” she said. “It’s not that bad,” he said. “Nobody’s shooting at me, and I actually had time for breakfast.” “The two signs of a good day,” she agreed. “I got your message . . . woke up from a sound sleep to get it, in fact . . . so here we are. You said something about an exchange?” “Pooling our information, really.” “You’ve got something to share?” If this were Duncan, Cathryn’s aid, talking, Cathryn would be bracing herself for another piece of useless information along the lines of ‘The White Heat Consortium has decided to have pasta for lunch’, but she knew Jason Tian wouldn’t personally deliver inconsequential information. He nodded. “I do. You may have heard that the Deuces Wild is no closer to finding DJ and Tamryn than we were when we first left New Vallis.” “I hadn’t heard anything official about that, no.” “But unofficially?” Cathryn looked forlorn. “I’ve heard about it from at least a half dozen sources. I’ll divert some resources to help you out with the search. How’s the rest of the investigation going?” “Classified,” Tian said sternly. Cathryn stiffened in reaction to his tone, but then relaxed as Jason’s face lightened. “That always sounds better than saying ‘Slowly’.” He added. “I always tell people I’m just too busy to update them right now,” suggested Cathryn. “I’ll have to try that one next time.” “Anyway, the Rabid Wolves investigation has been about the same,however; it hasn’t all been fruitless. I came across some information you’ll find interesting.” “Whaddya got?” he asked. “I have a contact who has a man inside a St. Croix warehouse, where he stumbled upon a hidden weapons cache.” Jason sat bolt upright in her chair. “You’re joking. Where’s the cache, and what kind of weaponry are we looking at?” “Pistols . . .lasers, flamers, you name it. . .shotguns, rifles, even an armored car and ammunition, if my informant’s description is to be believed. Here’s the where.” Cathryn passed across a slip of paper with a street address written on it in neat, regular handwriting. Jason took the paper and glanced at the address as Cathryn rose from her chair. “Just a minute.” She went over to the office door and opened it. “Koss!” The junior of her two assigned Seventh Kommandos left her desk and came forward. “Yes, ma’am?” She thrust a holo disc at her. “Check and see if this warehouse is on that list I had you draw up.” Koss’ eyes went bright. “The ‘where would I hide things list’?” “That’s the one. If it’s on there, give yourself a pat on the back. If it isn’t, start tweaking your criteria until that address does show up, and get me a revised list ASAP. Santangelo!” The senior Seventh Kommando came forward and joined them. “Ma’am?” “Get together a three person crew and check out all of Koss’ addresses, starting with this one. Discreetly. We don’t know what’s up yet, and the last thing we want is to spook people into action before we’re ready.” “Yes, ma’am.” Cathryn stepped back into her private office and closed the door, shutting out the noise of sudden intense activity beyond. She turned again to Jason Tian. “That should keep them busy for a while.” She sat back down. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything else quite as high grade as that to offer in exchange. Unless you’re interested in some dossiers on the Mithron Cutters and assorted other fringe political groups?” “They can’t hurt,” Tian said. “I don’t think that DJ’s disappearance is faction related though . . . no group with any credibility has claimed credit, for one thing . . . but you never can tell. And the Merope people certainly weren’t very fond of DJ. Send the files over. I’m sure you’ve been anxious to spend more time in front of your data screen anyway.” Cathryn didn’t respond. She didn’t even seem to be looking at him, and her mouth was slightly agape. “Cathryn?” She kept staring off to his right, looking like she’d just had a minor stroke. “Cathryn?” he said again. “What’s the matter?” Her hand fluttered upward until it pointed at the screen in the corner of her office. “What is that?” “A holo vid screen. What’s the matter with you?” “No, no,” Cathryn said, leaning forward so far that she was no longer sitting. “What’s on?” “Oh, that. Did you hear about the riot in Armidale the other day? A few places . . . banks and the like . . . your watching some pieces of the action on video. I’ve been watching it too, to see if I could pick out any more possible Taurian Concordant Observers.” “Move it back. A minute ago, I saw something. Move it back.” Jason stared at her face. Whatever she had seen, it was more compelling to her than the weapons cache. He picked up a small remote controller, pressed a button, and the images on the screen flew backward. He watched the timer until he had reviewed nearly a minute of footage. “There!” Cathryn exclaimed. “What was that?” “What?” “No, dammit, he’s gone again. Go back, then play it slow.” Jason obeyed. He watched the screen. The camera was posted over the entrance to Bank du Nord, looking down broad steps to the street below. The woman Mandela had called Norah was little more than a tall blur in this shot, gesticulating wildly, pushing away someone who came too close. But she wasn’t what Cathryn was watching. The doors below the camera flew open and two guards ran out. Instead of running straight down the steps, they veered wide to the left, quickly moving out of the camera’s sight. They must have ran right at someone on the steps, because he had to jump quickly to the right, into the camera’s range, to avoid them. Just as quickly, he bounced back left, out of sight. “That man!” Cathryn said, now fully standing. “Get a freeze on that man!” Jason fiddled with the buttons until the screen held a reasonably clear image. He zoomed in on his face as much as possible. Duncan chose that moment to burst through her door with a fistful of notes. “Not now!” Cathryn barked before Duncan could speak. He meekly backed out of the room. Jason turned back to Cathryn, who still stared at the screen. Air escaped her mouth like a leak from a tire. “That’s Nickolas Garret.” It was Jason’s turn to drop his jaw. “That’s Nickolas Garret?” Cathryn finally pried her eyes off the screen. “You know who Nickolas Garret is?” “From what you’ve recently told me at Kendrew’s Pub, yes. What else have you found out about him?” Cathryn shook her head and sat back in her chair. “Looks like our meeting isn’t over yet,” she said. (1500) TOTAL 28,614 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 10:17 pm FS-RD-04-02 #14 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, Witeran District Thursday, 21 January 3097 The day of the rioting dawned gray. Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bulls Eye’ Whitley wished she knew what her bug she had placed in the Saint Croix Office Equipment and Consumables Warehouse was picking up that Nickolas Garret and his companion were saying, but she’d been forced to leave them soon after planting it. Captain Jason ‘JT’ Tian promised he’d notify her immediately if anything relevant to her side of the investigation came up, and she returned to her makeshift headquarters. Duncan MacAulay’s eyes lit up immediately as soon as she entered. “Sergeant Major Whitley! Where have you been? I have information on eight groups, all of whose name starts with the word ‘Stone’, a leadership change in the Brothers of the Blood, rumors of BattleMechs approaching the Administrative Center . . .” She turned rapidly and was stunned to feel her knees creak beneath her. She was thirty three years old and hadn’t slept in two days . . . she felt like age was asserting itself. “I have very limited time and even less patience,” she said as kindly as possible. “I only want to hear about things pertaining to the Plieadies Sabers. Everything else . . . and I mean everything . . . will wait.” “Yes, Sergeant Major.” “Do you have anything on the Plieadies Sabers?” “Yes, Sergeant Major.” “Then let’s have it Senior AsTech!” “We’ve been patched into the Deuces Wild’s battlenet by the Huntress’ Captain, Mason Toombs, on orders from Jason Tian. The Deuces Wild have engaged ‘Mechs and armor sporting the Plieadies Sabers insignia. There is rioting springing up all over the city. Per Jason, he needs those twelve sites shut down. ROE, no civilian casualties. Jason wants only equipment destroyed. I attempt to get more info on which sites and their addresses but Tombs indicated that you’d know what he was talking about and if you didn’t, God help us. Tombs also transmitted to us a set of IFF codes. He said that it was going to get sticky out here and if we like, we could relocate our base of operations to the Armidale Spaceport and stage from the Huntress from under its guns.” “Transmit back to Tombs that his message was received and acknowledged. I’ll contact Captain Yee and pass the order on to him to get the Night Owl airborne and moved over to the Armidale SpacePort. Pack up the office and be onboard the Owl in 15 minutes.” Duncan was truly flustered. He stood there spinning in circles as he looked back to the office and then turned back around to gap at Cathryn. “Well don’t just stand there! Get a move on son!” Watching Duncan scurry away was almost as gratifying as having sex. Almost. Cathryn ran into the conference room, where Rick Santangelo held a noteputer in one hand, a phone in the other, and was attempting to press a few keys on a desktop computer with his elbow. “What do you mean there’s a warehouse you didn’t know about? How do you lose track of your own damned warehouses?” He waited for the other party to speak. “I don’t care if you own them or rent them! I don’t care if you’re stealing the space! You should keep track of where you store your goods!” Cathryn extended her arms, palms down, trying to signal to Santangelo to calm down. He noticed her gesture and his voice became a bit less intense. While he talked, she slipped the noteputer out of his hand and reviewed his notes. Troop availability for the this morning. It was sparse, but would have to do. After a few moments, he finished his conversation, disconnected the call and took a deep breath. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.” Looking at his bloodshot eyes and fevered air, she replied “I think I have some idea. How much time do we have?” “Just over fifteen, maybe seventeen minutes.” “And how much time do we need?” “Ten hours, twelve hours maybe.” “Just the way I like it.” …………. Armidale, Witeran District Saint Croix Office Equipment and Consumables Warehouse #1 The time seemed to move slowly as Cathryn pushed through the weariness, but when the moment came for her to climb into the suit of Gray Death Battle Armor she found herself alert, tense and wishing she could have another hour to prepare. Cathryn had ‘bumped’ Mickey from his suit and had regulated him to a vehicle. Rank had its privileges. She powered up the Gray Death’s communications links and checked in. Altogether Santangelo had come up with two squads of hastily borrowed Seventh Kommando infantry . . . twenty-four troopers, not counting herself and her three Battle Armor Pilots, two of which were in vehicles . . . all the remaining troopers were mounted on Bluestreak DB-6000 mono cycles and armed with pulse rifles, plus a Gabriel Reconnaissance Hovercraft and a M3078 ‘Shelby’ HEV Assault vehicle. Every other police and militia unit was involved with security, crowd control or the pursuit of other rioters. Cathryn patched in to the Armidale law enforcement net . . . she could eavesdrop, but not talk . . . and flipped down a ‘police - fire - and - emergency’ map of the city on her helmet’s heads-up display. Pinpoints of light on the map showed the location of the Hall of Government, the Administrative Center, and the Hotel Duquesne, where everyone who was anyone was staying. Cathryn and her troopers weren’t the only people up early in Armidale this morning. The map already showed the first spots of ‘political demonstrations’. Pink lines swirled on the map, marking their locations. Back at her headquarters, Duncan was probably going out of his head, but these weren’t her concern, except possibly as obstacles to be avoided. “Sergeant Major, we’ve confirmed an arms cache on the northwest side,” came the voice of Sergeant Edward ‘Blaze’ Rockel in the M3078 ‘Shelby’ HEV Assault vehicle. “Plieadies Sabers material.” “Well, let’s go,” she said. The location of the cache came up on her display as a pulsing red dot. “Follow my lead.” She set the Gray Death Battle Armor into motion, turning from the Battle Armor bay out into the street. The sky outside was already in full light. They made a strange procession, the two, one ton Battle Armor Suit, twenty four mono cycles, a wheeled light vehicle behind them and a hover craft darting out ahead. Twenty two tons is Twenty two tons, that was their combined mass and the centuries old street vibrated with each heavy footfall of the armored suit. Running Battle Armor Suits in Merope’s ancient cities was always a risky business. There was so much buried infrastructure, you never knew when some government’s generations old poor maintenance might result in the pavement caving in beneath you today. Cathryn kept the Gray Death Battle Armor ’s steps slow, carefully gauging the path ahead, working carefully through streets designed for lighter, narrower vehicles. Law enforcement woke up to her presence; she heard chatter on the net, then reports of her movement. Some confusion amid the police, then a voice from higher up: “We received notification that the Rabid Wolves are running with the Deuces Wild. Let it go. They’re doing what they do.” “Five minutes to contact,” Rockel said over the command net. “Rules of engagement?” “Here are your rules,” Cathryn said. “Pass the word to the Seventh Kommandos: We do not shoot at people, even if they’re shooting at us. We destroy materiel only, and that only if we know it’s Plieadies Sabers stuff.” “And how will we know that?” “If a place is on our list, consider the stuff in it PS by definition. Anything else . . . we’ll know it belongs to the bad guys when people start shooting at us. And repeat, no shooting back; I want to see property damage only. Be careful not to start any fires. I don’t want today to be remembered as the day we burned down Armidale.” “Lousy terrain for us,” piped up Staff Sergeant Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich, her unit XO, who was riding the Gabriel Reconnaissance Hovercraft. He’d borrowed a Seventh Kommandos PA-(L) armor for this mission since Cathryn had displaced him from his Gray Death suit. . . . it would do something to protect hi, from small-arms fire at least, though it wouldn’t help much against the heavy stuff. “We can get ambushed from on top, from below, or on the sides and back . . . and we can’t run or hide.” “Keep thinking cheerful thoughts,” Cathryn advised. “Foot troops, off your bikes. That’s our target ahead. Gurevich and Rockel, take station on the two far corners, keep reinforcements from coming in. Foot troops, in the doors ahead.” “What are the chances that we have surprise?” Rockel asked. “Depends on whether they’re deaf, blind and stupid, I suppose.” “You mean, ‘nil.” ’ “That’s about the shape of it,” Cathryn said. “The only question is whether they expected a Battle Armor Suit to join the party this early.” “If they were listening to the police bands earlier,” Rockel said, “then they certainly expect it now.” “So let’s not wait.” She scorched a marker on the building with a laser set to low power. “Let’s go.” ………… Armidale, Witeran District Saint Croix Office Equipment and Consumables Warehouse #1 “Squad, by sections, over watch advance!” barked Corporal Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov. In response to their squad leader’s orders, Cathryn Whitley’s borrowed Kommando troopers moved into action. Those on the right and the left advanced, while the ones facing the center of the building remained still, their eyes surveying the facade for movement or any sign of resistance. They saw nothing, and heard no sounds other than the normal ones of a city waking up to chaos. With a rush of booted feet over ancient streets, the flankers reached the walls and stood still, eyes scanning, weapons high. Then it was the center’s turn to advance, rushing, waiting for the sound of gunfire. Nothing. They reached the doors. “Screw subtle,” said the Anastasiya. “Stand Back.” She moved over to the door and turned with her Gray Death Suit’s back up against the steel doors. Raising her armored foot she mule kicked rearward, against the door. The large doors came off their hinges, falling inward. The men at the center dashed inside, rushing into eerie quiet, followed by the flankers from the front corners. Through it all, Cathryn Whitley watched over the action from the helmet of her Gray Death Battle Armor, ready to provide supporting fire if needed. So far, it hadn’t been. For a panicky moment she wondered if perhaps they’d hit the wrong warehouse. She rechecked the coordinates . . . no, this was the one. Then Gurevich in the Gabriel Hovercraft and Rockel in the M3078 reported all secure in the rear of the building. A signal from inside the warehouse, from corporal Stepanov leading section two: “Ma’am. We have a large amount of military materiel here. Pistols, rifles, charge canisters, gas masks and” . . . she dropped synch, came back a moment later . . . “missiles. In launch racks. Instructions?” “Destroy it all,” Cathryn said. “Render it inoperable. Speed is important. Make it good.” She keyed off the circuit. A moment later, the squad reappeared, trotting out from between the kicked broken doors of the warehouse. “Fire in the hole!” corporal Stepanov shouted a warning over her suit’s external speakers. A cloud of dust rolled out of the warehouse doors; up above, a skylight blew out in a rainbow of glass fragments. The shockwave vibrated through the limbs of Cathryn’s Gray Death Battle Armor , and the glass in the windows of the building behind her shattered and fell to the street. “Right,” Cathryn said. “Next on the list.” She read them the coordinates. “Mount up and move out, people.” “Next one may not be so easy,” Rockel commented over the command circuit. “That one wasn’t guarded and we had surprise on our side. Next one, if they aren’t awake by now, they’re dead.” “We’ll take them. Hopefully without trashing large sections of the city.” “I won’t if you won’t,” Rockel replied. “But I can’t give any guarantees about the Plieadies Sabers.” “How long until contact?” she asked. “Under three.” “Hit it. Same plan.” The M3078 ‘Shelby’ and the Gabriel Recon Hovercraft peeled out ahead of Cathryn’s and Anastasiya's skittering Battle Armor Suits, the bike mounted troopers of the Kommandos infantry squad following at speed. …………………… Enemy Command Center “They did what?” Nickolas Garret stared at the foot messenger. The man had found him at his Spartan west side apartment, finishing the last of a hasty breakfast before going to the temporary command center he had established specifically for the day’s activities. “Destroyed our supply cache at the Grundewald warehouse,” repeated the messenger breathlessly. “And they’re . . . ” A second foot messenger hurried in. “Reported attack on our warehouse at Lundquist Street. Several vehicles, at least one Battle Armor Suit. Commander Hansel believes that it’s Sergeant Major Whitley’s people.” “What are the police and the militia doing about this?” Nickolas demanded. He didn’t get an answer; he didn’t expect one. Not from these two. He put down his coffee and said, “I’ll be at the command center. Bring any other messages there. Here are your orders: To all cache commanders. Empty your warehouses. Distribute your arms and armor as best you can. If attacked, resist.” The two messengers saluted awkwardly. Part of the problem with running the paramilitary wing of a rebellion, Nickolas had found, was that the volunteers one got were often more “para” than military as far as their background and training were concerned. But one had to work with the materials at hand. He put the problem out of his mind for the moment and headed for Plieadies Sabers’ command center . . . in normal life, the back room at the data shop where Norah’s current lover had his day job . . . as quickly as a man could go without attracting unwanted attention. Hansel and Norah were already busy when he arrived. The shop’s owner was a sympathizer with the cause; he’d never asked Norah exactly what her “political group” intended to do that required the use of his back room and its data facilities. He was also a prudent man, who had departed yesterday on a visit to his daughter in Nova Scotia without making any awkward inquiries into what might be going on at the shop during his absence. “Commander,” said Hansel as Nickolas entered. “We are under attack.” “I know,” said Nickolas. “What I want to know is who and where?” “Who is Cathryn Whitley, and where is here.” Hansel pointed to a map of the city. All of the supply caches for the coming street battles were circled in red. Two of the sites had black X ’s drawn on them in grease pencil. “That was the first one, at 0808. Then they hit this one at 0822.” “That would put her about” . . . Nickolas traced his finger over the map, drawing a line from the second of the destroyed warehouses to its nearest untouched neighbor . . . “here. Nothing we can do for the next bunch but warn them. You have warned them?” “I have,” Norah said. “At least so far, the police are staying well clear. We’ve been monitoring their frequencies, and they’ve been keeping themselves too busy with the protestors down at the Hall of Government. It looks like they’ve been told to back off and let the Deuces Wild and the Rabid Wolves handle it.” “Too bad it isn’t the right Officer,” said Hansel. “We should have sent the council a memo.” “Not funny,” Norah snapped. “Calm down,” Nickolas said. “These things happen. If the Mercenaries fail, the demand for someone of greater experience will be that much louder.” He tapped the red circle on the map that marked the location of the next targeted warehouse. “Write that one off. We’ll have lost three supply caches. Not good, but we can live with it.” Picking up the grease pencil, he circled the fourth warehouse in the line. “This is where we’ll fight it out. Everyone else, get the supplies out to the cadres. The timetable just got advanced by a few hours.” He looked at the map again and rethought his strategy. “Hmm. With a hasty defense of that fourth site, we may well lose it as well. Change of plans . . . how do you feel about an ambush, say, here?” He indicated a spot halfway between the fourth location and the fifth. “I feel strongly positive about it, sir,” Hansel said. “I was hoping you would,” Nickolas told him. “You’re going to lead it. Take what you need, and get going. If this plan is going to work, you have to defeat Whitley.” …………………………. Armidale, Witeran District Saint Croix Office Equipment and Consumables Warehouse #3 I see people in motion up ahead,” Rockel reported to Cathryn Whitley over the command link. “They could be armed.” “Or they could be civilians,” Cathryn replied. “Remember . . . the rules of engagement are property damage only, do not fire even if fired upon.” “Roger, understand no return fire,” Rockel said. “Can’t say that I like it, though.” “We’re trying to prevent an insurrection here, not make one,” Cathryn told him. “Do we have enough demolition charges for all of the targets?” “We’ll manage.” “Right. Looks like thirty seconds to contact.” The third warehouse of the morning . . . Gurevich’ revised list of possibilities had a total of ten . . . was coming up; a turn to the right then a straight run up to the front doors. The streets were narrower in this part of town, and the heavy feet of Cathryn’s and Anastasiya’s Battle Armor Suits weren’t doing the pavement any good. More property damage . . . but Cathryn was sure the new Government, whosever it turned out to be, would make restitution after the coup or defense. There were definite signs of movement around the target up ahead. Cathryn wondered exactly how much longer the “don’t shoot” policy was going to work. She worked her legs rapidly, spinning her Battle Armor Suit around the corner. The Gray Death Battle Armor was a speedy machine, not a bruiser like the Kanazuchi or a hulking infighter like the Raiden, but a lightly armed sprinter designed to get in fast, strike and get out fast. In Cathryn’s opinion, these qualities made the Gray Death Battle Armor an excellent model for command and control, since a properly managed battle plan shouldn’t require the commander’s own muscle in order to be effective. The M3078 ‘Shelby’ HEV Assault vehicle, the Gabriel Reconnaissance Hovercraft, and the Seventh Kommando squad’s bikes were all faster than the Gray Death Battle Armor in the cramped confines of the city streets. Rockel and Gurevich peeled out ahead, and Cathryn scored a laser marker on the front of the building to guide them. The Kommandl troopers stopped in front of the building; Rockel and Gurevich, in their vehicles, sped off to take blocking positions. “Forward by over watch!” Cathryn commanded. The troops moved out. They were good for infantry, disciplined and well trained. She made a mental note to look up their regular commander and see that he or she got properly commended when all this was done. “Command, Gabriel scout,” Gurevich said over the command circuit. “Got a problem on the east face. No way around to the rear. There’s a wall.” “Back out, take the west side.” She checked her heads up display. No wall showed on the large scale map. It looked like Armidale Fire Police and Emergency hadn’t updated their databases recently. That was another thing to bring to somebody’s attention; later, after all of the dust had cleared. Then the Battle Armor Suit’s exterior mics picked up the sounds of small arms fire, localized on her heads up display to the east side of the building. It wasn’t the Sperry Browning machine guns of the ‘Shelby’ she was hearing, either . . . it was the heavy crump of armor piercing ordnance, shoulder launched penetrators by the sound of them. “Gurevich!” she snapped over the command circuit. “SitRep!” “Taking fire from my flank,” her executive officer reported. “Daisy chain mines behind me. I’m in a sticky place. Request permission to return fire.” “Negative!” Cathryn said. “Permission denied. I’m on my way to your location. ‘Pitbull’ its a hit! Cover me!” Then, over the Battle Armor Suit’s external speakers, to the troops, “Entry force, expedite.” “Roger, understand expedite,” corporal Anastasiya, who was in charge of the Kommando squad responded as she moved her Gray Death Suit to cover her commanding officer. A moment later, the breaching charge put a hole in the warehouse wall. Cathryn saw the Kommando troops entering through the dust on her side mount screen as she went past at a lope. Taking advantage of the Gray Death Battle Armor ’s speed, she was around the corner in a moment and saw Gurevich’ problem. Anastasiya took up a kneeling position behind a wall and began firing her anti-personnel machine gun with the intent to deliberately miss. The heavy but inaccurate fire coming from the Gabriel Hovercraft’s right . . . small arms, mostly . . . wouldn’t interfere with the mission too much. What would interfere was a group of Anti-Jump ‘Active’ Mines, tied together to form a long chain. They’d been hidden in the trash by the side of the road while the Hovercraft passed by, then triggered when someone tugged the cord and pulled the line of mines across the Gabriel’s only available path of retreat. Gurevich could abandon his vehicle to remove the mines by pulling the rope the other way . . . but even with his PA-(L) armor, the intensity of the small arms fire combined with the shoulder mounted penetrators fired earlier would cut him to ribbons before he’d gone half a dozen steps. Cathryn, though, wouldn’t have the same problem. Putting her trust in her armor, she lightly depressed her actuators while pushing the right vambrace to extend the Battle Armor Suit’s long arm. The Gray Death Battle Armor squatted and its arm grabbed the end of the rope closest to the building. She pulled back on her vambrace, the mines came toward her and the way was clear. “Back up,” she ordered Gurevich. “Rejoin with Rockel.” The Gabriel Hovercraft was already accelerating in reverse. Cathryn laid down a spray of laser fire just over the heads of the insurgents who were shooting at her troops. The line of pulsing light gouged into the brick wall behind the attackers as the water in the mortar flashed to steam. Cathryn hoped that she wasn’t violating the spirit of the no-engagement rules by making the rebels keep their heads down. “Any casualties?” she asked over the net. “Negative,” Gurevich answered. “Nothing hurt but my pride.” “You’ll survive. Rejoin, regroup and we’re out of here.” That was when the rebel on the roof of the warehouse behind her shot straight down with a flamer, not aiming for the carapace of the Gray Death Battle Armor , but for the pile of mines that now lay beside Cathryn’s feet. Against a Gray Death Battle Armor ’s superior heat efficiency, a single flame attack couldn’t do much. Multiple heavy explosions nearby, on the other hand . . . if her Battle Armor Suit was crippled, the mission could be lost. Cathryn hit her pedals hard, taking the Gray Death Battle Armor straight up, using the myomers full power. A ball of flame from exploding ordnance roared after her and propelled her even higher. The leap brought her level with the roof of the building where the man with the flamer stood. The look on his face, she thought, was priceless. He must have thought that a thousand kilograms of angry Battle Armor Suit was about to land on top of him. He ran. Cathryn dropped back down, cushioning her fall with legs, and wheeled her Battle Armor Suit into a sprint out of the alley. “Fire in the hole!” she heard as she landed, and brown dust and white smoke erupted from the warehouse as the Kommando squad’s demolition charges did their work. “All secure, no casualties,” Rockel reported. “Got a little hot on your side of things?” “You could say that,” Cathryn replied. “Someone in the resistance is thinking. That string of mines wasn’t meant for Gurevich on the Gabriel Reconnaissance Hovercraft . . . it was bait for me.” “It looks like you were a bigger fish than they expected,” Rockel said. “Next on the list?” “Next on the list,” she confirmed. “I’ve got the shortest route outlined on the map.” “I don’t like that route,” Cathryn said. “They know where all the warehouses are as well as we do. Better, probably. And by now they for damn sure know where we are. They can figure out where we’re probably going, and they know our quickest path from one site to the next.” “So what’s our solution?” “Bypass this next one, hit number five on the list instead, then backtrack to four. Keep ’em guessing.” “I’m all in favor of that,” agreed Rockel. “Give me a sec . . . there. I have location five highlighted, and a couple of possible paths illuminated.” “Take ’em both. Me and you with the M3078 and one Kommando Squad go up one, and the Gabriel Hovercraft, Anastasiya, and the other Kommando Squad up the other one.” “Splitting your command? That’s what nailed General Custer at the Little Big Horn.” “That, and five thousand Sioux,” Cathryn said. “The Plieadies Sabers doesn’t have any five thousand foot soldiers, and we need to keep them guessing. Let’s go.” ……………….. Enemy Ambush Location “No sign of the intruders,” Hansel reported. “They should have been here by now.” He had anti-armor missiles aimed down the street in front of the fourth warehouse, with support lasers hidden in the houses along both sides of the street the Battle Armor Suits would be forced to come down in order to attack this location. He’d catch the Sergeant Major’s troops in a cross fire and cut them to pieces. He had to. He’d scrounged pretty much every piece of heavy anti-armor the Plieadies Sabers possessed in order to concentrate it in this spot. Today’s activities weren’t supposed to have involved Battle Armor Suits or ‘Mechs at all, not until the end, at which point the arrival of a Battle Armor Suit or a BattleMech would mean that they were supposed to retreat. But so far today, nothing was going according to plan. Back at the command center, Nickolas Garret followed reports from other locations. “We’ve spotted opposition in two locations,” Norah said. She indicated them on the map. “It could be they brought in a bigger force than we initially thought.” “It could be,” he said. “What I want to know is why they’re heading that way at all.” Norah pointed at the location of the fourth warehouse. “Maybe they don’t know about this one?” “I don’t think so. I think they’re being cagey.” A fifth cache location lit up on the map. “Ah, here they are.” Nickolas called up the scene commander on the radio. “What’s your situation?” “We’re under attack by about a squad, supported by a Battle Armor Suit and vehicles.” “Can you hold them?” “For a few minutes.” “Hold them as long as you can. I’m bringing up reinforcements.” Nickolas keyed the net to Hansel, who would be waiting now at his ambush location for an attack that wasn’t going to come. “Go at once to the fifth location, Donnitz area. Leave slow units behind if you must. The enemy is there. Engage them. All units, expedite relocation of supplies. That is all.” He looked at the clock. The riots hadn’t been supposed to start for hours. Well, he’d just had his morning ruined. Some other people could have their morning ruined, too. (4754) TOTAL 33,368 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 10:20 pm FS-RD-04-02 #15 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, Witeran District Saint Croix Office Equipment and Consumables Warehouse #5 Thursday, 21 January 3097 The fifth warehouse cache showed up in the helmet mounted heads up display in Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bull’s Eye’ Whitley’s Gray Death Battle Armor, as well as on audio for weapons correlated sounds. “Looks like we’re going in hot,” Cathryn said to Sergeant Edward ‘Blaze’ Rockel over the small units command circuit. “Roger that,” her junior non-comm replied. “They’ve got scouts and skirmishers out, and it looks like they’re bringing into position more of that inventory we’ve been blowing up all morning.” “Figuring that if they’re going to lose it anyway, they might as well expend it? Probably a good choice.” “We don’t have time for a siege,” Rockel said, “not if we’re going to hit the other places too. I say we stand back and blow it up from a distance.” “Long-range weapons aren’t going to mesh with the no casualties objective in the rules of engagement that Captain Tian has requested.” “So? Frontal assault’s too messy,” Rockel said. They had drawn closer to the target building by now, and Cathryn had it on visual from her Armor’s cockpit: a two story warehouse made of poured concrete. “Frontal assault’s what we’ve got,” she said. “Hit ’em hard; hit ’em fast.” “We’ll need someone to go in first, to draw fire and break the situation.” “That’s what I’m built for,” Cathryn said. She increased the loping stride of the Gray Death Armor, taking it up past 40 kilometers per hour. The first of the machine gun bullets took her by surprise from behind, as she sprinted past a barbershop on the road leading up to the warehouse. No problem for her ArcShield Diamond Weave armor; she left the machine gun nest for her troops to deal with and kept on going. The key to dealing with ambushes is knowing they have narrow kill zones. Once you’re through the zone, you’re safe . . . unless the bad guys have set up multiple kill zones. For a hasty defense, Cathryn noted, the rebels were doing pretty well. Their commander had taken some time to prepare, and had clearly thought through his defenses in advance. It was enough to make her suspect that he’d had some kind of military training. “Trouble coming up behind,” Staff Sergeant Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich told her over the command circuit. “Medium force, mixed scout vehicles and civilian trucks carrying shoulder launched stuff. They’re following us in.” “Roger that,” Cathryn replied. “Rockel and Gurevich, take the ‘Shelby’ and the Gabriel and peel out. Try to get around behind the pursuers. Failing that, stay out of the way. I can’t afford to lose you.” She switched to the external speakers. “ ‘Pitbull’, you and the foot troops, come to me. Meet me in the building.” Cathryn throttled forward, moving her Armor into a sprint, and slammed her feet down, bunched up her legs and expanding them rapidly, launching her Gray Death Armor into the air from its uber powerful leg myomers. What she was planning was risky . . . but if it worked, and she didn’t break off one of her Armor’s legs in the process, she’d have a strong defensive position. The Battle Armor lofted up over the street, followed by streams of tracer bullets and the eerie glow of laser light in the smoke trails of missiles. The patter of bullets and shrapnel on the Gray Death’s carapace beat a counterpoint to the deep roar of autocannon shells. She sailed up, letting momentum carry her forward, much like the 20th century’s fictitious character, the ‘Incredible Hulk’, until she was over the center of the warehouse. Then she splayed her Armor’s legs and arms, felt the bulk around her slowed by the drag of the air, and dropped down straight legged onto the flat roof. It didn’t have a chance against her. She went crashing through the warehouse’s flimsy roof, through the floor of the upper story, and down into the center of the warehouse’s main open space. Open crates and barrels lay scattered all about, and a Fox armored car with its insignia painted out waited near the still closed warehouse doors. Insurgent street fighters filled the high ceilinged room. Cathryn’s arrival, in a cloud of rubble and dust, jerked their attention away from the attack that was developing outside. She was limned with the light of energy discharges, deafened by the sound of small and medium arms being fired in an enclosed space. She reduced the gain on the Armor’s external audio and concentrated on keeping moving, while producing her own light show with her paired lasers. One was her Laser Carbine on her Anti Personnel Weapon Mount the second one was the anti-‘Mech Small Laser attached to her Gray Death’s right arm. This much hell in this small a space meant that people were going to get hurt; she spied a couple of nasty casualties. One, her carbine sliced a man half in two. The top half of his body sliding to the right while the bottom half slide to the left. Her anti-Mech small laser, literally incinerated three rebels, two men and one woman, into piles of smoldering ash. At least she wasn’t violating her own ’personal’ rules of engagement, though she could still see having to explain it all at her trial if things turned bad. At least she’d have the battle rom footage, the visual and audio recording automatically created by every Military Unit in action, to back her up. The defenders closest to the front of the building were turning away from her Armor, moving outside and firing as they went. Then the doors and windows exploded inward, and her Gray Death reinforced Kommando squads came leaping in. Like her, they were shooting to miss . . . but the defenders didn’t realize that yet, and made a hasty retreat from the building. Within minutes, Cathryn was alone with her troops, along with the injured members of the Rebel Faction left behind by their fleeing comrades. “Orders?” Corporal Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov who was in charge of her Kommando detachment asked. “Form up on the walls, hold against attack from outside,” she said. “Give them some rounds to let them know we’re here.” “Yes, ma’am,” Anastasiya replied, turning to the rest of the squad and placing them into position with her armored hand gestures. That only left the materiel, the arms cache that was the purpose of the raid, remaining to be dealt with. She couldn’t use demolition charges on it while her own troops were in the building. Instead, she walked first to each pile of weapons, and then to the armored car, and carefully stepped down on every one of them with the Gray Death’s full weight. One full metric ton of Armor was as effective as a pile driver for turning weapons and vehicles into scrap metal. “Now, we aren’t staying,” Cathryn told Anastasiya. “But we don’t want them to know we’ve left. Rig collapsing charges against the back wall. When I give the word, blow a breach back there, and everyone pile out.” “Yes, ma’am,” corporal Stepanov replied, and again instructed her troops using a series of hand gestures. Cathryn took her own position by the front, and added her laser power to the armament display outside. While she was doing so, she radioed Rockel. “What’s your situation?” “Made contact; lobbed a couple of missiles into their midst to let ’em know we’re here.” “Good job. Break contact, but do it without making it obvious you’re running away. Meet me over at Grid Posit Golf 2139 Zulu 1038.” “Roger, copy all, out.” “Corporal,” Cathryn said, “how are you doing?” “About ready, ma’am. On your signal.” “Do it now.” An echoing boom, and the rear wall of the building dissolved into dust. “Everyone out, follow me,” Cathryn said. The newly breached wall opened onto a plaza, and beyond that a set of roads leading away from a fountain and a statue. Cathryn walked to the far side at a speed the infantry could keep up with. They set a perimeter. Minutes later, Gurevich and Rockel arrived. “To target four,” she replied. “My guess is that the guys who hit you from behind are from there . . . the place should be unguarded.” She was right, but when they arrived at warehouse four it was empty . . . the cache had already been distributed. The same was true of caches six through ten. Damn It! She froze in place after the last cache had been inspected. Where to now? The answer came quickly over the comm. “Sergeant Major Whitley?” It was Gurevich. “The Huntress has been tracing signals all morning, signals we think are communications from the troops we’ve been fighting. They’ve got something I think you want to see.” Information flooded Cathryn’s screen. Gurevich was quite right . . . this information was definitely worth a look. ………………. Armidale, Witeran District Teka-Net Data Shop Nickolas Garret looked at the overhead speaker, hardly able to believe the words from his blocking force: “Under attack, front and rear. Going to defensive perimeter.” “Press them!” he ordered. “I want blood in the streets, people.” “I’m on it,” Norah said. “We know where one group of troopers is. They seem to have two. Who knows how many more?” “Looks like Tian is trying our trick,” Nickolas Garret said. “He wants his own Man in a Gray Death Battle Armor Suit to weed us out, and that bitch of a Gray Death pilot out there is the one on tap.” “Do we call in our man now?” Norah asked. “It’s still too early.” “We don’t have a choice. They’ve forced our hand.” Nickolas scanned the feedback from recent skirmishes, encounters that his people were invariably losing. Norah was right. “Okay. Get a message into the Administrative Center . . . use a Senate page, one of the sneakier ones . . . that there are riots in the streets, and that there are Mech Warriors run amok out there. Then make sure that there are riots in the streets by the time our man gets there.” “I’m on it,” she said. “And after that?” “After that it’s mayhem for everyone,” Nickolas said. “It’s been years since I’ve thrown a Molotov cocktail through a shop window. I hope I haven’t gotten rusty.” Norah asked, “Do we shut down HQ?” “Shut it down, burn it down, doesn’t matter. We’re done here. Let’s go while we’re clear.” “Too late,” she said, and the change in her voice made his blood go cold. A moment later, and he felt what she had felt: the regular, ponderous vibration of the floor under his feet. A giant’s footsteps, coming down the street and into the square outside the data shop. The unmistakable approach of a Battle Armor. “Go out the back,” he said. “Use the secret exit. They’ll have it covered in another minute, but there’s still time for you to make it past them.” “What about you?” “My hand’s played out. But if they have me alive to work with, they may not think you’re important enough to waste resources on. You and Hansel can keep the organization going.” “No, Sir,” defied Hansel. “I can not comply with that order. The Rebellion needs You. I’ll stay. You two go on and get outta here.” The was a brief nod between brothers of the Rebellion, the locking of eyes, before Nickolas turned to leave. Norah bit her lip hard, but said nothing, and left as Hansel had instructed. He waited alone in the empty headquarters, listening as the Armor’s footsteps drew nearer and halted. If the shop’s proprietor were wise, he thought, the man would see the day’s tri vid news and decide to extend his visit to Nova Scotia indefinitely. A couple of minutes later, the noise of vehicle engines revved and died outside the building. Then he heard running footsteps, first advancing, then retreating, and was not surprised, a steady ten count later, when the front of the data shop collapsed in a roar of explosives. When the smoke of the explosion had cleared, Hansel stood blinking, looking down the muzzles of a half squad’s worth of Gauss rifles. A Gray Death Battle Armor stood across the square, its arms folded across its armored chest. Another one stood off behind the first one, weapon at the ready. “Please come with me, sir,” said a corporal in the uniform of the Seventh Kommando. Hansel bowed his head and went. Detaining an individual without a warrant is not an arrest. It’s kidnapping. ……………………… Armidale, Witeran District Lauren Keene replied. “We’ve started to evacuate. It’ll take an hour. If you can keep them off us that long it’d be appreciated. After that, we could use an escort though if you need something to do.” “We’re on the way.” “Captain Tian, Rabid Wolves Actual. Mission Complete. Only forty percent objective success. We were able to destroyed four caches of weapons and ordinance, however; the remaining stores were either already distributed or relocated. One prisoner in tow. We can be at the Administration Center in 30 to 40 minutes to provide close order support for your escort. Over.” (2234) TOTAL 35,602 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 10:24 pm FS-RD-04-02 #16 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, StarPort Huntress Deck 3 Briefing Room Friday, 22 January 3097 Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bull’s Eye’ Whitley took the Huntress’ lift up from Deck Six up to Deck three and the upcoming meeting. She had been down in the primary ‘Mech Bay with the Rabid Wolves Master Tech, Quentin Sadaque overseeing the work being done on her Gray Death Suit by the Rabid Wolves Lead Battle Armor Technician, Abraham ‘Wrench’ Jaymze. Hell he was actually their only Battle Armor Tech but he would be the lead as soon as she acquired some more Battle Armor and another Tech. Captain Jason ‘JT’ Tian had some space roped off in the 'Mech Bay for her battle armor squad and her technical staff. ‘Wrench’ had been assigned to compile a comprehensive list of whatever parts her suit needed to get it up to spec because her contract with the Wolf’s Dragoons was coming to a close in the next eight days on January 31st and their payout would grant her enough c-bills to purchase supplies and spare parts and it would afford Cathryn the luxury of ordering a replacement Gray Death suit for Sergeant Edward Rockel. She’d get the full butcher’s bill later on today or sometime tomorrow. Cathryn was already looking forward to the future and considered hiring her small specialized unit out to the Deuces Wild. Cathryn exited the lift when it reached Deck 3 and scooted along the narrow corridor towards the briefing room and her thoughts drifted to Sergeant Rockel. It seems that yesterday’s conflict was a bit much for him so Doc Murdox had him in the Huntress’ MedBay on Doctor’s orders getting some much needed bed rest. The Deuces Wild currently didn’t have an attending physician and Jason was more than willing to give the Rabid Wolves Doctor run of the facility. Her healing broken arm throbbed mercilessly from piloting the suit yesterday but she dare not mention to Doc Murdox lest he tried to regulate her to bed rest as well. Fat chance. Cathryn made it to the briefing in the proverbial nick of time. Tactical Officer Elsa Hessler and Jason were at the front standing behind a podium, whispering amongst themselves, and the meeting room was packed with personnel like sardine’s in a can. Cathryn wrinkled her nose as she took a seat next to her Night Owl Captain, Johnny Yee. The air scrubbers aboard the old girl could use a good cleaning; it smelled like day old socks inside the briefing room. Johnny looked like he hadn’t bothered to clean himself up for the meeting. He wore standard AsTech coveralls with smudges of grease on every surface. “You could have changed outta those coveralls and washed up a little,” Cathryn admonished underneath her breath. “Why for? He ain’t signing my check,” answered the Captain in an attempted whisper but it came out more like his normal tone of voice. “That might be changing soon enough.