Registered Contract: LA-GW-12-01 Region: Lyran Alliance System: Halifax Galactic Coordinates: X: -440.63 Y: 129.87 Days to Jump Point: 4 days Planet: Halifax Primary Planetary Climate: Subtropical Approximate Population: 2 million people Capital City: Copernicus Contract Type: Guerrilla Warfare Primary Operational Terrain: Mountains Contract Duration: 10 Months (180 Days in REAL TIME) negotiable Employer: Lyran Alliance Employer Contact: Hauptman Mari Laurenson Command Rights: Independent Command Forces Recommended: A Company Strength Detachment Supporting Forces: A Level III from the 83rd Division ,The White Cyclones-IV gamma Enemy Forces: 3rd Battalion of the 4th Rim Worlds Dragoons Supplement Contracts Offered: Defensive Campaign Bounty Per Word: 1,900 Cbills Minimum Bounty: 50,000 Word Transcript Bonus Salvage Bounty Target: 72,000 Word Transcript Bonus Salvage Category: Type-E Salvage PLANETARY DETAILS: Halifax has been negelected for decades by the Lyran Alliance. ComStar had deactivated its Explorer Corp. base. The citizens of Halifax has survived and maintain a decent level of living since then. Lately, pirates have been raiding Halifax and creating havoc. Pirates seems to steal any high technology equipment they can get their hands on. The government officials of Halifax have requested a garrison force or pirate hunters from the LAAF but nothing has been done. They finally submitted a request to Archon Adam Steiner. The Archon has decided to send a mercenary force out to Halifax to eliminate the pirates. EMPLOYER SITUATION REPORT: Hauptman Lari Laurenson is the acting commander for worlds along the periphery. Plus there are rumors the ComStar may reactivate their former Explorer Corp base with the return of a LAAF garrison. Pirate forces have not been seen for a month. Seems their attacks are random. Peridem Starport is just 5 klicks outside the capital city's perimeter. Corpernicus contains most of the industry on Halifax. Halifax has six continents which are Annapolis, Nova Scotia, Cornwallis, Lunenburg, La Loutre, and Dartmouth. Corpernicus is on Annapolis continent. Most of the agriculture centers are on La Loutre and Norval is the city center on La Loutre. As well has three major Island complexes, Bedford, Cole Harbour, and the Mi'kmaq Islands. [UPDATE JANUARY 3092] Captain River, first and foremost, allow me to say how sorry I am that your Commander Storm is listed as Missing In Action. I heard rumors that the two of you were an item. I know this must be hard on you with Ciara missing and her Armored Cavalry in disarray. Oh, and don’t you worry. I wouldn't dream of pulling your unit offworld until you've had ample opportunity to determine her whereabouts. I had to pull some strings but I got the funding approved. You had to concede a few things but we will discuss those later. The Storm’s Armored Cavalry has done a marvelous job of setting up a base and installing Spaceport perimeter security. Too well in fact, now that it has fallen into enemy hands. I don’t know why I didn’t think of using the old Explorer Corp base. It will be a tough nut to crack. But until the LAAF can route a Regiment to aid you don’t worry too much about recapturing the Explorer Corp Stronghold. You guys kinda stirred up the Hornet’s Nest on the working relations with citizens part though. But that isn’t so bad. Now at least we know who’s against us and who’s for us. No looting or pillaging of the ‘Turncoats’. They are still Lyran Citizens until they pick up arms against you. Anyone who does, is fair game as long as you uphold the precepts of the Star League Charter. We need to know what we are up against. The who? The how? The why? So what we are asking the unit to do is Guerilla Warfare. You know, Recon Missions, Ambushes, Sabotage . . . those sorts of things. We know your forces are dwindling so nothing to direct. The Theater General is currently negotiating with ComStar to see if we can get the White Cyclones to offer any real assistance as well. Loki will also have some clandestine operations paralleling your operations on Halifax. Oh, and I almost forgot, the SAC is authorized for Assassinations. They MUST be military in nature though. I ‘Think’ the LAAF will have reinforcements here within the next twelve months. So we need the SAC to toe the line until then. You can use the first two or three months to perform a thorough search for Ciara and while you’re at please liberate any political prisoners that you come across. I’ll have a courier drop and pick-up monthly until the HPG is back online. That way we can stay abreast of any new developments. I do wish you all the luck in the Inner Sphere in locating Ciara. PRIMARY OBJECTIVES: 1) Liberate the POWs 2) Reconnaissance operations SECONDARY OBJECTIVES: 1) Small-scale ambushes 2) Harassment of enemy forces complete with Sabotage and Assassination (Military Targets ONLY,) HALIFAX Shoreham_rotating.gif SURFACE Halifax.png TACTICAL La%20Loutre.png FINAL SYNOPSIS The Command Staff is scattered and Missing in Action somewhere in the Sundry Mountain Range on Halifax’s secondary Agricultural continent La Loutre. The Sundry Mountains are located in the country of Mustelidés, that encompasses the center portion of the continent. Commander Ciara Storm, Captain Teso River, and Second Lieutenant Luke Shanahan. Command of the Storm’s Armored Cavalry fell to First Lieutenant Ellison Reed. The three Command Staff members went missing in an attempt to save the SAC Mercenary Unit from complete annihilation and to cover their retreating non-combatants. At a critical point after Teso River had his Purifier Suit shot up and Ciara Storm punched out of her Warhammer the weather turned extremely foul. A category four storm cell hit, with heavy rain accompanied by high winds and lightning. The torrential downpour was abundant and had a fast on-set and lasted for a long period. Longer than any previous storm cell according to the Halifax Weather Service.. Hazards associated with torrential rains included flash floods, stream flooding and landslides. It rained over the Sundry Mountains for an extended period of time causing secondary damages as the ground became saturated with precipitation. It caused problems in watersheds and building stability. In addition, the temperature dropped so low, it caused problems in the freeze-thaw cycles for other structures including roadways. Lieutenant Shanahan escaped in his captured Griffin to a cave complex and stayed held up there for two weeks before linking back up with the unit. Captain Rivers was found eighteen days later by Apollo, the SAC Search and Rescue Team, dehydrated and delirious, afflicted with some native infection. It is believed that he spent the first 72 hours, amidst the worst part of the storm, scouring the mountains for Commander Storm. He insists that Ciara Storm is still alive and he will not rest until he finds her or proof of otherwise. The SAC along with the remnants of the Halifax Garrison are hold up in a cave complex in the Sundry Mountainous region, pretty elaborate set-up for a cave. Thanks to Dread Squad, the SAC’s Combat Engineer Platoon. The enemy forces have taken up occupation on Halifax and left a garrison. They have some popular support from the locals on the main continent of Annapolis but it is not widespread beyond the planetary capital of Corpernicus. Captain River agreed to sit in as Ciara’s Proxy in negotiating their next contract only because he was the only one that the MRBC would recognize as officially having the power to conduct such transactions. Other than that, he is leaving the day-to-day operations to Lieutenant Reed. He is too obsessed with locating Ciara to be effective at anything else. He goes out and searches for her every evening for at least 10 hours sometimes 16 in a quadruped Shedu Recon Battle Armor, recovered from the secret Military Cache on Halifax. Their Employer, Hauptman Mari Laurenson, is being very sympathetic to Teso plight. She has graciously written into the contract a rescue operation objective aimed at liberating the internment camp where SAC members are being held along with Lyran loyalists. This will increase the morale of the rank and file SAC troopers tenfold. Commander Storm miraculously returns to Command with a harrowing tale of evasion and escape. There will be Recon operations to learn as much as we can about the enemy. We need to obtain hard data as to who they are, where did they come from, and why they are targeting Halifax. We have every reason to believe that the enemy is searching for the Star League Cache and production facility. The primary goal of the Recon Ops will be to set up an opportunity to ‘Snatch & Grab’ an enemy Officer to interrogate him. There will be multiple small-scale ambushes, strategically orchestrated to favor the SAC, against isolated enemy Supply Convoys and Patrols as a means of rebuilding units and obtaining spare replacement parts and procuring expendables as well as interdicting operations of the enemy. The SAC will be refitting from the Star League Cache also. It's location is still hidden from the Lyran Alliance Government thus far, however, with the presence of Loki on world the SAC Command is almost certain that this gig is almost up. If LAAF didn't know, they will find out soon. Sabotage and Assassination operations against high value enemy targets to reduce enemy’s overall effectiveness and capabilities. Assassinations are to only be carried out against documented military personnel. All others insurgents shall be detained. The general harassment of enemy forces, the occasional pot shot or artillery shell, the use of IED, preparation of ambush sites, pre-registering targets, and the laying of mines to set up anti-‘Mech leg attacks. Without access to the HPG we have no intelligence about the wider situation off world but our employer has graciously offered to provide us with intel via a manual courier, clandestine delivery, albeit it will be geared towards a Lyran Alliance spin. Our current Intel has a new unit being dropped onto the planet to bolster the Buccaneers Storm. It is predicting an 86% probability that the unit will be the 3rd Battalion of the 4th Rim Worlds Dragoons. It is a mechanized infantry force supported by both armor and rotary wing aviation. Intelligence Reports suggest that they have been formally trained to House standards, but have yet to see actual combat. Their equipment is overwhelmingly Free World's League designs and seemingly 3085 or newer. ALLIED NPCs Lyran_Alliance_Logo.png JumpShip: Sylvester-Class Transport: Ulysses S Grant (Civilian Class WarShip) Commander: Hauptmann Augie Blumhagen Employer Contact: Hauptman Mari Laurenson Military Leader: Hauptmann-Kommandant Mandel Lombroso HALIFAX GARRISON MILITIA MECHANIZED INFANTRY SECTION Infantry Support Lance Goblin Medium Tank Ignis (SRM) Ignis Darter Scout Car Field Engineering Platoon Infantry Transport Lance Drillson Blizard Hover Transport Vedette Heavy Tracked APC (LRM) Infantry Company Foot Infantry Rifle Platoon Foot Infantry Machine Gun Platoon Foot Infantry Machine Gun Platoon Field Medic Platoon Assault Lance Condor Condor Saladin Striker (LRM Variant) Recon Lance Ferret Light Scout VTOL Ferret Light Scout VTOL Ferret Light Scout VTOL (Cargo) J Edgar Era01-on.png?28cf69 Explorer Corp Contact: Adept Betty Qian white_cyclone.png Precentor XXV Lilly Lafferty 83rd Division White Cyclones-IV gamma CO: Demi-Percentor Reginald Holloway Eternal Phantoms Level III-Delta KENDO COMPANY Level II Beidao Lance Uraeus UAE-7R 75t Crockett CRK-5003-3 85t Black Knight BLK NT 5H 75t Flashman FLS-9M 75t Excalibur EXC-CS 70t Exterminator EXT-6CS 65t Level II Kuantao Lance Kheper KPH-7R 55t Senior Adept Hawell Grim Reaper GRM-R-PR30 55t Blackjack BJ2-OR 50t Beowulf C 45t Firefly FFL-3PP 30t Cossack C-1FC 20t Level II Dao Platoon Kobold IIC Tornado PA(L) G13 [David Light Gauss] Tornado PA(L) G13 [Small Laser] Tornado PA(L) G14 Tornado PA(L) P17 "Hurricane" Nighthawk Mk. XXII PA (L) MING COMPANY Level II Jian Lance Alacorn Mk VI 95t Alacorn Mk VI 95t Alacorn Mk VI 95t Puma Assault Tank PAT-005b 95t Puma Assault Tank PAT-005b 95t Puma Assault Tank PAT-005b 95t Level II Nandao Lance Padilla Heavy Artillery Tank (Standard) 75t Padilla Heavy Artillery Tank (Standard) 75t Padilla Heavy Artillery Tank (Standard) 75t Chaparral Missile Artillery Tank (ERML) 50t Chaparral Missile Artillery Tank (ERML) 50t Chaparral Missile Artillery Tank (ERML) 50t Level II Taijiquan Lance Beagle Hover Scout (TAG) 15t Beagle Hover Scout (TAG) 15t Pinto Attack VTOL (WoB) 30t Pinto Attack VTOL (WoB) 30t MIT 23 MASH Vehicle (Standard) 35t MIT 23 MASH Vehicle (Standard) 35t DropShips Duat Military Transport Duat Military Transport ENEMY NPCS la.png Planetary Ruler: Baron Jacobi Horowitz Halifax Employee on the take: Theodore Bowman 412_200.gif Rim Collection spy: Stanton Barrera Buccaneers_Storm02.png BUCCANEER'S STORM CO: Gizaw Makamu XO: Arcburn Thotton Command Sierra One 'Marauder MAD-2R' - Gizaw Makamu 'Warhammer WHM-7A' 'Shadow Hawk SHD-2Hb' - Sergeant Darby Mok 'Jenner JR7-A' Sierra Two 'Spector SPR-5F - Lieutenant Arcburn Thotton' 'Talon TLN-5W' - Candor Knave 'Mongoose MON-66b' - Mauve 'Locust LCT-1E' 3rd Battalion of the 4th Rim Worlds Dragoons Lieutenant Colonel Victoria York Carronade CRN-7M 70t – Major Kevin Dansky 'Quasimodo QSM-3D 55' 'Havoc HVC-P6 30t' 'Gambit GBT-1G 25t' ALPHA COMPANY BRAVO COMPANY CHARLIE COMPANY Captain Richard Poskins Captain Wayne Drake Captain O’Shay Fosstil 'Bulwark Assault Vehicle 85t' Winston Combat Vehicle 70t Bardiche Heavy Strike Tank 70t 'Bulwark Assault Vehicle 85t' 'Winston Combat Vehicle 70t' 'Bardiche Heavy Strike Tank 70t' 'Bulwark Assault Vehicle 85t' 'Winston Combat V (LAC) 70t' 'Bardiche Heavy Strike Tank 70t' 'Bulwark Assault Vehicle 85t' 'Winston Combat V (Support) 70t''Bardiche HST Minesweep 70t' 'R10 Mechanized ICV (A) 45t' Thang-Ta APC 10t Tufana Hovercraft 35t 'R10 Mechanized ICV (Prime) 45t''Thang-Ta APC 10t' Tufana Hovercraft 35t 'R10 Mechanized ICV (Prime) 45t''Thang-Ta APC 10t' 'Tufana Hovercraft 35t' 'R10 Mechanized ICV (B) 45t' Thang-Ta APC 10t 'Tufana Hovercraft 35t' Xiphos BA (A) Platoon '-2sq' Ogre BA (Inter) Platoon '-1sq' Leonidas BA (MG) Platoon '-1sq' Heavy Jump Infantry Platoon 'Hover Assault Infantry Platoon'Jump Support Infantry Platoon 'Heavy Jump Infantry Platoon' Hover Assault Infantry Platoon 'Jump Support Infantry Platoon' 'Heavy Jump Infantry Platoon' Hover Assault Infantry Platoon 'Jump Support Infantry Platoon' 'Heavy Mountain Inf Platoon' Heavy Mountain Inf Platoon Heavy Mountain Inf Platoon 'Heavy Mountain Inf Platoon' 'Heavy Mountain Inf Platoon' Heavy Mountain Inf Platoon Heavy Mountain Inf Platoon 'Heavy Mountain Inf Platoon' Heavy Mountain Inf Platoon Heavy Mountain Inf Platoon Heavy Mountain Inf Platoon Heavy Mountain Inf Platoon -=ROTARY WING AVIATION=- Red Kite Attack VTOL 25t Red Kite Attack VTOL 25t Yasha VTOL (Interdictor) 30t Yasha VTOL (Spectre) 30t -=DROPSHIPS=- Seleucus Infantry Transport Excalibur Rim Collection Regular Army Combined-Arms Regiment 4th Rim World Dragoons CO & Mastermind: Colonel Frank Able XO: Major Abraham Cantor Head Hunter Company Command Lance Indirect Fire Lance Pursuit Lance 'Atlas AS7-K3 100t' Archer ARC-9M 70t Enforcer III ENF-6T 50t Warhammer WHM-9D 70t Crusader CRD-6M 65t 'Trebuchet TBT-5J 50t' Rifleman RFL-8D 60t Dervish DV-8D 55t 'Phoenix Hawk PXH-1b (Royal) 45t' 'Buccaneer BCN-5W 55t' 'Whitworth WTH-K 40t' 'Assassin ASN-21 40t' MECHANIZED 203rd INFANTRY BATTALION DELTA COMPANY ECHO COMPANY FOXTROT COMPANY Infantry Command Lance Assault Lance Recon Lance Goblin Medium Tank Condor J Edgar 'Goblin Medium Tank' 'Condor' J Edgar Ignis (SRM) 'Saladin' Darter Scout Car Ignis (SRM) Saladin Darter Scout Car Infantry Transport Lance Strike Lance Infantry Support Company Drillson 'Striker (LRM Variant)' Foot Infantry Machine Gun Platoon Drillson 'Striker (LRM Variant)' Field Medic Platoon Blizard Hover Transport Heavy Tracked APC (LRM) Combat Engineer Platoon Blizard Hover Transport Heavy Tracked APC (LRM) Field Engineering Platoon 101st Infantry Company 117th Infantry Company VTOL Squadron Foot Infantry Rifle Platoon Foot Infantry Machine Gun Platoon Hawk Moth II Gunship (MML) Foot Infantry Rifle Platoon Foot Infantry Machine Gun Platoon Hawk Moth II Gunship (MML) Foot Infantry Rifle Platoon Foot Infantry Machine Gun Platoon Ferret Light Scout VTOL Foot Infantry Rifle Platoon Foot Infantry Machine Gun Platoon Ferret Light Scout VTOL Ferret Light Scout VTOL (Cargo) Ferret Light Scout VTOL (Cargo) AIR DEFENSE BATTALION CONVENTIONAL FIGHTER WING 1st Squadron 2nd Squadron 3rd Squadron Owl III Light Strike Fighter 10t Andurien Light Strike Fighter 10t Guardian 176 20 Owl III Light Strike Fighter 10t Andurien Light Strike Fighter 10t Guardian 176 20 Defender Medium Strike Fighter 25t Defender II Medium Strike Fighter 25t Kaiseradler Medium Strike Ftr 25t Defender Medium Strike Fighter 25t Defender II Medium Strike Fighter 25t Kaiseradler Medium Strike Ftr 25t Meteor Heavy Strike Fighter 45t ASF-23 Protector Combat Fighter 50t MSF-42 Bluehawk Combat Ftr 50t Meteor Heavy Strike Fighter 45t ASF-23 Protector Combat Fighter 50t MSF-42 Bluehawk Combat Ftr 50t AEROSPACE FIGHTER SQUADRON Corax CRX-OB 30t Corax CRX-OB 30t 'Transgressor TR-13A 75t' 'Transgressor TR-13A 75t' Striga S-STR-O 85t Striga S-STR-O 85t Edited by Teso River, 31 May 2015 - 07:16 AM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Edit #2 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #2 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 24 March 2015 - 02:52 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #02 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains NorthWest of Dosilin SAC Temporary Camp 25th November 3091, 02:30am local Dear God, what have I done? The thought echoed in 1st Lieutenant Ellison ‘Ely’ Reed's mind. He winced as the medic adjusted the bandage around his chest. Sitting on a stretcher illuminated by only one of Halifax's two moons in the make-shift medical tent, Ellison looked out over the small groups of people huddling around the few small campfires. Mountains are notoriously cold at night, and the planet of Halifax is no exception. Yet, necessity dictated that there could only be a few fires, and those must be under the cover of IR camo netting strung between a couple of the massive trees. One bed over, Mechwarrior Sergeant Omay Çelebi was giving a young medic hell as he attempted to set her arm. Apparently her 'Mech wasn't the only thing with a broken right arm after coming through today's fiasco. Of twelve 