“ Cathryn turned her head away from Captain Yee, closed her eyes, held up her hand to prevent him from saying another callous word and said, “Ah Ah. Don’t say anything. You just Hush and be quiet.” The Captain just, “Hrumphed,” as Jason got the meeting underway. Cathryn recognized Captain Lauren Keene and most of the Deuces Wild officers and staff members however; Jaleena Kamir and Dr. Shu were new faces as were Lieutenant Ivan Raloff and Sergeant Hanse Carlson. She’d ask Elsa who they were and how the fit into the picture at the meetings conclusion. Cathryn followed the meeting pierrot, giving each speaker her undivided attention. She had no idea that the rebellion was Global. That took a lot of organizational skills and it also meant that Meropians were really disgruntled with the way they were being governed. She winced inwardly when Elsa mentioned that the destruction at Fort Chadwell was caused by a Nuke. No one should have to die like that. They were playing with the Big Boys now and the Big Boys were playing for keeps. This shit just got real. Elsa had hit the nail on the head with her assessment of the un-coordination of the infantry. Cathryn and her XO, Staff Sergeant Mickey Gurevich had reach that very same conclusion. As-a-matter-of-fact, the whole rebellion lacked a measure of cohesion. Cathryn acknowledged Jason nod and grin with a tilt of her head and raise two fingers to her head in an informal salute. When Jason point out the loss of ordinance Cathryn chimed in her view of Nickolas Garret and in response to his fine soldiering comment, she said, “Thank You Captain, but the praise should go to my Team and the Seventh Kommandos. It was a joint operation. I’ll informed them that you said so.” After her segue into the meeting Catryn fell silent again and continued to listen with rapt attention. Johnny Yee leaned in close to her to say something and she shot him a look that said, ’unhm unhm. Keep it to yourself.’ She thought she detected belligerence in Lieutenant Raloff timbre at Leslie Miller’s comment. But Leslie had made a lot of sense. Cathryn like the way Leslie’s mind worked. Cathryn made a mental note to sit down with Leslie over a cup of coffee in the ship’s galley sometime. Jason had informed her of the chain of custody on the batch of explosives and had asked her to keep it confidential from Colonel Milesine until he was ready to reveal the information. Cathryn had complied. But Raloff had become outright hostile, grandstanding, jumping out of his seat, and throwing unfounded accusations around with wanton disregard. Unbeknownst to anyone in the room but Raloff had almost earned himself a face full of Needlers. If he had even looked like his was about assault Captain Tian. Shoot . . . Jason’s suggestion on who should be in charge made perfect sense. It did to her, anyway. Even though her and Captain Keene weren’t on the most amicable terms she felt like Lauren would at least give them a fair shake. Raloff, on the other hand, was up here talking like an arm chair general from the Lyran Alliance. Cathryn’s blood boiled at the thought of placing her Gray Death Battle Armor Squad beneath his command. No, Jason had made the right decision and if it came down to a vote she would cast hers in Lauren Keene’s favor. Look at Jason, gettin’ his ‘Politician’ on. You go Boy. She smiled widely. “I think we may have another issue,” she spoke up. “Mason just relayed to me we have a group of AFFS troops and police that are holed up at Mercy General. They heard we had the starport and a runner made it across the city. They’re under siege and need help.” “Aw Phuck!”, Cathryn thought to herself. Then out loud she uttered, “Here we go again. Captain, where do you want us?” (1194) TOTAL 36,796 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 10:27 pm FS-RD-04-02 #17 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, StarPort Huntress Deck 6 ‘Mech Bay Friday, 22 January 3097 “Aw Phuck!”, Cathryn thought to herself. Then out loud she uttered, “Here we go again. Captain, where do you want us?” Captain Jason ‘JT’ Tian quickly scanned the Huntress’ briefing as he considered his option before answering, “Yeah, ‘Bull’s Eye’,” his eyes lit on Lieutenant Leslie ‘Stonewall’ Miller as a course of action shone itself behind his bright intelligent eyes. He signaled to the Lieutenant and he began speaking as she drew within earshot. “Leslie, I need you and ‘Bull’s Eye’ to mount a joint operation to relieve the Merope PD and AFFS forces under siege at Mercy General. Take your full lance and whatever forces the Rabid Wolves have available for deployment. ‘Rules of Engagement’ . . . Simple - No civilian casualties and keep property damage to a minimum. ” Leslie’s nose twitched slightly as she listened to the orders from the Deuces Wild Captain. She glanced over at Sergeant Major Cathryn Whitley as if Cathryn had really bad body odor. Then abruptly return her attention back towards Jason she asked, “What do you mean ‘Siege’? Like actively shelling the Hospital?” “I don’t know. I’m in the dark just as much as you are. All I know is what I just received from Elsa. We’ll need to get eyes on the ground before anyone of us can accurately determine what’s going on.” “Ok, sounds good. Now about Chain of Command . . .” the Lieutenant began before the Sergeant Major interrupted by cutting her off. “Not an issue. Of course I’ll defer to you. You are the ranking Deuces Wild officer on this op. And plus you’re a ‘Mechwarrior and I’m just a Battle Armor Pilot.” Cathryn indicated nonchalantly having anticipated the argument Leslie was about to embark on. “I’m good with being your second.” Cathryn shot Captain Tian a nod and a wink. “Uhmm. I see you’re reasonable, too. Very Well. Lets get started then, shall we?” The two combatants left the briefing room deep in discussion. Together they decided on dispatching both squads of Seventh Kommandos via VTOL to Mercy General to rappel down to the roof so that the Kommandos could begin feeding them intel. The VTOLs could get to the site the fastest through the air, unimpeded by ground forces. The next quickest force to arrive on site would be the two vehicles, the Gabriel Reconnaissance Hovercraft and the M3078 ‘Shelby’ HEV Assault vehicle both laden with a single suit of Gray Death Battle armor apiece. Leslie had insisted on sending along a ‘Mech escort in case the vehicle squad ran into trouble. Cathryn had argued that a ‘Mech would only slow them down. Leslie had countered with; what good would a relief force be if they never made it to the relief effort. Cathryn had acquiesced. Leslie had given up her scout ‘Mech, a Raven three Lima piloted by Anika 'Dancer' Karanova, to run escort over Cathryn’s vehicle squad. Bringing up the rear, due only to their sheer lack of speed, would be Leslie 'Stonewall' Miller in the Deuces Wild Thunderbolt five Sierra Echo, Rebecca 'Runner' O'Malley in a Catapult Charlie one, and Zachery 'Knight' Sobel in a Hunchback five sierra. The 5SE variant of the Thunderbolt was introduced as a raider and reconnaissance 'Mech. Modified for mobility, this variant has had its SRM-2 launcher and the machine guns removed and the LRM-15 downgraded to an LRM-10 in order to add four jump jets, giving the 'Mech a jumping distance of one hundred and twenty meters. The 'Mech has also had two heat sinks added to help dissipate its heat load better. The Catapult is an offense oriented, second-line fire support BattleMech. The primary weapons of the Catapult are two Holly LRM 15 launchers which allow the Catapult to give friendly units fire support at ranges of over 600 meters. In case an enemy closes to within the LRM's minimum range the 'Mech carries four Martell Medium Lasers, which are usually enough to dissuade most light and medium 'Mechs from closing with the Catapult. Since the Catapult was designed to stand well behind the main battle line, it lacks anti-infantry weapons or arms for close quarters combat. Its greatest weakness though is ammunition: only one ton, or eight reloads, for each launchers gives the Catapult a level of endurance which is barely acceptable. Ten tons of armor, fifteen heat sinks and a cruising speed of 43.2 kph serves the Catapult well in its mission of launching Long Range Missiles on the enemy from great distances while minimizing the risk of return fire. The use of four jump jets in the left and right rear torso gives the Catapult a jumping distance of one hundred and twenty meters and the ability to pace faster units over broken terrain. The Hunchback is a respected and feared street fighter that has been in production since its introduction. Built for urban combat and close range brawling, this BattleMech has the heavy armor and weaponry to stand up against any foe in the dense cover of a city environment. Its heavy armament does come at a cost: in terms of maneuverability and heat dissipation the Hunchback is merely average, while the lack of long range weapons means, in the open, the Hunchback is little more than a slow moving target. In an attack the slow speed of the Hunchback forces it to participate as part of the second wave, exploiting any weaknesses in the enemy's armor after they've been softened up. Originally a refit line converted to full production, the 5S is a complete overhaul of the Hunchback design. The structure has been modified to use Endo Steel construction techniques, the engine has been upgraded to a Light Fusion Engine, and it has had four Jump Jets added for increased mobility. The 'Mech carries, as its primary weapon, an scatter shot 203mm Auto cannon with CASE-protected ammunition, supported by two medium pulse lasers and a single small laser. The Raven is a light weight electronic warfare BattleMech. Ravens were meant as stand off support units for 'Mech companies, designating targets for artillery and scrambling enemy sensors. The Raven carries a small weapons array that is nevertheless respectable for its size. The primary weapons are a pair of Ceres Arms Medium Lasers carried in the right arm, backed up by a Harpoon-6 Short Range Missile Launcher mounted in the right torso, with one ton of SRM reloads placed within the CASE-protected left torso. Generally though, the Raven is kept out of direct firefights as much as possible, since it is more valuable as a recon or electronics warfare asset than as a front line combatant. Indeed, any mission in which the 'Mech was forced into combat was seen as a failure. The Raven carries the most advanced electronic warfare equipment in the Deuces Wild. A Guardian ECM mounted in the left torso blankets friendly units with electronic jamming, while a Beagle Active Probe in the center torso helped locate enemy targets. Target Acquisition Gear mounted in the right torso and a Narc Missile Beacon in the left arm, with two tons of reloads in the left torso, helps call down accurate artillery fire. A Hermes 210 XL Engine and four and a half tons of Ferro-Fibrous armor helped save on weight, provided good armoring and a respectable cruising speed of 64.8 kph - features which allowed the 'Mech to survive combat encounters until reinforcements can arrive. Upon reaching the ‘Mech Bay, Leslie and Cathryn, each synchronized their own individual chronometer with the intent to be ready to mount up and leave the StarPort within the next thirty minutes. The Lieutenant gathered up her lance mates and gave them the mission parameters and instructed them to load out with fragmentation and Narc capable warheads for their missile launchers. Cathryn met with the two mourning Seventh Kommando squad leaders, Santangelo and Koss, and gave them their mission objectives. Koss seemed distracted, her eyes were still moist from crying; however, Santangelo was eager for some pay back. They had gathered up their squads, twenty four men and women in total, and were airborne in fifteen minutes. Corporal Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov donned her Gray Death Suit and Staff Sergeant Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich and Sergeant Edward ‘Blaze’ Rockel boarded the vehicles, the Gabrielle and ‘Shelby’, respectively and they were all ready to roll with five minutes to spare. Cathryn would put on Mickey’s suit on the ride to the relief site. Her reasoning was that it smelled like cigar smoke and ‘Mickey’ and she didn’t want to endure either any longer than she absolutely had to. They small relief force left the Huntress’ ‘Mech Bay, per schedule, at exactly thirty minutes later. The vehicle squad slowly but surely outdistancing the ‘Mech Lance until they were no longer in visual range, just audio. Next stop, Mercy General. (1533) TOTAL 38329 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 10:30 pm FS-RD-04-02 #18 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, Mercy General Friday, 22 January 3097 The Kommando laden Kestrel VTOL whipped in high overhead of the Hospital before selecting a spot to hover and allow its occupants to rappel down to the roof’s helipad. The Kestrel had come in way too fast for it to draw accurate enemy fire. The Hospital’s rooftop was designed to provide protection for the helipad. Its outer wall ring rose up eleven to fifteen stories straight up with an interior roof and helipad only extending up six stories. That did not mean that the Kommandos nor the Kestrel had the time to dilly dally because sooner or later the enemy’s radar would home in on them and then they would be in a whole other world of hurt. Reaching the rooftop, amidst a cacophony of noise that sounded like the 5th Succession War with the whistling and impact of mortar shells, the exploding missiles against ferrocrette, and small arms fire, the Seventh Kommandos double timed it to the roof access and blew the door as only efficient professionals could. “Breaching charge in place. Fire in the hole! BANG!” and they were clear. They had attempted to contact someone at Mercy General to meet them on the roof and to avoid ‘Blue on Blue’ incidents, all to no avail. The Kestrel made it clear without incident. Reaching the ground floor, the sudden appearance of the Seventh Kommandos startled the Hospital’s defenders, roughly a platoon of police officers from a local precinct of Merope Law Enforcement and a platoon a AFFS troopers. Coordinating with Viktor Luden, the AFFS platoon Sergeant, after a brief ‘Mexican Standoff’, Santangelo organized a hasty defense that would have to suffice until the Deuces Wild and Rabid Wolves forces arrived to relieve them. He had three platoons, he’s split his and Koss’ into two separate units and dispatch a unit to each one of the four compass points, North, South, East, and West. He let everyone know that a ‘Mech Lance was currently enroute for a rescue of the besieged Hospital. He instructed everyone to go to higher ground, anywhere above the tenth floor and to clear out ALL personnel and patients before returning fire, knowing that once they started shooting at their enemies, the rebels would concentrate their efforts on silencing their antagonist’s guns. Santangelo tied everyone into the same frequency and made sure that all units knew the chain of command before sending to their designated defense zones. The order of command was him, then Koss, next was the AFFS platoon Sergeant, and lastly the MPD Police Captain, Walton Navarre. Santangelo took the North Defenses and Koss had the South due to their being an eight lane thorough fair that divided the Hospital into an East and a West, connecting both halves via a sky bridge. The AFFS platoon was positioned to the west and the MPD platoon was overlooking the east. As Santangelo had expected, the first of his units to complete its setup and to report anything useful was Koss’ team. “Santangelo, Koss. I have visual ID on six vehicles in the southern quadrant, three groups of two pairs each, and what appears to be two infantry platoons taking cover inside an industrial warehouse due south within spittin’ distance. Two pair of Striker Light Tank and Mortar Truck Combos, one pair to the Southeast and the second pair in the Southwest. Backing up the infantry is the third vehicle pair, a SRM Truck and a Mortar Truck. Striker Tank is the ‘Wet Striker’ variant. Loadout: six pack SRM Launcher and four Rocket Launchers. Orders?” Her report had been interrupted for several seconds by a mortar shell impacting her floor on the southern side of the building, the telltale whistle, the impact, and the ear shattering ‘CRACKABAM’! Santangelo got on the battlenet and relayed the intel to Lieutenant Miller and Sergeant Major Whitley. Leslie had asked if Santangelo thought that they could hold out. He had answered with, “If not, I’ll die trying.” He didn’t have difficulty picturing what Koss was reporting because he was looking at an identical setup on the North side. “All units, engage enemy ranged units first, their Mortar Trucks. They pose the biggest threat to our relief forces. Their main gun faces the rear. Take out their hydraulic support stanchions or their fuel tanks. That will disable them.” The shout of troopers from one of his units drowned out the tail end of his message. It sounded like they had taken a SRM Warhead through a crumbling wall. He overheard the shouts and screams over the radio of men trapped under falling debris. It was either the AFFS platoon or the MPD platoon. He knew it wasn't Kommandos. They were inherently more disciplined. He got ready to reissue his order but then thought better of it. The Police were equipped with standard ballistic Auto Rifles and the AFFS was toting Federated Long Rifles, neither of those had the range nor penetration value of the Kommandos Federated-Barrett M61A Laser Rifle Combat System complete with Laser Sight and Compact Grenade Launcher. It would have just been a waste of breath. The AFFS Sergeant had figured the same thing, that at this range their Federated Long Rifles would be ineffective so instead he ordered his Troopers to fire up their Field Guns, 30mm Auto Cannons. He divided their fire power against a paired Striker Light Tank and a SRM Truck. The first shot at the Striker was a ranging shot and it percolated the ground walking up to the Striker itself. The second and third shots blew huge chunks of armor from the forward turret and right side of the Striker but the tank’s thick hide held firm. Having range Striker Two successfully, Sergeant Luden ordered his team to double up on the Striker this time. Three streams of 30mm HE shells connected with the Tank, chipping bits of armor off in a shower of sparks from its left side and right frontal plate. The third stream was two streams in one as it chewed through its turret armor and hit a weapon located there, evidence by a cloud of swirling black smoke. Likewise against the SRM Truck, the fourth shot was meant to range it and once the gunner had the proper range he held the gun steady for belts five and six as a stream of hyper velocity shells ate through the SRM Trucks frontal armor resulting in a horrific explosion. Their victory was short lived, however; while the AFFS platoon struggled to load in fresh belts into their field guns, a full forty percent of all the enemy force arrayed against them slagged the western side of the building on the floor where they had seen the muzzle flashes coming from; bringing a section of the top four floors crashing down into the AFFS position sending the entire platoon plummeting twelve stories to their deaths. Even as his Kommandos squad attempted to bring down the Mortar Truck to the North, Mortar Truck four, with several near misses, Santangelo ‘felt’ and heard the thunderous collapse of a portion of the building but amidst the continuous firing, could not determine where it had come from. “Sitrep!” he shouted into his multi-unit headset. Koss reported, “Scratch Mortar Truck Three to the south side!” The MPD Captain chimed in with, “We’ve spotted several hostiles in the East Side Park. They are staying just outside of our effective weapons ranges. Please advise.” “Keep an eye on them Captain Navarre. Let me know if they move. And if they do, Light’em up.” “Roger that.” No answer from the AFFS platoon Sergeant. “Sergeant Luden, this is Commander Santangelo. Requesting a Situational Report, Over?” The cacophony kept up by exploding mortar shells and detonating short range missiles against the Hospital’s outer walls was deafening. Interior lights were beginning to flicker off and on, water pipes were busting spewing water everywhere, the floors were beginning to lilt downward. Six of his Kommandos lined the windows of the thirteenth floor on the north side of Mercy General, snapping off laser shots until their power packs ran dry. They’d call out, “Changing Mags!”, spin out of the way and then six other Kommandos would rotate in to take up their firing positions. On one such maneuver, Santangelo grabbed a private 1st class by the shoulder and sent him across the hospital to obtain a SitRep from the AFFS Platoon Sergeant. He feared the worse. Back on the South side, Koss had worked through her melancholy as her and her Kommando Squad were giving the enemy hell and charging them rent. Having successfully dispatched their first target they concentrated on their second one. Their Laser Rifles powerful beams incinerated a left side industrial tire of SRM Truck number three and subsequently burned through the nearside axle just before sizzling through its armor to fry its entire sensor array making it deaf and blind, effectively taking it out of the action. And his squad had yet to draw a disabling bead on their first Mortar Truck and here Koss had already disabled two. Her Kommando Squad had also saw a trooper inside the industrial warehouse pop his head around a corner and she had taken it clean off, helmet, head, everything from the neck on up. He was just glad that Koss was on his side. “I have an unidentified ‘Mech and vehicles incoming at speed from the North by North East,” it was Captain Navarre contacting him and Koss on the Kommando frequency and he sounded as nervous has gay man at the YMCA. “Roger that Captain. I’ll reach out and see if they’re friendlies.” Just then the private Santangelo had sent to go and get a SitRep from the AFFS platoon Sergeant returned, out of breath and panting heavily, his face was ashen white. He was spewing forth a bunch of words but talking so rapidly that Santangelo couldn’t make out exactly what it was he was saying. “Slow down, son. Breathe. Here take a sip of water.” He reached inside his load bearing vest to retrieve a canteen and handed to the private. A SRM struck the side of the building where Santangelo's squad was defending from, knocking over the troopers presently aiming out the window, filling the room with smoke and debris. No one had been injured but it was only a matter of time. The same could not be said about the AFFS platoon. They were all gone. The west side of Mercy General looked like some gargantuan creature had taken a bite out of the building. “All units fall back to Phase Line Bravo!” Phase Line Bravo was two retreat to two floors lower and cattycorner to each unit’s current one. While getting his squad moving, came the familiar gruff female timbre of one Sergeant Major Cathryn Whitley. “Santangelo, Rabid Wolf Actual. What’s the situation?” "Am I ever glad to hear you?" He ran it down to her in precise, bullet point, no nonsense fashion, everything including his hasty defense, the demise of a full quarter of his defending force, and Phase Line Bravo. “I need immediate support on the western quadrant! I’m down a platoon and my western flank is not defended! If the rebels detect a lull in the firing from that sector, the Hospital will be overrun and we’re done for! I repeat, I need my western flank covered, NOW!” “Uh oh . . . Commander Santangelo, Here They Come!” It was the Merope Police Captain. And all around the Hospital, the Rebels were converging on Mercy General from every direction as they un-assed their hiding spots. (1987) TOTAL 40,316 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 10:32 pm FS-RD-04-02 #19 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, Mercy General Friday, 22 January 3097 “I need immediate support on the western quadrant! I’m down a platoon and my western flank is not defended! If the rebels detect a lull in the firing from that sector, the Hospital will be overrun and we’re done for! I repeat, I need my western flank covered, NOW!” Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bull’s Eye’ Whitley’s normally strong boisterous voice caught in her throat when she looked over Sergeant Edward ‘Blaze’ Rockel’s shoulder at the video of his M3078’s comm gear to witness the utter carnage being imposed on a civilian hospital. She had to give her Gray Death’s Improved Sensor suite a few moments to update and synchronize with Santangelo’s circle vision visor so that she could ‘see’ and use the same targeting data as Santangelo and his teams were using. Her suit’s Improved Sensors were used for detecting hidden opponents, including mimicking the function of a portable radar sensor. A Portable radar’s sensors could detect the movement of anything larger than half a cubic meter within a ten kilometer radius, including aircraft operating at low altitudes. While it did not provide a picture of the target it could indicate its position relative to the sensor, its range and direction of movement. And the Seventh Kommando’s Circle Vision Visor presented information to the wearer through a high resolution video screen capable of infrared vision as well as anti-glare measures and a sophisticated heads up display which shows the surrounding environment in a compressed format. A miniature computer and sensor system presents the wearer with a 360 degree field of view. In effect, the wearer's rear 180 degree arc is shown as a panoramic view at the top of their normal view. “Rabid Wolf Actual copies your request and am moving to comply. Relax a little because the cavalry has arrived and reinforcements are on the way.” No sooner did the data in her suit update and she was giving orders. “ ‘Surgeon’ take Irving to the west side of the Hospital and unload Ana’s suit. Don’t stop for anything.” “Roger WilCo!” replied Gurevich as the hover craft's rear skirt grounded out and the fans whined way up high as he put the pedal to the metal. A half a click up Irving Boulevard and the Gabriel Hover craft would reach the elongated west wing of Mercy General. With a top speed of well over two hundred kilometers per hour it could cover that distance in no time flat. Problem was the Recon vehicle would have to weave through two platoons of infantry, Platoons two and five, and around two vehicles, SRM Truck number one and Mortar Truck number four. They were currently passing through a three way intersection. Irving Blvd ran from north east to south west, O’Conner went from north to south, and Story stretched from north west to south east. “ ‘Blaze’, continue due south straight down O’Conner through the East Side Park. ‘Dancer’, you’re with us. Cover me! I’m going in!” “Rojah Dat,” came Anika Karanova's response in her distinct Tikonovian accent. “You want me to do WHAT???” Edward exclaimed. “There are two Striker Tanks in the East Side Park, a SRM Truck and a Mortar Truck to boot!” Now Edward was no one’s coward by a long shot, however; his commanding officer had just asked him to drive a five ton ‘Shelby’ M3078 vehicle into close quarters with two 35 ton armored tanks with two more 10 ton support trucks. It just didn’t seem like a real good plan for his continued survival. But never the less, Sergeant Rockel, ever the good soldier, followed Cathryn’s orders and yanked hard on the wheel, turning the M3078 on a heading due south, straight into the park. The Gabriel Recon Hovercraft went flying down Irving Blvd. Intent to follow Cathryn’s orders to not stop for anything, when SRM Truck tagged as number one pulled out in front of the hovercraft to block its way, Mickey fired twin beams of Extended Range Laser fire directly into the trucks left side and 3,000 degree kelvin sloughed off the truck’s armor, hit the fell cell engine and the resulting explosion flung the crew twenty meters away, stunning them. Mickey never once pulled up off the accelerator as hovercraft whipped through smoking wreckage trailing flames and other flotsam. Either way, Mickey had intended to destroy the SRM Truck, either by weapons fire or by crashing into it. ‘Dancer’ in her Raven was keeping pace with the ‘Shelby’. Cathryn warned the ‘Mechwarrior to slow the clawed foot ‘Mech down lest she take a spill. “I got this,” was Anika response, plain and simple, no disrespected intended. Just as the Raven cleared two buildings to either side of O’Conner, it targeted and fired a six pack of SRM at SRM Truck four that was attempting to get a firing solution on her ‘Mech. Three fragmentation warheads impacted against its armored hull, skewing the truck around backwards but other than that they caused no damage. The remaining three missiles impacted among the trees and shrubbery of the park and mowed down row after row of fresh foliage and caused utter mayhem with the landscaping. With its rear armor facing the Raven, Anika skewered the truck with two ruby red laser beams from her Raven’s right stubby ‘wing’. The blinding explosion caused the ‘Mechs cockpit glass to polarize as did the visor to Cathryn’s Gray Death suit. “See, I told you. I had this.” No facetiousness in her tone. It wasn’t condescending, it was just a statement of fact, plain and simple. On her HUD inside her suit, Cathryn watched as roughly two hundred small red dots converged on Mercy General. They represented the hidden infantry surging forward from their concealment. She also witness half a platoon worth of red dots wink out from the North side and the South side as the two Kommando squads fired with deadly efficiency. It gave the enemy's comrades cause to pause and to seek out other cover. The ‘Shelby’ that Edward was transporting Cathryn in was moving along at roughly 92 kph. She had been standing near the egress ramp holding on to the bars with an armored gloved hand but she had not been expecting his braking maneuver. So when he cut the wheel sharply to his right and slammed on the brakes, it cause the M3078 to spin around 180 degrees, changing her stationery momentum into forward momentum, ejecting her and her suit through the door. She unceremoniously tumbled out the back of the vehicle to land on her armored ass, in the middle of a firefight, with a platoon of soldiers bearing right down on her from 30 meters away. At this range, she had no illusion that her ArcShield Diamond Weave armor would sustain the gunfire from a full platoon of combat infantry. She instinctively flopped over onto her stomach and tried to chamber the first round in her anti mech machine gun. She was a hair too late. She looked on in startled apprehension as the enemy platoon fell to the pavement two by twos and three by threes as blood specks blossomed all over their torsos, heads, necks, legs . . . until the entire platoon had all been mowed down. She turned in the middle of the street to glare up at the east side of the hospital and there she saw, in a tenth story window, Captain Navarre of the Merope PD gave her a salute. She saluted him back, clambered the Gray Death Battle Armor to its feet, and sprinted for the first floor entrance to the east wing of Mercy General. “ ‘Bull’s Eye’, ‘Stonewall’. No need for a SitRep. I’ve already pulled all the data from your Gray Death’s onboard computer. Where do you need the most help?” Lieutenant Miller’s Lance had come up from the opposite end of O’Conner street, a half a click to the south end of East Side Park. “I’m sorry Ma’am. At the moment I’m kinda busy and have lost Situational Awareness,” Cathryn admitted as she gobbled up ground leading towards the hospital even as small arms fire tracked her. “This is a target rich environment so pick one. This command is yours. ‘Bull’s Eye’ Out!” As if to emphasis her point Zachery Sobel’s Hunchback’s TRSS Eagle Eye Tracking and Targeting computer pulsed gold, signaling a solid target lock and he squeezed the trigger. The snapping stuttering of his medium pulse laser was lost in the deep throaty roar of the scatter shot styled assault auto cannon. The sound was the only thing that was lost because infantry platoon six felt the full impact of both weapons as half their number were either incinerated where they ran or impaled and eviscerated by the heavy caliber slugs. Leslie was expecting a little bit more fanfare coming from the battle armor squad leader. She just hadn’t expected Whitley to be quite so compliant. The Sergeant Major was beginning to grow on her. She would have smiled if she had time but Time was Lives. “Roger that ‘Bull’s Eye’. ‘Stonewall’ has command.” (1570) TOTAL 41,886 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE FS-RD-04-02 #20 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, Mercy General Friday, 22 January 3097 Lieutenant Leslie ‘Stonewall’ Miller took merely a few seconds to review the tactical situation unfolding around her to settle on some options. The Lieutenant had slowed her Thunderbolt down to 20 kph but had never come to a complete stop. To do so was tantamount to asking to get shot. She was startled by the roar of Zachery 'Knight' Sobel’s massive assault auto cannon so soon being that her lance had just made it to the site. She glanced to her left to see what he could be possibly shooting at. She couldn’t tell as her view of the urban battlefield was choked and clouded by thick white smoke. “ ‘Knight’, go ahead and do what you do best in that close range brawler, make it a dirty street fight. Take Esters to the west wing of Mercy General and cover the west side.” “Aye, aye, Elltee!” “ ‘Runner’,“ Leslie began, using Rebecca O'Malley’s call sign. “ . . . break east along Rock Island and get in behind Mortar Truck Three and silence that gun!” “Aye, ‘Stonewull’! I’ll git rite on’it!” acknowledged Rebecca O’Malley. “I’m headed straight north up O’Conner into East Side Park to help clear the hostiles out of there. Hang on guys. I'm coming.” The fancy braking stunt that Sergeant Edward ‘Blaze’ Rockel had pulled when he ejected his CO out through the M3078’s doors was not just him showboating. The only weapon that the ‘Shelby’ was equipped with was a roof mounted heavy machine gun and it was on pintel mounted and not in a three hundred sixty degree traversing turret so it could only fire in the 180 degree arc facing the front of the vehicle. Edward had spotted enemy infantry Platoon One bearing down on his vehicle and was merely turning to engage them. The heavy .60 caliber slugs tore up asphalt, gouged break and mortar, shattered glass, and disemboweled sixteen to twenty troopers in its bass wake, ‘THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP!’. Edward winced inwardly when he realized that his maneuver had thrown Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bull’s Eye’ Whitley violently out the door. He started to back up to cover her but saw her flopped onto her Gray Death Suit's ‘belly’ and get to her feet and make for the Hospital’s eastern entrance. Besides, he had more pressing issues at the moment. Thirty five ton Striker Four, was barreling down straight on a collision course with his five ton ‘Shelby’ vehicle. He double clutched the smaller M3078 and got it moving just in time to avoid being plowed into like a T-Bone. The Striker Four Tank crashed through anything in the park that was in its path and came out on O’Conner heading south on the wrong side of the street. Edward was taking the same street just on the correct side, however. The same O’Conner Street that he had overheard Leslie Miller was taking into the park. He slowed the ‘Shelby’ down, just a hair, so that he and the Striker Tank were momentarily side by side and swung his pintel mounted heavy machine gun to the left until it hit the stop and fired a rolling burst at the enemy tank. “Yeehaa! God sure Loves the infantry!” His shot had connected with the front of the tank and had mangled its sensor array. Now it would never detect the Thunderbolt barreling down on it until it was too late. Sprinting up Esters Street, ‘Knight’ saw the remnants of his previous target, Platoon Six, dip inside an entrance to the Hospital. He would have finished his task of destroying them but his weapons had not recycled yet. ’Damn It!’ he said to himself and then he announced on the horn, “ ‘Knight’ here. Be advised, we have a perimeter breech on the south side. Roughly about sixteen PBI’s. I repeat, one six PBIs have breech the southern perimeter. Over.” Looking out his Hunchback’s viewport he saw another platoon, Platoon Three, halfway across the street approaching the hospital as well. ’Oh no you don’t, either!’ he pulled on the trigger linked to the LBX auto cannon. He felt the recoil in his ‘Mech’s right shoulder as the assault cannon belch out its lethal ammo. The enemy platoon had reversed direction when they had become aware that a Deuces Wild ‘Mech was dogging them. Zachery had been expecting them to continue on their previous heading so when they stopped and turned around he tried to track them with the stream of auto cannon shells. He only succeeded in destroying three ground cars, a retail store front, and a holo-vid mailbox. “Oops.” Zachery uttered to no one in particular. “My bad.” “ ‘Knight’, Kommando Two. Leave them. We’ll get’em,” said Koss even as she zeroed in her laser sight from the 10th floor and cleanly sniped Platoon Three’s Platoon Sergeant. “Fourteen down, Fourteen more to go.” But before Zachery could respond a pair of SRMs exploded against the south side of the hospital right around the tenth floor apparently drawn by Koss’ muzzle flash. Zach hoped she had survived. Then slowly the gravity of the situation dawned on the Deuces Wild trooper Zachery 'Knight' Sobel. Somewhere in the southern quadrant the rebels had established a spotter’s blind. And as if taking a cue from his deductive reasoning, Zach’s Hunchback drew all the enemy’s mortar fire, Mortar Trucks One, Three, and Four each lobbed two rounds down onto his hapless BattleMech. He heard the distinctive mortar whistles over his external speakers. He fought the urge to crash through a building wall, any building, just to preserve his ‘Mech. Then he was shroud in smoke and shrapnel. Zachery kept his ‘Mech moving forward because he had no room to jink left or right in the narrow confines of Armidale City. When the smoke cleared his damage readout only shown a direct hit to the ‘Mech’s right leg. His armor had held. Zachery had gotten off lucky. Staff Sergeant Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich had balls, you have to give him that. After speeding through the flaming wreckage of enemy SRM Truck One he went flying up Irving Blvd topping out at 207 kph. He went past the West Side Park only to loop around, skim across a man made lake, and set down within paint scrape range of two tanks, Striker One and Striker Two, each were seven times his Gabriel’s size. He had done it so quickly, that neither tank’s gunner nor driver knew that he was sitting right behind them. Striker Two was facing away looking up Irving Blvd and Striker One was watching Esters, preparing to tangle with the Deuces Wild’s Hunchback. Striker Two’s gunner knew that the speeding hover craft hadn’t simply vanished into thin air and was rotating the tank attempting to get a visual on it when it popped into his peripheral vision and instead he got two helpings of 3,000 gigajoules of extended range small laser to the cockpit. Mickey didn’t think that his shots had actually penetrated the plexisteel cockpit windscreen, but none-the-less, from his proximity he saw the driver slump over in his seat. The energy blasts probably startled him so bad that he went to flinch and injured his own damn fool self. “All right ‘Pitbull’, time to unassed the Seat and bring the Heat! I’ll Cover Ya!” Mickey turned around in the driver’s cupola to look back into the Gabriel’s transport bay and Corporal Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov was already out the door with her Flamer lit. Mickey cringed at the picture that went through his mind. Those poor dumb bastards will rue the day they encountered Ana with a Flamer, no less. The enemy platoon was as good as dead. Leslie Miller had the Thunderbolt open at full throttle heading north on O’Conner. Her ponderous footsteps were shredding the street beneath her 65 ton ‘Mech’s enormous feet. She was lining up her shots on a light tank label Striker Four on her HUD. The tank’s crew was either; courageous, stupid, or blind but the tank was making a beeline coming right to her in pursuit of a friendly M3078 wheeled vehicle. Just as her RCA Instatrac Mark X Targeting and Tracking computer pulsed gold, and she was tightening her finger on the firing stud, her Thunderbolt hit an invisible brick wall. The crew of Striker Three weren’t either stupid and they definitely weren’t blind. Her ‘Mech had just caught half of a six pack of short range missiles. Basketball sized pockmarks appeared on her right arm and center mass. Her instrument lights all flickered off and back on again as if she had rebooted the ‘Mech but she hadn’t and she still had target lock on Striker Four. She adjusted her reticule until it hovered over the more distance target, Striker Three, and fired a salvo of ten LRMs down range with only a 19% targeting solution. Even as she squeezed the trigger she ordered, “Someone get that SOB Striker Three offa me!” “Aye, aye! I got you Lieutenant!” it was Cathryn. But what was her single Gray Death suit gonna do to a Tank? “I all ova it, comrade!” came Anika’s reply. Ahh. Just barely better than a suit of battle armor, ‘Barely’. Leslie figured she’d better dispatch the tank, PDQ or ‘Pretty Damned Quick’ before she started losing members of her command. Striker Four had finally saw the heavy ‘Mech’s lumbering gait and had abandoned it’s pursuit of the ‘Shelby’ and was rapidly reversing direction. It launched a salvo of six warheads at her ‘Mech which she deftly dodged. ’Now it’s my turn little fella’. She fired a medium laser to the tank’s left and as she anticipated it veered to its right. She only waited a heartbeat and fired her two remaining medium lasers. They furrowed runnels in the tank's turret armor and front right armor making it run like wax. She considered firing up her large laser but it would have over taxed her heat sinks and it was way too early in this conflict to be having heat concerns. Anika’s Raven launched an Alpha Strike at the rear of Striker Three but failed to connected with all but one medium laser. Leslie hadn’t expected much damage from the frail Raven anyhow. But her second in command in the Gray Death Suit did better than Leslie had given her credit for. While Leslie waited for her weapons to recycle and her heat to become more manageable, she watched as Cathryn darted the Gray Death Suit from the Hospital to a nearby car wash. All the while training her anti ‘Mech machine gun on the light Striker Tank and hosing it down with a rain of .50 caliber shells. She kept her aim low as not to engage the heavier upper glacial armor plating. Miller saw something fly off the undercarriage of the tank and knew that ‘Bull’s Eye’, aptly nicknamed, had hit something vital on Striker Three. And when she got in around behind the light tank she fired her anti-personnel rifle into its rear armor. Leslie couldn’t fathom why Cathryn had done that at first. Surely the Sergeant Major knew that small arms fire was ineffective against ‘Mech Grade armor that tanks carried. But one look at her Multi-Function Display Unit that was set to display Striker Three damage, resulted in the tanks armor being reduced even more. Cathryn had fired small arms into the armor made malleable from the Raven’s medium laser attack. Shrewd Whitley. Shrewd Indeed. Leslie had just adopted a new healthy dose of respect for Battle Armor. (1985) TOTAL 43,871 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 18, 2017 10:36 pm FS-RD-04-02 #21 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, Mercy General Friday, 22 January 3097 Sergeant Major Whitley didn’t bother with fighting the momentum that her Gray Death Suit had built up. She allowed herself, and the thousand kilogram suit, to crash through the flimsy dry wall separating the Car Wash from its Novelty Shop neighbor next door. Nor did the Gray Death Pilot bothered to seek cover as she got the drop on the half strength Platoon One. She simply cycled in another mag to her anti ‘Mech machine gun and ‘Sprayed and Prayed’. It was the kind of targeting that she despised and most garrison units used but due to her current circumstances it could not be helped. Her indiscriminate fire walked through an vacated hover car, detonating in its wake, and impacted six enemy soldiers decked out in full camouflage fatigues. She thought she heard the plopping wet sounds as the .50 caliber metal jacketed slugs tore through their soft flesh tissue. She cursed herself for not getting them all, however; target and gunner were moving in opposite directions of each other and she was fighting the recoil of the machine gun; which was drawing her weapon’s arm up. She spied two more troopers from Platoon One cowering behind a delivery truck. She picked them both off with a roiling burst from her anti-personnel weapon’s armor piercing bullets as they punched through the thin metal sides of the delivery truck. Cathryn heard Koss’ labored voice in her ear. “Command, Kommando Two!” she was excited and her pitch was affected by the adrenaline running through her system and was ratcheted way up high. “We have MULTIPLE breaches along the Southern Quadrant! Enemy Platoons Eight and Three have made it inside the western perimeter! Platoon number Five is inside the east building! I repeat, Mercy General’s ER and Administrative Offices are under attack at the ground level! Moving down to engage hostiles!” Rebel soldiers were pouring into the Hospital’s ground floor and wantonly slaying civilians and Mercy General’s Medical Staff. What could they possibly hope to achieve by this act of violence? “Can NOT provide assistance at this time!” It was Santangelo. “Heavily engaged by Platoon Two and Platoon Five and I’m three men down! The enemy has us pinned in place! Requesting additional reinforcements, ASAP! Koss, sell yourself! Make’em pay tenfold in blood for every life they take!” ‘Knight’s’ report only added insult to injury. “Painting two Bogies and two Tangos!” Bogies were enemy vehicles. Tangos were enemy Platoons. ”Bogies heading South East along the south side of the target site on Esters and closing at speed! Bogies positively ID as Strikers One and Two! Tangos are two of the three reported by Kommando Two that I can NOT engage without endangering civilians!” Where as all four SRM Trucks had subsequently been destroyed or at least disable, three of the four Mortar Trucks had not. They continued to lob ordinance down on the Deuces Wild and Rabid Wolves forces arrayed against them. The Mortar Trucks spread the sortie out, however; and didn’t restrain their fire to a single target this time. Two shells were fired at Anastasiya’s Gray Death Suit and Mickey’s Hovercraft, two more rounds were launched at the Deuces Wild’s Hunchback and the last two were targeted to Lieutenant Miller’s Thunderbolt. The enemy Mortar fire was inaccurate at best, but it served its purpose; and that was to keep everyone rattled with their nerves on edge, fearing that any one of them could succumb to a head hit at any moment. Lieutenant Leslie Miller was distraught. Her mission was going to Hell in a handbag. Mercy General’s perimeter defenses had been breached, not in one place but THREE separate places, for crying out loud, and the Rebels were killing civilians and hospital personnel. She flexed her left arm’s metal appendage and tapped its fingers against her cockpit console. She did not want this to end up like another Ares campaign. She was very near issuing an order to fall back and to perform a tactical withdrawal when the Sergeant Major’s voice came on in her ear piece. Her tone was sincere and somber but it soothed Leslie’s mind like Cathryn was a wayward child returning to the roost. “Leslie, Cathryn. I know what you must be feeling right now. You’re probably considering throwing in the towel. I’ve been there. Quite recently in-fact with the explosion here last month. But we can’t quit now. Not Right Now. You need to stay the course. You need to do this for DJ. Now Lieutenant . . . This Command is YOURS . . . What Are Your Orders, Ma’am?” Leslie’s eyes misted over. She checked her Neil 8000 Commo Suite. Cathryn had scrambled and tight beamed the message to only her. That Battle Armor Pilot was something else. She physically shook herself to rid her mind of its despondent mood. She dried her eyes and took a second look at her tactical display. She needed a moment to think. But while the private channel to her second in command was still open she whispered, “Thank You,” for Cathryn’s ears only and switched back to the all hands battlenet. And Leslie would later swear that from across the park, she had seen the Gray Death Suit salute her as it leapt through the Novelty Shop’s smashed out window and scurried across O’Conner. There was no plan that Leslie could come up with in such a short time in the middle of a firefight, all she could do was to simply put out fires in the order of threat assessment. “ ‘Knight’, dispatch both Bogies and then provide fire support to Kommando Two’s Team. The Rebels are killing civilians anyway. We lose a few, we save the many. Rules of Engagement be damned. ‘Dancer’, double time it to the northern quadrant and provide covering fire for Kommando One. ‘Surgeon’ and ‘Pitbull’, engage Platoons Four and Eight. Do NOT let them penetrate into the Hospital any farther. ‘Bull’s Eye’ and ‘Blaze’, you are both with me. All infantry, get down to the ground floors ASAP and prepare to repel invaders. Santangelo and Koss, you’re gonna have to dig in and weather the storm but help is on the way.” Leslie didn’t wait for responses, she was intent on destroying Striker Four. Striker Three had beat a tactical retreat after tangling with Cathryn’s Gray Death Suit. It did however, hang around at the edge of its optimal firing range. “ ‘Runner’, how are you coming with silencing Mortar Truck Three?” “Inna bit ‘Stonewull’, the lil buggar saw me cumin. But if u kinna get me a spottah, I kin help u ou’ wit tha' ligh' tank. No sense n all this ammo sittin’ heah dormant, Nah is dere?” replied Rebecca O’Malley aboard the Deuces Wild Catapult. “Right. Captain Navarre, your guys are on the East side right? Query your platoon to see if any one has any Artillery Forward Observer experience and patch them through to channel 213.78, will you?” “Will do Lieutenant.” "CPLT C1, this is MPD35, Immediate Suppression, over." "MPD35 this is CPLT C1, Immediate Suppression, ova." “Grid ES 923 945, over," The Merope Police Officer sent a six-digit Military Grid Reference System (MGRS) grid coordinate with a 100,000-meter grid square identifier. "Grid ES 923 945, ova," Rebecca mirrored what she had originally been sent. "One Striker Light Tank and 28 dismounted enemy infantry in the open, over." "One Strikah Ligh’ Tank and 28 dis’Mounted ene’me infantree n da open, ou’," "R, F, Narc Capable in effect, 1 round, over." “R, F, Narc Capable n effect, 1 round, ou’." "Shot, over", said the MPD officer "Shot, ou’," answered Rebecca. "SPLASH!" shouted her impromptu Forward Observer as nine warheads impacted the targeted tank, blasting armor plating from its turret and left side but leaving enough behind so the tank was not open to the elements. The impact skewed the tank sideways, upsetting the Tank Gunner’s aim and the aim of the Lieutenant, too. Striker Four tank launched another salvo of six short range missiles at the lumbering Thunderbolt that sailed harmlessly high over head and detonated on the horizon. Likewise, Leslie Thunderbolt missed with all three of its medium lasers as they charred grass, scorched ferrocrete, and liquefied glass. Leslie brought her large laser online and discharged it at Striker Four. It caught the beam on its frontal glacial plate, melting a half ton of armor. The molten armor ran down onto the front wheels, solidifying and fusing them both so that they would no longer rotate on their axle. Rebecca O’Malley’s Catapult snuck around a corner and caught Mortar Truck Three unaware. It had its main gun in its rear and the gun was facing in the direction of the Hospital; so she approached it from its right side playing havoc with the light vehicle's armor. Rebecca fired all four of her ‘Mech’s medium laser into the fragile vehicle at point blank range. She could hardly miss. One laser burned through the armor protecting the right front of the vehicle, singed the engine block and in the process the driver’s right leg was severed. A second laser melted clean through the right side of the Mortar Truck leaving the crew exposed and temporarily disoriented. Lasers three and four ravaged the vehicles right rear armor, burned through both stabilizers reducing the Truck to nothing more than a lump of metal scrap. “Mortah Truck three is readay foe da scrap heap, ‘Stonewull’.” announced O’Malley as she balanced the 65 ton Catapult on one leg and used her other clawed foot to poke around the flaming wreckage that had once been a Mortar Truck. ‘Dancer’ had been quick to respond to Leslie’s orders to relieve Kommando Team One. She had throttle her ‘Mech up to full speed and raced up Irving blvd. Twice she had ‘almost’ lost control of her ride, sprinting as she were, with no arms for balance, and her bird-like feet. The first near fall came as she had exited the Park but the Raven had shouldered a tree and had remained upright. But the tree, well that’s a different story. The second mishap came as she rounded the corner onto Irving Boulevard. Her clawed feet could not sustain enough traction on the pavement to effectively make a clean turn at speed, and the Raven had bounced off of a reinforced building. She’d lost some paint and her ego was bruised but other than that the Raven had gotten away unscathed, hence the moniker . . . ‘Dancer’. Traveling at 90kph, sprinting up Irving Blvd, she got a lock on her target, Infantry Platoon Two. They were dispersed so widely, seeking cover from the deadly efficient shooters of Seventh Kommando’s, her firing solution hovered around 36%. She fired both her medium laser to draw the enemies attention away from the Kommando Team. However, all she was packing as backups were Fragmentation loads and these were designed to cause extensive damage to unarmored infantry. So she took the shot. All six warheads landed in and amongst the enemy platoon with an absolutely devastating effect. It wiped them out to a man, unfortunately the fragmentation loads did not differentiate between soldiers or civilians. A couple of civilians were caught in the blast radius. She left that part out of her report. “Platoon Two has been engaged and neutralized. I engage Platoon Five Now.” Reinforcing the west side of Mercy General was Corporal Anastasiya Stepanov in her Flamer equipped Gray Death Battle Armor Suit. She had survived the incoming Mortar Fire and was now charging Platoon Four to get into firing range of her Flamer. Mickey was whipping the Gabriel Recon Vehicle around the area like a man possessed with the devil himself, snapping off ER Small Laser blast at anyone foolhardy enough to poke their heads out or just too damn slow to dodge. He’d already turned four enemy troopers into human piles of ash and was shouting over the Gabriel’s external speakers, “Ai’ight! Who’s next? Who want’s to be the next MF turned into a ‘Crispy Critter’?” He punctuated his expletive with a laser blast. “Huh? You? You? Yeah, that’s what I thought!” At the corner of Beltine and Esters, Zachery Sobel’s Hunchback weathered an avalanche of SRM fire from the two Striker Tanks. His urban brawler absorbed seven of those deadly warheads. The blast completely arrested his forward movement. He caught one each to the ‘Mech’s Left leg and left torso, two blasted into his right side armor, and three flung armor from his right leg. All-in-all, he lost a ton of armor in the span of 6 seconds flat, however, his tried and true Starshield armor held firm, no breaches anywhere. Zachery divided his return fire among the two tanks, laser package at Striker One, ballistic package at Striker Two. His goal was to dispatch them both roughly at the same time due to CLG or Combat Loss Grouping; which operated on the theory that units of similar weight and make up would start to wear down in combat at roughly the same time. Because he did know how many more of the SRM Avalanches his ‘Mech could endure. He fired two medium pulse lasers and one small laser at Striker One and only connected with one medium pulse laser. Peppering the front armor with high energy laser darts, one incinerated a front wheel making it that much harder to steer and maneuver. He blasted the previous damaged Striker Two Light Tank with his assault auto cannon opened to full bore. Twelve of the heavy slugs out of twenty drilled into the Light tank. Three hit the left side the remaining nine all were received by the front. The left side armor held, with a loss of a wheel, hub, tire and all; the front did not. After the 203mm slugs ate through the armor plating, they continued to chew up the crew compartment and the targeting gear until the tank came to a complete stop, belching thick black smoke as a funeral pyre. “Striker Two has been neutralized!” ‘Knight’ continued to walk his ‘Mech up the narrow street towards the crippled Striker One. The driver tried frantically to get away all too obvious of was coming next, but was hampered by its missing wheel. The Hunchback reared back and delivered a massive kick to the glacial plate. The tank skidded sixty meters along the street until it came to rest up against a building. Zachery was just buying time for his weapons to recycle. (2464) TOTAL 46,335 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Wed Dec 20, 2017 10:29 pm FS-RD-04-02 #22 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, Mercy General Friday, 22 January 3097 Zachery 'Knight' Sobel saw the thirty five ton Striker One tank go skidding up Esters street after he booted it across its front armor with his ‘Mech’s foot. It careened into a bank, smashing half in and half out of the bank buildings wall. It was still in the fight though as the driver sent torque to the light tank’s wheels and it slowly eased out of its cubby hole. It was mangled beyond belief from his foot imprint on the Striker’s front armor and crashing into a hardened building from its rear. It no longer looked anything like a tank but an ungainly moving mass of metal. Zach bunched up the Hunchback’s thick legs and bound into the air with a stamping down on his pedals and rose fifty meters in the air on the tongues of fiery jump jet exhaust. He maneuvered the Hunchback in a low arc that would land him directly on top of the derelict tank, Death From Above. The tank commander realized his plight and franticly tried to abandon the mauled tank but his cupola door was distorted and wedged shut. His only hope would be if one of the Mortar Trucks that he had called for supporting fire landed a head hit on the fifty ton dropping beast. Four shells came whistling in raining mayhem and destruction all up and along Esters Boulevard but failed to hit the Battlemech. Hell, they had trouble targeting Zach when he was on the ground say nothing about while he was sailing through the air. He was running low on jump jet reaction mass but he’d already plotted his trajectory so he cut the power to his jets and fifty full tons of armored automaton fell from the skies plunging its feet through the light tank, down through its armor, down through its chassis, until Zach felt the solid terrain beneath his ‘Mech’s feet. “ “Stonewall’, ‘Knight’. Striker one has been neutralized,” Zachery report as he extricated his ‘Mech from the tank wreckage wrapped around his Hunchback’s ankle actuators much like a man who steps out of his pants when they are down around his ankles. The Mechwarrior recognized the blood and gore mixed in with the tangled metal as probably what was left of the tank’s commander and crew. “Moving to assist with western front. ‘Knight’ Out.” Rick Santangelo’s squad was still trying to take out Flatbed Mortar Truck Four but were having no luck breaching its armor nor its stanchions. Angelica Koss Squad was had descended to the sixth floor but the stairway had been shot away by a Mortar Shell so they had to scramble back up to the seventh floor, cross clear across the hospital to the opposite stairwell, in the dark, because their circle vision visors were virtually useless with the bursted water pipes drenching everything with cool water. The two man spotter team that the Merope Police Captain, Walton Navarre, had left behind were updating Rebecca 'Runner' O'Malley with new targeting data. "CPLT C1, MPD35, Immediate Suppression, over." "MPD35, CPLT C1, Immediate Suppression, ova." “Grid ES 924 946, over." "Grid ES 924 946, ova," barfed back O’Malley. "Twenty Eight dismounted enemy infantry in the open, over." "Twenty Eight dis’Mounted ene’me infantree n da open, ou’," "Fragmentation load requested, two rounds, over." “FragmenTATION rounds reQUESTED, two rounds, ou’." "Shot, over", said the MPD officer She cycled out her Narc Capable ammo and brought in her fragmentation rounds. She walked along the paved Rock Island road leery of toppling her ‘Mech if she moved too fast. She torso twisted to her right to keep her missile trajectory aligned and on course. As soon as her missile bins flashed green indicating that they were locked and loaded she stabbed the firing stud. "Shot, ou’," answered Rebecca. She waited to hear affirmation in the form of ‘Splash’ from her spotter team, however; they had been taken out by a mortar shot. The spotter team had not taken into consideration that the enemy platoon had been moving. But then again they weren’t spotters by profession they had just had some exposure during ROTC training. None-the-less, they were accurate enough that her shots landed in proximity of Enemy Platoon One killing seven troopers out right and maiming eight more. The rest were slaughtered by Sergeant Major Cathryn Whitley’s anti-Mech machine gun as she came around the corner of a building. She looked like an armored version of Folk Hero Two Gun Tess as with her second weapon she continue to riddle Striker Four’s undercarriage. Something flew from beneath the light tank as it hull fell flat onto its wheels popping off the three wheels to that side. “ ‘Stonewall’, Platoon One has been eliminated. Where do you need me the most?” She queried the Lieutenant even as she sprinted her Gray Death suit, south into the park. It was a whole lot less enemy targets floating around on her HUD. Those two hundred were half that number now. Cathryn did not get off totally unscathed from the encounter with the infantry platoon. She’d lost some armor on her right arm and left leg, no breeches yet though, just some armor plating. She heard the sotto computer voice chime in through the sounds of battle, “Seventy Percent Armor remaining until Critical.” After a few seconds came Leslie Miller’s voice through her headset, “ ‘Bull’s Eye’ pull back to the east wing. There are twenty something Tangos inside the Hospital perimeter. They need to be neutralized Immediately!” “Roger that Lieutenant!” On the Western Side of Mercy General, Cathryn’s Rabid Wolves were having their way with the militant forces. After dropping Corporal Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov off, Staff Sergeant Mickey Gurevich had accelerated back up to over 200 kilometers per hour in the Gabriel Hovercraft whipping recklessly through the downtown city streets of Armidale. The Reconnaissance Craft had picked up a bead on Mortar Truck One and Mickey was going to engage it. With its inaccurate mortar fire and traveling at speed, Mickey figured he could close with it and once inside the Mortar Trucks minimum range, the enemy Mortar Team would be at his mercy. Oh, did I forget to mention, Rabid Wolves have no mercy. Mickey came in from the Mortar Trucks right, firing off extended range 3cm laser bolts before he was even inside their effective range. But as soon as he pulled into range he was already firing. The first shot fused the mortar’s firing chamber so that it wouldn’t function anymore, so if he had wanted to show mercy he could have turned around right then and there. But he didn’t. He didn’t turn around nor did he want to show mercy. He fired three more 3,000 degree kelvin laser beams into the hapless vehicle, destroying its rear armor, obliterating its right side, until the Mortar Truck fireballed into an explosion. “Mortar Truck One is no longer a threat.” He announced on the battlenet. “Nor is Platoon Four. Engaging Platoon Eight.” It was Anastasiya. Something in her timbre, that miraculously survived the radio transmission, made Cathryn’s skin crawl. Anastasiya had used the Gray Death Speed of over 30 kph to run down the doomed infantry platoon and had hosed them down with the flaming gel from her Flamer. It had shot out a full thirty meters in front of her as she had swept it back and forth over the writhing a screaming men. And then with a feral grin beneath her Gray Death’s helmet, teeth fully bared, looking like a death rictus, she had done it two more times Cathryn would later discover from viewing Anastasiya’s battlecam footage. Sergeant Edward ‘Blaze’ Rockel had seemingly forgot his ‘Shelby’s weight handicap as he drove North along O’Conner engaging Striker Three. Cathryn figured it was more a calculated risk than him actually forgetting. The two Striker Tanks still left on the battlefield had bigger fish to fry than his ‘Guppy’. They were both targeting the Lieutenants Thunderbolt. Edward did manage to keep up a stream of .60 cal shells on Striker Three’s turret and upset its aim. Between the two Striker Tanks, they unleashed twelve short ranged warheads down range at Leslie’s Thunderbolt. Cathryn had a clear view of the action and still didn’t know how Leslie had manage it, but she deftly slid the ungainly beast through the virtual shower of SRMs and not a one of them made a direct hit on her Thunderbolt. She was sheer poetry in motion. Catheryn was envious. Lieutenant Miller fired her medium rack LRM over Edward’s ‘Shelby’ vehicle’s head to gouged armor plating from all along the front and left side of the Striker Three Light Tank. But that was all it hit, was the Striker’s Valiant Buckler armor plating. Edward exclaimed, “Hey! You got friendlies down here!” “I saw you. I didn’t hit you now, did I?” “Well. No, But that’s beside the point.” Leslie didn’t have time to chop it up with the Battle Armor Pilot turned vehicle driver. She was attempting to multitask and fire on two separate targets. Her large laser and a medium laser almost hit Striker Four, the second one of her targets. But almost only counted in Horse Shoes. “This ends Now!” she muttered to no one in particular. She swiveled her Thunderbolt’s feet to line up with the direction she was facing. Striker Four was no longer moving but was stuck for some unknown reason up against a library building. She slowed her ‘Mech down to cruising speed and sauntered the sixty five ton ‘Mech right up to within a few meters of the light tank before coming to a full stop. She reared back her right leg and kicked at the tank much like a football kicker kicks a field goal. However the Tank was wedge up against the library thus it had nowhere to skid off to. The massive blow took off the turret, the glacial plate, it sheered the whole entire top half of the tank away and left just the wheels and undercarriage. “Striker Four has been dispatched,” Leslie announced over the comms. A quick look at her tactical display allowed the Lieutenant a brief sigh of relief. It looks like the rebels are falling back people! We have them on the run! Give them no quarter!” Leslie elation was short lived as Anika 'Dancer' Karanova’s report, rained all over her parade. “I paint a contact, Comrade. It appears to be very huge. Eighty to Ninety tons. Heading due south at 52 kay pee aitch. Vector in on our present position. Please Advise.” (1820) TOTAL 45,691 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Thu Dec 21, 2017 5:28 pm FS-RD-04-02 #23 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, Mercy General Friday, 22 January 3097 ’Well, I’ll be Damned!’ thought Lieutenant Leslie Miller to herself. What else was gonna go wrong on this operation? First of all, her relief ‘Team’ was a hasty compilation of Wolf’s Dragoons Kommandos, a squad of Rabid Wolves Gray Death Battle Armor that were down to half strength before the operation even started, a civilian police platoon and her ‘Mech Lance. They had overcome overwhelming odds, just barely, with a Strong emphasis on ‘Barely’. But in the interim her forces had contributed to property damage and civilian loss of life which were both in direct opposition of the Deuces Wild’s ROE or ‘Rules of Engagement’. And now, after being shot up, they were about to come face to face with a true King of the modern Battlefield in the form of an Assault-Class ‘Mech. OMG! After checking her schematic damage read out to ensure that she hadn’t damaged anything when she punted the Striker Light tank, she turned her Thunderbolt in the direction where 'Dancer' had received the ping from; throttling up the heavy ‘Mech. “ 'Dancer', Patch it through. All Deuces Wild Units, converge on Bogie currently labeled as ‘Assault-Class ‘Mech’. ‘Surgeon’ and or ‘Blaze’, I need visuals on this contact like yesterday.” Leslie received affirmations to some of her orders but she knew that they were all being complied with. As she got the Thundbolt up to speed she inadvertently wing a police car, however; winging a two ton vehicle with a 65 ton ‘Mech moving at 60 kph, well, let’s just say, she may as well as tromped down on it for all the damage that she’d done. The squad car was totaled. Dayum It. She’d receive an earful for that one, too. “Infantry Platoons, how are you holding up?” “Rappelled down the northern side of the Hospital and have repulsed platoon number five from the emergency room,” it was the Kommando team leader, Rick Santagelo. His squad had just slain sixteen of the enemy numbers as the twelve remaining enemy troopers made a hasty exit through a massive hole in the emergency room’s wall. “We have them in full retreat.” Next to report in with a SitRep was Angelica Koss, “Still on the fifth floor of the East Wing. Lost without lighting and struggling to find an intact stair way that can get us to the ground floor. Taking a queue from our team lead, we will rappel down at the first destroyed wall section we see, umh, there’s one now. Koss, Out.” Before Koss release the squawk button, Leslie heard zip lines unwinding. “Likewise we’re lost in the hospital’s west wing and we are using our flashlights, however; we are making ourselves useful by providing first aid to injured civilians,” answered the Merope Police Captain, Walton Navarre. “It should also be noted that I’ve reached out to other smaller hospitals and Armidale first responders and that they should be arriving on the scene any minute now so it would really be beneficial if you guys could get rid of the hostiles.” “Rest assured that we are working on that Navarre,” Leslie cut the Captain’s feed, just a little bit miffed. “Battle Armor?” Sergeant Major Cathryn Whitley was the first to reply, “Coming out of the East Side Park just ahead of ‘Runner’. Be on point as fast as my little armored legs can carry me,” Cathryn iterated between breaths of air. “I’m enjoying the fruits of my own little personal Barbeque!” Corporal Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov answered. “Wanna join me? Today’s menu consist of ‘Roasted Rebels’!” she uttered as her Flamer reached out in front of her incinerating more than a half a dozen enemy Troopers from Platoon Eight. Anastasiya then waltzed her Gray Death Suit nonchalantly through the flaming corpses and succinctly fired three rounds from her automatic shotgun into the withering bodies. It was definitely overkill because the men were already dead. ’Something is seriously wrong with that woman. She needs Meds’ thought Leslie. Just then the Lieutenant’s Multi Function Display (MFD) screen was flooded with an image of the ‘Assault-Class’ contact from ‘Dancer’s fleet footed Raven. Her war book quickly identified it as a 85 ton Gunslinger One Echo Romeo Delta. The Gunslinger was a product of the Clan Invasion and would not exist if not for that violent conflict. The 'Mech was jointly designed by engineers from both the Draconis Combine and the Federated Commonwealth who were in the process of assisting the Free Rasalhague Republic. To power the Gunslinger, a VOX 255 XL Engine was used to give the 'Mech a top speed of 54 kph. This was augmented by a pair of HildCo Model 12 jump jets that allow the Gunslinger to traverse rough terrain and provide extra mobility at close ranges. Fortunately for the Deuces Wild, none of the nearby buildings would support the Gunslinger’s bulk. The 'Mech was also equipped with a Guardian ECM Suite and a Beagle Active Probe, giving the Gunslinger superior detection capabilities and protection from advanced enemy electronic warfare equipment. Leslie didn’t know if her unit’s Narc would be effective against this ‘Mech. But nothing beats failure but a try. The Gunslinger carried as its primary weapons in two arm-mounts, Poland Main Model A Gauss Rifles; that could each strip off a ton of armor at ranges of over six hundred meters. As the Gunslinger closed with the enemy it was able to bring its four Defiance B3M Medium Lasers and a Defiance A5L Small Laser that help to make up for the ineffectiveness of the Gauss Rifles at extremely short ranges. Finally, to protect against attacks on its weak rear armor, the Gunslinger carried two Defiance P5M Medium Pulse Lasers in a rearward firing arc. Finally, the Gunslinger was protected by fifteen and a half tons of armor, giving the 'Mech excellent armor protection. This bad boy was going to be one tough nut to crack and even a harder one to sneak up on. “ ‘Dancer’, I want that SOB Narc’ed and illuminated like the Terran 4th of July. ‘Runner,’ load Narc capable ammo now.” She glanced down at her own console to verify her loadout to make sure she had cycled in her own Narc ammo. “ ‘Knight’, you’re the closest, keep him busy until I get there. DO NOT engage enemy Gunslinger head on. Hit him from oblique angles so he can only fire one gauss rifle at you at a time. And be leery of his rear firing arc. It mounts twin medium pulse lasers to cover it’s back.” A sharp yelp pervaded the battlenet from the Raven. Anika Karanova had found out the hard way about the Gunslinger’s armament protecting it’s rearward arc. She had moved in close to attach her Narc Beacon payload to the enemy assault ‘Mech and had received a medium pulse laser shot to her ‘Mech’s left leg, causing her to stumble; missing with two ERML blasts and failing to attach the Narc Beacon. “How you say? Day Late. Dollar Short.” “Roger that Elltee, ‘Knight’ is on the way. “ Even as Zachery changed his ‘Mechs facing and direction, he snapped off a medium pulse laser beam at the retreating troopers from the same platoon that the Gray Death Suited Anastasiya had roasted. On his heads up display he saw about five or six more of the tiny red dots wink out before turning his attention to the Gunslinger. “Okay, so you wanna play Big Boy?” Zach cycled the ammo for his class 20 auto cannon from scatter shot to solid slug. ”Come to Poppa. Catch one of these loads and we’ll see how tough you really are. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.” The Hunchback sailed over the manmade lake in the west side park on the silver tongues of its jump jets, pirouetted in midair at the apex of its jump to land directly in front of the side of the Hospital that had collapsed on the AFFS Platoon. ‘Knight’ had been tracking the Gunslinger throughout his acrobatic maneuver, so he fired the 203mm autocannon on his way down, landing on crouched legs to absorb the impact. The assault slug went wide, but fortunately for the Deuces Wild Pilot, he had been firing parallel to the street so the slug sailed harmless into the air until it lost all its kinetic momentum before dropping to the planet’s surface. The enemy Pilot had no such shortcomings. She, too, had been tracking the Hunchback through its jump. She fired one medium laser at the apex of its jump, another one when it was halfway through its decent. She missed with both. The last two, she unleashed when the Hunchback had touched down and added a Gauss Rifle to the mix. The nickel ferrous Gauss Rifle slug missed overhead, due to the Hunchback’s crouching upon landing. The 5cm medium lasers charred paint and bubbled armor plating covering the ‘Mechs chest and right leg. It still wasn’t enough to breech the tough urban ‘Mech’s thickly Starshield armored hide. In retaliation ‘Dancer’ fired her twin medium lasers from point blank range into the Gunslinger and as an after thought launched a Narc Beacon as well. “Comrade ‘Knight’. Are you okay? Get out of there!” She hit the Gunslinger from its left side. Medium laser, left leg. Narc, Left Torso. Medium Laser, upside the left of its recessed cockpit. Not really intending to cause much damage from her pop gun array, but the medium laser to the head area did melt through more than half of the armor protecting the pilot. “Target Narc’ed!” ‘Dancer’ exclaimed as she darted her nimble Battlemech in even closer to the enemy assault ‘Mech. “I’m good ‘Dancer’. Just keeping the bruiser busy until the Cavalry arrives.” And with that made clear, he fired his jump jets, sailing backwards down the street that the Lieutenant was currently headed up at a blistering 62 kph gait. Leslie saw on her tactical display the Raven drawing in closer to the Gunslinger. Not one to micromanage she’d let it play out to see where Karanova was going with her latest maneuver. “ ‘Dancer’, ‘Stonewall’. I am not detecting your Narc Beacon. What about you ‘Runner’. Are you lit?” “Noe Maaam’. I confer. I kinnia see n’e Narc Beacons this side o’ the farm, lassie.” “I tell you. I just Narc’ed SOB like instructed,” frustration creeping into Anika voice. Against her better judgement Leslie took the shot. Only four long range missiles hit the huge target out of ten that were launched, blasting armor fragments from its left torso. There was NO WAY IN HELL that said ‘Mech was Narc’ed. “Its okay ‘Dancer’. Narc it again. Maybe that beacon was a dud.” “Nevermind Comrade Miller. I make mistake. That was Narc Explosive Pod, not Narc Beacon. Stand by . . . retask mission.” Koss’ Kommando Squad had rappelled down to street level on the south side of the building. They could still hearing the firing of ‘Mech weapons coming from the West side of Mercy General and see the smoke and small fires caused by the mortar shellings. But the smell was the worst. Even outside in the open, the smell of burnt flesh was overpowering. She forced herself to breathe through her mouth as she gave orders to set up a Kill Zone. Six of her men sought cover among the rumble of the Hospital’s southern wall, six others crossed the street and took defensive positions inside of store fronts that already had there plate glass windows blown out. So when platoon three step into the street from around the corner, they were succinctly mowed down. Unbeknownst to Koss, one enemy trooper had not been out right killed but lay among the dead bodies a pretended that he was. And as soon as her Kommandos left the area, he crawled off the battlefield. Two hundred meters from Koss Kill Zone, further up the street to the east Cathryn was surprised by enemy Platoon Six as they sprinted by her position. They were in full rout mode, sprinting in terror. She snapped fired both weapons and only got four of them in her initial surprise state but quickly regaining her composure, she gave chase and took them out to a man. “Platoon Six Eliminated!” Anastasiya quite easily overtook the fleeing remnants of Platoon Eight, with her suit’s never tiring top speed of 32kph against a man’s of what, average speed of 4kph and he gets tired after two minutes. She sprayed the remaining fourteen troopers down with the flaming hot gel, on their fatigues, in their hair, and on their flesh. They screamed the screams of the damned. Anastasiya announced over the relief team’s frequency in an exhausted pant and a heavy breathless pitch, “Platoon . . . Eight . . . ……Eliminated!” But it wasn’t a panting and breathlessness from mere exhaustion it was more like a seductive panting and a sultry breathlessness of a woman who had just had a life altering orgasm. Leslie keyed up Cathryn on a secure channel. “ ‘Bulls Eye’, ‘Stonewall’. Is your girl alright?” Cathryn started off her reply with a slight chuckle, “Yeah, she’s alright. Depends on what your definition of alright is. But, yeah, she’s Good. Typical Ana. You’ll get use to it.” “Bullshit! I want some of what she’s had.” Leslie mouth dropped wide open at what she witness next via her video feed from 'Dancer' Raven. The little 35 ton bird like 'Mech, literally ran up and kicked at the Gunslinger. And wonder of wonders it appeared that Anika had actually managed to kick some armor plating lose. The Gunslinger didn't seem to notice nor care too much as it continued its lumbering gait turn squarely towards the Hunchback and Mercy General. The much smaller 'Mech was probably in too close for the enemy assault to even see it. A Battlemech couldn't really target anything underneath its own feet and the Raven was damn near that close and only half the Gunslinger's height. In comparison, Anika looked like a five year old accosting an 800 pound Gorilla. (2407) TOTAL 48,098 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Fri Dec 22, 2017 9:36 pm FS-RD-04-02 #24 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, Mercy General Friday, 22 January 3097 Angelica Koss’ Kommando Team had not left the area on the south side of Mercy General where she had set up the efficient Kill Zone. Via hand signals, she had ordered her squad to strict radio silence and into concealment. Koss had deliberately left the enemy Corporal alive as a lure. And just as she had suspected the Rats where coming to seize the bait, so her and her Kommandos sprang the trap. As enemy Platoon Five homed in on their wounded Corporal’s distress signal, her six squad mates, hidden inside the Hospital and the ones taking cover among the store fronts, all popped up in unison and sprayed Platoon five with lethal laser bolts from their M61A, Federated-Barrett, Laser Rifles. The deadly bolts melted through their plate vest armor, sizzled through Kevlar jackets, and burned through enemy flesh. “Enemy Platoon labeled number five has been neutralized! Hospital is secure! Conducting sweep of West Wing. Captain Navarre, Kommando Two will provide cover for First Responders. Koss Out,” “Very Good Kommando Two. We’ll set up a triage in the Annex Building,” replied The Merope PD Captain. He sounded as tired as Lieutenant Leslie ‘Stonewall’ Miller felt. But she wasn’t done for the day. Not just yet anyway. She had an 85 ton headache she needed to deal with, first. “ ‘Pitbull’, fall back to the Annex Building and use your suit’s sensors to sweep the area for any hidden surprises that the rebels may have left behind,” Instructed Sergeant Major Cathryn Whitley. “It’s the sort of tactic that I wouldn’t put past them.” “Aye, aye, ‘Bulls Eye’. ‘Pitbull’ sweeping Annex. Over.” “Kommando One. SitRep!” order Cathryn. “Kommando One moving on an intercept course with enemy Gunslinger. We have a surprise or two in store for the big ape,” reported Rick Santagelo, the Kommando Team One Lead. Cathryn did not know if that was such a good idea. Sending unarmored infantry to go tangle with an 85 ton Assault ‘Mech. However, Santangelo exuded such confidence like they had done it before and were successful at it even. So after pondering it briefly she gave the go ahead. “Acknowledge Kommando One.” Her initial inkling had been to tell Santagelo to be careful but she had refrained; on the premise that it would have been extremely redundant. “Rabid Wolves Actual will sweep the perimeter of the Hospital to make sure all is quiet on the home front. ‘Surgeon’? How you doin?” “Had to go the long way and swing around a city block. Will be in weapons range in a sec. YeeHah! How those A and P prices have changed!” Cathryn’s brow knit beneath her battle armor’s helmet as she jogged along. She didn’t have a clue to the obscure reference Staff Sergeant Mickey Gurevich had just made nor did she have the luxury of time to inquire either. So in the end she just left it alone and continued to check on her other trooper. “ ‘Blaze’? Be careful. According to my HUD you’ll be in firing range r I g h t . . . a b o u t . . . n o w.” The speeding 5 ton vehicle came whipping up a cross street to Irving Boulevard, spraying .60 caliber mayhem at the 85 ton Gunslinger. A few bullets hit in a dazzling display of sparks but for the most part the vehicle’s machine gun fire simply chewed up trees and dirt. In an expert display of marksmanship, the Gunslinger’s pilot aimed and fired a medium laser at Sergeant Edward Rockel’s M3078, searing through its armor and fusing the engine into a useless lump of metal. As if to say, ‘Be gone, you pesky gnat!’