'Mechs, only seven managed to get away. If you could describe the shape our 'Mechs are in as "getting away," Ellison reflected grimly. Mechwarrior Sergeant Phoenix 'Dragon' Magnus' Clint had taken the least amount of damage, having stopped and hoisted one of Hauptmann Kommandant Mandel Lombroso's light hover tanks onto his shoulder rather than trying to go around during his charge toward the cover of the forest. The lighter hover tank had proved to be an adequate shield and the added weight helped steady the massive 'Mech on the shifting rain soaked terrain. Lombroso's forces had faired much worse. Out of the twenty eight vehicles that had taken to the battlefield this morning, only ten had managed to survive and two of those had simply shut down on route to this location deep in the forest. They had done their best to camouflage the ones that broke down before moving on, but even the most optimistic appraiser could tell they were only fit for scrap. Lombroso, himself was lying motionless on the stretcher behind Ellison. After they had made it further into the safety of the woods, Ellison had stopped long enough to examine the warrior whom Mechwarrior Booker 'Jumpshot' Wilcox’s Mercury had plucked out of the tree. It turned out to be Lombroso, but he was not in good shape. Best guess was that he had punched out as a Buccaneer Storm annihilated his command vehicle, but the explosion of the tank had bounced him rather roughly off several massive tree branches on the way up, and he fared no better once the five point harness of his seat had failed. The tanker’s seat was sliced to ribbons during the decent and the only thing that saved him was getting caught in the branch where Ellison found him instead of making the last ten meter free fall. "The medics don't think he's going to make it." Omay said as though reading his thoughts. Ellison looked over again to see that Omay was watching him thoughtfully. "Hmmm, hard to tell. Life on Halifax is hard, Lombroso is a survivor to make it to where he has. Only time will tell." "Good call ‘Ely’," a voice croaked from behind them. Both Ellison and Omay spun around to see Lombroso with his eyes half open watching them. His head and his body still hadn't moved from the position they'd been in since his arrival, but his eyes were moving to track their movements. "Welcome back Kommandant," Ellison spoke causally, "we've got a bit of a situation here." "Heh, I'll bet." Lombroso replied. From the look of strain around his eyes, Ellison could tell it was taking great effort for the Hauptmann Kommandant to talk at all. "We're deep in the forest Kommandant, both our forces were badly beaten, we've got seven operational 'Mechs combined. Problem is even those 'Mechs that made it are in no condition to fight, let alone fight a major invasion force." "Who are they?" The Hauptmann Kommandant's face was starting to show some of the strain that he had displayed during their negotiations. "We're still not sure," Omay answered, "our battle ROMs did show a unit symbol of the Third Battalion of the 4th Rim Worlds Dragoons, but their TO&E is nothing we've ever encountered and the computers have no record of it either." "ULTRA, or some other new group?" Lombroso looked as if he might jump off the stretcher, even if the effort killed him. "I doubt it," Ellison replied as he moved to hold the Hauptmann Kommandant down, "it's possible I suppose, given what happened when the ULTRA arrived, but these invaders are using Inner Sphere equipment, some of them more recent designs." "Best guess at this point is some new unit from the Periphery, made up of disgruntled or wanted warriors," Omay added matter of factly. "Great, just what the Lyran Alliance needed," Lombroso responded in a sarcastic tone. "Something about that theory doesn't sit well with me," Captain David Lane, CO of Storm’s Metal Thunder Support Battalion, voiced, as much to himself as to the others. He looked around thoughtfully and noticed several of the officers lingering nearby, apparently keen to hear the discussion. "What're ya thinkin' ‘Davo’?" came from Lombroso. "The way they attacked, and the firepower they used, just doesn't add up. No call for surrender, or ULTRA ultimatum… a fighter assault that would have made the inner houses jealous… the speed at which they located our position, including the scouts, and something else…" Lane trailed off in thought. "Go on, David, I think I'm getting the picture," egged on Sergeant Major Chantel 'Radar' Bobo. "I don't know. I do know that they expended an awful amount of ammunition on that strike, more than a rogue group could afford to waste. Unless…" No one responded, the truth seemed just out of reach and the implications seemed too much to consider. The officers and non comms sat in silence considering the day's events, Ellison listening to the sounds of the camp mixed with the eerie noises of the strange forest. "AND be not down trodden! For the Almighty will deliver his people, and uphold us, in this, our hour of need …" Ahh, the good ‘Reverend’ is at least attempting to spread some hope. Of course knowing this lot the Andurien Red Label in the Vigilant Falcons hold would probably produce better results. Back to the problem at hand. What is it? I'm missing something. … An hour later Ellison was brought out of his revere by the sounds of deep breathing. Without looking he could tell that Lombroso had drifted back to sleep. Looking over at Omay, he saw that although she was leaning with her eyes open propped against a tent support, she was quickly being overcome by fatigue. Chantel was fast asleep. As if she didn’t have a care in the world. David was up wandering the camp. No doubt making sure this or that was in order, while pondering who the new enemy was. "Let's get some rest Omay, we'll get a better picture of what's happening tomorrow." Omay nodded, and nearly fell over, fast asleep before her head hit the stretcher. Ellison stretched out on his own medical stretcher and stared at the roof of the tent. Tomorrow I find out what happened to the Commander and the Captain, one way or another Ellison promised himself as sleep overtook him. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains NorthWest of Dosilin SAC Temporary Camp 25th November 3091, 04:45am local "FIRST LIEUTENANT, FIRST LIEUTENANT!" Ellison's tired mind slowly clawed it's way back to the waking world, egged on by the small voice penetrating the sleep induced void. "SSHhhhhh!" Commanded another voice, "The 1ST Lieutenant and other INJURED people need rest!" "But…," the first voice stammered before apparently regaining his composure. It is a male voice Ellison thought groggily. "Phukk off Jenny! Get out of the way!" "WHAT is going on over here!" Demanded a harsh woman's voice in a very severe tone. "We need a Demon Slayer Ellison!" – it was Omay' voice "Where in HELL should I look for one of those?" How am I going to get one of those now? Ellison thought in a panic, we'll all die here in this desolate hell if I can't get one. "Quick, down this passage!" "Ellison where are we going?" "You said we needed a Demon Slayer?!" "Yes, but now it's too late." Omay' voice change mid sentence from her normal female pitch to a deep throaty grumble that echoed all around and seemed filled with mirth by the last two words. Ellison spun around and watched in horror as Omay morphed into a hideous demon. In the endless dark depths of the demon's eyes Ellison watched the scene replay itself. An ethereal radio broadcast seemed to be everywhere now, "I'M GOING DOWN, PUNCHING OUT NOW!" Watching the deadly wall of fire and sand helplessly, a dawning realization caused a knot to form in the pit of his stomach. The sac was still buried and trapped out there, with no means to escape. "NO!" Screamed Ellison, "COMMANDER STORM, STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" "I'LL BE BACK!" The last sentence Ellison screamed aloud as he sat bolt up right, drenched in sweat. Looking around Ellison noticed three things, one it was very dark, two the camp was very quite save for the faint sounds of a radio broadcast, and three everyone was staring in his direction. "Lieutenant! Are you ok?" Baptiste Lenoir called, as he rushed over to Ellison’s cot. He was the last of three Doctors from the SAC’s Medical Corps. The other two had gone missing in action when the SAC had been routed from the Spaceport on the Buccaneer’s initial insertion. He’d had a full patient list of 26 patients. Even if he spent an hour treating each one that would have him up all day and still have two patients uncared for. "I'm ok," Ellison responded as he tried to shake off the after images of the dream, "What's going on?" The young soldier, Private James 'Tommie' Thomas Merrick, stepped around the medical officer and came to attention at the end of Ellison's cot. "Sir! We have been monitoring for communications, including civilian, per your orders, and we think we've got something you need to hear." "Now see here!" the nursing Cadet called, "I've had enough of this. The Lieutenant needs rest to recover before …" Ellison stalled the doctor with an upheld hand. "That's ok Baptiste, I'll rest when we get out of this mess. See that the others get some rest, I'll go check this out." "Like hell," the group collectively jumped as they became aware that Omay was awake and sitting on the edge of her own cot. "WE'LL go check this out!" She said while indicating Ellison and herself. The finality in the XO's voice didn't leave any room for discussion. As Ellison and Omay approached the group that had gathered around the make shift communication station, Ellison could tell by the looks on the assembled faces that the news wasn't good. WORD COUNT 1867 Edited by Teso River, 24 March 2015 - 04:04 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #3 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #3 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 24 March 2015 - 03:18 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #03 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Dosilin 25th November 3091, 05:00am local Dammit! Rogers thought viciously as the news truck hit yet another landslide that frequently drifted across the highways on Halifax. "Can't you drive?" He barked at the tri-vid tech sitting in the driver's seat. The driver simply grunted and gave Rogers a side long glace before returning his attention to the road. "Damn these roads out to the Barbarian villages! How is that I, graduate of the MacTavish Academy of Journalism, end up here on this desolate dirt ball?! And now these low-bred morons I work for are sending me. ME! Out to this La Loutre's little piece of hell, because of some cock and bull story about a big raid! This is a savage Rimward world. Why is a raid important enough to drag ME out of bed? They should have sent that new kid, what's his name?" Rogers looked at the driver to supply the name. When the driver didn't even look at him he continued. "Ahh, it doesn't matter. Oh well, If they've been particularly brutal this time maybe I'll get a story worth Inner Sphere attention and finally get off this piece of shit…ass-end world!" Looking over he noticed that the driver (what is his name?) was grinning. Rogers took this to mean that the driver saw the wisdom of his little tirade and mentally raised his opinion of him a couple of notches. I must remember to find out his name. The tri-vid tech didn't respond to any of this. Truth be told he secretly hoped that the raiders were still around; the thought of recording Rogers grisly death brought a small smile to his face. With that shot I might get some recognition and get out of dealing with wankers like Rogers. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés S.& I. Broadcasting Dosilin 25th November 3091, 05:25am local "DAN! Yeah we're here settin' up." Rogers yelled into his vid phone over the static, "YEAH, Heh. Hell it looks like Kommandant Lombroso must have gone and pissed in Blake's holy cereal or something! The whole place is smashed flat. We're going to open here and maybe venture in to get some real action from there. What? Yeah, yeah, ok. Dan? We're ready. 20 seconds, ok." “…And now we take you to the scene with our award winning reporter Kevin Rogers. Kevin can you hear us?” “YES Sara, I'm here in Dosilin which is, as you can see behind me, the site of a major attack. From what we've been able to determine, allegedly the Rim World Dragoons struck the city shortly after night fall. Planetary officials confirmed that a brief distress message was received by Central Authority communications people in Copernicus at about 21:05 yesterday. Central Authority helos were dispatched to Dosilin to investigate but no word has been heard from them since they radioed their initial proximity to Dosilin. At this point there is no word of survivors. I am going to mount up and head into the city to show our viewers the full extent of the destruction and offer my assistance to any survivors.” “Kevin? Do you think it's safe to enter the city? Can you see any signs of the attackers?” “Well, Sara, it is most likely very dangerous in there right now, I urge our viewers to stay away from Dosilin at all costs. I am a trained professional and understand the risks involved, but I believe that our viewers should be aware of the full extent of this despicable act. Perhaps we can offer some comfort or closure to viewers who have family in Dosilin. Again, this is a VERY dangerous situation and I urge all of our viewers to stay clear of Dosilin, rest assured that I will assist anyone who I encounter.” “Ok, Kevin, we'll stay with you as you enter the city. We apologize to our viewers for this interruption of our regular programming, but to reiterate, a massive attack has occurred in Dosilin. What we know at this point is that a force displaying the Rim World Dragoons markings attacked Dosilin shortly after dark. All attempts at contacting people in Dosilin, including representatives of Hauptmann-Kommandant Lombroso's staff, have failed. Our own sister station AAZM is off line and we have been unable to reach them at this time. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the people of Dosilin and their families both on and off world. Our senior war correspondent Kevin Rogers is currently on the scene and risking his life to get into the city.” “Sara? As you can see we are approaching the main gates of Dosilin which have been blown apart! The gates and most of the walls are down and on fire! We are going to get out of our truck and proceed on foot from here.” “Right Kevin, be very careful.” “We are now scaling the debris and should be able to provide you and our viewers with a clear shot of Dosilin for the first time since we lost contact yesterday. We're almost at the top of this pile, and… Dear God! ….” Genuine stunned silence followed for the next couple of seconds as Rogers and the station crew attempted to wrap their minds around the vision of destruction. “Ahhh, Sara? Are you receiving this?” “Y-yes, Kevin.” “Dosilin is gone! All the buildings are smashed flat! Everything is on fire. I don't hear sirens or other sounds of rescue personnel. Sara, I believe it's safe to say that there were very few survivors, if any. My thoughts and prayers go out to the victims families.” “Kevin, we are going to leave you for a few minutes. I've been informed we have a representative from the Central Authority's office live from the steps of the main administrative building. We'll keep monitoring you from the station and cut back instantly if you have any word of survivors. Now over to Karen at …” WORD COUNT 1053 Kevin Rogers News Correspondent Copernicus Broadcasting Company Edited by Teso River, 24 March 2015 - 03:18 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #4 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #4 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 24 March 2015 - 04:02 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #04 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains NorthWest of Dosilin SAC Temporary Camp 25th November 3091, 05:00am local Most of the others were asleep but Captain Dustin Lane couldn't allow himself that luxury yet. Not when he had so much on his mind....and certainly not when what was on his mind might be the key to their continued survival. There were several mysteries here and he had the inside track on some of them. Sadly that wasn't enough, at least not yet, to offer them a way out of this current predicament. Glancing around he made sure the night watch was still keeping a wary eye out for trouble. Whether or not they could mount any resistance to such trouble should it occur any time soon was open to some debate though. Come the morning, with a bit of rest, some time to regroup and some emergency repairs perhaps they would fare better. It was a slim hope considering the fire power they had seen from this new enemy but hope had always been the SAC stock and trade. While they had hope there was always a chance to pull something to even the odds or save the day. Settling down to lean against a rocky outcropping he glanced over at his sleeping companions. Ellison Reed was out, which was a good thing. They would need him in top form when they had to move out. Dustin knew the young man wouldn't let a few injuries slow him down very much, not till his people were LOKI. Likewise Omay and Chantel both slept as well. He couldn't tell how serious their injuries were from here but he could guarantee that they would be up for a fight as well. Pulling out his flask Dustin took a long draw from it and let the warmth of the liquor dull the pain of his own injuries a bit. Some cracked ribs were the worst of it but they sure hurt like hell. Another quick drink and he hid the flask away again. It was way too tempting to drain it now, or to take the pain pills and sleep. For now he couldn't afford to do either as he needed a clear head. Instead he took out his personal noteputer and set to work. Before they had left he had down loaded everything the analysts had managed to put together from the files provided by LOKI and the LIC. Thus far he had only had time to skim it but it had made for an interesting read. Now, with a bit more time it became down right fascinating. The computer folks had made a pretty convincing case for the theory that the raiders who had been seen on both sides of the Lyran / Rim World border had been one group changing up their paint schemes depending on who they were preying on. Unit composition was a match and several of the individual ‘Mechs themselves had been identified in different pictures under different colors. That being the case the odds of the unit that had just attacked them being these mystery raiders was pretty damned high. If that was the case they could expect civilian attacks to commence shortly since that seemed to what they did where ever they struck. On a sudden inspiration he jumped up and made for his Onager. The pain in his ribs reminded Dustin to take it at an easy pace but he still found himself in the cupola with the vehicles computer system running. Interfacing the tank’s system with the noteputer he found that the forces they had seen did indeed fit the profile for their mystery raiders. Score one for that much of an identification but it wasn't enough to help them yet. He would need more information still. Bringing up the records from the communication system he replayed the little bits of enemy chatter he had managed to pick up. They used the frequencies that Marik troops often did but the codes used were like nothing he had ever heard. Dustin had spent years teaching those codes to recruits back on Atreus in his days as an instructor. Score two now for at least circumstantial confirmation that these weren't Pirates but instead someone trying awfully hard to look like they were. This brought up an interesting dilemma then. Dustin happened to know from his conversations with his brother in law, Phillip Ruland, aka one well placed LIC agent, that there really was a Loki strike force waiting at the jump point of Wiltshire in case this situation went to hell. The Rim World might have something similar in place, or maybe not since they didn't know that some of the Halifax Garrison officers were on the take apparently. It might be possible if they could get to the hyper pulse generator to send a message to them. That would be a risky gambit of course. House Steiner would love to be able to prove that it wasn't them who were breaking the peace by helping to take out the raiders. The Rim World on the other hand might take a dim view of it but that could be for their diplomats to hammer out. If something wasn't done then it could be the end of Storm’s Armored Cavalry, the Buccaneers and God only knew how many civilians here on Halifax. Dustin pondered it for several minutes. It really wasn't his decision to make. He would have to leave that up to Ellison of course but if it sounded feasible to him they could send a message of some sort to the capitol and let their two handlers work it out. Phillip Ruland would have the clearance to be believed by the Lyran Alliance Government....if he could get to the hyper pulse generator to send the message. That could have reinforcements here within a week to ten days if they hurried. Of course surviving that long could be problematic but it was at least the beginnings of a plan. Dustin felt he could succumb to fatigue and his wounds now and at least try to rest. Making his way back to the others he wrote the proposal up quickly and e-mailed it to the 1st Lieutenant. He could do with that whatever he wished come the morning. It made a certain sort of sense to Dustin and maybe it would to Ellison as well. If they could get real Pirates to beat the hell out of the fake ones it would be that many more of the SAC they could take home in one piece. At least it seemed worth a shot to Dustin as he lay his head down and tried to let sleep take him. Word Count: 1193 Name: Dustin Lane Rank: Captain Position: CO Artillery Battery MH: Onager Self Propelled Gun Role: Support Battalion Platoon: Steel Rain Company: Storm’s Metal Thunder Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #5 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #5 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 24 March 2015 - 08:37 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #05 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Pirate Point Task Force Hadrian Union Class DropShip Vigilant Falcon Bridge 25th November 3091, 06:00am local "GODDAMMIT!" Captain Lynn 'Savannah' Wade swore as another brief flash followed by a puff of smoke wiped out the most of the remaining lights on the Vigilant Falcon's bridge control panels. She stabbed viciously at the last remaining light on her command chair panel with her index finger opening up the ship wide speaker system, "Brig! Make room for our Engineers!… Scratch that, someone round them up and arrange a firing squad! I want it ready in 5 minutes!" Several decks below the engineers exchanged nervous looks. "You don't think she means it… do you?" asked Specialist Jean-Claude Galca, the newest member of the Vigilant Falcon's engineering crew. For a young man already under pressure, that last announcement seemed to age him a good 10 years. "Naw, she's just in one of her moods," Iona Sasaki responded in her thick British accent. Sasaki was the oldest engineer among them, the Senior Gunner with the rank equivalent to a Chief Warrant Officer and scuttlebutt was she had attended the Vigilant Falcon's first launch. "No’ that I blame her. We're a long way from a port with tha’ technical know how to maintain the old girl's systems with the upgrade to carry vehicles and battle armor both with the advent of WarShips now around. Not many Warship’s around and until a year ago “I” had never even heard of a Sub-Captol Laser System, let alone have the technical savvy to service one, " she said while affectionately patting the nearby bulkhead. "She's probably worried tha' the last power spike might have left us dead in the water, an' she might be right." Sasaki sighed and seemed to drift off in thought for a moment as she gazed down at the large pile of cables at her feet. A few moments of silence passed, and then as if waking up, Sasaki shook off her reverie, clapped her hands together and looked around at the others. "Alright! Back to it lads! If the lady up stairs is kind enough to have us all shot then we'll get to knock off early and stop worrying about getting outta this forsaken system. Until then, let's get the old girl back in flying shape." Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Annapolis Stiefel Corpernicus Rim World Dragoons Peridem SpacePort Overlord Class DropShip Deck 5 25th November 3091, 07:45am local The middle aged officer stepped up to the door and reached for the chime. His crisp uniform flawless he stood at attention, no sign of his apprehension showing. Despite the complete lack of rank or insignia of any kind, his poise and conduct at all times marks him easily as a senior officer. The door in front of him lead to the single largest room on any of the DropShips, one that encompassed the entire 5th deck of this Overlord class ship. "Come in," spoke the deep bass voice through the external speaker. That voice alone was enough to instill fear in junior ranks and enlisted personnel. Not that it had no effect on the man now waiting at full attention, but it was unbecoming to cower. As soon as the hatch hissed opened the officer stepped in at a lively pace, feet carrying him through the darkened cabin with practiced ease. Past the priceless artwork, each illuminated from above by a single sharp light that focused on their individual charges but did nothing to brighten the stateroom around. The officer came to attention again, in front of the large black desk made of some priceless wood from a far off world. Behind the desk a high back chair stood back-on to the officer, it made no attempt to turn but rather continued to face the large portal. The officer stood, waiting, eyes fixed on the eternally black thunder storm that raged outside. "Report." A simple command, yet coming from that voice… That voice could penetrate bulkheads, and fills a room and all that listen with the sounds of supreme confidence and power that mark it's owner to all who see or hear him. "The thunder storm has reached Dosilin, and is interfering with our operation. The battalion commander estimates only 60% of the city has been affected at this time. We have lost 7 vehicles thus far due to water and mud in the intakes, the modifications made prior to arrival apparently cannot compensate for a full fledge monsoon. The battalion commander recommends withdrawal of his battalion’s assets until the storm passes." The report continues uninterrupted, the officer knows that the listener will hear the complete report before issuing his commands. "Elements of the Third Battalion have reported reaching the remains of a crude camp in the forest, but it appears to have been abandoned just a few hours before they arrived. They believe the camp was created by survivors of the 'Mech battle the force encountered en-route to Norval. The 203rd and Buccaneer’s Storm elements are in Norval and sweeping now. They report that there is no resistance but the storm is also hampering their effectiveness. The remainder of the Third is sweeping the outlying areas around Norval. No sign of the Cache’s Location has been found as of yet." "Very good," the voice began in a slow, deliberate and penetrating tone. "Recall the battalion. I want to speak with the commander about his failure at the edge of the forest, tell him to report to me immediately upon his return. Order the Third Regiment to move at flank speed to Dosilin, I want that city dealt with! The 203rd Battalion can assume sweeping operations, tell them to sweep North then rotate toward Dosilin. Remind the commander that No One Escapes! Order the Buccaneer’s to pick up their pace, if the Cache’s Location is there I want it found now! Thunder storms do not alter our timelines!" "YES SIR!" The officer snaps into a full salute and begins to turn to execute his commander's orders. "Oh." The officer freezes mid turn and returns to face the back of the chair. "Yes, Sir?" "I assume you detonated the charges." It was a statement and a dangerous question rolled into one. "Of course, sir. Before they hit the ground and the ejection systems were, of course, disarmed." "Very good. I don't need to remind you, we leave no traces. Dismissed." WORD COUNT 1139 Name: Frank Able Rank: Colonel Position: Commander MH: Atlas AS7-K3 Role: Mastermind Lance: Command Company: Head Hunter Unit: RIMWORLD DRAGOONS Edited by Teso River, 24 March 2015 - 08:38 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #6 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #6 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 24 March 2015 - 10:25 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #06 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains Check Point 25th November 3091, 08:00am local The squall raged, blocking out the sky and creating a darkness deeper than any starless night. A lone figure staggers toward the edge of the mountain refuge, electronic device nearly pressed against his nose. His transport had given out just 70 meters from the base of the mountains, but the walk these few meters felt like trying to swim from the Nadar JumpPoint to the planet without a space suit. The figure slowly takes shape in the lull created by the massive trees. Ugly, brown tweed Mickeyet whipping around behind him, with one sleeve torn off and wrapped around his right leg to stem the bleeding from the gash left by the shrapnel. Matching brown tweed pants and mustard yellow shirt were ripped and torn, yet complemented by the universe's worst tie. Another series of gashes in his left arm and forehead cycled between closed and openly bleeding as the torrential rains buffeted him. Staggering past the first tree line, the man collapses around the back of the third tree he encounters. He continues to check his device, which is starting to blink on and off due to moisture penetration. The remaining alcohol in his system, combined with the predictable ensuing hangover, adds to his frustration. "DAMN this pukking planet!" He screams at the surrounding trees, "AND DAMN those battlemech jocks and their thrice damned BattleMechs!" With that frustration expelled from his system, the Rim World Business man reflected that it was good that his Chairman of the Security Committee was not present to have heard his outburst. Or his negligence the night before, when he allowed those that he has been negotiating with for the past month to feed him a steady stream of Kraszy Ivans! The ground around him began to shift and stir. What now?! Is the whole planet against me? Or is this some unknown side effect of those DAMNED Kraszy Ivans?! As the Rim Worlder tried, unsuccessfully, to leap to his feet, three shapes rose, wraith like, out of the wet mud and dirt. The three shapes, weighing in at more than a thousand kilograms each, were equipped with enough Mimetic Armor to stop a direct hit from a Large Large and the mimetic armor was designed to mask the various signs of human life. "Had a little slip of the tongue, your FUBAR’ed?" Second Lieutenant Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich smiled at the Rim Worlder through his mimetic armored visor. The Rim World business man slumped back down, realizing that the three heavy anti-mech grade weapons pointed in his direction, along with his current state, ended the debate about his ability to address this new threat. "Yeah, I’m FUBAR’d." He responded to ‘The Surgeon’ in the latters native tongue. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains WayPoint Victor Bravo 25th November 3091, 16:00 local Ellison raised his Dart's right barrel as a visual cue for the column of survivors to halt. Ellison had ordered the immediate evacuation of the camp after hearing the reporter's description of the devastation that occurred in Dosilin. He surmised that anyone who would completely destroy a civilian population would be coming back to finish the job they started with his group. During the breaking down of the camp a messenger had arrived bringing word from 2nd Lieutenant Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich. The waves of relief at hearing that most of Gurevich’s people had survived nearly overwhelmed Ellison's exhausted mind. The column of survivors had been traveling for 10 straight hours and operating under radio silence, leaving each of the 'Mech Warriors alone with only their own thoughts as company. The going had been slow. Ellison had purposely chosen a round-about path to get to the rally point ‘The Surgeon’ had indicated in his message. The column was also moving at a torturously slow pace due to the injured and those that had to walk due to lack of vehicles to transport them. Not to mention that most of the 'Mechs were badly damaged and couldn't move at anything better than a slow limp. But we made it! Ellison thought as he sat staring out of his canopy Where is ‘The Surgeon’? Loose debris blew all around, brushing swirling designs across Ellison's field of vision. At nearly 100 meters from the base of the mountains the signs of the violent storm beyond were now ever present. Ellison risked exposure and swept the area with his 'Mech's sensors. Nothing? Where are they? Could the enemy have intercepted them? Ellison thought as the creeping depression brought on by the march and nagging guilt at having left his Commanders back in the fire fight caused him to, again, question himself. A sudden rapping on his overhead canopy caused Ellison to snap his head back in surprise. His Neuro helmet collided with the back of his seat causing Ellison's head to bounce around roughly inside. When he finally managed to get his head under control and properly angle himself to see straight up, there was ‘The Surgeon’, dangling upside down by a cable and his armor was draped in suppression camo. From the look on his face, ‘The Surgeon’ was clearly struggling to suppress his laughter. Cutting on his external speakers Ellison boomed, "Dammit ‘Surgeon’! I march all this way to find you playing in the trees!" "Sorry boss, " ‘The Surgeon’ barked between short coughs of laughter, "I couldn't resist. We knew someone was coming and got ready. When we confirmed it was you, we stayed put to make sure we could help if you were being followed. Butt.. when I got the all clear.. I just couldn't resist. Is your head alright?" With that last question he nearly laughed hard enough to fall from his precarious position. "Right," was all that Ellison could think to say. A combination of relief and embarrassment flustered his ordinarily quick wit. "We're setup over there about 40 meters," ‘The Surgeon’ pointed off to the right, slightly back up into the mountainous forest, "there's a cavernous spot to park all the 'Mechs so they are well hidden. Oh, and I've got someone you should meet." "Right," Ellison wondered who on earth ‘The Surgeon’ could have encountered out here during one of Halifax’s vicious thunder storms, but he figured he'd find out soon enough. He turned his 'Mech to face the indicated direction, as other members of ‘The Surgeon’s team descended to the forest floor. Ellison proceeded to issue orders to the rest of the column, "follow the soldiers to the new camp. ‘Surgeon’? Want a lift?" Ellison nodded his BattleMech’s blocky head at ‘The Surgeon’ indicating the battle armor hand holds on his Dart. "Don't mind if I do, " ‘The Surgeon’ called as he cut his ties to his support cable and performed a half somersault onto the 'Mech's shoulder before scampering down and locking his Elemental’s battleclaw onto a rear mounted hold. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains SAC Bivouac Hidden Cave Camp 25th November 3091, 16:30 local First Lieutenant Ellison ‘Ely’ Reed stood atop a small mound surveying the progress of the combined group of his and Hauptmann-Kommandant Lombroso's people as they went about establishing the new camp. Their progress was going well under the expert direction of 1st Lieutenant David bin Sabi and his support Platoons, Dingo Logistics and Coyote Battalion Forward Salvage and repair, who were breaking the large assembly into smaller groups and positioning each sub camp for camouflage and defensibility. Ellison had to admit that this was an excellent location. Due to the shape of the terrain, each sub camp was positioned in such a way that they would look like extensions of a hill or fill in a small valley to create the illusion of a continuous mound. The 'Mechs, Battlearmor, and vehicles were safely stored in a large underground cave whose entrance was nearly invisible until you were actually standing in the opening. Sergeant Major Chantel Bobo had explained that the composition of the rocks, their natural formation and the heavy iron content of the mountains and surrounding vegetation all conspired to create the visual illusion that could not be penetrated by sensors. She wouldn't have found the cave if one of the Aesterion Battlearmor troopers hadn't fallen in after jumping over the hill from the other side. The techs had already begun converting the large natural formation into a functional service and re-arm depot that would go a long way to making the severely damaged units battle ready. A full hospital with a function triage and trauma unit was being erected further back in the cave by Cassion’s Mobile M.A.S.H. unit and Apollo’s two Hummingbird Rescue VTOLs. It had taken the better part of the last two hours to get the 'Mechs and vehicles ushered into the cave and round up the stragglers from the long march. And now to find out more about this "guest" ‘The Surgeon’ has been talking about Ellison thought as he headed in the direction of the new command center Sergeant Major Bobo had already established under the exposed root structure of one of the largest trees. Ellison had to duck under an overhead branch as he entered the command center. He stopped short just after entering as he took in the impressive difference between the nearly undetectable and very natural looking exterior and the inside which was filled with various portable computers, all interconnected, displaying an incredible array of views of the camp, the surrounding areas, and technical readouts from seismic and passive radar installations. Damn! ‘Radar’ has been busy! Ellison noted that one of the technicians, wearing an oversized headset, seemed to be cycling through listening devices that looked, on the visual display, to be scattered throughout the camp and, if the map on the display was to be believed, up to 700 meters around the camp! I've got to remember to give her a raise after this! Ellison thought with earnest. IF we get out of this he morbidly added to remind himself of the gravity of the situation. Spotting two massive one ton Aesterion battle armored soldiers standing guard over a third man, who by the looks of his clothes could be the universes tackiest used hover car salesman, Ellison started to walk over to their enclave. As he approached he got a closer look in the dimly lit center. The man had bandages on his head and arms and a leg wrap and splint on his right leg and he had been shackled. A horrible tweed jacket was draped over the back of the chair. There is something else, a look in his eye, the cut of the man's form. He is no used hover car salesman. Although, he must have some really important information, 'cause I might have shot him for just wearing that tie! "So, " Ellison began. "Ahh, you've meet our guest, " ‘The Surgeon’ called as he entered the command center. "No, actually, I was just about to. But, since you're here perhaps you can handle the formal introductions," Ellison replied in a mock aristocratic tone. "My pleasure, " ‘The Surgeon’ seemed to be truly enjoying the theatrics as he continued, "First Lieutenant Ellison Reed, let me introduce you to Mr. Stanton Barrera, " ‘The Surgeon’ paused with a broad smile painted across his face, obviously waiting to see if Ellison could derive some important nugget from simply hearing the man's name. Stanton Barrera? I don't think I've ever heard of a Stanton Barrera. What could I possibly get from just hearing that nam… Barrera?! That can't be it, can it? Isn't that a … Rimworld Collection Ministry Head’s name! Before Ellison could verbalize his thoughts ‘The Surgeon’, either because he'd seen the conclusion of Ellison's thoughts written on his face or out of impatience, blurted out, "Active Response Corp of Rim World Collection’s Intelligence Ministry." "RIMWORLD INTELLIGENCE MINISTRY!" Now Ellison truly was shocked! "Are they…" ‘The Surgeon’ was already shaking his head no when the prisoner jumped into the conversation. "NO! Rimworld Intelligence Ministry would never, " but Ellison cut him off. "Yeah, I'll bet that's what you told everyone before the Rim World-Outback Invasion!" Ellison snapped angrily. The prisoner seemed to seethe as he tried to jump to his feet, only to be thrown hard back into his chair by the two battle armor troopers standing guard. ‘The Surgeon’ stepped in close to Ellison in a smooth half turn and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. "No Ellison. This guy wouldn't have been caught unaware in harm’s way, if it was them." At least that reasoning makes some sense Ellison thought as he eased up a little in ‘The Surgeon’s grip but remained locked in a hard stare with the man in the chair. "Ok, if it wasn't them, then what's he doing here?" Ellison asked without blinking. He suddenly recalled the information forwarded to him from Captain Dustin Lane. The SAC were in it up to their eyeballs. Heimdall had been seen boarding the Vigilant Falcon’s in a secluded conference with his own Lyran born Captain Dustin Lane. Was Lane a double agent working for Heimdall? Had he fooled Ciara? No. Ellison would not allow his demons to even go there. Dustin had proven his loyalty to the Storm’s Armored Cavalry and more importantly to Ellison himself, with the naming of Ellison as a God parent to his son. Accord to Lane LOKI was also involved, feeding the SAC information as recently as this past month. This RCF agent was the trifecta. The Rim’s Active Response Corps was rumored to be on par with Kurita’s own DEST Squads or even the Capellan’s Death Commandos. So what did that say about the SAC Intelligence Arm since they had captured him? Hmm? No wonder they had two Aesterion Battle armor troopers guarding the prisoner. "I'm here on business." Replied the Rim Worlder in a defiant tone, interrupting the brevetted battalion commanding’s reverie. "What kind of business brings a Rim Agent all the way out to La Loutre?" Ellison barked, the look in his eyes daring the Rim Worlder to give him an excuse to feed him to the two anti-mech Aesterion Battle Armor hovering right behind him. "A Star League Era Military Hardware Cache and BattleMechs." ‘The Surgeon’ replied flatly before either of them could continue their little love fest. The Rim Worlder seemed taken aback by this announcement, and began to respond in an indignant tone, "I never .." ‘The Surgeon’ completed his sentence, while looking between Ellison and the prisoner, "told me why you're here. I know. But it's my job to know Who's on first." "What?!" The Rim Worlder shrieked, with a look on his face like he was surrounded by madmen. "No, What's on second, but that's not important right now." ‘The Surgeon’ replied, in a flat tone with just a hint of mischievous undercurrent. Ellison's head was rotating like it was mounted on a swivel, following the rapid fire exchange between the other two. ‘The Surgeon’ was clearly enjoying keeping Ellison and their prisoner off balance. "What is important is your presence. I had unconfirmed reports of a small Rim World force, of a group of Pirates, Buccaneer’s Storm in particular, operating on the Southern Continent prior to our arrival here. Reportedly looking for a production facility. Your presence would seem to confirm that report." Holding up his hand to forestall the obvious rebuttal working it's way across the Rim Worlder's face, ‘The Surgeon’ continued, "This was mixed with the reports of LOKI and Heimdall also referring to the same treasure. It seemed likely due to your Nation's current situation what with the ULTRA declaration of war all along that front." "Declaration of War?!" The Rim Agent rocked in his chair, with a look of total disbelief written on his face. Ellison's numb mind was quickly recovering from the shock of having an Active Response Corp Rim Agent in his command center, and putting together more and more of the pieces that ‘The Surgeon’ was so carefully laying out. "And, if you were actually out this far looking for ‘business’, it would be more likely that you'd be on Timbuktu than Halifax. Business is a little exotic on this world for Rim World tastes." ‘The Surgeon’ finished with a sly grin. The Rim Agent was silent. He was staring at a point over ‘The Surgeon’s shoulder mouthing the word Cache. Ellison felt it was his time to jump in, "So, this new force may have taken the Buccaneer’s Storm presence here as proof of the Cache’s existence and decided to come in force." "There's a good chance." ‘The Surgeon’ replied with a knowing grin. "But who? I don't know of any Pirates with this kind of fire power. The Houses are currently fixated on the ULTRA war. Could it be another Periphery Nation?" Ellison queried. ‘The Surgeon’ started shaking his head again, "No, it doesn't fit. They struck at us, and steam rolled over Dosilin without so much as a HI THERE. Then preceded to take a swing at Norval. I know how you feel about the Periphery, but the Lyran-Rim World War was punishment for civilian rebellion not unprovoked wholesale genocide. Besides, a rival Periphery force would have gone after the Buccaneer’s Storm on planet first." "Perhaps it’s a ruse then, like, what’s it called? A False Flag operation?" Ellison shot back, thinking aloud. The Rim Agent snapped back to the present at the mere mention of his own nation being involved in the wholesale slaughter of innocent civilians. "I doubt it, " ‘The Surgeon’ began slowly, as though chewing through a possibility that he hadn't considered, "Those ‘Mechs we encountered were Inner Sphere designs. But.. it would explain why they destroyed the civilians, leaving no traces of their presence would be one of their highest priorities, given the sea of love their cohort’s still have for them, " he indicated the completely enraged look on the prisoners face with a jerk of his thumb. "WELL?" Ellison barked at the Rimworld Intelligence Agent, "Could they be Rim Worlders?" The Active Response Corp Operative opened his mouth to refuse the possibility, but then seemed to stop and reconsider his response before speaking, a talent lacking entirely from the former Rimworld Intelligence Ministry. A couple of long minutes passed as the prisoner glared up into Ellison's face, a deep internal turmoil played itself out across his features. Then, a look of resignation surfaced and he finally responded, "I would love to refute these charges, but I can’t. It’s recorded that this unholy Alliance was destroyed entirely, but it is well known that what was recorded isn’t completely accurate. The honor-less dogs, if they still exist, could certainly be responsible for attacking undefended civilians. I can say that secrecy would be, as you have said, of utmost importance to those ‘Pirate’ scum. All true Rim Worlders would abandon all other concerns and rush to destroy them if they were to surface. And this Cache, if the Damned thing exists, might be enough to entice those responsible to risk this action." WORD COUNT 3258 Edited by Teso River, 24 March 2015 - 10:35 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #7 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #7 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 25 March 2015 - 07:29 AM LA-GW-12-01 Post #07 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountains Empty Production Facility S.O.S. 20th December 3091, 10:00am local Incoming Transmission: “This is Sergeant Nathan Gilmore! We need back up! I repeat, we need back up!” ::gunfire:: “We've brought as many technicians and remaining heavy mountain infantry forces and Ogre Battle Armor and bunkered down in the woods.” ::gunfire:: “We are under attack! I repeat, under attack!” ::screams:: “Sir! We've lost contact with the left flank!” “Damn. What the hell is that thing?” “What do we do sir?” “Keep up with the defense. We have to defend the technicians.” “Yes sir.” “My men are dying. We need back up.” ::gunfire:: ::screams:: “I'm not sure what this thing is. It's killing all my men. It's killing all of my damn men!” ::gunfire:: ::bang:: ::woman's scream:: ::bang:: “You two! Flip over the tables to make a barricade! Make sure it doesn't get to the technicians!” ::bang:: ::crash:: ::bang:: “IT'S BREAKING THROUGH!” ::crash:: “SHOOT IT! SHOOT IT!” ::gunfire:: ::Gilmore's scream:: ::sidearm fire:: “SERGEANT!” ::screams:: ::Sidearm fire:: ::unidentified guttural growling:: ::scream:: ::gurgle:: ::growling:: ::Gilmore panting:: “Stay back! Stay Back!” ::sidearm fire:: ::Gilmore's scream:: ::unidentified guttural growling:: End Transmission Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountains Empty Production Facility Rescue Squad 21st December 3091, 16:00pm local Private First Class Thomas Bortels sat in a Yasha VTOL’s converted ammo hold, eyes closed. It had been two month since the Rim Collection invaded Halifax. Since then, they had been searching for some kind of facilities 36 hours strait, only getting 12 hours for rest before they had to get back in the action. Since then, most of the regiments and battalions were split, hell, there were even only a few companies left together. Now most of them were in fire teams and platoons. So naturally, any chance there was, they would rest. A man cleared his throat loudly, disturbing Thomas from his dozing. The man wore the uniform of a Gunnery Sergeant. He had dark eyes and black hair in a buzz cut and in place of a beard was stubble. This was Gunnery Sergeant Timothy O'Riley, though everyone in Fire team Bravo 12 just called him Gunny. "Alright men. We recently received a distress call from the army squad Alpha 16 from our sister company in the 4th Regiment. They were stationed in the area to escort technicians. We received word that they were engaged with an unidentified ‘enemy’. Our last transmission from them had them in the woods, hiding in a defunct Star League Era Facility with the remnants of their soldiers. We believe that it was from the on planet Mercenaries. More specifically, an assault battlearmor squad. We're in charge of searching for survivors and eliminating the enemy in that sector while Bravo 10 and Bravo 11 clear the town. Let's do this Marines!" "Hoorah!" The entire ship cheered with him. Thomas double checked his Imperator AX 22 Assault Rifle and Grenade Launcher, making sure everything looked fine, before looking around. To his right was a pale, blond haired female with blue eyes. She was young, but then again, most of the recruits now a days were. Her name was Gabrielle Poésy and was the one he was closest with in the squad. He gave her a smile and she smiled back. To his left was Mitch Hudson. He was built and wore his uniform without any sleeves. If there was any sort of heavy lifting that was needed, Mitch was the go-to guy. He would carry any large gear that command decided to give them. He was also one of Thomas's oldest friends in the squad. Next to the entrance of the Yasha was Richard Michaels. He was a one of the newer recruits. He wasn't seasoned and was pretty young, but was still fit. Thomas didn't know much about him and didn't really make much of an effort into doing so anymore. The guy was not a morning person and had an attitude worse than a debutant with a bad hair day. Across from him was the resident red-head of the team, Leon Brown. He had spiked back orange hair which was held down back by his helmet. He often hung around Richard due to their connection of being athletes, both being members of basketball teams, though Richard was only a member of his high school team while Leon almost went pro. Next to him was Elise Celeste. She was also new blood. Fresh out of basics where all she was taught was how to shoot and work their equipment, as well as clean it. She was quiet and watched everything the more experienced members did. She and several other trainees were sent out to help the group, only for them to be split amongst several Bravo teams for the mission. Across from Thomas was Raynold Bandley. Everyone just called him Ray. He was a cheerful guy with dark skin and tried his best at his job. He was everyone's friend and was the old "new guy" before the recruits joined. Thomas had worked with him in the field before. He, Ray, and Gabrielle made a mean team on a Thang-Ta APC. Then there was Ginny Shawcross. She was a pale freckled girl who was originally stationed in the orbital platform Gilligan’s Gold Station. She had been sent along with several other marines to All Dawn Station for an award ceremony. Believe it or not, it was for the Colonel, and Sergeant Adam Jones. Those two were practically living legends and greatest heroes of the Rim Collection alive. It was a story that Ginny always told. However, when Halifax was attacked, she and her squad were in their Ferret, returning to Copernicus when it was destroyed by the Militia Garrison. They were then picked up by the Yasha that Fire team Bravo was in, the RCM Phoenix. Finally, there was Wade Kruz. Wade was a little lanky but wasn't half bad with a rifle. Wade had blond hair and a slight go-tee. He was a good guy and easy going. Thomas liked him. “We are coming upon the LZ.” The pilot called back. “Get ready.” The fire team readied their assault rifles, or shotgun in Gunny's case. The back door opened. As soon as it did, the team jumped out, weapons ready. Thomas looked around. They were on some road in a country by a forest. Nearby were several R10 Mechanized ICVs. One was an A anti-vehicle /anti-‘Mech fire support variant ICV. The vehicle sported four ER Medium Lasers with pair of Light Class 5 .25mm Auto cannons and two were transporter Prime types. All of them looked pretty messed up. The regular ICV was blown up with only the shell remaining. The turret gun had fallen nearby and lay mostly intact. There were three bodies of what looked like members of the RCM regular army. One of them was just crashed into a tree, damaging the engine too much to work. There was the body slouched on the steering wheel of what Thomas assumed was a mountain platoon infantry officer, what with the armor look and all. There was some blood around and on the ICV but no other bodies. The final one had laser scoring on the sides, but had no bodies inside so it was assumed that the ones inside got away safely. Nearby was a fallen Ferret. It had a hole punched through the armored plating, looking like a clear shot through and hit the pilot directly. The Ferret was on fire in several places. It must have been aviation fuel fueling the fire. While he was taking this in, Thomas barely noticed the Yasha leave. "Geeze Gunny. Where did you bring us?" Leon said, looking around. "Some backwater place called Elm Street." Thomas heard a snort from behind him and he turned, along with the others to see that it was from Richard. "Care to share something Michaels?" Gunny said. "It's nothing. Just some stupid story my older brother used to tell about some killer living in a