. The ‘Shelby’ continued to coast, with no power, until Edward brought it to a stop and bailed out. “AWH DAYUM!!! That’s twice in one campaign that I’ve been shot out of my ride! Wassup wit dat? I just don’t . . .” Cathryn cut his feed. She would later be told that he went on with his tirade for a full five minutes. Poor Bastard. It sucks to be him. Leslie didn’t have much input in the exchanges with the ground pounders. Her second was more than aptly capable of coordinating their efforts in align with the mission, so Leslie step back and allowed Cathryn Whitley to do just that. Out of her forward view screen she saw ‘Knight’s Hunchback landing half way between her and the Gunslinger. And up further past the Gunslinger she saw Anika Karanova Raven firing its medium laser and ANOTHER exploding NARC pod and Not the telemetry one. NO, they were both making rookie mistakes. They were going to get themselves killed or worse, somebody else killed. And while Anika did connect with a medium laser and the explosive pod one to each arm, they in no way, shape, or form would compare to the amount of damage she and O’Malley could inflict on the Gunslinger if they had a NARC beacon to home in on. “ ‘Knight’! Get Out Of There! You’re in the Gunslinger’s forward arc! Oblique Attacks Only! Oblique Attacks! And Damn It ‘Dancer’, verify your ammo! Switch to NARC Becons!” ‘Stonewall’ fired her LRMs down Irving boulevard, with out lock, just hoping to upset the Gunslinger’s aim. To some degree it had worked. Right after ‘Knight’ had fired his 203mm round that missed the Gunslinger and had almost taken the head of their own Raven, the Gunslinger missed with three medium laser and a gauss rifle. But with her remaining gauss rifle, displaying her superior marksmanship, she expertly took out the Hunchback’s big gun, the assault class auto cannon and as a bonus cracked the Nissan engine’s fusion containment bottle to boot. So not only had the enemy Mechwarrior ‘defanged’ him, she’d also crippled his heat dissipation ability. O’Malley had better catch up quick or else Leslie would be spattered all over Armidale. “ ‘Runner’. How much longer before you’re in weapon’s range?” queried Leslie. “I kinnia answer dat, but I see you’re in a pickle, lass, n I ‘ave me throttle wide open,” answered Rebecca O’Malley. “ ‘Knight’, you’re done. Pack her up and fall back to waypoint Delta,” the Lieutenant ordered Zachery. “Aw Shit. You know better than that,” guffawed the Hunchback Pilot. “I am not leaving my wingman! I haven’t ever bailed on you before and I’m NOT bailing on you now!” “Its not a friendly request Zachery Sobel! Its an order!” “Listen, I’m still up and mobile and I still have weapons to defend myself. If nothing else I can give the Gunslinger Pilot something beside you to shoot at while you snipe at her from range. What was that? I can’t hear you? You’re breaking up . . . “ Then Zach’s line went dead. It was the oldest trick in the book when a subordinate wanted to override a senior officer’s orders on the field of battle. Leslie would deal with Zach after this conflict; that is if she even survived this conflict. She saw Zach’s damaged Hunchback lift up on its Norse Storm Jump Jets, leaping back down the street and over the head of the Gunslinger to land in its rear arc. The Hunchback was trailing a line of thick, dark, black smoke and sparking wires from high on its right shoulder where its auto cannon sat. Now Leslie was facing the Gunslinger head on, face to face. And the huger ‘Mech had twenty tons on her. Leslie immediately arrested her forward progress and slammed her Thunderbolt into reverse. She would only have a chance if she found some cover from the Gunslinger’s two massive Gauss Rifles. Property damage be damned. Even though Leslie saw it as a one on one fight to the death, her lance mates weren’t going to let it go down like that. Anika was having more trouble than just selecting the right ammo. One hundred fifty meters beyond the Gunslinger, Leslie saw the light Raven dip between some trees and fire directly into the ground. NARC, lasers, and all. “I apologize, Comrade. This is not me. Neuro Interface off. There is problem. A glitch. ‘Mech not accept correct input that I am inputting.” That crazy Son of a Bitch ‘Surgeon’ came flying right under ‘Knight’s Hunchback before it touched down whooping and yelling the whole time almost causing a ‘blue on blue’ incident. He fired both his ERSL at the Gunslinger’s right arm, connecting with only one, but it still caused armor to ‘boil’ away from the ‘Mech’s appendage. Okay, Gurevich had inadvertently selected which arm she would target. Either one it really didn’t matter, but Leslie had wanted to target an arm to rob the enemy of half of its long range fire power. While moving her ‘Mech in reverse, she sighted, she targeted, and fired her large laser at the arm of the Gunslinger and her aim was true. The ‘Mech’s arm glowed red hot, dripping molten armor to the pavement that instantly cooled into metal stalagmites all along the city street, but still held at forty percent. Damn It she swore. In Leslie’s peripheral vision she thought she had seen O’Malley making her way up a street off to her left. Leslie’s Thunderbolt did not have much of a head so to speak, more of a cockpit attached to her right torso so she had to slight twist her torso to verify what she’d thought she had seen. The Lieutenant had, in fact, seen the Catapult sprinting up the street but when she torso twisted to look again, she saw Rebecca’s ‘Mech lying in the street where it had slipped and fell. OMG! Murphy’s Law! It was going to take her forever and a day to get the ‘Mech back on its feet with no hands to help it up. At the moment, Leslie didn’t have anything to say to either Anika or Rebecca. No encouraging words nor admonishments. She was at a complete and utter loss while facing her own mortality at the business ends of the Gunslinger’s twin Gauss Rifles. She was SO Glad that ‘Knight’ had not followed her last order. “ ‘Knight’, target the enemy’s Right Arm!” she didn’t think he would answer her but she knew that he had heard her because as soon as she transmitted the order she saw two energy pulses lash out from his ‘Mech. He fired at the right side but due to the Gunslinger’s gait one stuttering beam sent its energy darts into the ‘Mechs left torso. So it was up to her now to save her own hide. She would need to time this just right for it to work correctly. She started the count down, one one thousand, two one thousand, and when she reached five she broke the Thunderbolt hard right, in reverse already, into a medium building, firing her weapons, especially her missiles hoping to shroud her maneuver behind the missile’s smoking contrails and she prayed that the building did not have a basement that her 65 ton Thunderbbolt would go crashing through to. The Gunslinger’s Pilot had been hoping to finish off its biggest threat in one fell swoop and had picked that particular moment to launch an Alpha Strike. To the enemy pilot’s dismay, she had missed with her entire weapons package but had still run up her heat though. Lieutenant Leslie Miller wanted to shout out in total elation. Her trick had worked better than she would have ever dreamed. She had skirted death. She figured she would use this building as cover since she had gotten lucky and it didn’t have a basement. Past the Gunslinger she saw Mickey’s Gabriel coming up fast hovering on a cushion of air, Zachery’s Hunchback without the use of its auto cannon was next in behind the hovercraft, Zach was serious about not leaving his wingman; and bringing up the rear was ‘Dancer’ in her jinky Raven. She would have a full work up diagnostic ran on the light ‘Mech before allowing it out in the field again. Two full flights, of 15 Long Range Missiles each, came raining in from off to Leslie’s left, shrouding the Gunslinger, and a thirty meter expanse of Irving Boulevard, in white smoke and metal shrapnel. “I still kinnia detect n’e sort of NARC Beacon, but I figured u culd use a ‘elping ‘and, lassie,” it was Rebecca O’Malley in her Catapult. It seems that this wasn’t the first time she had fallen in a firefight and needed to regain her feet in a hurry. Anika fired from the enemy ‘Mech’s rear arc, trying to bracket it and hit both arms simultaneously and managed only to hit the left one. Her weapon wasn’t powerful enough to cause any significant damage right away. She tried for the fourth time, actually it was the First Time, to attach the Narc Beacon and missed again. Mickey continued to dog the assault ‘Mech with his extended range small lasers, hitting it in its left leg and back armor. He wasn’t doing any major damage but he was keeping the armor plating malleable where ever he hit the Gunslinger so heavier weapons could exploit those location. ‘Knight’ must have thought what Leslie had been thinking because he popped the enemy ‘Mech in the back as well, reducing the armor protection there to less than ten percent remaining and he caught the Gunslinger in the head with his remaining pulse laser stripping it of every stitch of armor and virtually melting through everything else. It was a wonder that the enemy pilot had enough internal structure left to operate the Battlemech. I mean she had absolutely no armor, no cockpit of which to speak of, no view screen, wafts of smoke trailed from her control panel. She was exposed to the elements; if you zoomed in on her you could see she had red hair and was bleeding from an injury from somewhere up inside her neurohelmet. Most pilots would surrender at this point but no, not this one. She raised her arms to fire. Leslie had drawn a bead on the Gunslinger already, she was just waiting for her weapons to recharge. Too Late. For a hair’s breadth of a second she saw the two silvery slugs come racing at her Thunderbolt and then she felt the impact reverberating through out her ‘Mech’s torso. The impact caused her teeth to rattle and her fingers to jerk on her own weapon’s triggers, missing with all three lasers. The nickel ferrous slugs smashed through the building and caught her ‘Mech in its right breast plate and center torso armor, leaving huge dents in them. It felt like she’d been hit with a ‘Mech size sledgehammer. Well so much for taking cover. It was nigh time Leslie unassed this position. She punched out the wall to her left with her Mech’s fist, to soften it up before turning her back to it and throttling her ‘Mech backwards in reverse. She was like a walking wrecking ball. Leslie got her ‘Mech moving in reverse at almost 44kph and she dipped around the corner of a building to break the line of sight of the Gunslinger but what she saw on the Raven’s video feed garnered true respect from one Mechwarrior to another. Leslie was impressed by the other pilot’s marksmanship until she witnessed her piloting skills. No one could lay a glove on her in a target as big as an 85 ton assault mech. The Gunslinger Pilot dodged Mickey’s extend range lasers, she danced through O’Malley LRM missile barrage, 30 long ranged warheads and not a single one of them even touched her, and she even made ‘Knight’ miss while returning accurate fire with a shot to his head. He didn’t go down but Leslie could tell he was hurt. The shocker came when Kommando Team One launched their ‘surprise’ attack. They had gained access to second story building right on the corner and had taken up defensive positions inside. All twelve troopers opened up with their infantry class laser rifles set to consume an entire power pack in one blast and it actually worked. The Kommandos managed to burn through a half a ton of armor on the right leg, from off the left arm, and managed to breech the Gunslinger’s previously weakened rear armor. Okay, it was time to end this. “All Deuces Wilds, close quarters, Alpha Strike.” Leslie change her direction from reversing to forward and lined up with the Gunslinger at a range of a mere sixty meters. Directly to her right was Rebecca O'Malley's Catapult and to Leslie’s left was ‘Knight’s severely handicapped Hunchback. Anika had taken a spill and was even now struggling to get up. The Gunslinger pilot, as valiantly as she had fought, must have sensed that the Deuces Wild were through playing with her and that they were about to bring the rain, because she fired at each one of them connecting with one weapon or another. She reminded Leslie of a trapped Rat. Each Deuces Wild ‘Mech launched full Alpha Strikes from sixty meters out. Even the Kommandos horned in on the action. An Atlas couldn’t have withstood the firepower arrayed in the three Deuces Wild’s Mechs, well, on second thought, maybe an Atlas ’could’, but this was no Atlas, it was a Gunslinger and it could not. Leslie got the credit for the killing blow however, with a hit to a gauss ammo bin. The resulting explosion damaged some friendlies but they were acceptable losses. The siege of Mercy General had come to an inglorious end. (3001) TOTAL 51,099 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Sat Dec 23, 2017 2:33 am FS-RD-04-02 #25 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, Satellite Control Station Monday, 1st February 3097 “There it is,” Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bulls Eye’ Whitley whispered in Staff Sergeant Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich’s headset. Under normal circumstances, it would have taken the Kommando teams less than a day to walk from the landing zone to their current position just north of Satellite Station. But nothing the Wolf Dragoon’s Kommando Teams did could be described as normal. Moving unseen through hostile territory was a painstaking, dangerous process. At Cathryn’s order, the rate of travel had been set at only a few kilometers a night. Every hundred meters or so, the Kommandos would hunker down in loose defensive formation, watching and listening for any signs of a potential threat to their mission’s security. The going was dreadfully slow, but the tradeoff of stealth and secrecy was worth it. As a result it had taken the strike force three nights to reach their objective. Now, the need for a tight noise discipline was even greater. Not more than three hundred meters away loomed Satellite Station, the huge granite block that housed the Meropian’s primary command communications and control installation, as well as Cathryn’s primary objective, the control center for Armidale’s Satellite Control Station. “How do you read it, Staff Sergeant?” Gurevich clapped a pair of electronic binoculars to his unvisored eyes. For a long time he studied the scene before him. Cathryn knew from long association that though Gurevich enjoyed the added protection and strength of the Gray Death Battle Armor suits, the senior noncom didn’t trust them completely. Instead, he preferred to use older, more proven technology, especially when it came to reconnaissance. Thus, Gurevich always insisted on packing along an old fashioned pair of electronic rangefinder binoculars. After carefully surveying the mountain and the surrounding area, Gurevich passed the binoculars to his commander. “Take a look.” Pressing the eyepieces to her face, Cathryn adjusted the instrument until she had a sharp, clear image. The mountain was exactly as Lieutenant Elsa Hessler had described it, a bleak, almost forbidding sight. From their position, beneath a creeper shrouded fallen tree northwest of the installation, they could see little of the facility buried deep in the rock. A three meter high fence topped with razor wire, and broken by a single gate, surrounded what appeared to be the only entrance to the base. Two armored Hauberk Battle Armor Suits stood guard at the gate. It was too far to tell for certain, but Cathryn suspected that the rest of the Squad, and possibly a few more besides, were stationed just inside the massive, gray painted steel doors set into the living rock of the mountain itself. Anyone trying to force his way into the Satellite command center would quickly find himself on the losing end of what promised to be a brief, but very bloody fight. Beyond the bulk of the mountain, Cathryn could see reflected on the undersides of the dark, sky obscuring clouds the glare of the symbol of Rebel Plieadies Sabers, which was carved into the mountain’s southeast face. Just beyond the mountain, the ever present, low hanging storm clouds were lit with an orange glow. Cathryn knew that the faint, ugly luminescence came from the streetlights of Armidale, the planetary capital and the tentative seat of Plieadies Sabers power. One last detail caught her attention. Lancing razor straight up into the humid night sky was the argent streak of a laser beam. She knew what it was and considered it to be the height of foolish pride. It was the eternal laser of the Meropians, a lasting tribute to the fallen fighters of the Rebellion, blazing forever into the sky. The sentiments were good. All loyal warriors deserved honor. The location of the monument was horrible. Cathryn and her men had been so thoroughly briefed on the Satellite Station area that she could see it clearly in her mind’s eye. The immense laser generator had been erected at the foot of the pyramidal structure standing in front of Satellite Station. The building faced onto the Field of Heroes, a parade ground of stone ‘Mechs dedicated to the Plieadies Sabers and battles fought by the Rebellion. It was the heart and soul of the disillusioned Meropians, the inheritance of their past and their legacy to the future. Cathryn had initially asked to be allowed to attack the ammo repository, but the request was denied. Such an act was essentially terrorism, and though she had no qualms about committing such an act, she knew that terrorism was a two edged sword. The destruction of the repository, or worse, its capture by those the Rebellion called their oppressors, would have a significant negative effect on the morale of the population. It was feared that the same action might enrage them to the point that they would stop at nothing to rescue their ammo stores. No, any attempt on the repository would have to be left to the BattleMech equipped follow on forces. “So what do you think?” Gurevich’s urgent whisper snapped Cathryn back to the task at hand. “Looks impossible, doesn’t it?” “Yes, Ma’am.” Gurevich nodded with a sly chuckle. “But the impossible just means that it will takes a little longer.” Cathryn grinned back at her subordinate beneath her armored helmet. She had never known Gurevich to use such an expression before their training sessions with the Kommando teams. Now, such aphorisms were becoming a common part of his vocabulary. Before either Battle Armor Pilot could speak again, a high pitched whine pierced the night. All thoughts of witty sayings were forgotten as they slammed their visors shut and tried to burrow their way deeper into the soil beneath them. Carefully turning her head, Cathryn spotted the source of the racket. It was an unsightly, gray painted hover truck making its way up to the installation gates. Using the magnification systems built into her suit’s helmet, she was able to discern a pair of figures in the vehicle’s cab. Neither was armored, and both seemed to treat the Hauberk guards with a great deal of deference. One of the massive armored Battle Armored Pilots examined something the truck driver handed him, and then gestured to his companion pilot. The gate rose with a rackety whir that was barely discernible to the Rabid Wolves, and the truck passed into the facility. “I think we just found our way in,” Cathryn whispered as she tapped her staff sergeant on the wrist. “You stay here and keep an eye on things. I’m going to let the others know what we’ve found.” . . . . . “You are late,” the huge Hauberk Battle Armor Pilot said. “You were due here at twenty four hundred hours.” Cathryn Whitley had never spoken to an armored Hauberk Battle Armor Pilot before. At a distance of less than two meters, the featureless V-shaped faceplate seemed to be a single eye, slitted in hate and suspicion. The metallic tone of the speaker set into the helmet’s lower plate distorted the giant pilot’s voice, making it sound as though he were really the demon the armor made him resemble. “The friggin truck broke down,” Cathryn answered, passing the Pilot a plastic identity card. To verify her story, she gunned the engine, eliciting not an even roar, but a rough, coughing bellow. “It took two hours and all we could do to get it to function again.” The truck’s engine had been skillfully sabotaged by Sergeant Edward ‘Blaze’ Rockel, the Rabid Wolves’ demolitions expert. The vehicle, along with the drab gray uniforms worn by Cathryn and Staff Sergeant Gurevich, had been hijacked by the Kommandos. A fast, quiet ambush had been laid just a few kilometers to the east of the mountain fortress, netting the joint teams a hover truck full of supplies and a pair of scientist slash technicians. It was testimony to the speed and ruthless efficiency of the Rabid Wolves and Wolf’s Dragoons Kommando Teams that both the driver and his mate had been killed silently and bloodlessly within moments of their stopping to aid an ‘injured pedestrian’, so artfully portrayed by Corporal Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov. Of the sixteen members in the strike group, only Cathryn and her senior noncom could not be said to even remotely resemble the dead technicians. Cathryn smiled ruefully at the outcome of the ambush, and hoped aloud that the Rebels didn’t have some sort of password system. Looking closely at the hulking Hauberk Battle Armor Pilot, she mentally expressed that hope again. If they did, there was no chance that they would be able to bluff their way past the guard. The operatives of Team Four, hidden among the crates occupying the truck’s cargo deck, would burst out of their concealed positions and seize the guard post by force. Cathryn knew that her team could easily defeat the guards, but that knowledge brought her little comfort, for she also knew that she and Gurevich would probably be the first ones killed in the exchange. “Next time notify us, and we will send someone out to repair the vehicle properly.” The Hauberk Battle Armor Pilot handed back Cathryn’s stolen identity card, then waved the truck into the narrow compound. As the heavy steel door closing off the mountain installation swung open, the hover truck engine sputtered, the vehicle dipped sharply, then rose again as its forward blower fan slowed almost to a stop and then raced up to maximum revs. Just as the truck cab drew even with the massive door jamb, the truck stalled out completely, an event precipitated by the simple expedient of Cathryn’s killing the ignition. The vehicle slammed to the pavement with a hollow thud. The Hauberk Battle Armor Pilot turned to see what had happened. It was the last thing either of them did. A quartet of sharp, flat cracks split the air. One Hauberk Battle Armor Pilot pitched over on his face. The other collapsed as though he were a marionette with its strings cut. Black armored figures swarmed from the back of the truck. They swept past the grounded vehicle and into the cavernous space beyond. From the rocks and brambles lining the single, narrow access road came the rest of the strike force. Their Kobold suit’s electronic improved stealth blurred their outlines to the point that it seemed that the night air had suddenly come to violent life. Cathryn knew that four of these troopers, armed with Tsunami Gauss riles, were the snipers who gunned down the Hauberk Battle Armor Pilot guards. The weapons, though heavy and bulky, were powerful and relatively silent. The cracks Cathryn heard were actually miniature sonic booms, caused by the hypersonic projectiles. Though the report seemed loud in the stillness of the night, she knew that the sound was no louder than ninety decibels, about the noise level of a busy street. Cathryn restarted the truck’s fans, which were badly damaged in the intentional grounding. The vehicle lurched aloft on a cushion of air, but was terribly unsteady. Struggling with the controls, Cathryn coasted the yawing vehicle through the doors, grounding it again just inside what looked like a massive loading dock. The reason for crashing the truck in the middle of the doorway was an old one. If the sentries managed to get out an alarm, and/or tried to close off the fortress’ only apparent entrance, the disabled truck would stop, or at least slow them long enough for the Rabid Wolves and the Kommando teams to dart inside. Since the entry was taken quickly and quietly, the plan called for the truck to be removed so that the doors might be closed and sealed from the inside, thus securing the entrance against any possible reinforcements. As the last armored trooper sprinted through the doorway, Rick Santagelo slammed his fist against the large, red “Close” button next to the portal. In a few seconds the door was shut, then locked by the press of a second stud labeled “Lock”. With the aid of two armored troopers, Cathryn and her senior noncom struggled into their Gray Death armored suits, which had been hidden in the back of the truck. Battle Armor suits normally required the use of a complex ingress/egress module to don or doff the suit. But, the designers had realized that there might be a reason the wearer would wish to take off the battle armor while in the field. Thus, a procedure was developed for one already armored trooper to help another get into or out of his power suit without the aid of the module. Meanwhile, Sergeant Rockel permanently disabled the vehicle by tearing the internal combustion engine’s fuel pump, a feat made possible by his borrowed Kobold suit’s enhanced strength. “All right, you all know your targets,” Cathryn said over the team’s tactical frequency, having at last sealed her helmet in place. “Split up. Head for your objectives. As soon as you’re done, rally back here. If anything goes wrong, evade out of here and head for the alternate rally point. Now move.” The Rabid Wolves and three Kommando teams had been assigned four vital installations within the Satellite command center. Team One, the Rabid Wolves Team, had been tasked with capturing the planet’s main Satellite sensor control room. Kommando Team Two was to attack the primary command and communication center, Kommando Team Three was to capture the command center’s power grid, while Kommando Team Four was charged with the job of taking control of the Satellite Defense Grid which would enable the Deuces Wild entry into the system for reprogramming purposes. Though the scant descriptions provided by Hessler gave the teams a vague idea where each of their targets was located, wall mounted maps and directories, so thoughtfully provided by the Rebels, were even more useful. At first, Cathryn thought the idea of displaying floor plans of a supposedly secure facility was rather foolish. But she gradually realized that the only persons who were intended to see the maps were the people allowed inside the facility in the first place. Any installation of sufficient size was easy to get lost in, and according to Hessler, the Satellite Station installation was large indeed. Quickly the armored Kommandos of Team Four slipped along the corridors and stairways of the Satellite control center. Their intelligence suggested that though external security was rather tight, there were no internal patrols to be dealt with. Normally, Cathryn regarded anything an intelligence officer told her with a great degree of skepticism. She was, however, coming to have a great deal of respect for the Deuces Wild Tactical Officer Hessler, even if the woman was a Lyran Noble, and a former Mech Jock at that. The Officer’s information was almost perfectly accurate. Save for a bit of confusion over the location of a stairway that Hessler had reported was in one place and the wall hung floor plans indicated in another, the team located the Satellite Defense System control center with no difficulty. Seconds later, the facility was in Rabid Wolves hands and the Satellites were under the Deuces Wild’s control. Cathryn’s team crashed through the room’s single door, killing five unarmored guards as they went. A half dozen scientist and technicians were also killed in the brief bloody engagement. Not a single Rabid Wolves nor Kommando was injured. “ ‘Surgeon’,” Cathryn barked. “Line those techs up against the far wall, search them for weapons, and keep them quiet. Rockel, Santagelo, get to work on the charges. Stepanov, Thomas, watch the corridor. Carter, Koss, drag those bodies out of the way.” “You,” Staff Sergeant Gurevich growled at the surviving Rebel technicians. “You heard what she said, over against the wall, and no heroics, Got it?” One of the technicians must have thought he understood all too well the Rabid Wolves’ intentions toward the prisoners. He began to meekly comply with Gurevich’s command, then, before any of the stunned troopers could react, he darted back to the control panel. His fist came down hard on a large red button just as he was cut down by a blast of laser fire. The crack of Gurevich’s anti-mech small laser was lost in the screeching clamor of an alarm siren. “Phuck! ” Cathryn cursed as she threw the still twitching corpse aside. Vainly she searched the panel for a way to cancel the alarm, but, as she expected, found none. “We’re torqued,” she snarled. “Hurry it up with those charges. We don’t have time for finesse now. Just make sure they’ll destroy this equipment, and get out of here.” “Captain.” In the excitement of the moment, Gurevich lapsed back into calling Cathryn by her MRBC rank, rather than his Deuces Wild title. “What about the techs? We can’t leave them here and we can’t take them with us.” “Yeah,” Cathryn said. “That’s right, we can’t.” She jerked her armored head at the line of cowering technicians. In response to Cathryn’s short nod, Gurevich sent a single well aimed bolt of laser energy through each technician’s head from his Nakajama Laser Pistol. To some the execution of the helpless prisoners might have seemed a pointless act of barbarism, but in the dark and blood stained arena in which the Rabid Wolves Team routinely operated, there was no room for mercy or compassion. In their world the only laws were kill or be killed, and there were no noncombatants. “ ‘Rabid Wolves Actual’ to group,” Cathryn said, sending a broad band transmission to each Rabid Wolves/Kommando team member in the complex. “An alarm has been sounded. We can expect enemy reinforcements any time now. Complete your missions and head for the rendezvous point. ‘Rabid Wolves Actual’ out.” “All done here, ma’am,” Rockel called as he planted the last of his five kilo demolition charges. “Sergeant. Set the timers and let’s get moving.” Quickly, with no wasted words or motions, the Kommandos of Team Four filed out into the rock hewn corridor. Sergeant Edward Rockel, the team’s demolition expert, was the last man out of the Satellite control center. Before closing the door, he booby trapped it with a small, tandem charge. Fitted with an anti-handling detonator, the device was made up of a two kilo block of penta-glycerin, coupled to a standard anti-personnel grenade. If anyone tried to open the door, the grenade would drop free and go off three seconds later. The penta-glycerin charge would explode at the same time, detonating all the other charges in the control center by means of sympathetic detonation. If no one tampered with the door, the main charges would go of in twenty minutes. Even if the Rebels managed to bypass the booby trap without setting it off, the demolition charges rigged to the Satellite defense controls were fitted with anti-handling devices. Anyone careless enough to treat the charges with other than the utmost care would trigger the devices. As a last measure of redundancy, Rockel also rigged a remote command detonator to each bomb. Cathryn Whitley could set off the charges anytime she liked by means of the radio trigger built into her Gray Death suit. Suddenly Cathryn’s radio flared to life. “‘Rabid Wolves Actual’, Geronimo Group is taking fire!” “Copy, Geronimo. Give me a sitrep.” “Geronimo is under heavy enemy fire. Enemy is ten, that is one zero, Hotels,” Rick Santagelo of KommandoTeam Two, Geronimo group, responded. Cathryn knew that ‘Hotels’ were the brevity code designation for Hauberk Battle Armor. “We are in the corridor leading to the loading bay. We are taking casualties. Request immediate assistance.” “Hang on, Geronimo. ‘Rabid Wolves Actual’ is almost there.” Cathryn paused to indicate that she had finished her message to Rick Santagelo. “Big ‘O’, what is your status?” “‘Rabid Wolves Actual’, this is Big ‘O’.” Sergeant Walton’s voice bellowed from Cathryn’s headset. “Mission accomplished. Charges set. We are about three levels above Geronimo. We’re heading to his location now.” “Understood, Big ‘O’. Geronimo, did you copy Big ‘O’?” “Aye aye, Sergeant Major. I copied Big ‘O’.” A burst of automatic weapons fire interrupted Santagelo’s message. “Suggest you hurry. I’ve taken two casualties, including my second in command and weapons specialist. If you don’t get here soon, there won’t be any of us left.” “Damn It.” Cathryn noticed how uneven her voice sounded. Trying to talk while running, even allowing for her superb physical condition and the enhancements of the Gray Death suit, was always difficult. Add to that the excitement of the moment, and her words came out in short, disjointed bursts. “We’re almost there.” Seconds later, Cathryn could see the harsh glare of laser fire reflecting off the dull stone walls, and hear the rattle and snap of the firefight in the loading bay. “Contact!” Anastasiya Stepanov’s report was a shout full of the joy of battle. The Rabid Wolves troopers swept into the loading bay with a precision born of long practice. Two broke left, two to the right. Cathryn, as commander, stepped a few meters to the right of their line of approach, but remained in the center of the formation. Lifting the small laser she had chosen for this mission, she sent a bolt of coherent light across the bay, where it dug a deep crater into a Hauberk Battle Armor Pilot’s breastplate. The armored Pilot staggered but did not fall until Cathryn pumped two more shots into his massive chest. Anastasiya, as coldly precise as ever, felled another armored giant with a single Gauss rile round. Then, as Frank Hollis, Kommando’s communications specialist, was moving to a better firing position, a Hauberk Battle Armor Pilot launched a single anti-armor short range missile. The missile, intended to penetrate ‘Mech armor, slammed into the Kommando’s right side and detonated. The explosion rocked the loading bay and literally tore Hollis in two. The Hauberk Battle Armor Pilot paid dearly for his kill. Weapons specialist Rick Santagelo hammered the Hauberk Pilot with a long rolling burst from his Kobold suit’s light machine gun. The impact of the .30 caliber slugs rocked the massive Pilot. The Hauberk Battle Armor Pilot turned and unleashed a blast of laser fire that shattered the rock wall behind Santagelo. The Kommando showed no sign that he even noticed the attack, but kept his stuttering weapon firmly centered on the Hauberk Pilot’s armored chest. Finally, the monstrous infantryman crumpled and fell, his breastplate a bullet riddled ruin of composite and steel. A volley of laser fire announced the arrival of Team Three and the doom of the defending Rebels. “That’s it,” Cathryn bellowed as the last Hauberk Battle Armor Pilot dropped to the stone floor of the bay. “Move out. Head for the rally point.” …………… Fifteen minutes later Cathryn heard a low rumble, like that of distant thunder. The demolition charges her team had planted in the command center had gone off right on schedule. Though her mission, the first engagement of her new contract, Riot Duty on Merope, had technically been a success, her victory was far from complete. The Rebels had been alerted to the presence of the Rabid Wolves. Though the Rebels, in their arrogance, might never have conceived of an Outworlds Alliance Mercenary Unit on their home world, the Rabid Wolves teams had to leave behind the bodies of six of their allies. Even the Rebels were not so stupidly prideful as to ignore the evidence of six dead Kommandos. Bitterly, Sergeant Major Cathryn Whitley cursed the fickle luck that took the lives of a fourth of the men under her command and would bring the balance of her small company into a system already alerted to danger. (3985) TOTAL 55,084 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 25, 2017 3:23 am FS-RD-04-02 #26 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Outskirts of Armidale Wednesday, 3 February 3097 18:25 hours Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bulls Eye’ Whitley, commanding officer of the Rabid Wolves Mercenary Unit, rolled out of her jump seat at the first sound of the alarm. Her body moved instinctively, conditioned by years of active service aboard Outworlds Alliance Military Vehicles. By the time her feet hit the floor she was already awake and alert, her mind evaluating the situation. The alarm rang again, echoing off the hull to rebound throughout the light Pandion Combat Wing in Ground Effect Vehicle. Two short blasts, repeating over and over. A general call to stations. At least they weren’t under immediate attack. As she pulled her uniform tunic on, Cathryn ran through the possible scenarios. The Pandion was on patrol on the Modonodes continent, a contested region on the northern continent on the outskirts of Armidale. Their primary purpose was to perform a reconnaissance in depth to establish scattered observation posts with friendly infantry radiating out from the spaceport. A general call to stations probably meant the Deuces Wild 'Mech force had spotted an unauthorized vehicle in the pro-Federated Suns territory. Either that or they were responding to a distress call. Cathryn hoped it was the former. It wasn’t easy getting dressed in the tight confines of the troop quarters she shared with four other troopers, but she’d had lots of practice. In less than a minute she had her uniform on, her boots secured, and was moving quickly through the passenger hatch and along the narrow corridors toward the pilot’s cockpit since she was ‘Officer of the Watch’ tonight, where First Lieutenant Herman Cole would be waiting for her. As the OtW it fell to Cathryn to point the Lieutenant’s orders to the enlisted troopers aboard the Pandion Combat WiGE … and to make sure those orders were properly carried out. Space was the most precious resource on any military vessel, and Cathryn was constantly reminded of this as she encountered other Rabid Wolves heading in the opposite direction as they rushed to their assigned posts. Invariably, they would press themselves against the bulkhead walls in an effort to let Cathryn by, snapping off awkward salutes to their superior as she squeezed past them. But despite the cramped conditions, the entire process was carried out with an efficiency and crisp precision that was the hallmark of every crew in the Rabid Wolves Mercenary Company. Cathryn was almost at her destination. She was passing navigation, where she noticed a junior officer making rapid calculations and applying them to a holo map’s three dimensional terrain projected above his console. Lance Corporal Paul Oloo gave the Rabid Wolves CO a curt but respectful nod as she passed, too engrossed in his own duties to be encumbered by the formality of a true salute. Cathryn responded with a grim tilt of her head. She could see that he was plotting a route through the nearest valley to a building. That meant the Pandion Combat WiGE was responding to a distress call. And the brutal truth was that more often than not their response came too late. In the weeks following the Nuclear explosion at Fort Chadwell by the Rebellion, the AFFS military had spread out too far and too fast; they didn’t have enough personnel to properly patrol a region the size of the Modonodes. Civilians who lived out here knew the threat of attacks and raids was all too real, and too often the First Responders touched down on a site only to find a large and thriving city reduced to corpses, burned out buildings, and a populace of shell shocked survivors just like a week ago at Mercy General. Cathryn still hadn’t found a good way to cope with being a firsthand witness to that kind of death and destruction. She’d seen action during other contracts, but this was different. That had been primarily ‘marine on marine’ warfare, killing enemy combatants from other militaries. It wasn’t the same as picking through the charred rubble and blackened bodies of civilians. This was senseless slaughter, plain and simple. The Outback Rebellion, despite its name, had been a short and relatively bloodless campaign. It began when a Federated Suns patrol inadvertently trespassed on the territory of the Outworlds Alliance. For the Periphery March it had been their first encounter with a bandit kingdom; for the inhabitants of the worlds in question it was an invasion by an aggressive and previously unknown army. Misunderstanding and overreaction on both sides had led to several intense battles between patrols and scout fleets. And occasionally the conflict erupted into full scale planetary war. The escalating hostilities and sudden deployment of the Federated Suns Antipode fleets had drawn the attention of the greater Inner Sphere community. Luckily for the Federated Suns. It turned out the Bandit Kingdoms were only one among a dozen, each independent but voluntarily united beneath the rule of a governing body known as the Liberty Holds Council. Eager to prevent interstellar war with the Federated Suns, the Council had intervened, revealing itself to the Federated Suns and brokering a peaceful resolution between them and the Outworlds Alliance. Less than two years after it had begun, the Outback Rebellion was officially over. Six hundred and twenty three million Federated Suns lives had been lost. Most of the casualties were sustained in the first few months and during the Federated Suns attack on Hazelhurst. Outworlds Alliance losses were slightly higher; the Federated Suns fleet sent to liberate the captured outpost had been ruthless, brutal, and very thorough. But on a galactic scale, the losses to both sides were minor. The Federated Suns had been pulled back from the brink of a potentially devastating war, and instead became a member of a vast interstellar, Inner Sphere society. Cathryn climbed the three steps separating the forward deck of the Pandion’s bridge from the main level of the WiGE. First Lieutenant Cole was hunched over a small view screen, studying a stream of incoming transmissions. He sat up straight as Cathryn approached, and returned the Battle Armor Pilot’s salute with one of his own. “We’ve got trouble, Sergeant Major,” Cole said as Cathryn occupied the co-pilot seat next to him, donning the co-pilot’s headset. Cade Mackenzie wrote: "JT for Rabid Wolf Actual," he kept his Shadow Hawk pounding ahead as the rounds skipped off the mech. “Go ahead ‘JT’. This is Rabid Wolves Actual. Over.” Cade Mackenzie wrote: "I have rebel infantry on the third floor of a building on Celeph Street and Tigh Ave. Feel free to relocate them if you've got a minute." “Hmmm. Celeph Street and Tigh Ave . . . Celeph Street and Tigh Ave . . .Sounds familier. Yeah, yeah, yeah, we got a minute. Go ahead and send the coordinates. We’d just ‘Love’ to get our ‘Two Men and a Truck’ on and help them ‘relocate’. Rabid Wolves Actual Over and Out.” Cade Mackenzie wrote: With a quick strike of keys he sent the coordinates to the Rabid Wolves hovercraft. “Celeph Street and Tigh Ave?” Cathryn recognized the address. “Don’t we have a research station there?” Cole nodded. “A large one. Two hundred thirty five factory workers, fifty security personnel, twelve researchers, six support staff.” Cathryn frowned. This was no ordinary attack. Raiders preferred to hit defenseless factories and bug out before Federated Suns reinforcements arrived on the scene. A well defended station like this one wasn’t their typical target. It felt more like an act of war. The Taurian Concordant were allies of the Federated Suns now, at least officially. And the Merope Solar System was too far removed from Confederated Magistry territory for them to get involved in any conflicts out here. But there were other nations vying with the Federated Suns for control of the Ridgebrook PDZ. The Federated Suns was in direct competition with CSoT puppet government to stem their tide into the Solar System, but so far the two rival nations were involved in a war of attrition a full three hundred light years coreward. Cathryn doubted they’d try something like this. Still, there were plenty of other groups out there with the means and motive to hit a Federated Suns research station. Some of them were even made up of mercenaries: non affiliated terrorist organizations and multinational guerrilla factions eager to strike a blow against the powers that be; illegal paramilitary troops looking to stock up on high grade weapons; independent mercenary bands hoping for one big score. It all reek of Plieadies Sabers and/or the Longwoods Bluecoats. “Might be helpful to know what Research Station was working on, First Lieutenant,” Cathryn suggested. “They’re a top security clearance facility,” the First Lieutenant replied with a shake of his head. “I can’t even get schematics for the station, never mind get anyone to tell me what they were working on.” Cathryn frowned. Without schematics her team would be going in blind, giving up any tactical advantage they might have had from knowing the layout of the battleground. This mission just kept getting better and better. “What’s our ETA, sir?” “Six minutes.” Finally some good news. The Pandion followed random patrol routes; it was pure chance they happened to be this close to the source of the distress call. With luck they could still get there in time. “I’ll have the ground team ready, Lieutenant.” “You always do, Sergeant Major.” Cathryn turned to go, acknowledging her subordinate's compliment with a simple, “Aye aye, sir!” …………… Cathryn had been over the figures in her head many times already. Huddled in the troop hold with the other four members of the ground team, it was almost impossible to hear the sound of the voice coming over the shipboard intercom above the roaring of the engines. Not that Cathryn needed to hear the updates to know what was happening. Her stomach was still churning from the erratic flight path that the WiGE flew to the research station. Maybe this time the tightness in her gut was just a bad feeling about what they’d find when they reached the Research facility. Whoever had attacked the research station had been willing to take on fifty Federated Suns marines. Even using the element of surprise to their advantage, they must have been a formidable force. The Deuces Wild should be sending the entire combined force in as reinforcements, not a point of battle armor that could only assemble a five person ground team. But nobody else was prepare to answer the distress call in time other than the point on watch, and most of the combine forces were scattered throughout Modonodes anyway. The Pandion was versatile enough to fly through a world’s atmosphere and touch down on its surface, and still be able to take off again. Anything bigger than a WiGE would have to have a full on runway, and they didn’t have time for that. At least they were going in heavy. Two members of the ground team were wearing Gray Death battle armor and three were sporting Wolf’s Dragoons Kobold armor, all equipped with Stealth armor and the Gray Death Armor provides as much protection as a standard Elemental suit. To further enhance protection to their armors, they were incorporated with a detachable electronic Camo System that made the armor more difficult to find, as well as 360 degree vision from inside helmets. They each carried half a dozen grenades and as their anti-personnel weapon, the Rabid Wolves standard issue M61A Laser assault rifle. The Military Power Pack had a capacity of 200 rounds; invisible beams of light smaller than grains of sand. When fired at sufficient velocity, the nearly microscopic beams were capable of inflicting massive damage. That was the real problem. No matter how advanced defensive technology got, it was always a step behind. The Rabid Wolves spared no expense when it came to protecting its soldiers: their body armor was top of the line and their Gray Death Battle Armor Suits were the latest in military technology as were the ‘borrowed’ Kobold suit’s lent to them by the Wolf’s Dragoons Kommandos. But it still wasn’t enough to withstand a direct hit from close range with most ‘Mech grade weapons. If they were going to survive this mission, it wasn’t going to be because of their equipment. It always came down to two things: Training and Leadership. Their lives were in Cathryn’s hands now, and she could sense their unease. Rabid Wolves Operatives were well trained to deal with the mental and physical stress of the human body’s natural ‘fight or flight’ instincts. But this was more than the normal adrenaline rush of impending combat. She’d been careful not to expose her own doubts; she’d projected an image of absolute confidence and composure. But the members of her team were smart enough to figure things out on their own. They could put the pieces together, just as she had. Like the Sergeant Major, they knew ordinary rebels wouldn’t attack a heavily defended Federated Suns base. Cathryn didn’t believe in giving motivational speeches; they were all professionals here. But even for Rabid Wolves Intel Ops, those last nervous minutes before a mission were harder to endure in total silence. Besides, there was no sense hiding from the truth. “Everyone stay sharp,” she said, knowing the rest of the team could hear her clearly over the rumbling of the engines through the radios inside their helmets. “I get the feeling this wasn’t just some Rebels pulling a quick grab and run.” “Plieadies Sabers, Ma’am?” The question came from Kommando Angelica Koss. A year older than Cathryn, she’d already been a Battle Armor pilot on active duty back when Cathryn was still taking battle armor training on Inner End. They’d served in the same unit during the Outback Rebellion. She stood just over six foot three, making her taller than most of the men she served with. She was stronger than a lot of them, too, judging by her wide shoulders, the well defined muscles of her arms, and her generally large but not ill proportioned frame. Some of the other soldiers in the unit had called her “Amy,” short for Amazon … but never to her face. And when the fighting started they were all glad to have her on their side. Cathryn liked Angelica, but she had a habit of rubbing people the wrong way. She didn’t believe in diplomacy. If Angelica had an opinion she let everybody know it, which probably explained why she was still a non commissioned officer. Still, the Sergeant Major realized that if Angelica asked a question it meant most of the others were probably wondering the exact same thing. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions, Kommando.” “Any idea what they were working on over at the research center?” This time it was Staff Sergeant Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich, technicians expert, asking the question. “Classified. That’s all I know. So be ready for anything.” The other two members of the team, Sergeant Edward ‘Blaze’ Rockel and Corporal Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov, didn’t bother to comment, and the team lapsed once more into an uneasy silence. Nobody felt good about this mission, but Cathryn knew they’d follow her lead. She’d brought them through the fire enough times to earn their trust. “Approaching Target Zone,” the intercom crackled. “No response on any frequencies.” That was grim news. If any Federated Suns personnel were still alive inside the station, they should have answered the Pandion’s call. Cathryn slammed her visor down to shield her face, and the rest of the point followed suit. A minute later they felt the turbulence as the WiGE was slowed by the planet’s atmosphere. At a nod from Cathryn her team made a final weapons, comms, and armor check. “We have a visual of the Research Facility,” the intercom crackled. “No infantry on the ground and we’re not picking up any non-Federated Suns vehicles in the vicinity.” “Damn cowards already cut and ran,” Cathryn heard Angelica mutter over the radio in her helmet. With the Pandion’s quick response time, Cathryn had been hoping they’d arrive to catch the enemy in the act, but she wasn’t really surprised there were no other vehicles in the area. A raid against a target as well defended as the Research Center would have required at least three vehicles working together. Two large APCs would stand watch out front on the tarmac and unload assault teams while a small scout VTOL would hover overhead, monitoring the nearby airspace for any signs of activity. The scout VTOL must have detected Captain Tian’s heat signature and sprung to life as the Pandion approached the Facility on the far side of the region and radioed the APCs parked out front on over watch. The advance warning would have given them just enough time to load up, clear the facility, and engage their engines before the Pandion arrived. The APCs involved in the attack on the center were long gone … but in their hurried escape they might have been forced to leave some of their troops behind. A few seconds later there was a heavy thump as the Pandion Combat WiGE touched down at the landing port of the Federated Suns Research Facility; the interminable waiting was over. The pressure door of the Pandion’s troop hold hissed open and the gangway ramp descended. “Ground team,” came First Lieutenant Cole’s voice over the intercom, “you are cleared for go.” (2956) TOTAL 59,050 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Dec 25, 2017 11:55 am FS-RD-04-02 #27 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Outskirts of Armidale Research Facility Wednesday, 3 February 3097 18:35 hours Kommando Angelica Koss and Edward Rockel in Kobold Battle Armor, the two intel operatives on point, scuttled down the gangway. Weapons drawn, they scanned the area for a possible ambush while Cathryn, Gurevich, and Anastasiya covered them from the hold above. “Landing zone secured,” Angelica reported across the point’s radio frequency. Once the entire team was on the ground Cathryn took stock of the situation. The unloading dock was small . . . room for three small Anti Personnel troop carriers, or maybe a pair of Trajan Assault Class Infantry Fighting Vehicles. It was located a few hundred meters from a pair of heavy blast doors that led into the structure of the station itself: a rectangular three story building that looked plenty large enough to house the over three hundred people assigned to the project, plus all kind of labs for research. The exterior looked eerily normal; there was no hint that anything was out of the ordinary other than a half dozen large crates near one of the other unloading docks. That’s how the attack began, Cathryn thought to herself. Equipment and supplies coming in would have been ferried by hand from arriving delivery trucks on cargo sleds up to the doors. The Research Station must have been expecting a shipment. When the Sabers touched down they would have begun unloading the crates. Someone inside would have opened the blast doors and five or six of the station’s security detail would have come out to help with the cargo … and been gunned down by enemy troops hiding inside the holds of the delivery trucks. “Strange there are no bodies out here,” Angelica noted, echoing Cathryn’s own thoughts. “Must have dragged them away after they secured the loading dock,” Cathryn said, not certain why anyone would want to do that. Using hand signals she motioned her team across the deserted loading dock and up to the entrance of the station. To be wearing one thousand kilogram battle armor suits, the Point was eerily quiet in their approach. The sliding blast doors were featureless and smooth . . . they were controlled by a simple security panel on the wall. But the fact that the doors were closed didn’t sit well with the Sergeant Major. Cathryn was at the head of the team; they all stopped short when she crouched down and held up a raised fist. She held up two fingers, signaling for Gurevich. Hunched over, the Staff Sergeant moved to the head of the line and fell in beside his leader, resting on one armored knee. “Any reason those doors should be closed?” the Sergeant Major asked him in a sharp whisper. “Seems a little weird,” he admitted. “If someone wanted to wipe out the station, why bother sealing the doors when you leave?” “Check it out,” Cathryn told her tech expert. “Take it slow and careful.” Gurevich hit a button on his Magna assault rifle, causing the handle, stock, and barrel to fold in on themselves until the gun was a compact rectangle half its normal length. He slapped the collapsed weapon into the locking holster on his Gray Death Battle Armor’s hip. From a compartment on his other leg he pulled out an omnitool and crept forward, using it to scan the area for faint signals that would indicate the presence of any unusual electronics. “Nice catch, ‘Bulls Eye’,” he muttered after checking the results. “Proximity mine wired to the door.” The staff sergeant made a few adjustments to the omnitool, emitting a short energy pulse to jam the sensors on the mine so he could creep forward close enough to disarm it. The entire process took less than a minute. Cathryn held her breath the whole time, only releasing it when Gurevich turned and gave her the thumbs up to indicate that the trap had been rendered harmless. Even though, her second was protected by a full two hundred kilograms of ArcShield Diamond Weave armor, she wouldn’t count his chances against a shaped charge in such close proximity. A nod from Cathryn sent the rest of the team rushing forward to breach the door, taking up their pre-assigned positions. Cathryn and Anastasiya moved to either side of the entrance, backs pressed against the exterior wall of the building. Kommando Angelica crouched low in line with the door, a few meters away. Behind her and slightly off to the side Rockel had his infantry squad assault rifle raised and pointed at the entrance, providing Angelica with cover. Gurevich, crouched down beside Cathryn, reached up and punched in the access code on the panel. As the doors slid open, Angelica tossed a flash bang grenade from her belt into the foyer beyond, then dove to the side and rolled for cover. Rockel did the same as the grenade detonated with a blinding flash of light and a fog of thin, wispy smoke. They could not have performed these maneuvers with any more grace if they had trained on them for 1,000 more hours – Flawless. An instant after the blast Cathryn and Anastasiya spun in through the door, rifles raised and ready to gun down any enemies inside. It was a classic ‘flash and clear’ maneuver, executed with impeccable precision. But the room beyond the door was empty, save for a several splatters of blood on the floor and walls. “Clear!,” Cathryn said, and the rest of the team came in to join her. The entry was a plain room with three hallways leading off the back wall deeper into the station. There was a small table flipped in the corner and several overturned chairs. Six monitors on the wall showed images of the loading dock outside from different angles. “Guard post,” Angelica said, the evidence confirming for her what Cathryn had suspected earlier. “Probably four of them stationed here to keep an eye on the surrounding area. Must’ve opened the blast doors when the delivery trucks arrived and went out to help them unload their cargo.” “I’ve got blood smears heading down this hallway, Sergeant Major,” Sergeant Rockel called out. “Looks like the bodies were dragged out of this room and back into the facility.” Cathryn still couldn’t figure out why anyone would drag the bodies away like this, but at least it gave them a clear trail. The ground team slowly made their way deeper into the station, following the smears of blood. The trail took them through to the cafeteria, where they saw more overturned tables and chairs, as well as holes in the walls and ceiling . . . clear indication that the room had recently been witness to a brief but intense firefight. On the upper floors, they passed two separate dormitory wings. The door to each individual room had been kicked open and the interiors, like the cafeteria, were riddled with bullet holes. A picture formed in Cathryn’s mind: the attackers, once inside, systematically going from room to room and floor to floor, massacring everyone in a hail of gunfire … and then dragging the bodies away with them. By the time they reached the back of the building they had yet to see any sign that enemy troops were still here. They did, however, make a separate discovery that none of them had been expecting. At the very rear of the facility was a single large elevator going straight down into the earth below. “No wonder this station is only three stories,” Gurevich exclaimed. “All the good stuff is buried underground!” “Damn, I wish we knew what they were working on,” he muttered a moment later in a more somber tone. “God knows what we’re about to walk into.” Cathryn agreed, but she was concerned with a more immediate detail. According to the panel on the side of the wall, the elevator was down at the bottom level. If someone had gone into the lower floors of the station only to flee when they got word the Pandion was coming, the elevator should have been on the top floor. “Something wrong, ‘Bulls Eye’?” Angelica asked. “Somebody took that elevator down,” she said, tilting her head in the direction of the panel. “But they never took it back up.” “You think they’re still down there?” the Rabid Wolf Anastasiya asked, her tone making it clear that she hoped that they were. The Sergeant Major nodded, the hint of a grim smile on her lips. “So what happened to their APCs?” Sergeant Rockel asked, still not piecing it all together. “Whoever attacked this station came for something,” Cathryn explained. “Whatever they were looking for wasn’t up here. They must have sent a team down to the lower levels to finish up the job. Probably only left a few men up here to keep an eye on things. “But they weren’t counting on a Deuces Wild patrol WiGE being close enough to respond to the distress call so quickly. After encountering Captain Tian in his ‘Hawk their scout VTOL sent word someone was vectoring in on their location. They knew they had roughly about twenty minutes to pack up and clear out. I bet they never even bothered to tell their buddies down below.” “What? Why not? Why wouldn’t they tell them?” Anastasiya asked quizzically. “These elevators might go down two full kilometers,” Staff Sergeant Gurevich chimed in, helping to spell it out for the inexperienced Corporal. “Looks like the com panel to the lower level was destroyed in the gunfire. No chance of getting a radio message to anyone down below through that much rock and ore. And it could take ten minutes for the elevator to make the trip one way.” “If they wanted to alert their friends in the basement, it’d take half an hour: ten minutes to call the elevator up from the lower floor, ten minutes to send someone from the top down to warn them, then ten more minutes back up again,” he continued. “By then it’d be too late. Easier just to bug out and leave the others behind.” Behind her visor, Anastasiya’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “They just abandoned their friends?” “That’s what separates these lesser mercenaries from the Rabid Wolves, a Rabid Wolf won’t leave a man behind.” Cathryn told Ana before turning her focus back to the mission. “This changes things. We’ve got an enemy unit down there, and they have no idea a Rabid Wolves' armored Point is up above waiting for them.” “We can set up an ambush,” Anastasiya said. “As soon as those elevator doors open we start firing and rip those sons of bitches to ribbons!” She was speaking quickly, a wicked gleam in her eye. “They won’t stand a chance!” Cathryn thought for a second, then shook her head. “It’s obvious this is a ‘seek and destroy’ mission: they aren’t planning on leaving any survivors. There could still be Federated Suns personnel alive on the lower levels. If there’s any chance we can still save them we have to try.” “Could be dangerous, ma’am,” Gurevich warned. “We’re assuming they don’t know we’re here. If they somehow do, then we’ll be the ones walking into an ambush.” “That’s a risk we have to take,” Cathryn said, slamming her fist against the wall panel to call the elevator back up to the surface. “We’re going in after them.” Sergeant Major Cathryn Whitley radioed First Lieutenant Cole aboard the Pandion Combat WiGE and informed him of the Point’s intent. The rest of the group, including Gurevich, responded with a sharp, “Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” The long, slow elevator descent was even more agonizing than the wait in the Pandion’s troop hold at the start of the mission. Minute by minute the tension grew as they sank deeper and deeper beneath Merope’s surface. The Sergeant Major could hear the faint hum of the elevator winch, a dull drone boring into the back of her skull that grew steadily fainter but never entirely disappeared as they dropped ever farther down the shaft. The air became heavy, warm, and moist. She felt her ears pop, and she noticed a strange smell in the air, an unfamiliar stench she imagined was a mixture of sulfurous gases mingling with foreign molds and subterranean fungi. Cathryn was sweating profusely inside her Gray Death body armor, and she kept having to reach up with a free hand to wipe away the fog condensing on her visor. She did her best not to think about what would happen if the doors opened and the enemy was ready and waiting for them on the other side. When they finally reached the bottom of the shaft the enemy was waiting for them, but they sure as hell weren’t ready. The elevator opened into a large antechamber . . . a natural cave filled with stalagmites, stalactites, and thick limestone columns. The artificial lights strung across the ceiling illuminated the entire chamber, reflecting off thick veins of glistening metallic ore in the cavern’s countless natural rock formations. At the far end was a passage that served as the cave’s only other exit, a long tunnel that wound around a corner and out of sight. The enemy forces, close to two dozen armed and Tunnel Rat armored mercenaries, were coming toward them from the far side of the chamber. They were laughing and joking, helmets off, weapons at their sides as they headed for the elevator that would bring them back to the Merope’s surface. It only took Cathryn a fraction of a second to decide they looked like murdering rebels and not Federated Suns personnel, and she gave the order to fire. Her team had been poised and ready as the elevator doors opened and they reacted almost instantaneously to her command, charging forward from the elevator with a barrage of gunfire. The first wave of their attack ripped into the pack of unsuspecting mercs. The fight would have ended right then if it wasn’t for their Tunnel Rat IV Exoskeleton and extended life support. Six of the enemy combatants dropped to the floor, but enough of the deadly projectiles were deflected or absorbed so that the rest of them were able to fall back and dive for cover behind the boulders and stalagmites that littered the cavern’s floor. The next few seconds of the battle were utter chaos. Cathryn’s team pushed forward, scrambling to use the cave’s rock formations for cover. They had to fan out quickly, before enemy crossfire could pin the entire point down in a single location. The cavern echoed with the staccato recoil of assault rifles and the sharp zip-zip-zip of bullets ricocheting off the rock formations and walls, and the incandescent tracer bullets that made up every fifth round ignited the room with a ghostly luminescence. Sprinting to a nearby large stalagmite, Cathryn felt an all too familiar shudder as her Gray Death Battle Armor repulsed several shots that would have otherwise found their mark. She hit the ground and rolled as a line of bullets struck the floor just in front of her, disintegrating the stone and sending tiny showers of water and dust up under her helmet and into her face. She came to her feet spitting out the foul grit inside her own suit, instinctively checking the remaining power on her battle armor. She was down to twenty percent . . . not nearly enough to give her a fighting chance if she had to make another run through direct enemy fire. “Battery status!” Cathryn shouted into her radio. The numbers came back at her rapid fire: “Twenty!” “Twenty-five!” “Twenty!” “Ten!” Her team was still at full strength, but their battle armor had taken a beating. They had lost their initial advantage of surprise, and they were now facing an enemy squad more than double their number. But Rabid Wolves Intel Operatives were trained to work as a team, to cover each other and watch one another’s back. They trusted their teammates, and they trusted their leader. She figured that would give them the edge they needed over any band of mercs. “Angelica, Rockel . . . move up on the right!” she barked. “Try to flank them!” The Sergeant Major rolled to her right, emerging from behind the stalagmite shielding her from view and firing a quick covering burst in the direction of the enemy. She wasn’t trying to hit anything; even with the smart targeting technology built into all personal firearms it was almost impossible to hit a man sized target without taking at least a half second to steady and aim. But inflicting damage was not her goal at the moment; all she wanted to do was to disrupt the enemy’s fire so they wouldn’t have time to line up on Rockel or Angelica while they alternately advanced, darting in and out of cover. After a two second burst she rolled back behind her own cover; it wasn’t good to stay out in view in one place for too long. Even as she did so, Anastasiya popped out from behind a large boulder to lay down another covering burst for her squad mates on the move, and as Ana ducked back to safety Gurevich filled in. As soon as the staff sergeant pulled back, Cathryn poked her head out and fired again. This time she emerged from the left side of the stalagmite; jumping out from behind cover in the same position twice in a row was a sure way to catch an enemy round in the teeth. She ducked back in and heard Angelica over her radio saying, “In position. Laying down covering fire!” Now it was Cathryn’s turn to move. “I’m on the go!” Cathryn shouted just before she scrambled out into the open, crouched low and running hard for another nearby piece of the cave’s natural architecture that was large enough to protect her from enemy bullets. Skidding to a stop behind a thick column, she had just enough time to catch her breath and lay down covering fire as she ordered Anastasiya and Gurevich to make their runs. Again and again they repeated the process; Cathryn sending one person on the move while the others laid down covering fire to keep the enemy on the defensive. She varied who would go each time; the key was to keep the team moving and keep their opponents off balance. Staying in one place would let their enemies focus on them and bring multiple shooters to bear, or even worse, start lobbing grenades in their direction. But there had to be purpose and direction to the movement; they had to follow a plan. For all the mayhem and random confusion of battle, the Sergeant Major had been trained to approach firefights like a game of chess. It was all about tactics and strategy, protecting and defending your pieces as you maneuvered them one by one to develop a stronger overall position. Working as a single unit, the Rabid Wolves point was pushing its advantage one soldier at a time, slowly maneuvering themselves to where they could flank the enemy, drive them from their cover, and catch them in the crossfire. The mercs could feel it happening, too. They were pinned down by the coordinated efforts of Cathryn and her armored Point, trapped, virtually helpless. It was only a matter of time before they launched a suicidal counterassault or broke ranks in a desperate retreat. In this case, they chose the latter. It seemed to happen all at once; the mercs burst from their cover, backpedaling toward the passage behind them as they fired wild bursts in the vague direction of the Rabid Wolves Intel Ops. Exactly what Cathryn and her team had been waiting for. As the mercs fell back Cathryn stood up from behind the boulder she was using for cover. She was exposing her head and shoulders, but someone running backwards while shooting an assault rifle would be lucky to hit the broadside of a WarShip, let alone a target half the size of a human torso. She braced her weapon on the top of the boulder to steady it, took careful aim at one of the mercs, let her weapon’s auto targeting systems get a hard lock, then slowly squeezed the trigger. The merc did a short, stuttering dance as a steady stream of laser beams liquefied his carapace, melted his armor, and burned through his flesh. The whole sequence took maybe four seconds from start to finish . . . an eternity if they had been worried about someone on the other side calmly lining them up in their sights. But with that threat now gone, Cathryn had more than enough time to guarantee her aim was lethally accurate. She even had a chance to line up a second merc and take her down. And then two more went down, too. And he wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the situation. All told her team dropped fourteen of the mercs during their desperate retreat. Only two managed to escape with their lives, making it to the safety of the passage and disappearing around the corner. (3571) TOTAL 62,626 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Tue Dec 26, 2017 6:04 pm FS-rR-04-02 #28 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Outskirts of Armidale Research Station Wednesday, 3 February 3097 18:45 hours Cathryn didn’t immediately send her point chasing after the fleeing mercs. As soon as they lost visual contact with their enemy, pursuing them turned into a fool’s game. Every corner, turn, or branching hallway they’d come across would represent a chance for a potential ambush. Instead, Angelica, Gurevich, and Rockel took up defensive positions guarding the passage in case the mercs came back, possibly with reinforcements. With the only point of insurgence covered, Cathryn and Anastasiya were free to examine the bodies. They’d killed twenty mercs in the battle. Now they were picking through their corpses . . . a ghoulish but necessary denouement to every engagement. Step one was to identify any wounded survivors who could pose a potential threat. Cathryn was relieved to find all of the downed figures were already dead. It wasn’t Rabid Wolves policy to execute helpless foes, but taking prisoners would have introduced a whole new set of logistical problems to a mission that was already complicated enough. The next step was to try and identify who they were working for. Ten of the dead were Plieadies Sabers, six were Longwoods Bluecoats, and four were Taurian Concordants: sixteen males, four females. Their equipment was a hodgepodge of military and commercial arms from a wide variety of manufacturers. Officially recognized military units tended to be made up of a single manufacturer and carried only one brand of weapons and armor; the inevitable result of corporations signing exclusive supply contracts with the overseeing governments. These were most likely soldiers of fortune, members of one of the Inner Sphere’s many freelance mercenary bands that hired themselves out to the highest bidders. Most mercs had tattoos or brands burned into their flesh proclaiming their allegiance to one group or another; usually prominently displayed on the arms, neck, and face. But the only markings Cathryn found on the fallen were indistinct splotches of raw, scabby skin. She was disappointed, but not surprised. For jobs where secrecy was important crews often had their markings removed with an exfoliating acid wash, then reapplied after the mission: a simple but painful procedure that was charged back to whoever had hired them. Obviously the group hired to attack the Research Center had feared Federated Suns retaliation and done their best to remove anything that might expose them if something went wrong. Well something HAD gone terribly wrong for this merc unit. The Rabid Wolves. There had still been no counterattack from the enemy by the time Cathryn and Anastasiya finished stripping the bodies of grenades, ammo refills, and anything else useful and small enough to easily carry. “Looks like they’re not coming out again,” Angelica grumbled as Cathryn came over to stand beside her. “Then we have to go in after them,” Cathryn replied, slapping a fresh power pack into her Grey Death Battle Armor. “We can’t wait out here forever, and there’s still a chance we’ll find some AFFS personnel alive down here.” “Or more mercs,” Gurevich muttered, replacing his own power pack. The corporal was only saying what they were all thinking. For all they knew there was another full enemy squad deeper inside the station, and the two men who’d fled the battle had already managed to warn the reinforcements. But even though they might be walking into a trap, they couldn’t turn back now. The Sergeant Major gave the rest of the team a moment to gear up before shouting, “Angelica, Anastasiya . . . take point. Let’s move out!” They advanced into the rough- hewn passage, maintaining a standard Rabid Wolves patrol formation . . . the two Kobold operatives on point up front, Cathryn and Gurevich in Gray Death armor; three meters behind them in the middle, and Rockel also wearing Kobold armor; three meters behind them watching their backs. They all had weapons raised and ready as they made slow but steady progress through the uneven, irregular tunnel that had been bored through the rock. They were officially in a hot zone now, and caution was more important than speed. One moment of careless inattention could cost all of them their lives. Ten meters in, the corridor turned sharply to the left. The team stopped short at a hand signal from Angelica, who crept forward and poked her head around the corner, momentarily exposing herself to possible enemy fire before ducking back. When she gave them the “all clear” they continued on. Beyond the corner the passage continued for another twenty meters before reaching a sealed security door. The heavy metal barrier was closed and locked. Cathryn signaled to Gurevich, and the staff sergeant moved forward to work his tech magic and override the lockdown codes. The rest of the team assumed standard positions for another ‘flash and clear’ procedure. “If those mercs are locking the security doors,” Angelica whispered to her commanding officer as they waited for the door to open, “then that means they have codes for the station. Someone on the inside must have been working with them.” Cathryn didn’t reply, but she gave a grim nod of her armored helmet. She didn’t like the idea that someone inside the Center had betrayed the AFFS, but it was the only explanation that made sense. The mercs had known the facility was expecting an scheduled shipment, and they must have had the proper security codes to get their Delivery Trucks on the loading docks without raising any alarms. They’d been familiar enough with the layout to clear out the upper levels and make their way to the elevators at the back without letting anyone escape. And they had to have access to restricted lockdown codes to seal the security door. All the evidence pointed to the inescapable conclusion that there had been a traitor inside the Research Center. The door slid open and the team sprang into action, using a flash grenade to blind anyone on the other side, then charging in only to find the area beyond empty. They were now standing in a large square room, about twenty meters on each side. The shiny metal walls, ceiling, and reinforced floor made it clear they were now entering the heart of the research facility. Everything had a sleek, modern feel; a sharp contrast to the rough-hewn natural tunnels they had just passed through. There was a hall leading off to the left, and another to the right. “I’ve got blood trails over here,” Gurevich called out on the left. “Looks fresh.” “We follow it,” Cathryn decided. “Rockel and Anastasiya, set up position here.” She didn’t like splitting up the team, but they didn’t know the layout of the station. She didn’t want any of the mercs doubling around behind them and making it back to the elevator. “Angelica, Gurevich . . . fall in!” Leaving the two junior non-comms to guard the only way out, Cathryn and the others set off down the hall on the left, moving ever deeper into the research complex. They passed several more intersections, but Cathryn wasn’t willing to split her point up yet again. Instead, the three of them simply followed the blood trail. Along the way they passed a number of rooms, most of them small offices, judging by the desks and personal workstations. Like the dorms on the upper levels, each had been thoroughly ravaged by gunfire. The killing spree that began on the surface had continued unabated underground. And once again the mercs hadn’t been content to leave their victims where they had fallen, but for some inexplicable reason had dragged them off. It was five minutes later when they finally came across the source of the blood trail they’d been following. An enemy merc lay face down on the floor in the middle of a medium sized room, bleeding out profusely from a wound to his leg. Cathryn recognized him as one of the mercs who had fled the recent battle. Approaching carefully, she knelt down beside the motionless figure to check for a pulse but found nothing. There was only one other exit from the room, another sealed security door off to one side. “You think his buddy’s inside there?” Angelica Koss asked, using her assault rifle to point to the closed portal. “I doubt it,” Cathryn replied. “He probably knew we’d be following the blood trail. I bet he ditched this guy at one of those other branches farther back. Probably waited for us to go by then made a mad dash back to the exit.” “I hope Anastasiya and Rockel are on their toes,” Angelica muttered. “Trust me. They can handle him,” Cathryn assured her. “I’m more interested in what’s behind this door.” “Probably leads to the primary research lab,” Gurevich guessed. “Maybe we’ll finally get some answers in there.” They rolled the dead merc out of the way; there was no sense taking the chance of someone tripping over his body if there was another firefight waiting for them beyond the door. Then, on Cathryn’s command, the staff sergeant set to work overriding the security lockdown while the Sergeant Major and the Kommando Angelica Koss took position for another ‘flash and clear’ operation. Angelica was the first one through this time, and once again there was nobody on the other side. Nobody alive, anyway. “Sweet mother of mercy!,” she gasped. Cathryn stepped into the room and felt her stomach lurch at the gruesome spectacle before her. Gurevich had been correct; they were standing in an enormous lab dominated by a massive central server. The only way in or out was the door they had just come through, and like the rest of the station every piece of equipment in the room had been blasted beyond all hope of repair. But none of that was what had evoked their reactions. At least three hundred corpses were strewn about the room, most piled along the walls on either side of the entrance. Their uniforms marked them as AFFS military personnel; the guards, employees, and researchers killed throughout the other sections of the facility. The mystery of where all the bodies had gone was solved, though Cathryn still couldn’t figure out why they’d all been dragged to this single location. “Check for survivors, sir?” Angelica asked, her voice not holding out much hope. “WAIT!” Cathryn barked, holding up her hand to freeze her team in place. “Nobody move a myomer nor a muscle!” “Oh my God,” Gurevich whispered, just now recognizing what Cathryn had already seen. The entire room was wired with explosives. Not simple proximity mines, but countless ten kilo vibro detonation mines placed strategically around the lab. For Sergeant Major Cathryn, all the pieces suddenly fell into place. There were enough explosives here to vaporize everything inside the room, including the bodies. That was why they’d been so carefully collected here. There’d be no way to positively ID the remains, meaning whoever betrayed the Research Facility would be presumed dead with all the others. They could assume a new identity and live off the profits of their crime with no chance of repercussions. A soft electronic beep made Cathryn realize that finding the traitor was the least of their problems. “Timer!” Gurevich hissed, his voice raw with fear and nervous energy. A second later it beeped again, and the Sergeant Major knew the dying merc had lured them into a trap. The detonation sequence was counting down and their fate . . . survival or death . . . would very likely be determined by the next order she gave. In the split second between beeps her mind analyzed and evaluated the situation. The size of the blast from the explosives would be enormous, more than enough to destabilize the entire underground complex. It would probably cause a cave in, collapsing the huge natural chamber back by the elevator. Even if they were far enough away to survive the blast, they’d run out of air long before rescue workers would ever find them. Gurevich was a tech expert; there was a chance he could disarm the trigger before it went off. If they had enough time to find it. And if there wasn’t a backup. And if it was a manufacturer he was familiar with. And if there weren’t any built-in fail safes to prevent manual overrides. Too many ifs. Disarming it wasn’t an option, which meant the only thing left for them to do was …“FALL BACK!” Responding to her order, all three of them wheeled around and sprinted back down the halls the way they had come. “Anastasiya, Rockel,” Cathryn shouted into her radio. “Get to the elevator. NOW!!!” “Aye aye, Ma’am!” one of them shouted back. “Wait for us as long as possible, but if I give you the order, you go without us. Is that understood?” There was silence on the other end of the radio . . . the only sounds were the clomping armored feet and heavy breathing of the three Intel Operatives sprinting down the hall. “Sergeant! Do you hear me? If I say go, you damn well go whether we’re there or not!” She was rewarded with a reluctant, “Understood, Ma’am.” They were racing through the halls as fast as they could run, slipping and skidding around corners in a desperate attempt to beat out the timer that could go off at any moment. There wasn’t time to check for enemy ambushes; they just had to hope they didn’t run into one. Rounding the corner into the room where Cathryn had earlier ordered Anastasiya and Rockel to wait for them, their luck finally ran out. Wolf Dragoon’s Kommando Angelica was in the lead, her long legs allowing her to eat up extra ground with every stride, and she had pulled a few meters ahead of her two Gray Death encumbered companions. She ran full speed into the room … and right into a spray of gunfire. The lone surviving merc, a Longwoods Bluecoats agent, was waiting for them. He must have stumbled into the room after Anastasiya and Rockel had pulled back to the elevator on Cathryn’s command. Since then he’d been waiting patiently, just hoping for a chance to extract some form of petty revenge. The force of the bullets picked Angelica off her feet and sent her crashing to the ground in a heap. Her forward momentum caused her body to somersault across the floor until she stopped, crumpled and motionless in the corner. Cathryn was the second one into the room; she charged in with her weapon already firing. Normally, running straight at a stationary enemy with a loaded assault rifle was pure suicide, but the merc had foolishly kept his attention on Angelica as she’d tumbled and fell . . . he wasn’t even looking in Cathryn’s direction. By the time he tried to spin around and fire back at his charging foe the Sergeant Major was virtually on top of him; so close that even while running she was able to aim accurately enough to blow a hole in the Fed Suns Native’s chest. Gurevich arrived a split second later, coming to a stop when he saw Angelica lying in a rapidly spreading pool of blood. “Go!” Cathryn shouted at him. “Get to the elevator.” Gurevich gave a curt nod and took off, leaving Cathryn to check on their fallen comrade. The Sergeant Major dropped to one knee and rolled Angelica over, then nearly jumped back in surprise when Angelica’s eyes flickered open. “Stupid bastard aimed too low,” Angelica said through gritted teeth. “Took me in the leg.” Cathryn glanced down and saw that it was true. A few stray bullets had penetrated the armored barriers protecting her torso only to ricochet off the heavy plates of her body armor, inflicting no damage beyond small dents and discolorations. But her right leg, where the armor was thinner and the highest concentration of fire had depleted and penetrated her armor, had been reduced to pulp and hamburger. “You ever have a piggyback ride, Girlfriend?” Cathryn asked her, tossing Angelica’s weapons to the ground and rapidly shutting down her own weapons and shunting all her suits power to its myomers. “I was never a piggyback kind of girl, Ma’am,” Angelica replied, snapping off her belt and discarding every piece of equipment that wasn’t strapped on. “Nothing to it,” Cathryn explained, reaching down to help Angelica into a sitting position. Angelica still had her body armor on, but they’d already wasted too much time. “All you gotta do is hold on.” Cathryn did her best to help Angelica to wrap her arms around her neck and shoulders, then stood up, momentarily staggering under the large woman’s weight. Cathryn reached back to help support Angelica’s weight, clutching her thighs and buttocks while her arms locked around Cathryn’s collar in fiercely strong grip. “Giddy up,” Angelica grunted, doing her best to hide the agony the movement was inflicting on her mangled leg. Cathryn took a few unsteady steps, struggling to find a way to move as quickly as possible while balancing the awkward load. By the time they emerged from the passage into the large stalactite filled cavern Cathryn had found an awkward but effective cadence somewhere between a gallop and a trot. And then the timer detonated. From the main laboratory in the heart of the research station an enormous ball of heat, fire, and force burst loose, laying waste as it swept through the complex. Doors were warped and ripped off hinges, floors buckled, walls melted. Far away in the natural cavern the effects of the explosion were felt in three distinct stages. First, the ground seemed to heave under Cathryn’s feet, sending her and her mount tumbling to the ground. Angelica screamed as her leg slammed against the floor, but her voice was drowned out by the second phase of the explosion . . . a deafening boom that echoed throughout the cavern and drowned out every other sound. The final phase was a wall of hot air propelled by the blast spilling out from the passage to roll over them, pinning them to the ground, burning their lungs as the intense heat overloaded their armor and leaving them gasping for air. Cathryn struggled to breathe, and for a second she nearly blacked out. She fought to maintain consciousness as the invisible hand squeezing her chest and pinning her to the ground slowly released its pressure while the super heated air expelled by the blast dispersed itself throughout the cavern. They weren’t out of danger yet. The force of the blast had rocked the cavern. The strings of artificial lights ripped loose, swaying wildly and casting bizarre, crazy shadows throughout the room. And though Cathryn’s ears were still ringing, she could plainly hear the loud, sharp cracks of stress fractures appearing in the walls and ceiling as the cavern began to collapse. “Gurevich!” she shouted into her radio, hoping the three troopers in the elevator could still hear her. “This place is caving in! Get to the surface! NOW!” “What about you and Angelica?” The reply was barely audible inside Cathryn’s helmet, though from the tone it was clear the staff sergeant was shouting. “Send the elevator back down after you get to the top,” Cathryn snapped. “Now move! That’s an order!” Not waiting for a reply, Cathryn scrambled over to check on the Kommand Angelica Koss. She had passed out; the pain in her leg too much to bear on top of the physical trauma of the explosion’s aftershocks. Summoning what was left of her strength, the Sergeant Major managed to stand up, slinging Angelica over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Cathryn began a desperate, staggering race to freedom as the chamber disintegrated around them. Stalactites plunged down like enormous jagged limestone spears, the fragile hold they had maintained on the ceiling for thousands of years finally failing. Huge cracks were spreading through the floor, walls, and roof, causing great chunks of rock to shear off and tumble to the floor where they exploded into dust and rubble on impact. Cathryn did her best to block it all out. There was nothing she could do but keep moving and pray they weren’t crushed from above, so she forced her mind to focus solely on placing one foot in front of the other. She wasn’t sure she was going to make it. The swinging strings of lights caused a strobe like effect that made it difficult to keep her balance on the uneven ground. She was bruised and beaten from the concussion of the blast. Exhaustion and fatigue were setting in. The muscles in her thighs and calves were burning as she pumped them ever forward inside her myomer enhanced Gray Death Battle armor suit. The adrenaline rush she’d felt at the beginning of the mission was gone: her body simply had nothing left to give. She moved slower and slower, the unconscious woman draped over her shoulders feeling as heavy as the massive slabs of rock raining down around them. When the elevator finally came into view, she wasn’t surprised to see Gurevich, Anastasiya, and Rockel still waiting for her. Seeing their commander staggering along like the living dead, all three of them rushed out to help. Cathryn was too exhausted to object. She simply let Angelica slide from her shoulders into the grasp of the two non-comms in Kobold Battle Armor, one taking her under the shoulders and the other under her hips. With the burden removed she lost her balance and nearly fell over, but Gurevich was there to catch her. Leaning on the staff sergeant for support, she managed to take the last twenty steps into the elevator before collapsing in the corner. The doors slammed shut and the car began the long journey up to the top. The ride was far from smooth: the elevator moved in fits and starts as the gears screeched and squealed. Nobody said anything, as if they were afraid mentioning their precarious position might make it worse. Cathryn simply lay where she had fallen, panting and wheezing as she tried to catch her breath. By the time they reached the top and spilled out into the safety of the surface she had recovered enough to speak. “I told you not to wait for us,” she chastised her team as they made their way back to the Pandion, the non-comms still carrying Angelica’s unconscious body between them. “I should bust each of you down a full rank for disobeying orders!” She paused to let the statement sink in. “That, or recommend you all for medals.” Back onboard the Pandion Combat WiGE the Sergeant Major received another call from Captain Jason Tian. Cade Mackenzie wrote: “JT for Rabid Wolf Actual, I have a pilot down in sector two five Delta. Can you retrieve, over?” “Copy JT, we’re on it,” Cathryn replied. “Just keep the big boys occupied.” Cathryn moved back to the troop hold and relayed the mission back to her troops. The Pandion’s pilot, First Lieutenant Cole threw the first wrinkle into the operation when he reported that he could drop a rescue team off but that he couldn’t wait around on station for extraction due to the Pandion being down to Bingo Fuel. Bingo Fuel was the minimum fuel state needed for an aircraft to return to base. Staff Sergeant Gurevich threw the second wrinkle stating that his CO wasn’t going on not another God Damn mission until she saw a doctor, and Sergeant Rockel through wrinkle number three when he brought up Angelica’s physical condition, and to wrap it all up, Corporal Anastasiya sealed the deal with the condition of their Battle Armor Suits. So in the end, First Lieutenant Cole dropped off one, unarmored, intel operative, to conduct a search and rescue mission for Deuces Wild, Mechwarrior Pilot, Valentine 'Hollywood' Lowe, Corporal Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov; who simply said, “Don’t worry, I excel at Urban Warfare. It’s my thing.” Before grabbing her pack and rappelling down to Merope’s surface. (4061) TOTAL 66,687 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Tue Dec 26, 2017 8:52 pm FS-rD-04-02 #29 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Outskirts of Armidale Wednesday, 3 February 3097 18:50 hours ‘Mechwarrior Valentine ‘Hollywood’ Lowe’s Raven had reached its limit. Creaking and popping, the 'Mech started to fall apart. First, its left wing broke off and clattered to the ground, the torn myomer muscles poking out like worms. Then, the right leg snapped half in two, making the 35 ton ‘Mech collapse and fall forward onto its ‘beak’. Still on fire, the Raven's torso crumbled, the pieces falling apart into flaming chunks. ‘Hollywood’ was aware that his boiling hot cockpit was caving in, so he broke himself free of his command couch and scrambled forward in his cockpit to escape. Luckily, the plexiglass window was already broken, allowing ‘Hollywood’ to tumble out of the flaming Raven and run across the uneven ground to safety. He turned back and watched his Raven fall apart entirely, never to be used again. He was reminded of a burning house falling down. Corporal Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov's voice crackled through his comms; he still wore his neuro helmet. " ‘Hollywood’! Are you ai’ight?" ‘Hollywood’ was just then aware of how hurt his body was. He was bruised and shaking, and there was slight charring on his arms and legs from the flames. He hugged himself, feeling cold despite the nearby burning Raven. "Yeah, I I I I'm fine, Anastasiya," he answered back, trying to make it sound like it was nothing. "It's nothing." "No, it's not nothing, ‘Billy Bad Ass’" Anastasiya retorted, concerned. "You gotta be hurt, ‘Hollywood’. I'm coming out." "But Plieadies Sabers reinforcements could..." ‘Hollywood’ started to object, but he felt weak and allowed Anastasiya to do what she wanted. She holstered her comm unit, and strutted out into the open. The flames on the ‘Mech had died down, but ‘Hollywood’ knew that it would not be used anymore until he escaped his present predicament. Anastasiya hurried across the expanse of terrain, getting closer to ‘Hollywood’ to check up on him. She tore off her back pack and tossed it aside, then held ‘Hollywood's arms to see how hurt they were. ‘Hollywood’ withdrew. "Don't worry about it, Anastasiya. I don't think I broke anything," ‘Hollywood’ smiled at her, but it was more like a grimace. “Where’s the rest of the rescue team?” ‘Hollywood asked, craning his neck as he looked behind Anastasiya for more Deuces Wild Personnel. “I’m it” she answered. “Whaddya mean, Your It?!,” queried ‘Hollywood’, his voice ratcheted way up high. “Like I said. I’m it. The entire rescue ’Team’. The Rabid Wolves were just coming off of one op when we got the distress signal for you. I was all that was avaible,” Anastasiya supplied as she knelt down beside ‘Hollywood’ and began to inspect his wounds. "Oh My God! REALLY? Let's just find some shelter, all right? We're of age. It would make sense if we're just visitors who got caught up in the whole Rebellion thing." Anastasiya made a face at being spurned for helping, but she agreed with a nod. “All right then. The Plieadies Sabers will probably think you're dead because your ‘Mech is ruined, but they'll still be on alert for me." "I'll do what I can about that," ‘Hollywood’ promised her. He stammered to his feet to recover the items he had gathered from theRaven’s small storage locker. ‘Hollywood’ threw on his casual clothes, as did Anastasiya; luckily, ‘Hollywood’s long sleeved shirt hid the light burn marks on his arms. "Let's find somewhere to rest. And then," he couldn't help winking, "Nurse Anastasiya can help out." "That's not in the least bit funny, dude," Anastasiya argued, but she smiled as she gave him a swat on the shoulder. "Let's go. I'll follow your lead since you’re the high and mighty ‘Mech Jockey.." Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Outskirts of Armidale D&J Inn Monday, 9th February 3097 07:50 hours "Come on, Ana. I was never that hurt to begin with, you know." ‘Hollywood’ insisted with a smile as he sat up in his and Anastasiya's hotel bed one week after being stranded on Modonodes. Anastasiya had insisted the whole time on keeping ‘Hollywood’ confined to bed because of his injuries sustained while escaping his flaming ‘Mech. Anastasiya rested a hand on his shoulder. "You're still hurt, dude." "Well, yeah. But I feel okay. No broken bones. I don't think..." ‘Hollywood’ said uncertainly. He looked out the window, where early morning light was pouring in. "But okay. I'll lie down." He settled back into the bed, feeling the itch of the bandages he wore under his shirt. He yawned widely, and Anastasiya couldn't help but to laugh out loud. "Huh? What's so funny?" "I've been sitting on this question for five days, since we've had bigger things to worry about," Anastasiya answered warmly. "But before I do my scouting today, I can't resist asking. How did your Christmas Eve with Rebecca go?" "Oh... th that," ‘Hollywood’ realized with a shy grin, feeling his face warm. "Uh, nothing. Nothing at all." Anastasiya patted the edge of the bed. "Come on, Man. Rebecca's my good friend, I really want to know. I recommended her to Whitley. Cathryn will prolyl hire her on as a Rabid Wolves Medic." "Well... we danced. She was better than me." "Did ya’ll have a good time?" "Pretty much." "What did you think of her dress?" "Red is my favorite color, after all." "Do you think she looks better with contacts or her glasses?" "No. When she wears glasses, she looks really smart and that reminds me of her noble dream." "Did ya’ll talk about anything with some sustenance?" "Our futures." ‘Hollywood’ couldn't help a grin. "Like...?" "Her going to the MRBC Boot Camp before joining the Rabid Wolves, as a stepping stone." Anastasiya made an amused sound of exasperation. "I know, I shouldn't insist. But really wanna know. She'd tell me anyway, once we got back to Base." She made a mischievous smile. "Did you and Rebecca do any petting, kissing, smooching at all?" ‘Hollywood’ held up one finger with a grin. "Once? You go you Sly Dog," Anastasiya beamed. "And at a dance on Christmas Eve!" "Yup. We decided that our affection for each other will motivate us to do our best in our respective futures," ‘Hollywood’ added. "Even though we'll be apart." Anastasiya's face fell. "How in the devil does that make sense?" ‘Hollywood’ shrugged. "It made sense back then. But she did give me that ‘Mech hacking module. Anastasiya, I'm going to use it." "H... how?" ‘Hollywood’ sat up, determined. "When our company returns for us, I want to make it easier for them. The Rebel Leader in charge here has done all kinds of things. I don't think we can keep our cover much longer; he's bound to send patrols to find what he thinks is the sole survivor of the Deuces Wild. He'll probably round up everyone in Armidale and have them rat out whoever isn't a native or confirmed tourist here. We can't keep up like this. Plus, we're almost out of money to pay for this hotel room. We can't survive with no money." "But... nevermind. I know what we’ll we do, dude." Anastasiya insisted, unconcerned about their plight. "We've made it this far, but I think we're running out of options. I've been thinking about this, and I’ve got a plan as soon as you are healthy enough." ‘Hollywood’ tried to consider it too, but he succeeded only in making his head hurt. He merely made a small grimace and shook his head to clear it. "Look, Anastasiya, it's the begining of the month. Why don't we just go have some breakfast downstairs? We really need to clear out heads." He climbed out of the bed to get dressed, and Anastasiya moved to brace him as he moved. "It's okay, Anastasiya. I'm not that badly hurt," ‘Hollywood’ insisted gently. "All... all right. I just don't like seeing you come to harm, Man," Anastasiya said unashamedly, and backed up to give ‘Hollywood’ some room. When they were ready, the two of them went down to the ground floor to go into the hotel's dining room, which was complete with a bar with several holovid's on. There were two dozen other people in the room, and ‘Hollywood’ and Anastasiya made their way to one of the empty tables to have their breakfast. They enjoyed about ten minutes of hot food and idle chatter until a man in military garb arrived and took the table next to them, watching everyone near him. ‘Hollywood’ didn't recognize where the man's uniform was from, but then he saw the shield and stallion with a crossed sword and spear symbol on the uniform's shoulder. ‘Hollywood’ froze, gripping Anastasiya arm in fear. "Ana! He's a Plieadies Sabers," he hissed into her ear. Anastasiya subtly nodded back. "Yeah. He must be one of many Plieadies Sabers Troops out to keep order in the Armidale, and keep tabs on what the civilians are doing. That, or he doesn't like the taste of rations." "Damn ‘Mech Warriors! Just had to bring BattleMechs into our city, huh?" someone leered at him. "Quiet," the Plieadies Sabers bit back in a deep voice. He had a square jaw and short black hair. "I don’t have a quarrel with you." ‘Hollywood’ tried to distract himself by looking at the nearest Holovid projection, which was going on about mundane stuff. However, he couldn't ignore the Plieadies Sabers Trooper who was practically sitting next to him. "You look like yer lookin' for something," someone else taunted the Rebel. "There is a fugitive somewhere in this city," the Plieadies Sabers glowered back, turning to look at the man. "A Deuces Wild that was left behind by its fellow ‘Mech pilots a week prior. Harboring this fugitive will be punishable, as will be interfering with the hunt." "What, human lives are a game to ya? Eh?" the man wheezed, and ‘Hollywood’ winced. Stop making trouble, civilian! The fugitives are right here. I'm nervous enough as it is. "Enough out of you," the Plieadies Sabers Trooper retorted. "When this fugitive Fed Rat is found, he or she will be tormented before dying, as a testament to Plieadies Sabers, Beta battalion’s prowess." "Come on. You're scarin' the tourists!" the man scolded, pointing at ‘Hollywood’ and Anastasiya. ‘Hollywood's heart sank. Did the fear show on my face? The Plieadies Sabers Trooper turned to face ‘Hollywood’, making a curious but tough expression. "And how does this concern you, Tourists? Do you fear us, the Plieadies Sabers? Where are your parents to coddle you?" Anastasiya shook her head. "Don't mind us." The Plieadies Sabers Trooper contemplated Anastasiya for a second, then scowled. "Oh, but I think I should mind you. Why so interested, missy? Do you know something about the fugitive Deuces Wild “Mech Jockey?" ‘Hollywood’ couldn't stop himself from blinking; inwardly, he was shaking like crazy from the pressure, and it must have showed on his face. The Plieadies Sabers Trooper made two moves in one: he leaped to his large feet, and at the same time his meaty hand clasping around Anastasiya's throat and lifted her a few inches off the floor. ‘Hollywood’ gasped, knocking over his chair in his haste to get back. "Do you have something you are hiding from me?" the Plieadies Sabers Trooper leered, nose to nose with Anastasiya. "Maybe a hint where the fugitive is? Have you seen the fugitive? Are you the actual fugitive?" "Leave her alone!" shouted ‘Hollywood’ as he slipped the safety off of his hidden hold out pistol. Anastasiya gasped, fighting for air in the Plieadies Sabers Troopers grasp. The man made a chuckle and threw Anastasiya to the floor, then his boot exploded onto Anastasiya 's gut, throwing her across the floor like a sack of potatoes. This was the Rebels first mistake. "Do you mock me? Is this fun for you?" the Rebel roared, clenching his fists. "I think so! You couldn’t be the fugitive ‘Mechwarrior because you are such a weakling!" Rubbing her stomach like she had just had something good to eat, Anastasiya steadily got back to her feet, sneering. How in the world did this start? We didn't even do anything! Oh damn, this could be it. She’d give the big brute one last opportunity to continue living. "Come on, man. You don't have to pick on me. You're bound to have better things to do than beat me up, am I right?" "Only if you’ll tell me a little something to satisfy me," the brigand demanded, taking a few steps closer, prepared to attack. "You irritate me. Tell me before I get angry: have you seen hide or hair of the fugitive? Tell me!" "I know nothing!" Anastasiya protested, but she could see it now: the Plieadies Sabers Trooper was attacking her just for fun, to torment everyday people to help demonstrate the Rebels superiority on Modonodes. The Plieadies Sabers Trooper took a swing at Anastasiya’s head, forcing her to dodge to the right and duck a little. The big man's other fist rocketed forward, catching Anastasiya on the arm and setting her off balance. Grinning, the Plieadies Sabers Rebel shot out his other arm, but Anastasiya managed to lean back and raise a leg to block, blunting the assault. Anastasiya darted to the side and jabbed the Plieadies Sabers Brigand in the side, hitting near the kidney as a quick knock out blow. Her bare hand collided with the Rebel’s side, unimpeded by the man's cloth uniform. With a loud guffaw to betray his pain, the Plieadies Sabers Trooper staggered back, huffing. "A smart blow. Where did you learn that?" Everyone else in the breakfast nook shrank back from the fight. "Somewhere you'll never be," Anastasiya taunted him, triggering another charge by the Rebel. Everyone had backed away to make room for the fighters, with one angry Plieadies Sabers Trooper and one bewildered Anastasiya locked in combat. Anastasiya tried to hit the man's jaw to stagger him, since nothing short of critical blows would bring down the large man. The Plieadies Sabers Rebel moved fast for his size, however, which threw off Anastasiya's plan. The Plieadies Sabers Trooper twisted away from Anastasiya's blow and hit the Corporal on the side with his knuckles, staggering Anastasiya back. The ruffian then kicked Anastasiya's shin to further cripple her, and Anastasiya buckled, bleating out. Pouncing on this chance, the Plieadies Sabers Trooper tried to catch the side of Anastasiya's head with a roundhouse kick, but that gave Anastasiya the chance he needed. Fighting through the pain, Anastasiya slipped forward and stomped her foot hard on the Trooper's planted foot, crushing the toes. The Plieadies Sabers Brigand howled as the pain made his kick falter, and he now had no support. The Plieadies Sabers Trooper fell onto his rear, but quickly scrambled to get back up. Anastasiya aimed to grip the man's throat, but she had overextended herself; the Plieadies Sabers Rebel did the same move back, seizing Anastasiya's own neck and hoisting her up again. The Plieadies Sabers Trooper was able to get to his full height while carrying Anastasiya, a testament to his strength. " Anastasiya!" ‘Hollywood’ cried out, but there was no helping her. Everyone else was too scared to get close to the Plieadies Sabers Trooper. "You were stupid to resist me," the Plieadies Sabers Trooper leered at Anastasiya. "You fight well for your size and age. How did you get that training? Oh, wait..." he frowned in consternation. "I hear that the Rabid Wolves have several intern operatives among them... Assassins in training, though right? You must be one of them! The Wolve who is still loose!" "A are you sure about that, big guy?" Anastasiya choked back. "Maybe the Rabid Wolve is behind you right now, while you're picking on some tourist!" "I – what?" the Ruffian snarled, turning to look behind him. Anastasiya knew that the dumb brute would fall for ploy. So typical. And Anastasiya timed it perfectly and took her chance to bring her right handed, Carbon reinforced, nails across the Plieadies Sabers Trooper's carotid artery. The blow twisted her antagonist’s head back further, spewing gouts of crimson red blood out of the wound like geyser and his grip loosened. Anastasiya landed on the floor, rubbing her throat. The Trooper staggered around, clutching at his throat as his life force pumped out past his blood smeared fingers; a commotion outside made everyone else tear the gaze away from the dying bully and freeze. A thundering explosion. ……………….. "Attention citizens!" a voice on the public announcement systems blared. "This is the Wolf’s Dragoons Gamma Regiment, representing the Federated Suns! We are imposing Martial Law. Return to your homes and take shelter until the battle is over." Several more explosions rumbled outside, and ‘Hollywood’ could hear the hiss of missiles, the hum of lasers, and the engines of aerial craft. Plus, the heavy footfalls of Battlemechs. Anastasiya hurried over to ‘Hollywood’ and gripped his shoulder. "We have to get out of here," she urgently told him, starting to tug him away. "Come on!" At her words, a Quickdraw ‘Mech stomped down the street, the massive humanoid machine taking up most of the width. ‘Hollywood’ winced as the 60 ton ‘Mech shuddered the ground with its footfalls, creating shallow footprints in the pavement and sidewalk. Behind it were several troop transport trucks. ‘Hollywood’ got an idea. "Wait. Anastasiya," he halted her, and she stopped. "What?" "We know the number and types of Plieadies Sabers here," ‘Hollywood’ told her. "I know where these guys came from, and they're on our side. We have to help them, and if we can get a ride to a safe zone in one of those transport trucks. Maybe a mobile HQ." "Well..." Anastasiya hesitated, torn. She wanted to stay off the civilian authorities radar, but the Dragoons might be overwhelmed by the Sabers if they didn't know what they were up against. ‘Hollywood’ had a pretty good idea what the Plieadies Sabers and Longwoods Bluecoats forces were like, and he desperately wanted to get into the helm of a ‘Mech and fight with the Deuces Wild again. And maybe even find Nickolas Garret, the Rebel in charge and defeat him! Why don't I find a little payback? If it works out with everyone else, that is. I can't be rash. "Understood, dude!" Anastasiya said over the din, and she ran upstairs to get her and ‘Hollywood's possessions. When she returned, she and ‘Hollywood’ got near the front of the hotel, trying to find a friendly vehicle. A troop carrier rumbled by with an emblem from the Gamma Regiment plastered on it’s side, and they hurried out. The truck stopped when ‘Hollywood’ frantically hailed for it, and the driver leaned out the window to speak. "Hey guys! What are you doing? It's dangerous out here! The Plieadies Sabers are putting up one hell of a resistance. We were only just now able to get our forces together to assault this continent!" "No, listen! We're with the Deuces Wild and the Rabid Wolves! We were left behind when we retreated a week ago!" ‘Hollywood’ shouted to the man over the noise of combat. The Quickdraw was further down the street, throwing all its missiles through the air at Plieadies Sabers positions. ‘Hollywood’ offered his dog tags and Anastasiya's to the transport driver to prove his word, and the man nodded. " ‘Mech Warrior Lowe, then? Pilots like you shouldn't just be left behind like that," the man shook his head, then jabbed a thumb backwards. "You guys are priority. I'm taking you back to the edge of the SpacePort where's there's nothing going on. There's a mobile HQ DropShip there. You can give your intel there and then make it back to your respective units. We have a common foe, after all." Relieved that his plan was working, ‘Hollywood’ joined Anastasiya in climbing aboard the truck. The truck drove off, away from the battle. (3392) TOTAL 70,079 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE FS-RD-04-02 #30 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope Nadir JumpPoint Union Class DropShip Spotted Eagle Bridge Monday, 1st February 3097 04:50 hours Through the bridge’s view port, the Centaur's Decanter Recharge Station appeared as majestic as ever and like always, Captain Johnny Yee marveled at it. His crew and he had been docked at the Merope System’s Recharge Station for four hours and now, sitting in the dim bridge of the Spotted Eagle, they prepared for departure. The station controller’s voice crackled over the comm. “Spotted Eagle, you’re good for auto and cleared for undocking.” “Spotted Eagle copies clearance on full guidance.” Johnny responded. “Captain has the helm.” Echoed quickly by the 1st Mate and his Comms Officer, Petty Officer 3rd Class, Astrid Campbell. “Aye, aye Captain has the helm.” The DropShip lurched as the powerful arms holding it in place, disengaged. Manipulating the controls with experienced nudges this way and that, Johnny turned the modified ‘Mech Dropper a full one hundred and eighty degrees until the view of the planet was replaced by the white shell of the sprawling space complex. The Recharge Station was an old one, the very first as a matter of fact. Unlike its newer counterparts, it was the only station in the Capellan March with this design. Made up of a patchwork of hundreds of years of additions, cylindrical arms, over ten miles long, extended horizontally from its bustling core and harbored several DropShips of varying sizes, linking them to its interior by way of retractable bridges. The Spotted Eagle drifted away from the wharf like structure and ten minutes later, when the computer indicated that they were safely beyond the outer edges of Centaur's Decanter’s junk rings, Johnny took full control of his DropShip and ignited its thrusters. A few minutes later, the Spotted Eagle achieved a one G thrust velocity, and the coppery colored planet, Merope, came into view. Their destination was the Armidale Spaceport, several kilometers east of Fort Chaldwell. In all his time delivering to the Ridgebrook Polymorphous Defense Zone, he had never been to this port, had never even heard of it. Whatever the cargo in his hold was, it must have been something really big because only very high level clearance could get him surface side on Merope. According to his agent, all they needed to do was pick up the shipment, deliver it, don’t ask questions, make no inspections and not stick their noses into it. Whatever it was, he had an uneasy feeling about the whole deal and just wanted to get there, drop the shipment off and get back up to planetary orbit. “Spotted Eagle …Armidale Control has you … link and rep live.” Captain Yee found his tongue. It was hanging around somewhere near his chin, but he’s not entirely sure. He’ll definitely have to get the Induction mechanism looked at when the Spotted Eagle got back to dry dock. “Spotted Eagle copies Armidale,” responded the DropShip CO, Yee. “We’ve undocked from the Centaur's Decanter and then are a flyby to Merope.” “Armidale Control copies Spotted Eagle flyby to Merope. Link out.” Johnny Yee closed the coms and pulled up a map of the system. The Spotted Eagle was ten point eight AU’s from Merope, one point something billion miles and it will take them five and a half days to get there. The Co-pilot, Lieutenant senior grade, Çonstance Valle, turn out her overhand light and prepare to take a nap. After several minutes of course corrections, Yee opens the com again “Armidale Control… ” A bit of static came through “… Spotted Eagle is ready for inbound run to Merope.” Yee waited as they ran his trajectory through their systems. He was as hungry as ever; another aftereffect of the jump. The com went active again. “Spotted Eagle … Armidale Control copies your flight. You’re a go for inbound run.” “Control … Spotted Eagle copies go.” Yee killed the com and the Spotted Eagle Engineering Officer, Petty Officer 1st Class, Guadalupe Gray, hit the throttle. The scene beyond the viewport stretched a bit, and then stretched some more, and all sound in the bridge vanished. Everyone onboard the Spotted Eagle was pushed into their seats and the lights on the outside became blurs as the DropShip vanished into space. Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope Lower Atmosphere Over Armidale Union Class DropShip Spotted Eagle Bridge Friday, 5th February 3097 23:00 hours The bridge console beeped three times, alerting the Captain of his proximity to atmospheric entry. Merope’s moon, unlike Sawyer’s, Chapineria’s, and Qandahar’s moons, was nothing more than mining rock. The recharge stations orbiting Merope numbered only two but Johnny would not be docking in space for this leg of his journey. His Dropper was one of a many types of interstellar ‘Mech Haulers that could make the transition from space to atmosphere and back. At twenty thousand kilometers from entry, The Spotted Eagle slowed rapidly, covering the remaining distance in twenty minutes before burning through atmosphere. As the ship transitioned into Merope airspace, Johnny found, though nothing like Sawyer, that there was a unique beauty about this rebellious world. Sulfuric clouds, twenty kilometers thick, spread planet wide below him and lightning lit up the vast blanket in periodic displays of spectacular bursts. A few miles away and even as far as the horizon, Massive barges hung miles above the surface, transporting precious diamond ore to waiting cargo class DropShips in vacuum. But they soon disappeared as the acidic cloud cover enveloped his DropShip, blotting out the bright yellow sky above. The bridge shook with turbulent winds and bucked its way through the density of the mid atmospheric storm. Beneath the perpetual cover, life on this planet existed in near darkness by day and utter blackness by night. As Johnny broke free of the haze after what seemed like ages, the DropShip’s external lights automatically activated, illuminating massive wisps of sulfuric acid, drifting lazily along their paths. At twenty thousand feet above ground level, the lights of the Spaceport finally came into view and the communications module crackled to life. “Spotted Eagle, this is Armidale Three Command. Give link up and p..ilot ident.. , over.” “Captain Johnny Yee of Spotted Eagle in the employ of the Rabid Wolves, Merope bound from Centaur's Decanter.” His Comms Officer read the identification codes on her thigh board into the mic and waited for confirmation. “Welcome to Merope Captain.” The Spotted Eagle vibrated as the Armidale Spaceport’s tracking system took control of it, directing the hauler to a landing pit over near the Deuces Wild’s Huntress. The first thing Johnny noticed, as his ship glided smoothly toward the landing pit, was the grunge that had built up along the outer walls of the Spaceport. Ferro Carbide would not be corroded by sulfuric acid, but grimy deposits collected over time gave it a disgusting appearance and covered it like a mossy shell. The winds had also picked up. Fifty five miles per hour to be exact but the Spaceport’s auto guidance system kept the ride stable and when he finally hit the tarmac, the shaking of the bridge ceased. Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale, Spaceport Deuces Wild/Rabid Wolves Bivouac Friday, 5th February 3097 23:45 hours Technicians scrambled here and there under the sodium lights. The bright spots of welding torches added a surreal effect to the scene, and threatened the eyesight of anyone curious enough to try and look directly at the source. There was an organization to the chaos, but not one easily detectable by the untrained eye. Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bulls Eye’ Whitley wasn't looking at any of those light sources or the organized chaos, though. She was intent on the computerized notepad in her hand, which contained the most up to date information available on the status of Rabid Wolves Mercenary Company. The Lead of her Logistics and Repair Company, Senior Chief Tech Sergeant, Quentin Sadaque, stood in front of her, having just delivered the information. Cathryn let out a low grunt. "Senior Chief, this makes me even happier that I had the Spotted Eagle set down. I had a feeling there was a lot of low level damage from those stupid conventional fighters. Look at this," she said, slapping the screen. I don't see anyone who didn't at least lose armor. Armor hits all over the place, weapon malfunctions, and apparently I wasn't the only person who lost a suit to the Plieadies Sabers." She shook her head. "But that's all ancillary. Let's talk about the big stuff. Caleb's Ogre is in decent enough shape, and should be ready by daybreak. Assign it to Catherine, and have her remain with Swift Canine Platoon. I don't want to go messing with personalities at this point in the game. The loss of Kian and his Steele Dagger Suit are a huge wound, but the doctor tells me that he expects the cajun to pull through. His Battle Armor Suit is missing almost everything below the waist, though, and there's no telling when we'll get it fixed." A pause. "What am I missing?" Quentin looked thoughtful. "Nothing off the top of my head, Ma’am. I'll let Caleb and the platoon commanders know about the changes, and that's good to hear about Corporal Kirby. How long do you expect to keep us here?" That was the question of the moment. By all rights, her Rabid Wolves should've been well on the way to removing any Plieadies Sabers military presence from the outskirts of Armidale and the Administrative Center they were calling Alpha. Instead, She'd delayed their attack altogether and brought down the Company's main FlagShip in an unplanned landing. "As soon as that Ogre is patched up, we go. I want us all headed in, and the Spotted Eagle airborne. In addition to the Deuces Wild's listening posts, I've got our Gray Death Light Scout Armor Squad out running a solo recon, and they haven’t seen anything even thinking about heading our way, but I don't want to take chances." "Makes sense to me, Ma’am." The Sergeant Major let a ghost of a smile play across her lips. She and Quentin had been together a long time. There was much unspoken but understood in that phrase. "With the Spotted Eagle down I've also appropriated our Active Probe equipped assets, Stone Pachyderm Lance and Angry Hornet Flight, from the Madagascar Scops plus the Infiltrators. That should help offset the lost advantage of surprise," She said. Quentin simply nodded at that comment. "Get some rest, Sergeant Major. It won't be long until we'll have to fight a determined enemy." (1830) TOTAL 71,909 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Sun Dec 31, 2017 2:38 am ARMIDALE SPACEPORT Image Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Jan 01, 2018 12:02 pm FS-RD-04-02 #31 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale StarPort Federated Suns HQ Security Offices Saturday, 6th February 3097 08:50 hours Twenty minutes ago the annoying little klaxon had sounded again all throughout the SpacePort and inside both DropShips attached to the Deuces Wild and Rabid Wolves via an optical hardline. The same bevy of officers had arbitrarily stopped what they were doing to make it to a briefing room with a full send and receive video conference console wired into the Security Offices 4C room. The AFFS Captain Lauren Keene look haggard with dark circles under her eyes but her hazel eyes in stark contrast to the circles, were anything but. The Captain’s brown as mahogany and butterscotch colored eyes were keen and piercing. As piercing as an eagles and her voice belied her exhaustion as well as she pitched it for the microphones to resonant with a timbre the radiated confidence and determination. She spoke only briefly before handing the briefing off to the Rabid Wolves Infantry and Armor Company Commanding Officers. The camera then panned off of the AFFS Naval Captain only to be replaced by the ruggedly handsome face of Captain Kavan McKnight’s visage. “Ladies and Gentleman, . . .” he began slowly staring directly into the camera. “Captain Whitley and I,” he started off referring to the Commanding Officer of the Rabid Wolves, Cathryn ‘Bulls Eye’ Whitley. “in conjunction with Captains Lauren Keene and Jason Tian, have been discussing an operational strategy and are in agreement on what we feel our strategy should be so I will defer to her at this moment.” Captain McKight’s face was replaced on the holovid projection with that of Captain Cathryn Whitley. “We have the five platoons of our Battle armor assets training with the Wolf’s Dragoons Kommando Teams on breech and insertion in preparation to take control of the two strategic locations in Armidale; the Third precinct near Campus Avenue and the Central Square. We have drawn up plans that are streaming to your databanks as we speak of the breakdown of the possible assaults. Swift Canine Recon’s two Battle Armor Squads, the Grey Death Scout Armor and the Infiltrator Armor, Brooding Lupus’ Infiltration Heavy Assault Steele Dagger Squad, will fast rope in from Angry Hornet’s two Kestrel VTOLs to establish a perimeter around Campus Avenue. The balance of Swift Canine Recon Platoon, the Ogre Interdictor Squad and Gray Death Squad, will be are follow on forces brought up by Sergeant 1st Class Lyle Chai’s Nose Guard Prowler Vehicle. It will be our resupply vehicle for if we get into a protracted campaign, complete with consumables, ammo, rations, armor patches, medical supplies, etc. In addition to being our resupply vehicle, it will also be towing our Mjolnir Gun Trailer for immediate fire support.” “Wolf’s Dragoons Kommando Teams will land in the planetary capitol of Armidale BEREFT of their Kobold power armor to conduct infiltration and sabotage missions in an attempt to disrupt the Rebel Command Structure. All battle armor units that survive the Third Precinct Engagement shall be deployed onto the Central Square Operation in a defensive capacity ONLY. Thus they will be restricted to Bivouac defense; ie they will be seen but not heard. We are giving the Davion government every opportunity to bring this operation to a diplomatic resolution. They will be complimented by our Rapid Deployment, Striking Cobra Lance’s Pandion Combat WiGEs and the second Prowler Vehicle.” “Once we establish a beach head on Modonodes in the city of Armidale, we will be followed by our Vehicle Companies Urban Assault Lance, Stone Pachyderm and supported by our Angry Hornet VTOL flight. Black Rhyno Company’s second Lance, Hellborn Hedgehog, will transport Brooding Lupus’ Platoons, Void, Angerona, and Kage squads to cordon off the parts of the city taken by the Deuces Wild’s ‘Mech Forces. They will be supported by the Rabid Wolves, Iron Peregrine, AeroSpace Fighter Flight searching for targets of opportunity to release cluster bombs against in rural areas.” “The plan is for each observation post infantry units to branch out from their initial positions to the surrounding neighborhoods and residential districts. Their directive is to administer humanitarian aid throughout the nearby communities, fostering good will and the indebtedness of the indigenous population. That will include, but not be limited to, medicine, water, food, perishables and triage. The AFFS will assign a platoon each to a quadrant that will rotate off with the remaining two platoons. The Platoons will branch off into spoke formation, radiating further and farther out, until we reach the limits of controlled areas of the city. Any Questions?” “Captain, if I may?” spoke up McKnight. “Certainly Captain. You have the floor.” “Thanks ‘Bulls Eye’. While we do feel the burden placed on us by the contract stipulations, we, the collective Captains and I, still feel no need to initially deploy ‘Mechs to the field, barring an objection from the Deuces Wild CO. Captain Tian? If for no other reason but a show of force, we feel that the Rebels will respond in kind and the only ones who suffer are the civilians in this city environment; already display at the Mercy General fiasco. We feel that we should use our ‘Mech forces as a last resort. Strictly in a defensive posture or just in case. We will update everyone at the Final Mission Review. Armor and Infantry out.” ……………. Merope, Modonodes Armidale Campus Avenue LZ Saturday, 6th February 3097 09:30 hours The landing wasn't clean. There was a snapping motion that wobbled the assault battle armor and threatened to send it spilling. Captain Cathryn ‘Bulls Eye’ Whitley reacted by sliding the Steele Dagger Suit’s right leg outward. The action halted her momentum, but also caused a red light to appear on the status board. ‘Phuk’, she said, realizing an ankle compensator had just seized up. The landing hadn't been that hard, which meant the Plieadies Sabers Tunnel Rat PA(L) had dealt her more damage than she realized. Not in any imminent danger, she brought up the communications control and attempted to broadcast on the Company channel. There was nothing. Frowning, she tried several other frequencies. "Dayum It!" she threw her water bottle as hard as she could. It bounced off the ferrocrette walkway and then rolled to a stop. Taking a moment to fume, she then stiffened her upper lip. There were no warning lights showing for her communications system, which meant whatever was keeping it from working wasn't easily detectable by feedback sensors. ‘Probably lost my long range antenna in the landing’, she stated to no one in particular. There were several friendly indicators showing at the edge of her tactical map, most of them moving towards the original Landing Zone. Pressing down on her pedals, she shoved her Steele Dagger Suit on an intercept course for the nearest one. Overall, the scene was like something out of a cheap war movie where the heroine has struck out on her own to make it through the battlefield. The air was smoky, whether from actual smoke or dust kicked up by multi ton walking war machine didn't really matter. There were dull thuds in the distance, and occasional flashes of light could be seen above the building’s roofs. Scattered signs of damage to structures and houses, with the occasional piece of scarred military castoff. Ignoring the ambience of desolation, Cathryn kept her eyes forward and alert for any enemy presence. Luckily, there was none. A half a click later, she crested a small street to find two Infiltrator BA Suits from Swift Canine Platoon in defensive positions. She quickly tight beamed over a communique, requesting a sitrep. Private Glen Owiti responded, "Good to see you, ma’am. Private ‘Hunter’ Poplevin and I came down about fifty meters apart, but we've yet to locate the rest of our squad. Gunny Sergeant Rockel took at least five Suits, four Gray Death and one of yours, towards an enemy PA(L) position, and detailed us to scrounge up our other scattered troops. You're the third one we've run across." Behind her ferroglass visor, Cathryn nodded. That was good thinking all around. "Excellent. I've lost my long range communications, so I need you to relay a message to command. Let me know when you're ready." There was a momentary pause. "Go ahead, ma’am." "This is Rabid Wolves Actual to Command. I am up and mobile, with temporarily reduced communications. Enemy presence in the LZ resulted in a scattered landing, with undetermined losses. Reinforcements not required at this time. Will update again when possible. Actual out." With that, her words were scrambled by the computer in Owiti’s Infiltrator Suit and sent skyward to a waiting receiver. Within seconds, Captain Lauren Keene would be informed of their situation .... and now Cathryn needed to figure out exactly what that situation was. "You two keep on mission for now. I'm heading northwest." Without waiting for an affirmation, she wheeled the Steele Dagger Suit to the left and headed for the original Landing Zone. The rest of her journey was uneventful. Only one macabre scene called for her undivided attention, that being an Ogre Suit half buried in a small patch of soft sand in a children’s playground, its armor a blackened mass of steel and wires. She marked the position on her tactical map and kept going. The Corporal would be missed, but his Ogre Suit would be recovered and pressed back into service. Before long, the columns of smoke to the northwest had grown much larger to her eye. She emerged from one last line of apartment buildings into what must have been a quickly selected site for anti air work. To her left, an overturned Partisan tank still smoldered, in a neighboring crater and the right arm of a Steele Dagger Suit proclaiming that while Private Liina Tentsov's crude missile hadn't been on target, it had been close enough. Two other tanks, pockmarked with weapon marks and obviously abandoned, stood as silent witnesses to the damage and delay they had caused to her Rabid Wolves. The fourth was barely identifiable, its ammunition having cooked off in the exchange. On the far side of the clearing, a little less than a dozen of Rabid Wolves Battle Armor were either in defensive positions facing outward or clearing away debris to make a usable bivouac for their follow on forces. Her appearance had a subtle, but visible, effect on the Battle Armor Suits looking in her direction. Several used oversized limbs to snap off a salute, while others assumed a momentary posture of attention before resuming their work. Inwardly, the company commander smiled at their efficiency. Across the way, an Ogre left its current task and approached. A tight beamed communication with attached visual feed revealed Command Sergeant Major Mickey Gurevich’s smiling face. "Captain, it's good to see you." (1848) TOTAL 73,757 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Jan 01, 2018 4:51 pm FS-RD-04-02 #32 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale Campus Avenue Saturday, 6th February 3097 2200 local hours The metal of the rifle was cool against Pierre's cheek as he peered out past the tattered curtains to the street below. He could hear Dureau clattering around downstairs, playing at his game. It was too late to shush him now - Dureau was just too young to understand. Lorin didn't understand either, but she was a girl. Besides, she hadn't been the one to find Mama's body under the rubble this evening. Lorin said the Plieadies Sabers were their enemy, but the Plieadies Sabers hadn't killed Mama. Pierre knew it was the Deuces Wild’s ‘Mechs that had boomed early in the day, raining shells down on their neighborhood. And now he would have his revenge. Now Pierre caught a flash of movement down the street. He checked the gun bolt again, making sure there was a slug loaded into the chamber of the rifle. It was Pa-Pa's Tsunami Heavy Gauss rifle. Once, before the war, Pa-Pa had taken him hunting. It was a long time ago - he'd only been seven, even younger than Dureau was now - but Pierre remembered the lessons. He held his breath, waiting for his prey to approach. The Armored soldiers moved slowly -- there were only two of them, taking turns moving down the empty street. When they reached the church, directly across the street, Pierre could make out the two stripes on one man's armored vambrace. He hadn't hit any rabbits that day, when he was hunting with Pa-Pa. But this was easier than shooting rabbits. Men were bigger, and they didn't move as fast. Pierre lined up his gun sight on the Rabid Wolves trooper with the stripes and carefully squeezed the trigger. Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale Campus Avenue Community Center Basement Saturday, 6th February 3097 2215 local hours The sound of movement and muted voices carried across the chill night air and down into the basement of the bombed out building. Captain Cathryn 'Bulls Eye' Whitley tensed, reaching for her Rugan Anti-personnel Sub Machine Gun. Beside her, Gunnery Sergeant Edward ‘Blaze’ Rockel, Cathryn’s radio man for this mission, also heard it. "The patrol?" he whispered. It was Command Sergeant Major Mickey ‘Surgeon’ Gurevich's patrol they were waiting for - just five men on a simple recon through the Rebel contested city that took them a half click away. But they were more than an hour overdue, and they'd missed their last three radio checks. "Sounds like it," Cathryn said quietly, trying not to worry. She thought she could hear 'Doc's, Corporal Charina Oracion, voice, though She couldn't make out the words. That probably meant there were wounded. Cathryn resisted the impulse to go see what was going on. Somebody would report to her as soon as they could. A moment later, that somebody was Gurevich. He approached silently and stood looming above the hole, momentarily silhouetted in the moonlight. Then he slid down into the hole - if there'd been stairs, they hadn't survived the aerospace bombing runs. "Rebels - moving through the city, Captain." Gurevich sounded out of breath. "Looked like at least sixty *T-Rats (*What her troopers had taken to calling the Tunnel Rat PA(L)s). Didn't see any heavy stuff." "Call it in," Cathryn told Rockel, who had already fired up the Military grade hand held communicator. Gurevich slumped his Ogre Suit’s huge armored back against the rough stone wall, obviously exhausted. Cathryn asked, "Did you make contact?" "Ran into a sniper in the city. He got Private Catherine Lassalle." Gurevich paused for breath. " ‘Doc’ said to call for an evac team." "Captain," Rockel interrupted. "I've got AFFS Six on the line." Cathryn quickly relayed Gurevich' information to Captain Lauren Keene. "About sixty PA(L)s? That’s either two standard Plieadies Sabers armored infantry platoons or three Longwoods Bluecoats Jump Platoons. Either way is no good." Lauren's voice came clearly over the handset, which was connected by wire to the base unit at the task force Security Offices CP, eight kilometers or so behind Cathryn’s position. "Yes, ma’am. At least." A tough match for Cathryn’s own under strength Battle Armored platoon. "Any word on reinforcements, Captain?" "Not likely, Deuces Wild are heavily engaged with Plieadies Sabers 'Mechs and Black Rhyno’s Stone Pachyderm Lance and Striking Cobra Lance ran into a Rebel ambush and got bogged down; vibro mines and rocket assisted grenades, " Lauren replied. "I'll try to re-task Iron Peregrine Flight for a pre-attack bombardment, but otherwise you'll have to take that neighborhood on your own tomorrow." "Yes, Ma’am." No need for Lauren to repeat the rest of it . . . Deuces Wild combat command was moving up all along the line to strike at the Rebels spotted ‘Mechs at waypoint Delta, and Cathryn’s platoon had drawn the assignment to move in and hold the small area delineated by Campus Avenue that was right in the center of the action - a city which, according to MI4, had been abandoned by the ‘Rebel Contingent’. So much for Davion Intelligence. Cathryn signed off and turned to the men who shared the damp basement with her. Debris from what had once been the rest of the small Community Center filled most of the basement, so there wasn't much space, but it beat a foxhole. Cathryn slid past Rockel to talk to Gurevich, who had moved to the far corner of the room. In the dim light, Cathryn could see that the Command Sergeant Major was sitting with his helmet leaned back and his eyes closed. Cathryn was reluctant to disturb him. None of them had gotten any real sleep in more than two days, and even a five minute cat nap was precious. But she needed to hear the rest of the recon report. "Gurevich ...." His head snapped up and Gurevich made a grab for the Rugan submachine gun that lay beside him. Then he seemed to get his bearings and focus in on Cathryn. "Captain .... What's the word?" "The same. We jump off at oh 600." "What about our reinforcements?" "Keene's going to try to get some cluster bomb support from Iron Peregrine. That'll soften them up for us." Cathryn tried to sound optimistic, but the Sabers would have all night to dig in. It'd take a lot of softening to even up the odds. "Yeah Right," Gurevich said grimly, in a tone that didn't pretend to echo Cathryn’s false optimism. "What about Lassalle?" Cathryn asked. " ‘Doc's with her. Chest wound." Gurevich said. "We didn't get the sniper," he added, anticipating Cathryn’s next question. "Couldn't hang around to look for him, with the T-Rats moving in and the communicator ...." Gurevich paused to shrug the magnetic attachment for the long range military communicator off his right shoulder. The communicator slid to the ground and Gurevich left it there. "Dead," he finished, with a disgusted tone. "Probably the battery." Cathryn scooped up the communicator and handed it to Rockel. Not that the Gunny Sergeant was likely to be able to fix it, since there were no spare batteries. Gurevich knew his orders . . . with the radio out, getting back with the information about the enemy movements took priority over tracking down a sniper. "No other casualties, then?" Cathryn asked. "One ... There was one casualty, ma’am. Civilian. An Indig . . er a local." Cathryn wondered at the uncharacteristic hesitation . . . a civilian casualty wasn't unusual. "Did the sniper get him?" "No, sir. The civilian was in the same building the sniper was firing from. I saw movement in a window and ..." Gurevich gestured with his Rugan. "I thought he was the sniper." Gurevich's tone was ‘matter of fact’, carrying no hint of anguish or self recrimination. Cathryn knew from past experience in dealing with the frequently reticent non-com that she couldn't read much from that. She cast about for an appropriate response, then fell back on the MRBC training manual. "Some level of civilian casualties in a combat zone is inevitable, Sergeant. It's an unfortunate incident, but you can't blame yourself." "Yes, ma’am. I know, Cap’n." The reply, framed strictly within military protocols, didn't invite further discussion. Gurevich moved to get up. "If there's nothing else, Captain, I'd better get back to my men." "All right, Gurevich. Tell the men to keep alert . . . keep two on watch at all times, in two hour shifts." Nobody would be getting much sleep tonight. "Yes, ma’am," Gurevich moved awkwardly, stumbling as he got to his Ogre’s feet. He grabbed at the dirt wall for support. Cathryn took hold of Gurevich's massive left arm to steady him. She let go in surprise when Gurevich gave a muffled oath and pulled away from her. Gurevich slumped against the wall, hugging his left arm against his armored carapace. The Rugan dangled loosely from his left hand. "Gurevich? What's wrong? Are you hit?" "The sniper winged me," Gurevich admitted through gritted teeth. "It's ... not a big deal." Cathryn gave him a skeptical look. "What did ‘Doc’ say?" "She didn't see it." Gurevich straightened and transferred the Rugan to his right hand, letting the injured arm drop . . . trying to make his actions support his words. " ‘Doc’ had her hands full when we brought Lassalle in. ‘Littlejohn’ took care of it," Gurevich offered referring to Specialist Caleb Nam by his call sign. "Let me take a look," Cathryn said, moving over to examine the arm. It was fully night now; the only light came from the rising half moon. Cathryn couldn't see much besides some torn metal on the upper arm of Gurevich's battle armor. "Rockel, bring the flashlight over," she ordered, and told Gurevich, "Take the armor off." Gurevich moved stiffly, trying to shrug his way out of the armor. Rockel brought the small map light over in time to illuminate Gurevich's face and reveal a grimace of the pain he was trying not to show. Cathryn reached over and held the end of the armored sleeve, helping Gurevich to ease his left arm out. "Not a big deal, huh?" "I guess it stiffened up," Gurevich said tightly. The exercise of removing the armor was more revealing than the examination itself. In the flickery light, Cathryn could make out a blood encrusted bandage tied around Gurevich' biceps. Blood had soaked into the shreds of the body stocking, which was torn away in the area around the wound. The bandage was just a hastily applied field dressing. Cathryn let go of the arm, shaking her head. How long had Gurevich intended to let it go untended to? " ‘Doc’ better take a look at this. It needs a proper dressing." "All right. After I go check on the squad ...." Gurevich pulled the armor back up over his shoulder, not bothering to put the arm back in. Gurevich started to climb one handed out of the basement; a difficult maneuver under the best of circumstances. This wasn't the best of circumstances. Gurevich made it halfway up, then abruptly aborted his effort, dropping painfully back to the ground causing a cloud of dust from his one thousand kilogram armored suit to billow up. He leaned back against the adjacent wall, holding the arm. Cathryn had seen enough. Gurevich was in no shape to be crawling around foxholes tonight. "Stay here, Gurevich. I'll send ‘Doc’ to you. Rockel can handle the squad for now." "Nah, I'm okay," Gurevich protested. "Just didn't think it was that high." He started at the wall again this time however he crouched his legs, as if he were going to fire his jumpjets. Cathryn stepped her Steele Dagger Armored Suit in front of Gurevich’s Ogre. "You've had it for tonight, Gurevich. Stay put." Gurevich stopped, but seemed to be formulating a counter-argument. "That's an order, Command Sergeant Major," Cathryn said firmly in her best Drill Sergeant voice, settling it once and for all. "Ma’am, Yes ma’am." Gurevich didn't look pleased, but he didn't argue. He leaned against the wall, then slid back down to the ground, with a sigh of resignation. Cathryn left him alone, turning back to Rockel, who had remained tactfully silent during the confrontation. "Gunny, stay by the communicator." Maybe the Command Post would have some confirmation on the air support. "I'm going to go check on the squads; I'll be back in about a half hour." "Right, ma’am." Cathryn adjusted her helmet and scooped up her SMG. At the other end of the room, Gurevich was visible from the glowing tip of a cigarette. When Cathryn moved back over towards him, Gurevich silently held out the burning cigarette. A peace offering. Cathryn accepted it, popped her helmet, and took a deep drag. "Try to get some sleep, Gurevich," she said, handing the cigarette back and refastening her helmet. "Yeah..." Gurevich muttered an acknowledgment. Cathryn climbed easily up outside onto the damp grass above. Get some sleep, Gurevich. Because tomorrow at oh 600 hours, I'm going to need you; whether you can climb out of this hole by yourself or not. (2212) (2212) TOTAL 75,969 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Mon Jan 01, 2018 7:55 pm FS-RD-04-02 #33 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale Campus Avenue Fox Hole Echo Saturday, 6th February 3097 2230 local hours Cathryn hadn't gone far when she ran into the stretcher team from the Rabid Wolves Hearth Den Platoon’s M.A.S.H. Truck unit which was just arriving from Task Force Security Offices Command Post. She took them to where the Ogre Squad was dug in . . . where Gurevich had left ‘Doc’ and Lassalle. Not that the two corpsmen would have had any trouble finding it themselves . . . Cathryn could hear her men's voices carrying across the night, long before she reached the first of the foxholes. "Well, what the hell was he doing there in the first place?" Specialist Maureen Lee's voice rang out in the darkness. The first foxhole Cathryn came to was empty. "I dunno." That was ‘Littlejohn's voice . . . at least he was keeping it low. "He probably lived there." "C'mon, keep it down." Corporal Phillip Cedronelli said. "Maureen, Ferrell . . . get back to your positions. You too, Hasni," the Corporal ordered Maureen, Specialist Ian Hasni, and Private 1st Class Earle Ferrell. When Cathryn got closer to the voices, she could make out some dark shapes ahead . . . it looked as if Gurevich's entire squad was clustered around one of the foxholes. "Where's that stretcher team?" ‘Doc's voice complained softly from the ground near the center of the group. "Right here," Cathryn replied as she and the medics reached the group, their approach completely unnoticed. Anger laced her voice. "And if we were Sabers T-Rat, you'd all be dead now." There was a moment of stunned silence, then Cedronelli faltered. "Ma’am, I...." "Never mind, Cedronelli," Cathryn snapped through her external speakers, wondering what had stirred up these normally reliable soldiers to the point that they were behaving like a bunch of raw recruits. "All of you, shut up and get back to your positions." After a muttered chorus of "Yes, ma’am's," the men moved off, leaving just ‘Littlejohn’ and Private Liina Tentsov in the nearest foxhole. Doc was bent over Lassalle a few feet away. The two M.A.S.H. medics put their stretcher on the ground and began preparations for loading the wounded man onto it without his armor. "How's he doing, ‘Doc’?" Cathryn asked. "Not good, Captain." ‘Doc’ helped the corpsmen load the unconscious man onto the stretcher. "But if he gets a nice smooth ride back to the aid station, I think he'll make it." "We'll do our best," First Sergeant Doctor Brian Murdox assured her. "At least he'll get a ticket home out of this." A ticket home the hard way, Cathryn thought, as she waited for the medics to depart with their passenger. When they were gone, ‘Doc’ knelt back down and started packing up her medical pouch. " ‘Doc’," Cathryn said. "Gurevich is back at my CP. He's got an arm wound that needs attention." "The Command Sergeant Major? How bad is it, Captain?" "Not too bad, I hope," Cathryn replied. "But don't take his word for it." ‘Doc’ gave a half hearted chuckle. "No chance of that, Captain. I'll check him out." Cathryn went to look for Cedronelli and found him dug in nearby. She quickly filled him in on tomorrow's attack. "Okay, ma’am," Cedronelli acknowledged when Cathryn was through. "0600. What about Gurevich?" "Gurevich will join you by 0530 if he's up to it. But you've got the squad for tonight, Cedronelli. I don't expect a repeat of that little cluster phuk you were having when I got here." "No, ma’am. I'm sorry about that. Hasni was upset about the kid, and we were trying to calm him down and well, things just got out of hand . . . " "I don't want explanations, Cedronelli," Cathryn snapped. "Just don't let it happen again." "Yes, ma’am," an electronic voice modulated out over his speakers. Cathryn started to go, suddenly realized what Cedronelli had said, and stopped. "What kid?" "Ma’am?" "What's this about a kid?" "The Sergeant didn't tell you?" Cedronelli asked. Not everything, apparently. "Never mind what Gurevich told me. You tell me, Cedronelli." "Gurevich and Lassalle were alone when the sniper attacked," Cedronelli said. "Nobody else saw what happened, but ‘Littlejohn’ said it looked like Gurevich shot a kid who was in that building with the sniper. Hasni found the body." A kid. Gurevich's ‘civilian casualty’. Well, he had told Cathryn about it . . . all the details that were needed for a report, anyway. The MRBC reports didn't care about ages, just numbers for their statistics. But a dead boy wasn't just a statistic to Gurevich, or to Hasni. Cathryn cursed softly under her breath. "You should talk to ‘Littlejohn’ and Hasni, Captain," Cedronelli finished. "I only know what they told me." Cathryn decided to do just that. Hasni was relatively a veteran of combat . . .he'd been with Swift Canine platoon a few months. But he'd been the first one on the scene, so Cathryn found him in his foxhole and asked for the details. "It was awful, Captain." Specialist Hasni was just a shape in the dark, his voice shaky even without the modulation. "Just tell me what you saw, Hasni," Cathryn ordered. She was in no mood to coddle the young soldier. "Yes, ma’am...." Hasni took a deep breath and lifted his helmet observing sound protocol. " ‘Littlejohn’. . . , uh I’m sorry. Specialist Caleb Nam and I heard the shooting, but by the time we got there, it was all over. Lassalle and the Command Sergeant Major were both hit. Sarge said it was a sniper, and he thought he got him. He told me to go into the building across the street and check it out. "So, I went into the building, but instead of the sniper, I found these two kids in there." "Two kids?" Cathryn asked. "Yes, ma’am. The one kid was .... well, he was a mess, ma’am. He was just a little kid . . . couldn't have been more than 8 or 9. Hit at least twice in the chest. No way he could survive that. The other kid was standing over his body. He was older . . . maybe 12. When he saw me, he started yelling at me in French. He was crying. I ... I didn't know what to do, so I called Sarge." Hasni stopped and took a deep shuddering breath, and then continued. "When Sarge came in and saw the kid on the ground .... the other kid started yelling at him . . . he jumped on Sarge and started hitting him on his armor until his fist were bloody, and Sarge just stood there, staring at the dead kid. I had to pull that kid off him.” "Sarge just called ‘Littlejohn’ in and told him to watch the older kid, while we searched the rest of the building.” "The building was clean, though . . . no sign of the sniper. Corporal found some empty rifle clips by the front window in a room upstairs. We were going to check outside, but then I spotted the Sabers T-Rats moving in, and Sarge told us to clear out of there." "What about the other boy?" Cathryn asked. "Sarge said to bring him with us, but he took off, and we couldn't stick around to track him down. We jury rigged a stretcher for Lassalle and got back here as fast as we could." "Okay, thanks Hasni," Cathryn said when the boy finished talking. "Is there anything else?" "No, ma’am. That's it. Well ... just," Hasni faltered. "What is it, Hasni?" Cathryn asked. "Well, it wasn't Sarge's fault, was it? I mean, he was hit, pinned down . . . how was he supposed to know there was a kid in there?" "Don't worry about it, Hasni." Cathryn tried to sound reassuring, but firm. "These things happen sometimes. It's not your problem." "But he was just a little kid . . . He shouldn't have been there." The words came out in a rush now as Hasni revealed what had been eating at him. "When we go back into that neighborhood tomorrow, what if there's more kids, and . . . " Cathryn cut him off. "When you go out onto that op tomorrow, the only thing you have to worry about is the Sabers, Hasni. The civilians know how to get clear of a firefight. If you start looking for a civilian behind every doorway, you're just going to get yourself killed. Don't even think about it. You got that?" "Yeah ... I mean, yes, ma’am." Hasni's reply wasn't convincing, but Cathryn left it at that. She still had to check on the rest of the platoon "Get some rest, Hasni. We jump off early tomorrow." Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale Campus Avenue Community Center Rabid Wolves Command Post Saturday, 6th February 3097 2245 local hours Starting back on Outreach before Merope, and over the course of months spent in close quarters, Cathryn had grown to envy Gurevich's ability to sleep soundly under almost any conditions. Rain, snow, artillery fire, rocky ground, mud, the anticipation of an early morning engagement, recriminations for the mistakes of the previous day . . . Cathryn usually found no shortage of reasons to toss and turn through an endless night. But nothing seemed to phase her dauntless Command Sergeant Major. That’s probably why she had promoted him. But whenever it was time to sleep, Gurevich slept. Not tonight, though. When Cathryn took over Rockel's watch at midnight, she noticed that Gurevich was moving restlessly in the other corner . . . not sleeping soundly, if he was sleeping at all. Cathryn stood a quiet watch over the field communicator for a while. She hoped she'd made the right decision . . . to let Gurevich stay with the platoon. ‘Doc’ said that Gurevich's arm wound wasn't serious. The bullet had passed through muscle and exited cleanly. Still, there was always the risk of infection. But Gurevich could still fight, and he wanted to stay, so that had settled it . . . at least until morning. The quiet of the night was shattered by a sharp cry from Gurevich, which was quickly muffled. Rockel, sleeping next to Cathryn, sat bolt upright in response. "What is it?" Rockel whispered warily. "Nothing. Go back to sleep," Cathryn said quietly. Rockel grunted and rolled over. Gurevich's ragged breathing gradually quieted. Cathryn didn't say anything to him. She found herself an unwilling witness . . . a man's nightmare should be a private affair. After a few moments, Gurevich gave up any pretense of sleeping. Cathryn heard him sit up, and then she saw the flame from Gurevich's lighter as he lit a cigarette. Cathryn took that as a cue that she could quit pretending that they weren't both awake. She took out a cigarette of her own, and then moved past the sleeping Rockel to lower her bulky armor near the unarmored Gurevich. Gurevich was silent, a huddled figure with a white slash across the middle where the sling ‘Doc’ had given him was reflected in the moonlight. Cathryn lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. "The arm bothering you?" she asked. "Yeah, a little." That wasn't the real problem, though. Cathryn hadn't said anything to Gurevich about the boy when she returned to the CP. She wasn't a hundred percent sure how to bring it up now. They sat in silence for a while. Gurevich finished his cigarette, then Cathryn heard him fumbling around in the dark, searching for something in his equipment. There was the snap and click of metal on metal, and Cathryn realized that Gurevich was reloading one of his ammo clips. It was an odd thing to be doing in the middle of the night, but no doubt it was a task Gurevich could manage with his eyes closed. Click. Gurevich snapped another cartridge in place. Two. Cathryn counted automatically. Gurevich continued methodically. There were three more clicks, then he stopped. "Forty five caliber...." Gurevich broke the silence again. He was holding one of the bullets up for display, though Cathryn could barely make it out. "Puts quite a hole in a man." Cathryn waited for a beat. "Or a boy?" she asked. Gurevich slammed the replenished magazine back onto the Rugan. "Yeah." If he was surprised that Cathryn had found out that little detail, he didn't show it. Another silence. Cathryn broke this one, feeling that she had to say something, even if it wasn't exactly profound. "You can't let it get to you, Gurevich." Gurevich put his Rugan back down beside him. "I know, Captain. It won't." Cathryn recognized that tone . . . Gurevich had his defenses firmly in place. There wasn't much use in continuing the conversation. "Well, you've got the most comfortable bed in the platoon, tonight, Command Sergeant." Cathryn stubbed out her cigarette. "You'd better try to take advantage of it." "Yeah..." Gurevich took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He lay back down, while Cathryn returned to her spot by the communicator. Cathryn wasn't sure she'd really accomplished anything. But at least she felt better about her decision to let Gurevich stay. There was the old adage about getting back up on the horse that threw you. It was probably best to give Gurevich some real targets to shoot at . . . the sooner the better. One thing was for certain: Tomorrow, there would be plenty of T-Rats to shoot at. (2318) TOTAL 78,287 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Tue Jan 02, 2018 5:57 am FS-RD-04-02 #34 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale Campus Avenue Saturday, 7th February 3097 0600 local hours Pierre was cold and wet. And hungry. He couldn't go back to the apartment last night . . . not to face Lorin. And with the Plieadies Sabers Infantry swarming the city, he couldn't stay there. So, he'd spent the night in the park. And then the explosions woke him at dawn. The Deuces Wild again! Pierre cursed them as he thought of Dureau's body buried under the rubble, like Mama's. Why didn't they just go away? Finally the shelling stopped. Pierre crept up to the edge of the woods inside the park. The city was wreathed in smoke; he couldn't see if his apartment building was still standing. He started to move closer, but suddenly a Rabid Wolves armored soldier loomed up in front of him. Pierre froze. There were a bunch of them, but they didn't see him. They ran towards the Campus Avenue, and then they started firing their arm mounted anti-‘Mech small laser. Pierre heard the Plieadies Sabers firing back. He saw one of the Rabid Wolves fall. Good. He settled back to watch. Maybe the Plieadies Sabers and the Rabid Wolves would kill each other now. Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale Campus Avenue Saturday, 7th February 3097 0630 local hours Captain Cathryn ‘Bulls Eye’ Whitley led Private 1st Class Earle Ferrell and Private Jason Fazlov . . . two men from Staff Sergeant Everitt ‘Binoc’ Gore's Gray Death Scout Armor squad . . . down Waverly street that intersected Campus Avenue. Her runner had reported that Gurevich's squad had pushed the Sabers back on the left flank, and Corporal Galvin ‘Templar’ Shilling's Infiltrator Battle Armor squad seemed to have things under control on the right. Now the Gray Death Scout Armor squad was moving in from the front, to mop up. They moved forward cautiously, checking each building, but didn't find any sign of the enemy. The bombardment softened enemy positions hadn't put up much of a fight, and the gunfire around Campus Avenue was already dying down; Cathryn wondered if they had drawn an easy one for a change. Then the harsh, rapid fire of a heavy machine gun changed her mind. The shots came from a block or so away, where Shilling's squad should be. Cathryn advanced toward the sound, hoping to come up from the side in an advantageous position. No such luck, though. When Cathryn and her men reached the next corner, Cathryn peered cautiously around and took in the situation. The street opened up into a small central square, and the heavy machine gun nest was perfectly located in a corner building diagonally across the street. The Rebels were firing from a ground story window, and they had a field of fire that covered approaches from almost every direction. The gun was currently firing at a target to Cathryn’s right; from the sporadic and ineffective return fire, it sounded as if there were several armored troopers pinned down there. The machine gunners weren't alone, either. A voice yelled in French, then some rifle fire came Cathryn’s way. She ducked back quickly, cursing. A near miss struck the wall, flinging chunks of brick and mortar pinging off her Steele Dagger armor. Cathryn turned to her men. "Looks like a half dozen Sabers T-Rats over there. We can't touch them from here. We'll have to move in closer." "How about a SRM?" Ferrell suggested. "From here? Into a window 200 meters away? It'd just be a waste of an SRM," Cathryn said. "We'll have to get across the street. I'll go first . . . you two cover me." Ferrell nodded, and moved up to point his small laser around the corner. "Wait, Captain!" he said, just as Cathryn was getting ready to make her run. "Look . . . there's someone moving up!" Cathryn stopped and peered around the corner. Across the square, there was a flash of motion. A city camo armored figure pressed against the wall of the building where the Rebels were holed up. Even at this distance, the camouflage material on the figure's helmet was as distinctive as a name tag: Gurevich. Somehow he'd managed to get into a position where he could move up undetected in the Rebels's blind spot. "All right!" Ferrell grinned. "He can just walk right over and launch a SRM in on them!" Cathryn spotted a Rebel peering out the window, and instantly fired her Rugan sub machine gun at the movement; the Rebel pulled back. "Give him some cover!" Cathryn ordered. The Rebels weren't stupid . . . they were well aware of their blind spot, and Gurevich would be a sitting duck if they spotted him now. Obediently, Ferrell and Fazlov fired at the window. They weren't hitting anything, but it kept the Rebel’s heads down. From down the block, there was renewed firing from their pinned comrades. They'd spotted Gurevich, too. Gurevich took advantage of the cover to advance quickly towards the window. He ducked low to pass a closed doorway; the top half of which was glass. Then he paused with his Ogre armor’s back pressed against the wall, in a space between the doorway and the window. Cathryn continued to fire in the general direction of the front window, aiming off to the right to avoid any chance of a stray shot hitting Gurevich. It seemed like an eternity before Gurevich made his move, though it was probably just a matter of seconds. Gurevich raised his Rugan, spun to the left, and kicked the door in. The Rugan chattered distinctively as Gurevich emptied a whole magazine into the room. The Rebel machine gun abruptly went silent. The Rabid Wolves guns also went silent. Nothing moved inside the building. "Geezuz!' Ferrell exclaimed, his voice a mixture of surprise and awe. Cathryn didn't respond to the comment, but it galvanized her into action. "Check these other buildings," she ordered, pointing at the buildings between their position and the defunct machine gun nest. There was still no movement in the building. Cathryn made her way quickly, but cautiously, to it. Her stomach did a flip flop as she tried not to think about what the ominous stillness could mean. Six on one, point blank range . . . even with the element of surprise and heavy armor than a Tunnel Rat PA(L), it seemed like unbeatable odds. Why had Gurevich tried it? Sergeant Shilling, one of the men who'd been pinned down by the Rebels, reached the building ahead of Cathryn. His reaction was loud and immediate, "What the hell, Gurevich?" he blurted over his Infiltrator armor’s loud speakers. Cathryn stepped inside and quickly took in the scene. Shilling confronted Gurevich in the middle of the room. Behind them, by the window, were the bullet ridden T-Rat armor of six Rebels soldiers. Cathryn’s eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the dim indoor light, but she saw a pile of the Rebel’s weapons thrown haphazardly against the far wall. Gurevich stood there, unmoving and apparently unscathed, while Shilling reached out and grabbed one of the two SRMs from where they hung on the front of Gurevich's battle armor. Shilling waved the SRM in his fellow Sergeant's face. "You think you're Sergeant York or some shit? Why didn't you just use this?" Gurevich looked from Shilling to the SRM. His expression through his vee shaped visor was unreadable. A dressing down from a subordinate non-comm. Shilling was previously Regular Jump Platoon . . . an experienced NCO who'd been in Gurevich’s platoon for over a month. He and Gurevich weren't exactly friends, but Shilling had plenty of reason to respect Gurevich's ability as an armored soldier . . . both from first-hand experience, and from Gurevich's well deserved reputation amongst the men in Swift Canine platoon. Right now, though, Shilling was addressing Gurevich the way he might address a raw recruit. Cathryn half expected Gurevich to haul off and slug the man. But Gurevich just stood there. "Do you want a medal that bad?" Shilling snarled. Whatever Gurevich's explanation might be, Cathryn knew it had nothing to with medals. Cathryn might have been giving Gurevich some of the same treatment, if she'd gotten there first. But for whatever reason, Gurevich wasn't defending himself against Shilling's onslaught. Cathryn couldn't just stand there and let Shilling tear into his ranking officer. "That's enough, Shilling," she interrupted. "Captain!" Shilling turned to her in obvious surprise. "That was you firing from the corner? Did you see . . . " "I saw the whole thing, Sergeant." Cathryn cut him off cold. "Looked to me like Gurevich got you out of a tight spot just now." "Yeah ... Yeah, he sure did." Shilling stepped back. "The Sabers had us pinned down good. They got Private Vastin Poplevin and Monica Maddox." "Dead?" Cathryn asked. "As good as," Shilling replied. Cathryn turned to Gurevich, who still stood stiffly beside Shilling. "You all right?" "Yes, ma’am." Gurevich visibly relaxed a notch, his Ogre Armor’s shoulders sagging, shifting his Rugan up over his armored shoulder. He glanced over to the Rebels by the window and added casually, "That one's still alive, Captain." One of the Rebels T-Rats had been shot in the chest, but was still moving; he wasn't likely to live long, and wasn't a threat without weapons. Cathryn didn't need to check the others more closely to see that they were dead. A .45 caliber bullet could put quite a hole in PA(L) Armor. This kind of bloody carnage was something she hoped she would never get used to. But, those Sabers got Poplevin and Monica, and it was only by some incredible stroke of luck that they hadn't gotten Gurevich, too. The wounded Saber could wait. Time to deal with her own troopers. Outside, the battle seemed to be over, though there was some sporadic gunfire coming from the outskirts of her operations area. "Shilling, go find the rest of your men and flush out the southern part of the Campus Avenue," Cathryn ordered. "Leave the wounded for ‘Doc’ . . . I'll be setting up the Command Post here." "Okay, Captain," Shilling said. He fiddled with Gurevich's SRM for a moment, tossing it a few inches into the air and catching it. Then he held it out to Gurevich. "Thanks, Gurevich. I owe you one." Gurevich shrugged, responding as if Shilling's outburst of a few moments ago had never happened. "Guess I was just in the right place at the right time." He took the SRM from Shilling and attached it back to his armor’s clasp without giving it a second glance. "Yeah, sure...." Shilling muttered. On his way out the door, outside of Gurevich' view, he caught Cathryn’s eye and shook his head . . . he wasn't buying it. Cathryn motioned with her chin toward the door. She'd handle it. Shilling nodded and left. "I better go check my men," Gurevich said, oblivious to the by play. Cathryn gave Gurevich an appraising glance. The shot that ‘Doc’ had given him for the pain had worn off and he was favoring the arm, though the wound hadn't impaired his ability to fire the Rugan. This close, Cathryn could see into Gurevich visor where dried rivulets of dirty sweat covered his neck, mixed in with two days growth of beard. Gurevich looked tired . . . but they were all tired. "Casualties?" Cathryn asked. " ‘Littlejohn’ got hit in the leg. Didn't look serious. Everybody else was okay last time I saw them. We were flushing out the last of the Sabers on our side." "Okay, finish checking out the northern end of Campus Avenue, then report back here. I'll assign Gore's Gray Death Scout squad to perimeter security, so after the area is clear, your men should be able to stand down for a while." Gurevich nodded. "Okay, Captain." "Gurevich ..." Cathryn called him back when he started to leave. "You never did answer Shilling's question, you know." "He had a lot of questions," Gurevich shot back. He was going to make Cathryn drag it out of him. "Well, I only have one. Why didn't you just use a SRM, Gurevich?" "I didn't think of it." He shrugged. "I figured I could take them through the door." "You didn't think of it?" Cathryn repeated the explanation as casually as Gurevich had offered it. It was certainly simple, but it wasn't the kind of explanation Cathryn expected from Gurevich. The SRM was such an obvious tactic, even a raw recruit would have thought of it. Gurevich shrugged awkwardly through the Ogre armor. Well, Cathryn couldn't remember the reasoning behind every decision she'd made in the heat of combat, either. "Go on, Gurevich," Cathryn waved him toward the door. "But next time .... Think about using the SRM. You were damn lucky, Command Sergeant Major." "Oh yeah, I've been real lucky lately," Gurevich said wryly. Then he ducked out the door before Cathryn could respond. (2226) TOTAL 80,513 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Wed Jan 03, 2018 5:01 pm FS-RD-04-02 #35 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale Campus Avenue Central Square Civilian Residence Saturday, 7th February 3097 0745 local hours Cathryn flagged down Ferrell and Fazlov and set them to work cleaning up what would be her new command post. Now that they'd taken the battlefield, they needed to be prepared for possible counterattacks. Rockel turned up a few minutes later, and immediately cleared a space for the radio. The reports from Joint Command Center weren't good. The attacks were floundering . . . the 'Mechs and armor of the Deuces Wild and Rabid Wolves had met heavy resistance to the north, and elements of Wolf’s Dragoons Gamma Regiment were getting torn apart by unexpected Battlemech support to the southeast. The rest of the Rabid Wolves Rhyno Company, it seemed, would take a while to catch up to them as they hadn't even left the shelter of the SpacePort proper yet. But Cathryn was supposed to hold the field until it did. If there was a counterattack, her men would have to handle it on their own. That meant she'd better have a handle on the layout of the place. Time to take a closer look. It was a large section of the city, built around a major thorough fare and consisting of several blocks of buildings in each direction. Most of the buildings were in ruins, and few had escaped damage from Iron Pregrine Flight’s bombardment. A few Merope civilians drifted back to survey the remains of their homes. There was no Liberation celebration from this neighborhood, though. The civilians who were picking through the ruins weren't openly hostile, but they didn't seem in the mood for victory celebrations. Cathryn's exploration took her to a quiet street near the eastern perimeter of the neighborhood . . . farthest away from the Plieadies Sabers’ lines. She had paused to study the rubble of a church, when a loud clatter came from a house across the street. Cathryn, still clad in Steele Dagger Battle Armor, carefully approached the building. The noises continued . . . as if something was being knocked over. Cathryn crept up to the front window, sub machine gun at the ready. Cathryn looked in through the broken window, expecting to see some kind of ‘life or death’ struggle to account for the racket. She was surprised to see Gurevich in the room, alone, missing the front breast plate of his elemental armor. The Command Sergeant Major was crouched down on his hands and knees in the middle of the room, digging noisily through a pile of debris. Simultaneously relieved and curious, Cathryn headed for the front door. Inside, she noticed a detail she hadn't seen from outside . . . the body of a young boy lay near the window. The bloody corpse was stretched out in a funereal pose, arms crossed over the chest. It looked like this had once been a nicely decorated front parlor, but now the furnishings lay mostly in pieces on the floor. Gurevich continued digging noisily through the rubble, tossing aside pieces of a broken chair and muttering to himself. He gave no sign that he'd noticed Cathryn’s arrival. "Gurevich . . . what are you looking for?" "My weapon. Gotta find it." Gurevich mumbled, barely audible. "Your sidearm?" Cathryn asked. The debris was cleared away sufficiently that Cathryn doubted the handgun could be hidden under it. "My Rugan. Can't find my Rugan." Gurevich's words slurred together. The Rugan was nowhere in sight, and it obviously wasn't hidden where Gurevich was looking. Cathryn watched, momentarily transfixed, as Gurevich tossed aside a final broken chair leg and swept his hand several times across the floor boards. "Well, I don't think you'll find it there," Cathryn finally said, holding out a faint hope that this was some kind of strange joke, and now Gurevich would tell her the punch line. But it wasn't going to be that simple. Gurevich stopped the pointless searching and got unsteadily to his feet. He looked around the room, but his glance passed right over Cathryn like she wasn't there. "Gotta find it," he repeated. Now that Gurevich was on his feet, Cathryn noticed that the breast plate of Ogre armor wasn't the only thing missing. Gurevich didn't have any of his other equipment, either. He probably hadn't been carrying his field pack, but he certainly should have had his Ogre helmet . . . and there was no sign of it, or of the armored boots, SRMs, and other equipment that should have been hanging from the armor. Gurevich took a few stumbling steps towards the nearest pile of rubble, which consisted mostly of the debris he'd just tossed there. Cathryn grabbed him by the shoulder. "Hold it a minute, Gurevich." "I gotta find it." Gurevich tried to shrug away. "Listen to me, Gurevich," Cathryn said. "Your weapon isn't here," her voice modulating across her loud speakers. Gurevich stopped, bewildered. "Where is it?" he asked. "I can't find it." Then the Captain did something that screamed against all her instincts. She popped the seal on her own Battle Armor to speak to her second in command with a more humane timbre. Tactically she knew better. She was still in a hostile combat zone but she was overwhelmed by concern for Mickey. "Why don't you come over here and sit down," Cathryn coaxed. "Tell me what happened, and then I'll be able to help you find your Rugan." "Help me find my Rugan," Gurevich echoed. "That's right," Cathryn said. She helped Gurevich get to his feet, and led him to an overstuffed chair that had been knocked over, but seemed otherwise intact. Cathryn flipped the chair upright and pushed Gurevich down onto it. "What happened, Gurevich?" Cathryn gave Gurevich a gentle shake when there was no response from him. Gurevich shifted to cradle his left arm against his side, then squinted up at Cathryn. "Arm hurts," he announced, as if that somehow answered the question. "Yeah." Cathryn let go of Gurevich's shoulder. "Sorry." Cathryn quickly checked Gurevich for signs of physical trauma. Gurevich flinched when Cathryn probed a lump on the back of his head; Cathryn pulled back a hand that was sticky with drying blood. "Take it easy, Gurevich," Cathryn put a hand on Gurevich's good shoulder to steady him. "Do you remember what happened? Who hit you?" "Dunno," Gurevich mumbled. "What happened?" Gurevich looked towards the window, and suddenly he focused . . . on the corpse by the window. "Just a little boy." His eyes were bright, and his voice cracking. "Killed him. My fault. Shoulda seen him. Didn't see him. I'm sorry." Cathryn found herself a reluctant witness to the display. "Didn't see him. I'm sorry,." Gurevich repeated, eyes wide as he stared at the dead boy. "It's okay, Gurevich," Cathryn said. "It was an accident." But Gurevich only repeated himself. "It's okay, Gurevich." Cathryn took hold of Gurevich's good arm and pulled him up. "Come on, let's get you out of here...." "No. Gotta find my Rugan," Gurevich spun away from Cathryn. Just her luck, Cathryn reflected. Here was Gurevich with his brain so scrambled he couldn't answer a simple question, but even so, the stubborn Command Sergeant still remembered his stupid Rugan. "I'll help you find it," Cathryn said. She grabbed Gurevich again this time utilizing a fraction of the strength of her suits myomer bundles. "Come with me and I'll help you find your Rugan." Gurevich allowed himself to be lead to the door. "Okay. 'Cause I gotta find it." "I know. We'll find it, Gurevich," Cathryn reassured him. It wasn't quite a lie . . . Cathryn just didn't bother to mention that she doubted they'd find the missing weapon anytime soon . . . not unless it happened to be lying in the middle of the street on the way back to the CP. Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale Campus Avenue Central Square Rabid Wolves Command Post Saturday, 7th February 3097 1030 local hours Gurevich lay on his back with his right arm covering his eyes. His left arm was back in a sling, and there was a bright white bandage wrapped around his head, which was propped up on a pile of blankets that served as a make shift pillow. What remained of his Ogre armor and shirt lay in a heap on the floor beside him. Cathryn spoke quietly, uncertain if her friend was awake. "Mickey?" The response was immediate, and not quite what Cathryn was expecting, "Mickey Gurevich. Command Sergeant Major. Swift Canine Platoon. Wolf Pack Company. First Battalion. Rabid Wolves Mercenary Unit. Two two seven ... oh six ... two two." Gurevich spoke slowly and clearly, without removing his arm from over his eyes. "I'm still on Merope. I'm still in some capitol city I can't remember the name of. Now leave me alone." Cathryn hesitated. Had ‘Doc’'s report that Gurevich had ‘come out of it’ been overly optimistic? She replied in as normal a tone as she could muster. "Okay, Command Sergeant. I wanted to see - ." Gurevich' abruptly took his hand away from his eyes and looked up at Cathryn. "Sorry, Captain. Thought you were ‘Doc’. Keeps checking to make sure I still remember my name." Cathryn grinned. She pulled over a chair and sat down, tossing the camo . . . Ogre helm . . . the only item they'd been able to turn up after a thorough search of the area . . . on the floor next to the Ogrearmor. "Next time, why don't you keep that on your head where it belongs?" Gurevich considered the suggestion for a moment before he responded. "Thanks. I think I will." "Do you remember what happened, Gurevich? Who hit you?" "I dunno." Gurevich brought his hand back up to massage his temples. He spoke slowly and carefully, as if it was an effort for him to come up with the words. "Last thing I remember is going into the house. Looking at the boy...." He sighed and let his hand flop back down. "Next thing I know, I'm here . . . with a sore head, and ‘Doc’ asking me a bunch of stupid questions." "That's it?" "Sorry . . ." Gurevich sat up, his tone suddenly urgent. "Is the girl okay? She must have seen it." "Take it easy, Gurevich." Cathryn reached out a hand to stop him from getting up. But it was an unnecessary gesture. Gurevich dropped back down with a groan, closing his eyes to mutter, "Bad idea ...." "Stay put," Cathryn ordered. "What girl?" "French girl..." Gurevich rubbed at his temples again. "Sixteen ... Seventeen ... She was looking for her two brothers. I took her to see if the boy ... if the boy was her brother." "And was he?" "Yeah .... Must have been ...." Gurevich struggled with his faulty memory. "Have to ask her. Ask her what happened, Captain." "I haven't seen her," Cathryn reminded him. "Maybe it was the girl who attacked you?" Gurevich considered it for a moment. "No. Couldn't have been." "How are you so sure?" "Because I ..." Gurevich turned away from Cathryn and stared up at the ceiling. "I killed her brother. I wouldn't have turned my back on her." It did seem unlikely. The image of Gurevich being careless enough to let the girl get the drop on him just didn't fit. Well, the prospect of anybody managing to sneak up on the veteran soldier seemed a bit unlikely, too; but obviously somebody had managed it. At least, under normal circumstances, Gurevich wouldn't have let his guard down. But Gurevich wouldn't ‘forget’ about using a SRM, either. Not under normal circumstances. "It was probably just a Sabers straggler who was after your weapons," Cathryn said, knowing they'd need to find the girl to get her story. "Yeah, probably." Gurevich was silent a moment, then looked back at Cathryn. " ‘Doc’ said you brought me in?" Damn. Here he was asking all the questions, when it was rapidly becoming apparent that she had more of the answers than Gurevich did. Cathryn quickly filled Gurevich in on the events of the last few hours, tactfully omitting the details of Gurevich's extreme disorientation. Gurevich listened quietly. When Cathryn was done, he said, "Guess I'll have to scrounge up another Rugan." Not the Rugan again! Gurevich gave her an odd look, and added, "If the Sabers attack, we'll need every man we can get, Captain." "If the Sabers attack, you're going to stay right here, Command Sergeant. Until a Doctor says otherwise." Cathryn recovered swiftly when she realized Gurevich wasn't going to start rambling about his gun again. "Besides, you'll need more than just a Rugan." Cathryn picked up Gurevich's Ogre armor and held it up. "That guy cleaned you out." Gurevich took the armor with his good hand, groping at the panels. "Everything?" "Well, the chocolate stash seems to have survived," Cathryn said. She picked up the helmet and pointed out the two ration bars that were still cached inside the webbing. But Gurevich was unimpressed. "Damn Sabers even took my cigarettes," he muttered, dropping the armor in disgust. Cathryn smiled. At least this was one problem she could solve. "That's one of the risks of carrying those superior Davion brands, Sergeant." She dug a new pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and opened it up, lighting one for Gurevich and then another for herself. Gurevich nodded his thanks as Cathryn gave him the rest of the pack; then, after an unsuccessful search for some matches, Cathryn gave Gurevich her lighter as well. "Thanks, Captain." Gurevich spoke around the cigarette. "Guess I'll have to scrounge up one of these, too." "No rush, Gurevich," Cathryn said firmly. "You just lay right here and do what ‘Doc’ says . . . and be glad you've got such a hard head. You got that, Command Sergeant Major?" "Yeah. Yeah, I got it." Gurevich agreed with a sigh that indicated he didn't have any energy to argue about it. (2400) TOTAL 82,913 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Wed Jan 03, 2018 6:17 pm FS-RD-04-02 #36 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale Campus Avenue Central Square Building Stoop Saturday, 7th February 3097 1100 hours local Pierre smiled to himself as he watched the Rabid Wolves soldiers move nervously down the street. They'd finally given up searching . . . looking for him, of course. The funny part was, they'd walked right past him, ignoring him just as they ignored the other city boys. Pierre went back to the alley to fetch the Rabid Wolves’ Sergeant's weapon from the place where he'd hidden it under some rubble. He was still mad at Lorin for stopping him from killing that Sergeant. He'd wanted to kill the Sergeant with his own weapon . . . with the same weapon the Sergeant had used to kill Dureau. Well, now he had another idea. He would use the Sergeant's weapons to kill more Rabid Wolves or Deuces Wild, it didn’t matter which; as long as someone was made to pay for his Mama’s and Dureau’sdeaths. Pierre liked that idea even better. The Rabid Wolves weapon was heavy. He'd have to get close to be sure of his aim. Pierre held the weapon behind him and headed back towards the street. It was empty now. He'd just wait until the first Rabid Wolf came by alone .... Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale Campus Avenue Central Square Rabid Wolves Command Post Saturday, 7th February 3097 1115 hours local Captain Cathryn ‘Bulls Eye’ Whitley and Gunnery Sergeant Edward ‘Blaze’ Rockel were in the outer room of the CP when they heard the shots . . . a single burst of gunfire coming from the north part of neighborhood. Cathryn started for the door, then stopped. She wanted to go out there, but if it was anything important, her men would be looking for her here. She climbed into her Steele Dagger Suit and went through the startup protocol and weapons initialization. Cathryn didn't have to wait long. There were no more shots, but a few minutes later, Specialist Caleb ‘Littlejohn’ Nam's bulky shape filled the doorway. In his battle suit powered arms he held the limp, tattered armor of a Gray Death Battle Armored Trooper. ‘Littlejohn’ shook off Cathryn’s offer of assistance and limped past her to the back room where ‘Doc’ was waiting. It was Specialist Ian Hasni. The blood soaked, plastiflesh bandages across the young soldier's chest beneath his breast plate were evidence of ‘Littlejohn’s futile effort to slow the bleeding. ‘Littlejohn’ gently laid the semi-conscious man down, and Corporal Charina ‘Doc’ Oracion shushed him while she removed the haphazardly applied plastiflesh bandage and put a fresh properly applied one in its place. "What happened?" Cathryn asked. "Hasni was alone . . . I don't think anybody saw it, Captain," ‘Littlejohn’ explained. "I was in the building just down the block. I heard a machine gun burst . . . sounded like a Rugan. I thought it was one of our guys firing. But when I got outside to check it out, Hasni was lying there. I still think it sounded like a Rugan, Cap ... only . . .." ‘Littlejohn’ hesitated, his attention suddenly focused behind Cathryn. Cathryn turned to see Gurevich standing there, his face pale and ghostlike beneath the grime and unshaven beard. Gurevich stared down at Hasni with an unreadable expression, giving no sign that he'd even heard ‘Littlejohn’. "...But I guess it could have been a Rorynex," ‘Littlejohn’ finished lamely. He wasn't a very convincing liar . . . a Rorynex didn't sound anything like a Rugan. Cathryn knew if she wasn't buying it, that Gurevich never would. "Well, it was some kind of damn gun, anyway," ‘Doc’ muttered. Still working over Hasni, she was oblivious to the unspoken by-play going on above her. "And at close range. This kid's got three slugs in his chest. Any one of them would have done the job." Gurevich flinched and looked away. ‘Littlejohn’ tried again. "Command Sergeant Major, I . . . " "Sarge ...." A groan from Hasni distracted them all. ‘Doc’ pulled back from the young soldier, but she caught Cathryn’s eye and silently shook her head. "Sarge!...." the boy repeated. His eyes were open, looking in Gurevich' direction. When Gurevich didn't respond, Cathryn bent down next to Hasni. There wasn't much time. "Hasni .... Take it easy," Cathryn said gently. "Can you tell me what happened? Did you see who shot you?" Hasni groaned and coughed weakly. Foamy red blood bubbled out of his mouth. "Sarge ...." The voice was weakening, but still loud enough for all of them to hear. "He was just a little kid, Sarge .... Just a little kid .... Why'd? ..." The final question went unasked. Hasni slumped back and was abruptly silent, his eyes still staring blankly up at Gurevich. Cathryn reached out and gently pulled the lids down over the dead, accusing eyes. The dead boy was on Hasni's mind even as he lay dying. Cathryn recalled the conversation with Hasni the night before. Maybe she should have said something more. They'd probably never know, but Cathryn couldn't help wondering if Hasni had hesitated for a split second today, letting the sniper get the drop on him. Now, there were the living to worry about. Cathryn reluctantly turned to face Gurevich. The plastiflesh bandaged, bedraggled Command Sergeant Major stood rooted to the spot, staring at the dead man. Gurevich's face was chalky white. Nearby, ‘Littlejohn’ alternated glances between Cathryn and Gurevich, but remained silent. Leaving it up to his Captain, Cathryn thought ruefully. They didn't cover this one in the officers' manual. It was Gurevich who broke the uncomfortable silence. " ‘Littlejohn’...." Gurevich spoke hoarsely. "Yeah, Sarge?" There was a hint of relief in ‘Littlejohn's voice. "You said it was a Rugan?" ‘Littlejohn’ hesitated. "Yeah .... Yeah, Sarge. Sounded like it to me." Gurevich looked at Cathryn. "Well, that soldier’s got two more clips plus four SRMs, then. Better make sure he doesn't get a chance to use them." Business as usual. Gurevich must have been torn up inside by what he'd just witnessed. But if he was managing to hold himself together, Cathryn wasn't going to do anything to cut him down. "The men are searching now. We'll find him, Gurevich," Cathryn said confidently. "Yeah, we'll get him, Sarge," ‘Littlejohn’ chimed in. Gurevich nodded. Then he swayed and staggered, his body betraying him where his emotions had failed. ‘Doc’ was there instantly, grabbing Gurevich's arm to steady him, before Cathryn could react. Gurevich tried to shrug her off. "I'm okay, ‘Doc’." "Sure thing, Command Sergeant Major," ‘Doc’ said agreeably. "But you'd better come back over here and lie down, anyway." Cathryn was ready to back ‘Doc’ up with an order, but it wasn't necessary. Gurevich sighed and rubbed tiredly at his right temple. "Okay ... okay, ‘Doc’," he muttered. Gurevich offered no further resistance as he allowed ‘Doc’ to guide him back to his cot. The Command Sergeant Major lay down and put his right arm up over his eyes, in what was becoming a familiar gesture . . . shutting them all out. There was nothing else Cathryn could do here now. She turned to ‘Littlejohn’. "Let's go." Corporal Phillip Cedronelli met them at the doorway, and Cathryn gestured him to the outer room. "No luck, Captain," Cedronelli reported. Damn! Cathryn slammed her hand down hard on Rockel's desk, jostling the communicator. "Did you alert the other squads?" "Yes, sir. No word from them yet." Cedronelli's gaze tracked toward the doorway to the back room. "What about Hasni?" "Hasni didn't make it." Cedronelli shook his head angrily. "I want to get that guy." Not as badly as I do. Cathryn scooped up her Rugan sub machine gun, determined to follow up on the only clue she had. " ‘Littlejohn’, get back to the squad. Cedronelli, you're on me." "Where to, Captain?" Cedronelli asked. "To find a French girl," Cathryn replied. Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale Campus Avenue Central Square Neighborhood Search Saturday, 7th February 3097 1200 hours local "Hey, maybe this one!" Cedronelli said, pointing to a dark figure making her way down the street, about a block away. There were a lot of French women in this neighborhood. They'd already talked to five others who fit Gurevich's rather vague description, with no luck. This one couldn't have been more than 16 or 17, but underneath the dirt and ragged clothes, Cathryn could tell she was already blossoming into a beautiful woman. The girl turned at their approach, and her expression, while not quite hostile, certainly wasn't welcoming. Cedronelli spoke to her in French, introducing Captain Whitley. "I speak some English," the girl said in clear, but heavily accented words. "My name is Lorin Boossalette. What do you want, Capitaine?". Cathryn flashed a smile calculated to put the girl at ease. "Mademoiselle (Miss), I hope you can help me. I need some information." "Information?" "Yes. Were you with my Sergeant . . . Sergeant Gurevich . . . earlier today?" queried Cathryn "Yes, the Sergeant." She nodded, seeming neither surprised nor upset by the question. "Is he ... okay?" "I was hoping you could tell me what happened," the Captain of the Rabid Wolves mentally nudged her along. The girl hesitated, but it was impossible for Cathryn to tell if she was searching for the words to express herself, or concocting a story. "A Rebelle (Rebel). There was a Rebelle. When the Rebelle attacked, I ran." "Was the Rebel in the house when you got there?" "In the house. Yes, Capitaine, in our house." The girl turned away, blinking back tears. Then she abruptly whirled on Cedronelli and spewed a stream of French at him. When she was through, she turned away again, wiping at her eyes. Now while Captain Whitley did, in fact, speak French and understood it, she could not keep up with the tirade this young lady was spewing forth. "She says that was her family's house, Captain," Cedronelli translated. "Now the house is still standing, but she has no family left to live in it. First the Rebels killed her father, then the Deuces Wild killed her mother. And now her brother. She doesn't want to help us, and she doesn't want to have anything to do with our war." "Her mother?" Cathryn asked. "BatailleMécan, (BattleMech)" the girl responded, still not looking at them. "Deuces Wild BatailleMécan. Two days ago." "I'm sorry about your mother, Mademoiselle," Cathryn said, talking to the girl's back. "And about the boy ...." "Dureau," she broke in, turning to face her. "Mon petit frère (My little brother) He had only ... he was eight years old." Her eyes were red, but there were no more tears. "Dureau," Cathryn acknowledged. "About Dureau . . . I'm sorry. It was an accident. There was a sniper in the house who fired at my men ...." "Yes, I know." She interrupted. "A sniper. Cette guerre. (This war) A boy is not safe in this war. He is not safe in his own house." The girl didn't try to hide her anger now. "Cette guerre, Capitaine? C'est ta guerre. (This is Your war.)" Then she turned and walked away from them. "Let her go, Cedronelli," Cathryn said, when Cedronelli made a move to follow the girl. "She's not going to tell us anything." (1961) TOTAL 84,874 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Wed Jan 03, 2018 7:27 pm FS-RD-04-02 #37 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale Campus Avenue Central Square Outside the Command Post Saturday, 7th February 3097 1230 hours local Cathryn Whitley left Phillip Cedronelli with Edward Rockel’s Gray Death squad and went back to the CP. Rockel, who'd been standing vigil over the base long range communicator, barely had time to tell her that there was no new news from the rest of the joint command center before he was interrupted by the sound of a muffled explosion coming from the south. "Sounded like a SRM!" Rockel said, standing up. "Just a couple blocks away." "Stay on the radio, Gunny," Cathryn said. "It might be a counterattack." She went to the doorway, alert for additional signs of a fire fight. Charina ‘Doc’ Oracion had heard it, too. She appeared from the back room, medical bag in hand. They listened for a moment, but there were no other explosions, and no gunfire. Not a counterattack, then. Cathryn relaxed a notch. A Grey Death Scout Trooper . . . it was a private from Gore's squad . . . came jump jetting into the square from the direction of the explosion, and skidded to a halt, gesturing at Cathryn and ‘Doc’. "Medic! ‘Doc’!" Not a counterattack. That damn sniper again? Using Gurevich's SRMs now? Cathryn and ‘Doc’ followed Earle Ferrell to the scene of the explosion. There was no mistaking when they found it. The bodies of several men were scattered in the middle of an intersection that was scattered with large and small pieces of Infiltrator battle armor. Cathryn had to get closer before she could be sure how many there were. Three civilians, two of whom were obviously beyond help. Staff Sergeant Everitt Gore and one of his men were bent over the fourth man, it was a Rabid Wolves Infiltrator soldier, a bloody mess whom Cathryn barely recognized as Sergeant Galvin Shilling. " ‘Doc’! It's his leg," Gore said, standing up to give the medic clear access. "What happened?" Cathryn asked. "I don't know, sir," Gore said. "We heard the explosion and came running, but all we found was this ...." Gore paused to remove his helmet and wipe the sweat off his face. His hand was wet with Shilling's blood, and the gesture left a streak of red across his cheek. "The other men are searching the area." On the ground, Shilling groaned. Cathryn bent down over him. "How is he, ‘Doc’?" ‘Doc’ was working on Shilling's leg, which had been torn by shrapnel from the SRM and was bleeding heavily. "Not good, Captain," She muttered, fumbling with a tourniquet. "If I can stop the bleeding ...." Shilling groaned again, "Captain...." "Take it easy, Sergeant," Cathryn said. "What happened?" "It ... it was a kid," Shilling winced as ‘Doc’ worked on his leg. "It was a phukkin' little kid! Walked right up to us. Didn't see the SRM until it was too late." "A kid?" Above them, Gore's voice was incredulous. "He's not making sense." Unfortunately, it was making sense to Cathryn. She ignored Gore for the moment. "Did you see where he went, Shilling?" "No ... I dunno, he ran away, got clear .... Can't believe I got suckered like that," Shilling mumbled. "What about my men . . . Owiti and Nadine? They okay?" Cathryn glanced at one of the motionless Infiltrator armors that lay nearby. She couldn't tell if it was Owiti or Nadine. But their armor wasn’t breached so that were probably just knocked unconscious. The Infiltrator armor was missing several armor plates though. "Don't worry about them, Sergeant. Just take it easy." Shilling made a weak attempt to follow Cathryn’s gaze, but ‘Doc’, who had finished with the tourniquet, held him back. ‘Doc’ had a sedative patch in hand, but she paused, waiting for a cue from Cathryn. "Go ahead, ‘Doc’." Cathryn stood. "Phukkin' little kid ...." Shilling mumbled, as he drifted into unconsciousness. Yeah, one little kid had managed to decimate her platoon. Well, not any more. Cathryn turned to the others. "Gore, you and your men help ‘Doc’ get Shilling back to the CP. Then spread the word . . . we're looking for a French boy, about 12 years old. He's well armed . . . a Rugan, three SRMs, plus what ever else he's scrounged up. Make sure you let every trooper left in the platoon know, ‘I’ want him neutralized." It had to be the girl's other brother. Now Cathryn wished she had a better description. She'd seen several indigenous kids running around the city today. "He might be blending in with the other civilians, so round up any kids that fit the general description and bring them back to the CP. ‘Littlejohn’ or Gurevich can ID him." "Yes, sir," Gore said, slowly. Gore's men exchanged uncomfortable glances. Then Gore spoke for them all. "But .... A Meropian Boy? Why's he shooting at us, Captain?" "Don't worry about why, Gore. That kid's already killed one Rabid Wolves and maimed three others, and he's out there gunning for more. That's all you need to know. And tell the men not to take any chances. Just ... Stop him." Cathryn said with a little more vehemence than she had intended. "Okay ... Okay, Captain. I'll spread the word," Gore said, not willing to risk his CO’s ire. Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Armidale Campus Avenue Central Square Random Building Saturday, 7th February 3097 1245 hours local Pierre's heart was pounding in his chest. The SRM explosion had been louder than he expected. He'd barely gotten away in time. It had been worth it, though. He smiled as he remembered the surprised look in the big Rabid Wolves Sergeant's eyes when he saw the SRM. The weapons and other equipment were in the building where he'd hidden them. The Rabid Wolves had already searched here, so he should be safe for a while. Pierre had piled up the furniture as a makeshift barricade at one end of the room . . . just in case. Pierre had been planning to wait a while before he picked out his next target, but when he spotted the Rabid Wolves Captain walking down the street alone, he changed his mind. He went to the window and aimed the Rabid Wolves Rugan carefully at the Captain. But this wasn't like firing Pa-Pa's hunting rifle. When he squeezed the trigger, the heavy weapon bucked in his hands, tracking skyward like it had a mind of its own. . . . Cathryn hit the ground and scrambled for cover behind a wall that was more rubble than wall. Another burst of fire . . . a Rugan, of course . . . kicked up dust behind her as the bullets spattered into the ground. At least the kid's aim wasn't very good. The shots were coming from a building across the street. Cathryn returned fire with her own sub machine gun, for all the good it would do. The sniper had good cover, but maybe Cathryn’s firing would keep him pinned down until some reinforcements showed up. A moment later, Cathryn reconsidered exactly who had who pinned down. She winced as a sharp piece of stone ricocheted under her helmet and into her cheek. Where was everybody else? The sounds of gunfire should have brought the whole platoon running. Cathryn peeked cautiously across at the building. It was mostly intact, with two windows in front, and a door visible around the far corner. The sniper was firing from the window to the right, farthest from the door. As Cathryn ducked back down under another volley of shots, she caught a flash of movement . . . an armor clad figure . . . off to the side of the building. When the firing let up enough for Cathryn to risk another look, the figure was out of sight, but Cathryn spotted movement near the doorway. She fired off another clip at the window, doing her best to keep the sniper too busy to notice whoever was creeping up on the door. As soon as Cathryn heard the hiss of a Magna Laser Rifle open up from the doorway, he took advantage of the distraction to fire her jump jets and land across the street. Another short burst from the Rugan answered the Magna as Cathryn reached the relative safety of the building. She pressed her Steele Dagger’s back against the wall, where she couldn't be seen from inside. After the initial exchange of fire, there was silence from the building. In the lull, Cathryn heard the sound of gunfire coming from the direction of the Saber lines. The Plieadies Sabers were making some kind of move. That explained where the rest of the platoon was. At least the other men wouldn't have to worry about a sniper at their backs. Cathryn silently counted off five seconds. Then she sidled cautiously to the corner of the building, and peeked around at the doorway to see what had become of her would be rescuer. It was Gurevich. He sat slumped against the side of the building next to the open doorway. Gurevich was helmetless, and he wore his Ogre armor directly over his undershirt . . . evidence of his hasty, and unauthorized, departure from the Aid Station. He'd taken time to scrounge a Military power pack and Laser rifle, though. "Gurevich! What the hell are you doing here?" Cathryn’s first impulse was anger, which was immediately replaced by concern . . . Gurevich's face was a pale, sickly white, and he stared blankly ahead, giving no sign that he'd noticed Cathryn’s arrival. "Are you hit?" Cathryn crouched down beside her unmoving friend, looking for fresh bullet wounds. "It was the boy," Gurevich said softly, meeting Cathryn’s gaze. His tone was wooden and emotionless. "I almost shot him." "Almost? You didn't take him out?" Cathryn didn't wait for an answer. She stood up and peered through the doorway into the building, sub machine gun at the ready. She couldn't see much . . . there was furniture and rubble forming a barricade that blocked off the far end of the room. A single shot sounded . . . from a Magnum Auto pistol, not the Rugan. Cathryn quickly ducked back, cursing. "Meurtrier! (Murderer!)" A youthful voice screamed across the room at them. High pitched. The kid's voice hadn't even changed yet. "I almost shot him," Gurevich repeated. "His gun jammed." "Good thing," Cathryn said. "Otherwise you'd be dead now. That boy is trying to kill us, Command Sergeant." Gurevich stared at her in wordless confusion. Cathryn face knit into scowled behind her faceplate. This shouldn't be happening. Gurevich should be safe back at the CP, not out on the street confronting the boy. "That kid's killed one of my men, and he just tried to kill me," Cathryn said. The sound of the more distant firefight continued, punctuated by an occasional explosion. "You hear that, Command Sergeant? The Sabers counterattack. We've got to take this sniper out now. Before he kills somebody else." "We have to stop him." Gurevich nodded agreement. Some of the color had returned to his face. "Okay," Cathryn said, thinking fast. "How many clips did you have for that Auto pistol?" "Two ... 8 rounds mags," Gurevich replied. Abruptly, he scrambled up into a crouch, hefting the Magna and looking intently at Cathryn. "We can take him, Captain." The soldier was back. All business. Gurevich outlined his plan: "Captain, you stay here and keep him occupied. Fire over his head. I'll go around the side and through the window. I can get the drop on him and capture him." It was a reasonable plan. A chance to take the kid alive. But that kid wasn't likely to surrender. What if Gurevich hesitated, and got himself killed? "No, Command Sergeant Major," Cathryn said. She pulled Gurevich back and gestured toward the door. "You stay here and give me cover. I'll go around and take him through the window." "You have to take him alive, Captain." Gurevich stated it as a simple fact, but there was a silent plea behind his words. "I'll try, Gurevich," Cathryn said. "I'll try." She put down her rifle and pulled out her own sidearm . . . easier to maneuver with, and it was all she'd need at this range. "Now, let's go." Gurevich stood up next to the doorway, and gave Cathryn a nod. Cathryn went down on her armored belly and crawled around the corner. Behind her, she heard a single shot from Gurevich's Magna. The shot fizzled as it melted harmlessly into the far wall. "Baise toi Connards!" There was an answering shot, and the boy yelled some more un-pleasantries in French. Cathryn concentrated on crawling silently along the outside wall of the building, resisting the urge to duck as shots rang out over her head. Just past the first window, Cathryn kicked some rubble with her foot. She froze. It seemed as if the resulting clatter must have been heard halfway down the block. "Connard!" Another shot from the kid towards Gurevich. Cathryn let her breath out, waited a few seconds, then resumed her crawl to the second window. When Cathryn reached the window, she waited. The kid wasn't firing now. Cathryn wished she'd kept better count. How many rounds had the kid fired? Six? Maybe he was reloading. Cathryn tensed, ready to launch her attack through the window as soon as Gurevich started firing again. "SRM!" Gurevich suddenly called a warning. Cathryn acted on instinct, ducking down and flattening against the wall. The maneuver would either save her life, or kill her, depending on which side of the window the SRM fell. "NO!" Gurevich cried, more an anguished plea than a command. One more hiss from the Magna laser rifle. Then, silence. Pierre was surprised that being shot didn't really hurt much. It was like being hit in the chest with a small sun, and then he just fell back and lay on the ground. At least he thought he was lying on the ground, but he couldn't feel it underneath him. It was like he was floating, but with a hot ember pushing him down. He'd lost his grip on the SRM when he fell, but Pierre could see it sitting there next to his hand. He tried to grab it, to launch it, but his fingers wouldn't obey him. It was as if his arm belonged to somebody else. He heard a sound. Pierre looked up and saw the Rabid Wolves Sergeant was standing over him, staring down at him. The Sergeant had a strange look on his face. His eyes looked wet. But that was impossible . . . soldiers never cry. Pierre tried again to grab the SRM, but the room was getting darker. He wasn't sure where the SRM was any more. "Meurtrier!" Pierre wanted to cry out again at the Sergeant, but the words wouldn't come. Then the weight on his chest pressed all the way down, and the darkness closed in. (2564) TOTAL 87,438 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE Top User avatar Mesha Posts: 175 Joined: Sat Feb 11, 2017 2:15 pm affiliations: Name: Mesha Seville Callsign: ‘Viper' Rank: 1st Leutnant Hardware: Jagdvogel JGV-1OA Wing: AeroSpace (Command) Flight: Angel Flight Squadron: Angel Assignment: Wing CO Unit: Ingersolls Armored Cavalry HOUSE: LYRAN ALLIANCE Contact: Contact Mesha Re: FS-RD-04-02 Riot Duty on Merope Edit Delete post Report this post Information Quote Postby Mesha » Fri Jan 05, 2018 8:46 pm FS-RD-04-02 #38 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Town of Kletveld Command Post Saturday, 14th February 3097 0240 hours, local The Rabid Wolves were hired to conduct defensive operations on the Pleiades Cluster system planet Merope. There had been unrest there. The stressed and tired workers of Merope had been up in arms over deteriorating working conditions. They were also spurred on by Pro-Taurian agitators. Wolf's Dragoons Gamma Regiment was on world when the Wolves arrived and stationed out of Fort Chaldwell. The Rabid Wolves were assigned to work alongside the Dragoons. Low level protests continues in Armidale, capital city of Merope amid heightened military presence in the wake of last month’s bombing. Elementals from Wolf’s Dragoons have been patrolling city streets backed up by armor assets and even Battlemech forces. Immediately following the bombing the Taurian Concordant brought in their own contingent to clear their name in the bombing, the Deuces Wild. Several blocks of the city were closed to traffic as the Deuces Wild forensic investigators examined the site of the bombing. No one has claimed responsibility for the bombing yet, though protest leaders have made accusations that the Dragoons stood to gain the most from the attack. Then, someway, somehow, a tactical nuclear weapon was detonated that took out most of Wolf's Dragoons Gamma Regiment. The target of the Rebel nuclear warhead was Fort Chaldwell. The Rabid Wolves contract with the Federated Suns had expired and they were promptly employed by the Taurian Concordant via a riot control situation into a particular area where the hidden nuke was detonated. The report directly to Captain Jason ‘JT’ Tian of the Deuces Wild. The race is on to deal with this crisis. There are survivors that need help. The government is panicking, the citizens are panicking. There are false rebel propaganda reports that say the Dragoons are slaughtering civilians by the thousands as revenge. Rebel forces pop up and begin to seize strategic objectives like government centers, cities, vital roadways and such. A Rebel hired unit the Longwood's Bluecoats, along with a new unit of Pro-Pleiades volunteers that pops up. A large force calling itself the Pleiades Sabers. Some are Taurian troops with Taurian machines. Others are truly locals in rebellion. Private and militia owned equipment and personnel and volunteers join a growing army. With enough 'Mechs and decent equipment to be a real threat, even to a Wolf's Dragoons unit. So this isn't crushing little resistance fighters with rifles and SRM launchers. This is open conventional warfare, a race to secure Merope. It remains to be seen if the Dragoons, AFFS, the Deuces Wild, and the Rabid Wolves will be able to turn down the heat before it boils over into something far worse. …………… The noise and the metallic voice sounded as if they came from the far end of a long, dark corridor. There were no other feelings or sensations as he drifted from a dead sleep through that transitional period of half asleep . . . half awake. An inner, soothing voice on the near end of the corridor whispered, ’It’s not important, go back to sleep.” But the radio whined back to life again and the metallic voice called out unanswered. “BRAVO THREE ROMEO FIVE SIX . . . THIS IS KILO EIGHT MIKE SEVEN SEVEN. RADIO CHECK, OVER.” The inner voice was silent this time. Duty called and further sleep had to be abandoned. As Captain Kavan McKight began the grim process of waking up, other senses began to enter play. First came the aches, pains, and muscle spasms, the result of sleeping on an uneven bed of personal gear, vehicular equipment, ration boxes, ammo boxes, and other odds and ends that tend to clutter the interior of their Tactical HQ vehicle. A tumble and a distorted bed made up of paraphernalia ranging from soft, to ‘not so soft’, downright hard does cruel things to the human body. Only exhaustion and the desire to be near the radios whenever possible allowed McKight to survive the ordeal of sleeping like that. While still sorting out the waves of pains and spasms, he opened his eyes and began to search the interior of the Mobile Tactical Command Head Quarters Vehicle in an effort to reestablish his orientation. The Mobile Tactical Command Head Quarters Vehicle, or Mobile HQ, was dimly lit by a dome light just above his head. It bathed everything inside the Mobile HQ’s interior in an eerie blue green light that reminded Kavan of a scene from a Zombie Apocalypse holo-vid. First Lieutenant Oscar González, the company executive officer, or XO, was sitting in the center of the holo tank compartment on a box of field rations, staring at the radio with an intense expression on his face as if he were daring it to speak to him again. Cattycorner from where McKight was perched was the Mobile HQ’s driver, First Tech Sergeant Ducan MacAulay, huddled up and asleep in the driver’s compartment. For a moment McKnight stared at MacAulay, wondering how the boy could sleep in such a god awful position. A twinge and a spasm from one of his contorted back muscles reminded him of his own accommodations. Perhaps, he thought, the driver wasn’t in such a bad spot after all. A static crackle, a bright orange light on the face of the radio, and the accelerating whine of a small cooling fan heralded the beginning of another incoming radio call. “BRAVO THREE ROMEO FIVE SIX . . . BRAVO THREE ROMEO FIVE SIX. THIS IS KILO EIGHT MIKE SEVEN SEVEN. RADIO CHECK, OVER.” Without changing his expression or moving any other part of his body except his right arm and hand which held the radion mic, González raised the mic to within an inch of his mouth, pressed the ‘push to talk’ button, and waited a couple of seconds. The little cooling fan inside the radio whirred to life. When the fan reached a steady speed, he began to speak, still facing the radio without changing his expression. “KILO EIGHT MIKE SEVEN SEVEN, THIS IS BRAVO THREE ROMEO FIVE SIX. STAY OFF THE AIR. I SAY AGAIN. STAY OFF THE AIR. OUT.” Releasing the ‘push to talk’ button, González allowed his hand to fall slowly back into his lap. He continued to stare at the now silent radio as it he would pounce on it and attack it if it dared to come to life again. But it didn’t. McKnight’s first effort to speak ended in an incoherent grunt due to a dry mouth and parched throat. After summoning up what little saliva he could muster , his second effort was slightly more successful. “Is that that AFFS Platoon again?” Still staring at the radio with the same expression, González provided a short, but functional, “Yes, Sir.” “What time is it?” González raised his left arm in the same slow, mechanical manner as he had used when answering the radio. Looking at his watch, he considered for a moment what he was looking at before responding in the same monotone voice, “oh 234 hours.” It wasn’t that Lieutenant González was an expressionless automaton without feelings. On the contrary, ‘Gonzo,’ or Lieutenant O as the enlisted men and women called him, was a very personable man with a good sense of humor, a sharp wit, and an enormous capacity to absorb Mexican jokes and retaliate with the appropriate ethnic jokes aimed as his tormentors. It’s just that in the very early morning everyone tends to fall into a zombielike state. The requirement to sit on a hard surface for hours on end, in a small, could ferro fibrous armored box called a Mobile HQ, with two sleeping bodies as your only companions with nothing better to do than to stare at a radio that you did not expect, or want, to come to life only added to one’s tiredness. González was not an exception. Nor was McKnight. Considering for a moment the information his XO had given him, McKnight plotted his next move. The Mobile HQ was quiet, and González had gone back to his silent vigil. Slowly, as his mind began to come alive, it became painfully obvious that sitting there, watching González watching the radios was definitely nonproductive. Besides, McKnight was now in too much pain to go back to sleep and movement was the only way he was going to stop the aches and spasms. It was time to make the supreme effort and get up. Besides, the Company would be having stand-to within the hour and he needed some time to get himself together. While it was totally permissible for everyone else to look like they had just rolled out of bed at stand-to, the company commander, at least, had to give the appearance that he was wide awake and ready to deal with Merope. The night, if four hours of sleep on a pile of assorted junk could be called a night, was over. It was time to greet a new day, another dawn, the fourth since his Rhyno Company had been ordered by Captain Lauren Keene to roll out of the SpacePort Garrison and to secure Command Post Kletveld and/or Darby’s Pub. (1577) TOTAL 89,015 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE FS-RD-04-02 #39 Capellan March, Federated Suns Edgeward Combat Theater Taygeta Operations Area Ridgebrook PDZ Pleiades Cluster Merope, Modonodes Town of Kletveld Command Post Saturday, 14th February 3097 0240 hours local As Captain Kavan McKnight trudged over to the AFFS Lance’s positions, he reviewed Black Rhyno Company’s disposition and mission. Black Rhyno had gone over how it would fight its first battle time and time again using holo map exercises, live fire terrain battles, simulators, and field training exercises, or FTXs, on similar ground. Still McKnight was not totally satisfied that they were in the best possible positions to meet all eventualities. Black Rhyno Company was currently deployed on the forward slope of a large hill overlooking the town of Kletveld which was located in a river valley. The forest it was located in came halfway down the slope until it reached a point where it dropped all the way down onto the floor of the valley. That point was Black Rhyno’s left flank where McKnight’s second lance, Hellborn Hedgehog, was positioned. From there the lance could fire across the face of the slope, into Kletveld or across the valley, toward the high ground across from them. In the center was the Company’s Headquarters section, consisting of Stone Pachyderm Lance; Alpha 66, which was McKnight’s tank – a Typhoon Urban Assault Tank; Alpha 55 commanded by the Lance XO, Second Lieutenant Evana Cook, and two Heavy Wheeled Armored Personnel Carrier or APCs. From there they had a good view of the valley, the small town of Kletveld – situated in the valley to the right front, a north south road on the far side of the Bolero river, and a second valley that ran west to east and emptied into the larger one to the Company’s front. This constituted the limit of Black Rhyno Company’s battle position. It was on the right that Black Rhyno had the greatest concentration of men and material, the AFFS Lance and a Rabid Wolves Infantry Platoon. The Demon Pups Infantry Platoon attached to Black Rhyno Company were equipped with Wolf Dragoon’s supplied, Main Gauche Light Support Infantry Fighting Vehicles or IFVs, and Light Anti-Tank Rocket Launchers or LAWs. The Company had been scheduled to receive Svantovit but, much to the chagrin of its parent battalion commander, Captain Lauren Keene of the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns , that kept getting put off due to a slowed down in the procurement of those powerful Clan fighting vehicles. The Demon Pup Platoon was split into two elements. The dismounted element, led by platoon leader First Sergeant Jonas Hopfer, which consisted of most of the the two squads of infantrymen, four LAW Rocket Launchers and two Clan manufactured, Extended Range, Heavy, Infantry, Large Lasers. This element occupied a walled farmstead in Kletveld on the right. The mounted element led by the Malamute Squad’s Platoon Sergeant Lawrence Jones, was made up of the Wolf’s Dragoons Main Gauches and two more LAW Teams. They were above the same farm on the slope in the tree line. From their position Demon Pup Platoon could block the small valley and keep anyone from exiting Kletveld if and when the enemy got in there. The AFFS Lance was located a little further behind and higher up on the slope from Demon Pup Platoon. From its way point there it could fire into the main valley, the small valley to its right, Kletveld, or across the valley at the opposite heights. The AFFS Lance would also be responsible for covering the withdrawal of Demon Pup Platoon if that became necessary. The AFFS Lance was equipped with four experimental Bulldog II Tanks. At a mere forty tons, they were twenty lighter than their original cousins the Bulldog Tank, but they had incorporated Clan Technology into them to make up for the loss in tonnage. They were loaded out with a Clan Large Pulse Laser and a Streak SRM 6, as well as a kick ass electronics package; Target Acquisition Gear, Active Probe, an Electronic Counter-Measures Suite, and an advanced Command/Control/Communications Slave Unit. These Bulldogs were truly state of the art. McKnight was not comfortable with the idea of defending on a forward slope, though. He didn’t care how much Clan technology he had. Should a withdrawal under fire be necessary, all of Black Rhyno’s vehicles would have to go uphill, at times exposing themselves to observation and fire from the enemy on the other side of the valley. In addition, the only positions from which most of the Company would be able to fire were immediately inside the tree line. This position was so obvious it hurt. McKnight could visualize some Plieadies Sabers artillery officer plotting likely targets and coming across their hill during his terrain analysis. Glee would light op on the Rebel’s face as he told his trusted subordinate. ’There, that is where they will defend, in this tree line. Make sure we blanket that area with six, no all twelve, tubes of artillery.” McKnight had gone over his reservations concerning this very point with Captain Lauren Keene every time they’d reviewed their ‘Defend Kletveld’ plan. On this morning, as he stood at the edge of the tree line where his Company was deployed, looking across the valley at the high ground the enemy would occupy, if, by some miracle, conflicted was averted, he resolved he would once more push for a change in Black Rhyno’s deployment against the logic employed by an ‘Administrative’ Captain. But for now he, and Black Rhyno Company, were obliged to fight on the ground where they sat. As McKnight approached the AFFS Lance’s position, he heard a slight rustling followed by two low voices. He had reached the Lance’s OP/LP. “Halt! Who goes there?” came the challenge in a voice that was a little too loud and sounded surprised. McKnight had no doubt that he’d caught the AFFS Crewmen manning the OP half asleep and had startled them. The voice that had issued the challenge sounded like Private Lenard from Alpha 32, a Bulldog II commanded by Staff Sergeant Joelle Blackfoot, a full blooded Cherokee. The sentry repeated his challenge. “Halt! Who goes there?” It was Lenard. “Captain McKnight.” “Oh, okay. You can come on in then.” While this homey invitation was a refreshing change of pace from the less than cheerful thoughts McKnight had been mulling over, it was definitely not the way to do business while on guard. As he approached, he could hear a second crewmen telling Lenard that he had screwed up. When he was no more than arm’s distance from them, the two men quietly stood up to face their commanding officer. As they were just inside the tree line, none of them could actually see each other’s face. But McKnight was reasonably sure that there was a pained expression on Lenards’s face. Not knowing which of the two forms facing him was Lenard, he directed his comments to both of them. “Is that the proper way to challenge someone?” “No, sir, it’s not, sir.” “How are you supposed to challenge someone when they are approaching your position?” Without hesitation, and as if he were reading it word for word from the AFFS crewmen’s handbook, Lenard went through the correct challenge and password procedures. All with a plaintive voice and few expletives, McKnight asked him why he hadn’t used the correct procedure then since he apparently understood them so well. “Because you said you were the CO and I recognized your voice, sir,” came his response. The answer was honest, but Wrong. After McKnight had explained that everyone got the full treatment, Lenard, an honest, if not outspoken crewmen, replied he didn’t understand the logic in this, but promised that he wouldn’t forget the next time. As McKnight turned away and began to make his way towards 32, he could hear the second crewmen berating Lenard as they settled down into their positions again. “See, I told you so.” Upon reaching Alpha 32, McKnight started climbing up on the right front glacial plate but stopped halfway up when he heard the cocking of a Serrek 7875D, a .45 caliber slug thrower that was standard issue sidearm for the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns, and a low, firm “Halt.” The voice belonged to Blackfoot. McKnight had no doubt that there was a pistol cocked, loaded, and aimed at him. “Who goes there?” “Captain McKnight.” “Advance and be recognized.” McKnight finished climbing up and moved deliberately but slowly to the edge of the turrent until he was able to make out the figure in the Bulldog’s cupola with an outstretched arm holding a Serreck .45 automatic pistol. In a lower voice, just audible to him, Blackfoot gave the challenge, “Wrinkle.” “Bait,” McKnight replied. Satisfied with the answer, Blackfoot raised his pistol and slowly let hammer down. “When are we goind encounter the enemy, Captain?” Pulling himself up onto the top of the turret so that he was lying across the length of it with his head near Blackfoot’s, McKnight spoke to him about Lenard’s failure to challenge him properly before asking how things were going with the crew’s preparations for combat. Being the thorough NCO that he was, Blackfoot informed McKnight that he was not happy with the crew drills between himself and his gunner. He explained that his gunner was too slow to pick up targets that he, Blackfoot, had acquired and had laid the main gun on. Blackfoot wanted to spend some time someplace where they could move the tank and practice their crew drill. McKnight explained that for security reasons from overhead enemy conventional fighter recons, All vehicular movement had to be kept down to a minimum. Blackfoot, like everyone else in the Company, would just have to do the best he could from a stationary position. Blackfoot had replied that he knew that, but he saw no harm in asking anyway. After getting the weather prediction for the day and his best guess as to when the fog would lift from Blackfoot, McKnight climbed down and proceeded to Alpha 31, Second Lieutenant Garger’s Bulldog II Tank, which was next in line. Oh man how he dreaded this. (1837) TOTAL 93,609 Name: Cathryn Whitley Callsign: ‘Bulls Eye' Rank: Captain Hardware: Steele Dagger Battle Armor Company: Wolf Pack Platoon: Brooding Lupus Squad: Lone Wolf Assignment: MUCO Unit: Rabid Wolves HOUSE: OUTWORLDS ALLIANCE