house." "Hmph." Gunny grunted. "Well while you are playing with your Dracula and Frankenstein, the rest of us will be fighting the enemy. Hudson. Bandly. Go and check the Ferret for any survivors or anything we can use." "Yes sir." The two replied. They readied their Assault Rifles before moving towards the Ferret. "Bortels. Poésy. Back them up." "Yes sir." Thomas and Gabriel chorused. The two raised their Imperator AX 22's and followed their teammates. Thomas gave Gabriel a nod and the two took positions at either side of the Ferret's entrance. Ray and Mitch both nodded to the two before jumping inside, facing either directions. Thomas lost sight of the two and He and Gabriel paused with baited breath. “Hey Gunny?” Came Mitch's voice. “What is it soldier?” “Everything here is dead. It's like a beast of some sort went crazy and killed several of these guys.” “What's the count?” “We've got three grunts and one Ogre.” “We have another grunt in the cockpit but this one was killed by a Light Mortar Round.” Ray joined in. “What's the status about the chopper itself.” “It's got a lot of scratches here but we can use it as cover.” “Rodger that. Regroup.” “Yes sir.” Both said as they came out. The group of four, including Thomas and Gabriel walked back towards the group. "Alright men, listen up. This is how things are going to go. Michaels. Brown. You two are going to stay here. I want you two to get the ICV ready. Round up all weapons and throw them in the hold. We'll call for you if we find survivors and you can be damned sure that they will need fresh weapons. The rest of you will come with me. Kruz. You take point." "Rodger that." "Let's go marines!" Wade got in front as the rest of the group, bar Leon and Richard, followed into the forest. The forest itself was lit green with the light flowing through the canopy. Thomas couldn't see the sky above. Despite it protecting the team from unfriendly eyes, he felt unsettled by it. He wasn't sure why. The place was beautiful and there was no sound to indicate fighting. In fact, everything was quiet. "Tom." Gabriel looked at him. "Where are ze birds?" Thomas realized what was making him uneasy. There was absolute silence. No birds. No squirrels. Nothing. "Maybe the gun fighting scared them off." Mitch guessed. "Maybe." Thomas said with a frown. He tightened his grip on his rifle. There were normally at least some sounds. During his time in RCM, he fought the enemy in the Battle of Viborg. There were still animals around. Hello, he and Gabriel even used a Condor as a meat shield when their squad was pinned down and the native birds took plenty of laser rounds for them. Just for all of them to disappear like this? It didn't make any sense. As the team continued, they saw more evidence of fire fights, but no bodies. It didn't do much besides make them uneasy. Then Gunny suddenly stopped and raised his arm to signal a halt. Celeste gasped. Wade just uttered. "What in the holy hell is that?" WORD COUNT 1930 Name: Thomas Bortels Rank: Private 1st Class Position: Fire Team MH: Mountain Infantry Role: Marine Platoon: Twelve Company: Bravo Unit: 4th RIMWORLD DRAGOONS Edited by Teso River, 25 March 2015 - 12:21 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #8 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #8 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 25 March 2015 - 01:30 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #08 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountains Empty Production Facility Rescue Squad 21st December 3091, 16:10pm local "What in the holy hell is that." Mitch muttered. Thomas could only stare at what lay in front of them. It was an R10 Mechanized Infantry Combat Vehicle, only part the front had been ripped off and a large claw mark along the right side. There was blood all inside the R10 but no bodies to be seen, nearby, or in the ICV. "Just what the hell did this Gunny?" Ray asked as he gaped at the damage on the ICV. "Tom? Ez zat… hair?" Thomas looked closer at the claw marks and saw a patch of snow white hair clinging to the scratches. It was long and coarse. "Hey Gunny. Check this out." Thomas called to his CO, pointing out the hair. Gunny looked over. "Hmph. Would you look at that." "I didn't think anybody in Alpha had hair that color." Ray said. "They don't. We don't have anything to hold it in so we'll just have to leave it. We should be getting close. Poésy, Bortels, and Hudson. I want you three to branch off to our right. Kruz, Shawcross, and Bandley. You will cover our left flank. Celeste and I will go down the middle." "Yes sir." The troop chorused and did as ordered. Thomas walked with Mitch and Gabriel in the mountain forest. Thomas activated his radio. “How far from the location are we anyway Gunny?” “About a mile off. Focus though. Whatever it was that attack Alpha should be around here.” “Rodger that sir.” Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountains Empty Production Facility Rescue Squad 21st December 3091, 16:45pm local The rest of the journey had been silent. Gabriel had stayed nearby Thomas while Mitch stayed silent, his Imperator AX 22 scanning the surrounding area. Besides a few more laser scoring and bullet damage on the trees and foliage, there wasn't much to see. This only put the team more on edge. "Tom. I don't like zis." Gabriel said, nervously. "I don't like it either Gabs. But we can do this." He said with a slight smile to her. She nodded, still unsure but Thomas could tell that he had reassured her. "Hey guys. Check this out." Mitch said from in front of the two. Gabriel and Thomas looked one either side of Mitch only for Gabriel to let out a sharp gasp. In front of them was a dead Xiphos Battle Armored Trooper leaning against a tree. This wouldn't have been such of a shock if the Xiphos' Suits stomach wasn't ripped open. It was as if something ripped him apart. “Hey Gunny. You really need to see this.” Mitch said over the radio. Gabriel huddled close to Thomas as they started at the Xiphos Battle Armor. Thomas recognized a Magshot Gauss rifle by its hand. He looked around for any gauss slugs in the trees that would hint at a fight. He didn't see anything. No sign of any sort of damage to be specific. That meant either it took the Xiphos Battle Armor by surprise or that it was someone the Xiphos pilot knew. Judging by the ferocity of the kill, Thomas assumed the former. "Real pretty." Gunny said as he walked up with Elise. "Friend of yours?" "I found him like this. What could have done this?" Gunny frowned. "Keep on your toes. Whatever killed it might still be around." Thomas frowned at the lack of an answer but still answered affirmatively with the rest of the team. Gunny left with Elise back to their position as the group continued. "Gunny didn't answer that. It was like he was hiding something," Thomas said. "I noticed," Mitch replied. "What would 'e be hiding?" Gabriel asked. Mitch and Thomas looked at each other, a knowing glance that lasted the briefest of moments. Both knew what each other was thinking. And neither of them liked it. "What's really going on." Thomas finally answered. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountains Empty Production Facility Rescue Squad 21st December 3091, 17:00pm local Thomas looked and blinked as the group entered a clearing. In the center was a small reinforced building that looked like it consisted of several rooms. The heavy steel door was broken open. Around the building were several bodies. The sight made Gabriel gasp. Several of the bodies had been torn in half and thrown about the place. A few others looked like something in a rage had attacked them. Around the clearing were also several grunt bodies that were smashed or ripped apart. There were Ogre clad battle armor corpses that were missing their heads and arms. Against the wall was another Xiphos Battle Armor Suit that looked like it was the most mutilated. There were still several Technician bodies that looked in better condition. Thomas could see AsTech and army units scattered around. “Form up men.” Gunny called over the radio. Thomas, Mitch, and Gabriel moved over towards him as Ginny, Wade, and Ray came from the other side. "Hudson. Bandley. I want you to check the bodies out here. Shawcross. Kruz. I want you two to stand guard outside the door. The rest of you, cover me." Ray and Mitch started to check all the bodies around the place. Thomas held his rifle up as he followed Gunny, who had his shotgun ready. The group reached the door and walked through, past another body. Inside, there were several bunks. Near a destroyed radio was a savaged body of a Rim Collection Regular army soldier with the rank of sergeant. Nearby to the dead sergeant, two other bodies lay. One was by another torn down door while the other looked like it was thrown against the wall, his stomach torn out. Thomas looked inside the door and paled. Inside were many bodies of what looked like Rim Collection Technical Staff. Mutilated men and women littered the floor, torn to pieces. Thomas heard Gabriel come forward and she gasped. He turned to see the already pale French girl get even paler. She looked faint so Thomas grabbed her and gently pulled her away. "Come on. You shouldn't see stuff like that, much less stare at it." He told the frozen girl. While he was busy with Gabriel, he heard Elise gasp before running outside and relieving the contents of her stomach. "Is everything clear Bortels?" Gunny asked, solemnly. "Yes sir. The place is clear. Not a living thing." Gunny sighed. "Settle down then. I need to look through these vid files." "Yes sir," Thomas replied. Gunny sat down with a slight groan and plugged his helmet into a data pad before sitting down and sighing. "This war has gone on too long." Thomas couldn't help but agree with his sergeant. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountains Empty Production Facility Rescue Squad 21st December 3091, 17:45pm local -Tracking Units- -Location: Forest in Sundry Mountains, Mustelidés, La Loutre, Halifax. The Lyran Alliance -RCM Recovery Team Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor Squad- -Status: Green- -Unit Count- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 1- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 2- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 3- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 4- -Unit entered forest at 1723- -Tracking Units- -Warning. Large life form detected.- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 3: Engaging- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 4: Engaging- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 4: Injured- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 3: KIA- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 1: Engaging- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 2: Engaging- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 1: Wounded- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 1: KIA- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 2: Disengaged- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 3: KIA- -Tracking unit Alpha 2- -Alpha Xiphos Assault Battle Armor 2: KAI- -Militia Recovery Team Alpha 113- -Status: KIA- -Inquiry sent- -Searching for nearby units- -Located Bravo Fire team 10- -Located Bravo Fire team 11- -Located Bravo Fire team 12- -Nearest Unit- -Bravo Fire team 12- -Mission Inquiry- -Investigation ”Recovery” - -Classified- -Status: In Progress- -Bravo Fire team 12- -Mission Inquiry- -Liberation- -Status: Complete- -Sending Report- -Report Sent- -Copernicus- -Warning: Enemy inbound- -Tracking terminated- Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountains Empty Production Facility Rescue Squad 21st December 3091, 18:00pm local Leon leaned back in the hull of the crashed Ferret. After he and Richard had packed the weapons in the working R10, he and Richard decided to wait in the hull and relax. Of course, Richard with his restless nature, decided to go check on the R10, leaving Leon to relax by the fire. The fire was made by using some of the wood that was around the edge of the forest, and the fire already on the Ferret. However, it was taking a little long for a simple checking the R10. Maybe he was going to the bathroom too. But Richard usually told them when he did that. Leon sighed as he stood up with his rifle and stepped out of his temporary shelter. "Hey Rich. Where are you?" He called out. … No answer. "Richard?" Leon called as he turned on the flashlight on his rifle. He walked towards the R10, rifle at the ready. "Come on Rich. This is not the time to be playing around. We can get a call from Gunny at any time." He move around the R10 and froze. In front of him was the mangled and ravaged corpse of Richard. "Wha!" He gasped and took a step back in horror. There was the snap of a twig behind him and Leon whipped around. There was a mass of black and everything went dark. . . . . Thomas sat on one of the bunks in the facility, Gabriel's head on his lap. She had fallen asleep about half an hour ago and Thomas moved her so that she would be more comfortable. Specifically, off his armor-padded shoulder. Elise was asleep on a nearby bunk as well. Well, it was more of fainting after she saw the bodies in such a horrific fashion. It only made Thomas remember how people like her weren't ready. She was just a kid after all. Ray and Mitch had decided to man the turrets on the perimeter. Wade and Ginny were patrolling, however, Gunny called for them to stay inside the clearing. Now, the two of them were waiting behind the barricade. They had collected all the weapons in the clearing and stocked them around the base. It became quite the weapons cache. The battle armor weapons were alongside the mountain platoon ones, sorted into rifles, grenades, snipers, and so on. Thomas had to admit that some of them were pretty impressive. Specifically he liked the Xiphos BA one shot SRM launcher, however, it was very difficult for an unarmored grunt to carry. Thinking about it, Thomas wouldn't dismiss Mitch of being able to carry one. He was surprisingly strong. Gunny moved, drawing Thomas's attention. He took off his helmet and rubbed his brow line. He unplugged the wire that was attached to the data pad and put his helmet back on. "This is getting worse and worse." He muttered. "Bortels. I need your help with this." Thomas sighed and gently lifted Gabriel's head and shifted out from under her before he walked over, rifle in hand. "Yes Gunny?" "I need something to help me pry off a floorboard." Thomas nodded before looking around. He noticed an axe in the corner for chopping wood and brought it over. The Gunnery Sergeant took the axe and brought it down on a floorboard that he had selected. Thomas noticed that he hadn't used his full strength. Gunny then started wiggling the axe around before using it to pry off part of the board. He then did the same with the other half. He proceeded to start to do the same for a few of the other ones. Thomas was a little amazed that Elise and Gabriel hadn't woken up, but he labeled it as the two not sleeping for a long time. Gunny spoke up, drawing his attention. "The CO that was in charge here used his knife to pry up the nails and then his rifle to hammer them back in. He didn't want the enemy to find this." He said, holding up a case. "It holds something that is supposed to help us in the war. Location codes or codes to hidden military cache of some sort. I don't know. This is our real objective though." "What about the men stationed here?" Thomas questioned. "They were a secondary objective. The higher ups have deemed any amount of sacrifice is worth getting this back." Gunny said as he climbed out of the hole. He called through the radio. “Michaels. Brown. We need extraction. I repeat, we need extraction.” There was silence. “Come in. Michaels. Brown. Do you read.” Still nothing. Gunny let out a curse. “Everyone. I want you prepared go in five.” He turned to Thomas. "Wake them. I'll tell command we have the package and to be ready for us." With that, Gunny walked off and Thomas turned towards his sleeping squad mates. He walked over to Gabriel and looked down at her. He took in how peaceful her face looked as it slept. She was in the world of dreams. A world away from the mission. A world away from the enemy. A world away from the war. Thomas sighed. He hated to take that away from her. He reached over and gently shook the blonde haired girl's shoulder. She blinked sleepily as she woke up, the dark circles under her eyes apparent. "Tom?" "Hey Gabs. You have to get up. We're moving out." She yawned as she started to get up as Thomas moved over to Elise. He woke her up in a similar manner, shaking her shoulder. "Celeste. Gunny says it's time to move out." She also let out a yawn as she woke up. Thomas handed her her rifle and walked back over to Gabriel. She was just starting to stand up and straighten out her personnel armor. Thomas waited for her before handing her her own rifle. When both her and Elise were ready, Thomas lead them to the others. Gunny was standing in front of the other four, the case slung on his back. "All ready Gunny. Still nothing from Michaels or Leon?" Gunny shook his head. "Nothing. I have the objective. Bortels. Poésy. Celeste. I want you three with me. Bortels take point and keep your eyes ahead. Poésy and Celeste. You are behind me and keep an eye open on the flanks. I've got center and will keep a general eye open. Bandley and Hudson. I want you two to be on the right flank. Shawcross. Kruz. You will take our left. We need to get to the extraction point but be careful. Something happened to Brown and Michaels. It could have been a faulty radio or it could have been something else. I do not want to take chances. Let's do this marines." """Sir, yes sir!""" The group chorused as they moved in formation. They soon left the clearing filled with the dead and towards their destination. Thomas could only hope that whatever happened to Brown and Michaels wouldn't happen to them next. Name: Thomas Bortels Rank: Private 1st Class Position: Fire Team MH: Mountain Infantry Role: Marine Platoon: Twelve Company: Bravo Unit: 4th RIMWORLD DRAGOONS WORD COUNT 2,595 Edited by Teso River, 25 March 2015 - 01:33 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #9 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #9 Duchess Ravenna Black Colonel Storm's Armored Cavalry 1832 posts 0 warning points LocationOfferman in the Federated Suns Posted 25 March 2015 - 02:49 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #09 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Rim Worlds Dragoons Sundry Mountain Tishue Plains 25th November 3091, 08:15am local Sparks flew as the plasma torch sliced a neat line through the seam that marked the meeting point of the armored plates on the upper leg of the former battlemech. The downpour of water didn't help matters as each droplet that struck the plasma was vaporized sending up steam. While many would have balked at having to work under such conditions as the storm that came howling in off the coast, the salvage experts of the Rim Worlds Dragoons would happily work in bad conditions due to the fact that field salvage duty counted as combat pay. The scattering of the mercenary Storm's Armored Cavalry had come at a cost, and while the Rim Worlds Dragoons were not involved in the fighting they were involved in the aftermath. With a number already prisoners of war, and a number of dead the general feeling was that the hostile forces on Halifax had been dealt a significant and mortal wound from which they would not recover. The field salvage operation was not the only one being undertaken by the 3rd Battalion of the 4th Rim World Dragoons. The search for the fleeing enemy was a slow task due to the bad weather, but also the terrain which hindered tracking and pursuit. Standing under a large shelter tarp that had been secured off the side of a fallen mercenary Warhammer, Senior Lieutenant Stefan Gavin took a drag off of his cigarette to help stave off the cold, wet conditions that were menacing his platoon even as they huddled beneath the shelter of the tarp and took in some of the hot dark liquid that passed for coffee on Halifax. He stared out into the darkness, his orders were clear; search for the pilot of the Warhammer as there was some conjecture about if she had been killed or not during the battle. Standing next to him was Sergeant Hans Perrin, a veteran of the LAAF who had immigrated to the Rim Worlds as opposed to spend the best years of his life as a prisoner of the regime that had overthrown Katrina Steiner-Davion. “Looks like its letting up a bit.” the sergeant said. Gavin nodded throwing the remainder of his mostly spent cigarette out. “There was evidence of an ejection seat beacon to the north of here, gather the men and we'll begin a search there.” The sergeant went around passing the order on to the squad leaders who roused the soldiers who had taken the opportunity to catch some rest. As soon as they were assembled Gavin led them out into the rain. The darkness of night was giving way to a gray overcast morning that was still miserable by any measure. Spreading out into a line abreast formation covering about a hundred meters of frontage, all on alert for signs of an ejection seat or a mechwarrior. The open terrain gave way to trees and rocky outcroppings quickly enough, yet undeterred they searched maintaining contact as they spread out wider. After a half hour of mud and toil they had found exactly what they were looking for. ...a battlemech ejection seat. Lieutenant Gavin shined his flashlight onto the seat and the nearby neurohelmet. Reaching around he checked and checking the seat's beacon he found that its wires had been yanked out, and he found no kit bag in the storage spot. He nodded and wiped away some of the dampness from his face. “Well, it looks like Ciara Storm is alive. Better inform higher.” Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountains Exact Location Indeterminate 25th November 3091, 09:00am local The feel of her lover's strong arms around her, the warmth of his body and his scent were comforting. Ciara smiled and snuggled a bit against him as he spoke to her.. it was a whisper.. she hadn't heard him at first.. and then it became clear.. “Ciara, wake up..” Her eyes opened and reality came crashing in on her as a cold, unpleasant wave. Huddled in the hollow of a large tree, she had set up her thermal tarp up as an emergency bivy of sorts to keep the rain off and to help reflect some of her body heat back and keep hypothermia from setting in. She remembered now exactly her situation; somewhere near the enemy lines or even behind by now and on the lam. Ciara would be the first to admit that she reacted somewhat rashly in taking on the entire enemy battlemech force solo after decapitating their commanding officer. She however had a deep underlying hatred for pirates and was not going to become their prisoner. That said, she had pretty much expected to die right then and there. She was shocked that the ejection seat had actually gotten her clear of the doomed Warhammer, and while she was alive Ciara was dispossessed yet again. She barely remembered the landing of the ejection seat, but adrenalin could do strange things to a person and she found herself beating feet with her emergency kit bag away from the battle zone as quickly as her body could carry her. The sky had turned from black to gray, and she had to get moving again. Slipping out of the bivy, she shook it out a bit and wrapped it up shoving it into the dry bag pouch it had come in. Checking her bearing with the compass in her watch she started to move again, looking for somewhat better shelter so she could change into something a bit warmer than the skimpy outfit she wore in the cockpit. As useful as they were in the cockpit, the boots worn in a battlemech cockpit had to be able to withstand the extreme heat that would melt the soles of other footwear causing serious problems for the warrior. They were not however optimal for this sort of terrain and Ciara found her progress hampered. Finding a rocky outcrop with something of an overhang, she took the time to strip out of her wet cockpit garment and into a warm and dry field uniform that would also help conceal her due to the camouflage pattern. Swapping out the boots for a lighter weight pair of all terrain boots that she had already broken in helped boost her morale. Not quite so miserable, she pulled out one of her high energy ration bars and sipped at the water mixed with electrolyte solution in her hydration bladder. As with just about any mechwarrior, Ciara carried a pistol for personal defense. Her choice of a 10mm generic slug thrower for its simplicity and reliability could help keep her safe, but the limited range and capacity were hampering factors. Reaching into her bag she pulled out her KT Sub-3000 Personal Defense Weapon, a compact carbine which used the same ammunition as her pistol but sent rounds downrange at a much higher velocity with better accuracy. Feeling not quite so naked, she pulled her pack back on and buckled it into place. Floppy soft cover hat keeping the rain out of her face she climbed up onto the outcropping to get a better view of what lay around her, she could see further down in the direction she had come from. Fishing her compact binoculars from a pouch she brought them up and scanned with a suspicion that she might be the subject of pursuit. Catching sight of movement, she focused in and could see clearly that she was now in a race to escape the soldiers who were heading more or less in her direction, tracking her. “Shit shit shit..” she slipped down quickly behind the outcropping knowing that she might have sky-lined herself. Stowing the binoculars, she began to move again but trying to mask her trail adding some deception. Ciara knew if these were professional trackers that she was not as skilled in counter-tracking as she would have liked and would be hard pressed to escape. Veering off to the northeast, she suddenly looped south and then straight west in hope that they would be thrown off. Unsure how much distance she had covered, Ciara was starting to get tired from moving so quickly. Reaching the foot of a rocky cliff that seemed to go straight up for a distance she drank a bit more of her water and caught her breath. “I'd be crazy to try it.” she said to herself, looking up toward the cliff. The rock was slippery, and unstable in some spots yet the gripping surface of her gloves made it possible for Ciara to slowly scale the rock wall. Reaching out for a handhold midway up, the wet glove slid off a slippery rock and she was instantly glad that she had maintained two points of contact. The fall would not have been pretty. Three quarters of the way up, trees became helpful and she reached the safety of the top. “From this point on, advanced survival training for all mechwarriors.. yeah...” she said to herself her thoughts turning toward those who were missing and she hoped that if they were prisoners that they were not being mistreated. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Rim Worlds Dragoons POW Encampment 25th November 3091, 12:15pm local The steaming hot cup of coffee was the epitome of temptation. Sitting there on the table top within reach of Sergeant Robert Stirling. He stared at it silently while the man across from him adjusted his glasses and fished into his pocket for a half used pack of cigarettes. “That's yours, Robert, if you cooperate. Let's start with your name, rank and unit. That's not against the rules, we want to be able to let your employer know that we have you and that you are in good health.” Robert Stirling had been through this before, he remained silent and passive. His field uniform had been removed of rank and insignia of Storm's Armored Cavalry, the only reason they knew his name was because of his identification tags. The interrogator offered a cigarette from the pack. “Come on, here its not like we have to be uncivilized about this.” Robert decided to throw the young man a bone and reached out slowly for the cigarette and held it in his hand leaning forward as the interrogator offered him a light. The smoke was slightly flavored, but had the quality of something produced in the periphery. It told him a lot because initially he thought that by the weapons and equipment that these were in fact Marik troops. Their gear was pretty good, some of it current Free Worlds Issue and yet it didn't sit well with Stirling. The Rim Collection was not an important player, and yet here they were with equipment that you'd see in the hands of the Marik Legionnaires... or the Word of Blake Militia... “Where are you from?” Robert asked as he took a drag. “All Dawn, you?” The interrogator replied, sensing a breakthrough. Robert shrugged. “Numenor.” “That's in the Federated Suns isn't it?” “Yeah, not been there in thirty years.” Robert admitted. “How's it feel working for Lyrans?” “Work's work. I don't get involved in politics, above my pay grade.” Came Robert's reply as he reached out and took the coffee in hand. “And what grade is that?” “Sergeant.” “Sergeant, what if I told you that a man of your skills could go far in our army? As opposed to scraping along worrying about if you are going to get killed on your next contract. I could arrange for you to get special dispensation and a monetary bonus if you helped us.” The interrogator offered. Rubbing at his chin a bit. “Help you bring in my mates?” “If you tell us where they are hiding it would lessen the bloodshed considerably.” Nodding a bit, Robert motioned close his tone becoming conspiratorially. “They're close, mate.” Leaning forward, the interrogator spoke softly. “How close?” Robert grinned and said. “Up yer ass, mate. Up yer ass.” he chuckled. The interrogator stood up and motioned for the two men in the room with them to grab up the Sergeant and yank him out of the chair and drag him over toward a bucket and cloth towel. “Looks like we do this the hard way.” Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountain Location Indeterminate 25th November 3091, 19:45pm local Peering over a large fallen tree trunk, Ciara could see the first sign of civilization and yet as tempted as she was by what she saw it could very well be a trap. Night was closing in, and she had yet to set camp determined as she was to put some distance between herself and the pursuit force. Now, she faced a dilemma. Ahead of her, nestled in the woods was what appeared to be a cabin that had seen better days. No smoke, no movement nor sign of occupation was evident. Weighing the situation, she headed for the cabin keeping her head on a swivel for danger. Reaching the nearest window, it was not very large and looked like it had been abandoned a while. When she tried the door, she found that it had been secured by a rusty looking padlock. Unsheathing her knife, she began to pry at the screws that held the lock in place and found that the wood was no match for metal and persistent prying. The door came open, and she shined her flashlight inside. A small fire burning stove was situated in one corner, and some old bedding off to another side. Closing the door behind her, Ciara began a systematic search for anything of use in the cabin and found little of interest. Still, it was warm and dry and even without a fire she was going to be a lot less miserable than those soldiers searching for her. Setting herself up in the corner with the bedding, she felt drowsiness overtake her and she closed her eyes drifting into dreams. The dream of a warm sandy beach was interrupted before she could reach the best parts, she sensed someone standing over her and as her eyes opened she reached her hand to her carbine and a boot stepped on her hand. She let out a pained cry and a pair of hands grabbed hold of her legs and yanked her out of the bed and onto the hard wood floor.. she saw three men standing over her, one of whom was dropping down to his knees. “Look what we have here! Bet you are the one everyone's looking for.. I think we're going to keep you for a bit before the reward.” His hand moved to his belt pulling out a knife, and Ciara knew exactly what they had in mind. Her eyes went from surprised, to steely determination. He brought his knife down toward her neck to threaten her, and found it blocked as she blocked him with her forearm and drew her own knife out bringing it swiftly down on the inside of his arm severing connecting tissue. His shock was evident as the knife dropped from his hand and she yanked a booted foot away and kicked him away. The man at her feet attempted to regain control of the situation but a kick to his nose gave Ciara valuable breathing room as the man held his now bleeding nose and mouth. The third man was back pedaling and fumbling with the safety on his hunting rifle. Ciara was now on her knees and chucked her knife at him striking him in the chest. With instinct born of a warrior mindset and the will to live she was on him tackling him to the floor, her fingers wrapped around the handle of her knife and she yanked it out and then pressed the serrated edge against the side of his neck. A quick motion and an arterial spray hit her face and neck. Mortally wounded, her prey gurgled and grasped at his neck while she turned her attention to the leader of the trio who had intended to be the first to rape her. There was no pity in those eyes, only a predatory coolness. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountain Location Indeterminate 26th November 3091, 06:10am local Clear, cool water flowed through the creek was tinged red as Ciara cleaned the blood from her skin and the shirt of the field uniform. Setting aside the long sleeve over shirt to dry, she grabbed one of the packs she had recovered and rummaged through it for anything of use. The trio had been armed with scoped hunting rifles which were in the hands of a skilled marksman just as lethal as any sniper rifle. Collecting the ammunition from the rifles, a sack of what looked and smelled like the local version of beef jerky she figured that a high powered rifle and the protein would be useful. Slipping the damp uniform shirt back on over her tank top, Ciara was on the move again. This time heading almost directly west from where the cabin sat. The more distance she made between herself and the cabin the better as it was certain to draw attention from those looking for her. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountain Rim Worlds Dragoons 26th November 3091, 07:00am local Crouched next to his radio operator, Stefan Gavin listened to the report that came in over the communication net. The report of a thermal bloom to the North-West his unit's position that indicated that there was some sort of fire or elevated heat signature associated with a fire. “Roger that, we're about seven klicks out and will advise once we hit the objective. Two Seven Victor out.” Handing over the handset to the radio operator, Gavin looked to Perrin and showed him the map. “Got a cabin or some other structure about seven clicks bearing zero-four-two. Fighter jock picked up a thermal bloom, probably from cook stove.” Perrin nodded. “We can make it in two hours easily.” “Let's go then.” Gavin ordered, taking up his place in the middle of the column that snaked along making a beeline for the cabin. Wet, cold and miserable the troops had a renewed sense of purpose as where there was a cabin there was often the ability to get out of the cold and into some warmth or at least a decent area to set up camp. They had been pushing themselves hard in difficult conditions in order to satisfy the wishes of higher command. Gavin and his troops had been following what sign they could, and had been forced to back track around when it appeared that their quarry had scaled a slippery rock wall. He had been unwilling to risk injury or worse and yet had gained a certain respect for someone who was willing to take risks and push themselves to evade capture. In the end however, he was the hunter and mechwarrior Storm was the hunted. She was in his arena, on the ground where the metal meets the meat. A hand signal went down the line reaching Gavin, he patted his radioman on the shoulder and moved forward staying low until he got up to the point man's position. Predictably, Sergeant Perrin was not far behind when the column stopped. “About a hundred and fifty meters, nine o clock.” The point man said, pointing in the direction of the cabin. Smoke was drifting lazily out of the exhaust pipe that served to keep the smoke out of the cabin itself when the cook stove was going. “Alright, First and Second Squads set up a perimeter, Third gets the honor. Be careful, if she's in there she's armed and might freak out and start shooting.” Gavin said. Perrin stared in the direction of the cabin. “What if it's civilians?” “That's why we are going to be careful.” Gavin assured him. “Alright, move out.” Sixteen men fanned out around the flanks of the cabin and took up covering positions should there be a firefight or if the quarry tried to rabbit. Gavin and his small command section of four held their position while the eight members of third platoon advanced on the cabin. After a few long minutes of tension, third squad made entry on the cabin and came to a screeching halt bunched up in the door. Watching through his compact binoculars Gavin cursed in a low tone. “What the hell are you doing stopping in the funnel?!” He then got a radio transmission from the leader of third squad. “LT you gotta see this..” Gavin stood up and let out a breath he had been holding. “Let's go..” As he approached the cabin the members of third squad were half inside and out of the cabin, with a few looking pale and as if they might lose their breakfast. Gavin stepped through the door and saw the carnage with three men who appeared to have been brutally killed by a blade of some sort. “Dear god.” The unit medic crouched down and took a closer look at the dead men, ignoring the smell she pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and pulled out a small flashlight. “These guys were definitely in a knife fight, and lost.” “Tell me something I don't know, Russo.” Gavin said turning to walk back out. “What's this?” the medic said as she lifted the body a bit, and a metal ping was heard. While relatively soft, in the cabin it could not have been clearer to those who knew what that sound was. Gavin's world flipped upside down and next thing he knew his ears were ringing and he was looking at the sky. Shouts and cries were muffled, and he looked around dumbfounded. He looked up at Sergeant Perrin who was shaking him and the shock suddenly wore off. “Lieutenant focus! Look at me! Are you hurt?” Perrin urged, cries and moans could be heard as could shouts of those tending the wounded. Gavin took stock and reached around shaking his head. “I'm good.. what happened?” “Bitch booby trapped the body, Russo set off a grenade looks like..” Perrin replied. Gavin forced himself to his feet to tend to his platoon, checking on medic Jane Russo he could see that she had taken the brunt of the fragmentation grenade's force but the other members of third squad who had been inside the cabin also suffered from hot steel fragments penetrating flesh. Gavin wasted no time in calling for a medical evacuation by helicopter. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountain Scotia River 26th November 3091, 18:00pm local The Scotia river flowed out of the mountains and down on a long winding course to the planetary capital. With the foul weather the river was swollen and an impassable torrent. It seemed the perfect barrier against flight, and while Ciara Storm had reached the river after a long, hard hike through the wilderness she decided to tackle that problem in the morning. With darkness closing in, she took the time to construct a modest shelter to keep her warm and hidden. Settling down for some rest, she had time to think about Teso and the others. Where were they? Were they well? She still had a long way to go before she could risk using the radio, as it might show up like flare to her pursuers much as the intentional fire in the cook stove had. Sleep came for her, and dreams beyond that where she could see the faces of the men she had killed. They would be sure to haunt her for some time to come.. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountain Rim Worlds Dragoons 27th November 3091, 09:00am local The weather had finally let up on the morning of the third day, and the stillness of the forest was shattered by the sound of machines that sent wildlife scurrying for their lives. Natural instinct identified the threat, and flight was the most likely response for any creature that did not wish to perish. Dismounted infantry moved along in a column escorting their personnel carriers while a lance of battlemechs took the lead, seeming like giants wearing armor and carrying as personal armament some of the deadliest weapons conceived by man. Lieutenant Gavin marched along with his platoon, now reinforced with elements of Lieutenant James' platoon as well as a lance of battlemechs and tracked armored personnel carriers. The incident at the cabin had given his higher command a reason to divert some extra assets to hunting down the mechwarrior who had killed not only several of his soldiers but also three civilians. “Lieutenant? We've hit the rally point.” the voice of Sergeant Perrin caught his attention. “Very well, spread us out and swing around we'll see about trapping her in the pocket. The river will keep her from escaping that direction while we tighten the noose.” Gavin said. “Have the mechs begin sweeping with active probes.” “Yes sir. She wont escape this time.” Perrin replied. “No, no she wont.” Gavin said mostly to himself. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountain Scotia River 27th November 3091, 09:30am local “You've got to be kidding me. Breaking out the big guns for little ol me.” Ciara said as she zoomed in with her binoculars. She could see the battlemechs in the distance and if memory served they were led by a Marik-designed Bloodhound. The 45 ton machine was designed for counter-insurgency and that meant it was capable of sniffing out most hidden locations. “Time to get desperate.” Slipping down from the ridge line to her hiding place, she grabbed out the field hawk from her pack and began to gather the resources that she would need. As she worked, she drew upon some of the survival training and field craft skills to lash together what was really a crude raft that she hoped would get her down river and past the enemy. Lashing the raft together with para-cord, she added foliage and the camouflage thermal tarp to complete the necessary cover. Double-checking her work, Ciara could hear the distant sounds of the battlemechs approaching. “Time to roll the hard six.” she said as she pushed the raft into the water and crawled aboard, the river began to draw it down the river. Pulling the thermal tarp over, she peered out and waited as she rode the raft trying to stay as low as she could. Emerging from the trees, an Eagle light battlemech stood like an iron giant looming over the river. The pilot scanned left and right with its arm mounted large laser seeking a target. Ciara could feel the eyes of the pilot scrutinizing the debris and imagined a routine checking thermal sensors for heat. The pilot of the Eagle leveled the machine's arm in the direction of the debris and for a long moment nothing happened. The battlemech turned and began to pick up the pace moving away from the river. “Wonder where they are off to so quick.” Ciara whispered, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Grabbing the makeshift paddle, she pulled back the tarp enough so that she could begin to guide the raft to the other side of the river several kilometers down. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountain Rim Worlds Dragoons 27th November 3091, 11:30am local Gavin couldn't believe what he was hearing, he was so close to tracking down his quarry and now he was being ordered to pick up and move to rescue a rescue team that had come to grief. “Understood, Sir. We will be Oscar Mike shortly. Out.” he said before handing the radio handset to his radioman. Looking over to Perrin, he could see the reflection of his own frustrations. “Call everyone back to this rally point, we're going to pack up and move out to an abandoned production facility, guess its Star League era. We'll have mech support so if it is the mercs we'll have a bit of a surprise for them.” Perrin hesitated, and nodded. “Roger that.” turning away he barked out. “Squad leaders! Mount up we're going mobile! Got some friends who need rescue.” As the troops began to return and mount up, Gavin could not help but feel as if he had been robbed of a prize of some sort. Admittedly it was only one woman, but history was replete with examples of wars being fought over a single woman. He turned away and climbed aboard one of the armored personnel carriers. Edited by Teso River, 25 March 2015 - 04:22 PM. included post # Like This Sarcina Generasco Ravenna Black, Daughter of the Suns. Duchess of Cimeron. (Federated Suns) Countess and Protector of Offerman. (Federated Suns) Countess Seychelle of Paradise. (Free Worlds League) Executive Officer, Black Wolf Rangers. Commanding Officer, 1st Ranger Expeditionary Force "The Gray Wolves" "You know, Ariana Winston made all of us officers write our own obituaries during the Battle of Huntress, when we thought that the Smoke Jaguars were going to end it all right there. And, once we clued into the fact that life is finite, the thought of losing it didn't scare us anymore. The end comes no matter what, the only thing that matters if how do you want to go out, on your feet or on your knees? I act, knowing that someday this job and this life will end, no matter what. You should do the same." - Duchess Ravenna Black. (Marshal AFFS, Retired) and Commander Ciara Storm. Callsign: Vixen. Hardware Assignment: WHM-7M Warhammer. Assignment: Command Lance, Battlemech Company. Storm's Armored Cavalry Mercenary Command. "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry." -Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms. Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #10 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #10 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 25 March 2015 - 04:21 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #10 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountains Empty Production Facility Rescue Squad 21st December 3091, 18:15pm local Bravo Fire team 12 moved silently through the dark forest. They were moving at a faster pace than when they arrived, albeit, not much faster. They still had to be careful. Even if Richard and Leon's coms were out, something tore open those Xiphos Assault Battle Armor Suits and massacred those soldiers. They didn't want to end up like the others. "What's the plan for evac Gunny?" Thomas asked as he kept his eyes peeled for anything in the shadows. "Once we rendezvous with Brown and Michaels, I'm going to call in a Yasha. Several other Bravo fire teams are nearby in the town. They should have successfully eliminated all enemy presence by now. They'll be able to provide backup and a proper escort while we bring this back to headquarters." "Roger that." Thomas said. That could be good. If they got locked down in a firefight, any help would be welcome. Though judging by how many Battle Armor Troopers and RCM Soldiers were killed by whatever was out there. Of course, he couldn't say that there was something for sure, but he believed that there was something out there. He could feel it. Like something was watching them. Hunting THEM. Thomas glanced back at Gabrielle. She was scared. He knew it. So were a lot of the fire team. Some just hid it better than others. Those like Mitch and Gunny were good at hiding their emotions. Those like Thomas and Ray were able to somewhat hide their fear to try and put the others at ease. However, new blood like Elise and Gabriel were not used to it. They had little experience in fighting the foreign threat and the horrors of war. Still. One way or another, this war was going to end soon. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountains Empty Production Facility Rescue Squad 21st December 3091, 18:25pm local Ginny had been with Fire team Bravo 12 for a while. Originally she had had her own unit. One with close friends and comrades. Still. She was glad that she was picked up by Bravo unit. As her friends that survived the first wave of attacks were picked off in combat, she found herself making new friends. Thomas and Mitch were some of the first that she met. Actually, Thomas, Gunny, Mitch, Ray, and Leon were part of the original squad. She remembered Leon laughing, welcoming, and thanking her because he was no longer the newbie of the group. Ray and Thomas made her feel at home and even the silent Mitch had a welcoming persona. Then others like Wade and Gabrielle joined. The group became close. They laughed, ate, and slept together. However, they weren't enough to cover the pain of losing her first unit. The ones that she had worked with for most of her career. Her best friends. Her sisters in all but blood. Her fiancé... Even if she survived the war, nothing would be the same. Then again, nobody would remain intact. She suddenly heard a snap of a twig behind her and she spun around only to have a black mass barrel over her. She let out a cry as she dropped her assault rifle. Wade spun around with a shout but it was too late. She saw it lunge at him and Wade's shout cut short. Ginny fumbled for her sidearm and aimed quickly before opening fire. She kept firing as it turned on her. Before she knew it, she felt massive claws closing around her neck. Before her vision faded, she could have sworn she heard the name of her fiancé calling to her. ‘Don't worry. I'm coming Harold.’ . . .FIVE MINUTES LATER . . . Mitch Hudson was a simple man. He never talked much but always supported his friends. He was the strongest in the squad. Whenever they required heavy weapons such as missile launchers or similar heavy weapons, he always carried them. Everyone relied on him that way. Now was no exception. The mission seemed easy enough. Rescue any survivors while several other fire teams engaged the enemy in a nearby town to draw their fire. They arrived and found nothing out of the ordinary. Sure the Ferret was down, but that could be attributed to a lucky shot. Then they got to the destroyed R10 Mechanized ICV. Whatever did that wasn't normal. It could be attributed to a particularly agile light ‘Mech, but that was not probable. Then Tom found the dead Xiphos BA Pilot. This could have been insubordination or another Xiphos BA going rogue. Once again, not probable. There was an incredibly small chance of a bear attack but he never saw any evidence of bears around. Then they found the clearing. Ogre Suits and marines all ravaged on the ground, throats torn out or just plain mutilated. That was when he was sure that they weren't dealing with anything normal. He briefly remembered Richard's comment about a monster in the woods. Now it seemed to be more likely. His gut told him something was about to happen. Something bad. There was a shout coming from their left. It was followed by gunfire before it was silenced. “Shawcross! Kruz! Report!” Mitch heard Gunny's voice over the radio. “Shawcross! Kruz! Respond!” Mitch really hated it when his gut was right. “Damnit. Everyone. Watch your backs. We don't know if they got it or not but we don't have the man power to check. Hudson. Bandley. Regroup with us as quick as you can.” “Rodger that.” Ray responded. "Let's go." He said to Mitch who nodded. Mitch kept a hand on his rifle and reached down to his belt before grabbing something and bringing it back up right below his rifle. The two made their way towards the main group. He heard the sound of rustling behind him and whirled around, pulling the trigger of his Imperator AX 22. Something rammed into him and Mitch's vision went black. . . . Ray walked through the forest, rifle at the ready. Things were not going well. First all the weird stuff was happening on their mission. Then they lost contact with Leon and Michaels. Finally, Ginny and Wade were assumed to be attacked just now. He really wanted to get out of this mountain forest. Suddenly, Ray heard gunshots behind him that were quickly cut off. Ray spun around aiming his own rifle. He saw a large back beast on top of Mitch, clawing into something that Mitch was holding. It rip through the object and Ray opened fire on the thing. It let out a wail as it flinched, giving Mitch enough time to push it off him with his foot. It stumbled back before jumping off into the shadows. Mitch jumped back up, pulling something else off his belt. Ray aimed his rifle into the woods, letting the light from the flashlight illuminate the area. He glanced at Mitch and noticed that he had his sidearm in one hand and something else in the other. He also noticed Mitch's helmet on the ground a distance away. “Gunny. We have a problem,” Ray announced over his radio. “What is that soldier?” “It found us. Some kind of mechanical quadraped.” “…Good luck soldier. Kill that thing quickly so we can go home.” Ray smiled slightly. “We'll do our best sir.” He heard the sound of a twig snapping and spun to the side, shooting. He didn't see anything. There was another on Mitch's side but Mitch never shot. Ray glanced at Mitch and noticed that he was staring into the dark with determined eyes. Ray smiled again. He wished his thinking was as simple as Mitch. He heard a slight growl before something jumped at him. Ray quickly shot at it but it was too late. The thing knocked him to the ground. The last thing he saw before the thing's clawed front paw filled his vision was Mitch raising something in the air. Something that looked like a club with spikes on it. Then Ray's thoughts stopped. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountains Empty Production Facility Rescue Squad 21st December 3091, 18:50pm local Gunnery Sergeant O'Riley was a hard man. He had survived multiple conflicts, including Wiltshire and Karkkita. It took everything he had but eventually, he went from that young naïve recruit in basics to the fire team leader he was today. Well, at least what was left of his fire team. Half his team was wiped out. Maybe more. Still, they had a mission to compete. He could grieve for them when he was dead. Hell, if they had bars in the afterlife, he would buy them all drinks, assuming he could get the money for it. An explosion was heard in the distance from where Hudson and Bandley were. “Hudson. Bandley. You there?” Nothing. “Respond. Hudson! Bandley!” No response. Bortels hung his head as he came to the same conclusion. They were gone. "We're on our own now. Bortels. Take the objective. I'm better equipped for close range combat so I'll hold it off while you get to the evac point." O'Riley took off the case that he had and gave it to his most trusted surviving soldier. "It was an honor serving with you sir," Bortels whispered. "It's been an honor soldier." A sound came from their side. O'Riley and Bortels quickly aimed their weapons. The flashlights on their rifles fell on the hulking bloodied form of Hudson. He stumbled towards them, looking barely alive. "It's coming." He rumbled out. The gunnery sergeant heard a scream from behind him where Celeste was. They all turned to see the girl drop her rifle and run off into the woods towards where the evac point was. "Bortels. Poésy. Go after her and get the objective out of here. I'll take care of this." The brown haired soldier looked at his sergeant one last time before taking hold of Poésy's arm and the two started to run off. O'Riley sighed and turned to the half dead marine. "Hudson. I don't know how much fight you have left in you. But I need any you have." "You can count on me… Gunny." O'Riley chuckled as he raised his shotgun to the woods, where rustling started coming from. "That I can soldier. That I can." Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountains Empty Production Facility Rescue Squad 21st December 3091, 19:20pm local Thomas and Gabrielle paused as they heard the sound of a shotgun go off several times before going silent. After their brief pause, the two started running again. They had lost track of Elise a while back. Now it was just the two of them, running towards what they hoped would be safety. Behind him, Thomas could hear a slight sniffling sound from Gabrielle. She was crying. Thomas's own breath was a little ragged too. He had spent most of his career with some of those men. But there was no use in crying now. The two continued to run. Occasionally hearing a snort or huff of air, as if the beast was next to them. They would even hear an occasional crash in the woods. Thomas focused on keeping moving. Trying to outrun it and keep Gabrielle with him. Suddenly he heard a short scream from behind and Thomas whirled around to see that Gabrielle had tripped over something. Thomas rushed over to help her and heard her gasp. Thomas froze as he looked down at what tripped his blonde friend. Staring back up at him was the tear filled, lifeless eyes of Elise. "Tom!" He heard Gabrielle cry out. He whirled around to where she was looking and then he saw it. It resembled a wolf with red eyes and sharp, razor sharp claws. It was big. Easily as big or bigger than their Xiphos Battle Armor. It was no doubt to anyone watching that this was the thing that had torn up the R10 and gutted the Xiphos. This was what had killed all those people and all of Thomas's fire team. It didn't get out of it unscathed though. The area above its left eye was cracked and bleeding and there was a chunk out of its armored shoulder and burn powder around that wound, like it had been hit by a frag grenade. Several other wounds peppered its body. It let out a guttural sound as it charged Thomas. Thomas opened fire before it hit him, knocking him over and making him lose his rifle. Gunfire came from behind him as Gabrielle also shot at the armored beast. It let out cry as it loped to the side. Thomas made a grab for it to try and slow it down but ended up knocking one of some shrapnel loose instead. The beast let out a roar of pain and swiped at Gabrielle who blocked with her assault rifle. The rifle was destroyed and was about to lunge at her next before Thomas shot his auto pistol at the creature's face, causing it to jump back. Thomas and Gabriel struggled to stand up, aiming their respective side arms at the creature. It charged at them again, swiping. Thomas got in front of Gabrielle and took most of the damage, the claws cutting his chest and weapon as the two surviving members of Fire team Bravo 12 fell over backwards. The thing circled them as Thomas lay bleeding. He looked around him for anything to use as a weapon. Then his eyes fell on a large piece of shrapnel. It was similar to the other pieces that were embedded in the creatures armor. A good portion of it was already covered in the enemy's blood. Thomas heard a roar as the creature started its attack. Thomas quickly grabbed the piece of shrapnel and stabbed with both hands as the creature's claws came down towards his head. Then everything went black. Teso, stalked around the downed enemy soldiers on all four legs of the Shedu Assault Battle Armor as the red haze he had been imbued with slowly began to fade, his anger temporarily sated . . . . for tonight. “I will gut and dismember every one of you one-by-one, until I find my Ciara . . .” he thought before shunting the suits remaining power to its Camo System and lumbering off. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountains Empty Production Facility Rescue Squad 22nd December 3091, 11:00am local Eric and his team were deployed to try and find Fire team Bravo 12. They were supposed to have an important object that was important for the war. He didn't know what it was. None of them did really. They just knew it was important. However, their mission didn't have the best of starts. Immediately after landing they found the corpses of Private First Class Leon Brown and Private Richard Michaels bodies. Both seemed to have been partially eaten by wild animals. The squad continued on into the forest. Eric soon arrived at the body of another girl. One Private Elise Celeste. This one had her throat ripped out by something with enormous claws but it didn't seem to have even more damage. Eric moved along before he found two more bodies. One was laying over the other body and an empty metal case, and missing his helmet. Eric noticed a destroyed helmet lying a little bit away. Blood was splattered around the area. He knelt down and reached to move the body. He touched the body's shoulder and heard a gasp and barely jumped back in time to dodge a piece of sharpnel aimed at his throat. His eyes met the tired blue eyes of the marine. The one under him also seemed to be alive and less harmed, staring back at him as well. "Guys! I found surivors!" Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Sundry Mountains Empty Production Facility Rescue Squad 24th December 3091, 13:30pm local "It was amazing that he was still alive. Ten cracked ribs and light head trauma while his fire team, bar the girl, was torn apart. We can't make much sense of the recordings either. We've never seen any quadruped suit that looks like that." A regular army officer reported to the Colonel in front of him. "They are alive and they have failed to achieve their objective. That's all that matters." "But sir! According to the recording, that thing is still out there. It was wounded but still it was still able to almost kill two marines. The girl's video feed showed it running off to recover." "All in due time lieutenant. We are a little preoccupied with our overall mission right now. We will be able to handle that at our leisure. Until then, why not use it to our advantage? We can heard our enemies into it and let this heavily armored ‘creature’ with them. And if they take eachother out? Well all the better for us. Now, you are dismissed.” "Yes sir." The lieutenant said with a salute and left. The Colonel sat down at his desk and looked at the files in front of him with a cigar in his mouth glowing for a second, slightly illuminating his face. "Not many can say that they survived ‘Cujo’." Name: Thomas Bortels Rank: Private 1st Class Position: Fire Team MH: Mountain Infantry Role: Marine Platoon: Twelve Company: Bravo Unit: 4th RIMWORLD DRAGOONS WORD COUNT 2,595 Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #11 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #11 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 30 March 2015 - 12:59 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #11 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains SAC Bivouac Hidden Cave Camp 25th December 3091, 06:00am local Ellison Reed had a rough few weeks, a lot had happened to him and the SAC; in just eight weeks. So much had changed. The units Commanding Officer Ciara Storm had been missing in action forcing Reed into the role of Commanding Officer of the SAC. The SAC’s ComStar allies had went underground not showing their face, leaving the SAC as the population's only defense. Storm’s Armored Cavalry was a little more than a lance strong, whittled down from battle after battle. And Captain Coleman was splitting off his troops to go traipsing off on his self appointed Lurps Patrol. Which is why he was out here standing in the freezing rain in nothing but his skivvies. Captain Coleman had stormed into his quarters not more than fifteen minutes ago and had kicked his bunk and spoken to him like he was one of Coleman’s common grunts without the same respect he would have given Commander Storm or Captain River. Just who did he think he was, anyway? Reed had half the mind to have Captain Coleman thrown into the brig for conduct unbecoming of an officer. But in the fifteen minutes since and standing out here in the freezing rain it had cleared his mind and he had forgiven the lack of decorum in lieu of the circumstances and had accepted his own responsibility in what had happened. In the eight weeks, he as an acting CO, had failed to keep - what remained of the SAC Officer Corp - in the loop via weekly briefings as Ciara had done. So it was no wonder that the Captain of the Rough Riders viewed his command as ‘Combat Ineffective’. Coleman had no way of knowing for sure what was going on despite all the obvious visual cues. Lieutenant Reed had no desire to command more than a lance and had really balked when Captain River had been found five weeks ago and still was not in any condition to take over as the Storm’s Armored Cavalry brevetted commanding officer. He understood Captain River’s dark brooding mood but River would have to shake off the fugue to negotiate a new contract or else the SAC would be leaving the planet and then all hope of finding Ciara would gone for good. Reed imagined that Captain Coleman’s barking at him as if he were a subordinate was partial due in fact to the Commander delegating command of the SAC to a Lieutenant and not to Coleman as a Captain. Reed could see that smarting Captain Coleman some and causing Coleman to lash out at Reed the way he had. And Reed had in the heat of the moment, caught as unawares as he was being roused from sleep, had granted the Captain his unrequested consent. Reed felt he had done the right thing and he didn’t want to create a mutiny. “Aight. Here’s the plan. . {SNIP} . . We’ll be gone at least a week or two, maybe more depending on the situation, . . {SNIP} . . . Any questions?” “Yes, Captain. I have one, but it can wait until after you’re finished.” [TAG COLEMAN] “I just wanted to make you aware that the time frame you have indicated is beyond our contract. The SAC will be boosting for the Nadir jump point in six days which gives your LRRP Teams four days to ‘collect scalps’, five days at best.” Reed also went on to explain to Captain Coleman the dire circumstances that the SAC was in. He told his fellow officer of how of twelve ‘Mechs the SAC began the campaign with, only five were currently operational. Two were totally destroyed, the Commanders Warhammer and the Hunchback from Command Lance. All four ‘Mechs from Reed’s Lance, Recon, were down for repairs and while they were down, Reed had authorized them to be refit as well. Killing two birds with one stone. The SAC had salvaged three enemy ‘Mechs, a Shadowhawk, a Nighthawk, and a Griffin; however, all available resources were being thrown into getting ‘Mechs up and running with familiar pilots. Speaking of pilots, two were MIA and five were down to due injuries which only left five healthy pilots. They were down to one self propelled Artillery Gun. Gun Delta had been destroyed, and Alpha and Charlie needed repairs before they could return to the field but like Reed had already indicated, ALL available resources were being devoted to ‘Mech repairs. That included personnel and material. The SAC had lost 45 percent of their HMMWV combat vehicles to battlefield casualties and another 15 percent were out for repairs. Both SAC aerospace fighters were offline until they could get to a proper Aerospace Repair Facility. Storm’s Armored Cavalry personnel ranks had been decimated with thirty three troopers listed as missing in action, another twenty eight as confirmed KIAs, nine combat veterans honorably discharged due to disabling medical injuries, and thirty eight more listed on the roster as the ‘walking wounded’. And two thirds of their medical staff were included in those listed as MIA so Doctor Baptiste Lenoir, from Spectre Platoon, was way over worked attending to those SAC Troopers injured. In addition Commander Storm had ordered the Storm’s Armored Cavalry ammo stores and GESV bunkers destroyed when they were overrun at the Peridem Spaceport so they wouldn’t fall into the enemy’s hands. Consequently leaving the SAC with no reloads other than what was currently in their weapons. Of how the Lieutenant was sending search parties out every two days to the two SAC rally points to see if any survivors had straggled in. He informed Captain Coleman that the SAC’s DropShips were performing in planet burns from pirate points as they spoke. Reed reminded the Captain that it was hard to keep a unit combat effective if he couldn't feed the unit nor pay the men and women the comprised that same unit. Reed told him that the SAC had fallen into survival mode while they prepared for depature and was merely trying to hold on until the MRBC re-upped their contract or the unit boarded their incoming DropShips. Reed concluded by explaining to Coleman how the SAC was running low on food, consumables, medical supplies, replacement parts, manpower, c-bills, and morale. [TAG COLEMAN] Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains SAC Bivouac Hidden Cave Camp 25th December 3091, 09:00am local "Comm-Officer, any word from ‘Bulls Eye’, yet? Asked Reed. "No sir, she hasn't broke radio silence yet, but if she is inbound she still would have 13 hours and 27 minutes before she would break radio silence." Responded Sergeant Major Chantel 'Radar' Bobo. "Let me know the minute she does," said Reed. Reed had sent his one remaining shuttle away in an effort to recover supplies from a nearby planet in the Halifax star system, word was ‘Bulls Eye’ had come through big time and even had a couple of new VTOL pilots she was bringing in to help shore up some of the units losses. The SAC still had less than a week left on their contract and though his orders were to get the SAC clear and safe, he couldn't help but feel he owed it to the men and women who had fought and died on Halifax to not give up, his last Intelligence report had told him that another Merc unit was being routed to Halifax to reinforce his own unit but no way to tell if it was false or there was truth to it. "Lieutenant Tucker, any word in from our recon?' asked Reed "Negative Lieutenant, but 1st Sergeant Tracy Hansen is good at what she does, sir, if the Buccaneer’s Storm is packing up and moving on to their next target she will find out." Replied the newly promoted CO of Coleman’s Rough Riders. Reed had made two battlefield commissions over the last two weeks, one was Edward Tucker, who was a former head-training officer of the SAC and the other was Robert Sterling the Infantry OIC. Reed knew Robert had years of experience and by all accounts was the only other person who had been with the unit longer then he had. "Well one thing about it Tucker, if the Buccaneer’s Storm is packing up, you can bet your ass, someone is coming to take their place," replied Reed. "Of that sir, I have no doubt, but the real question is who?" stated Tucker. "I wish I knew." Is all Reed could say. WORD COUNT 1410 Edited by Teso River, 30 March 2015 - 10:40 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #12 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #12 Blackheart Major Storm's Armored Cavalry 1329 posts 0 warning points LocationGalatea Posted 30 March 2015 - 08:11 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #12 La Loutre Halifax, Timbuktu Theater Lyran Alliance December 25, 3091 0545 Hours “I’m sick of this shit,” Captain Elliot Coleman muttered to himself, cursing the constant rain that had poured on the unit for what now seemed an eternity. The Roughriders had already suffered several casualties in the fighting. Fifteen dead, seven badly wounded, and ten missing in action. It could have been worse, Elliot thought, but he was still pissed. What really got to him was the fact that Storm’s Armored Cavalry was now hiding in the mountains, licking their wounds, their command all but shattered. This waiting, as it felt to Elliot, was turmoil. He was recon. He was supposed to find the enemy and bring the fight to them, not sit on some picket line waiting on the enemy to find them bleeding in some mud-filled hole. He snatched up his rifle and jumped to his feet, spitting tobacco juice on the ground as he turned to head up to the SAC camp. “Scurrah,” he said in a hushed, yet commanding tone. “Yeah, Cap?” replied Sergeant Michael Scurrah, 1st Platoon’s ranking sergeant. “Put the word out. Any Roughrider who is tired of doing nothing, meet me outside the CP in a half hour.” “Yes, sir,” Scurrah replied. Elliot stomped up the mountainside, scowl-faced and on a mission. Once he reached the command post inside the cavern, he walked over to 1st Lieutenant Ellison Reed, the acting commander of the SAC. “Reed,” Elliot barked as he kicked the edge of the bed. Reed rolled over, squint-eyed and half asleep. “Elliot, what is it? Something wrong?” “Yer goddamned right, something’s wrong,” Elliot replied, crossing his arms. “This command is combat ineffective in its current state. I got a bunch of hard-ass go-getters sitting on their asses while everybody waits in a hole like a bunch of fucking rats. We’re leaving.” Reed, a little shaken by the onslaught, sat up with a groan. “What do you mean, you’re leaving?” “I mean I’m taking some of my fighters and we’re gonna go fuck shit up. Volunteers only. We’ll take a few days worth of supplies and head down into the woods. We can do a better job of keeping ‘em off this place if we’re out there taking the fight to the enemy than we can sitting in foxholes.” “We have a lot of wounded here that need protection. Any splitting of our forces at this point could spell disaster for the whole unit,” Reed replied “Yeah, and so could waiting for them to find us,” Elliot countered. “You sure about this, Elliot? We can’t provide you with any kind of support. You’ll be on your own.” “Wouldn’t have come up here if I weren’t,” Elliot replied firmly. Reed sat silently for a moment. “Very well. I’ll allow it. Just make sure you leave some men behind to maintain watch.” With a nod, Elliot turned to walk away. “Oh,” he said, stopping to look over his shoulder, “I wasn’t asking permission.” Outside, Elliot was greeted by three dozen Roughriders, all grinning and caked in mud. He nodded with a smile. “Gather ‘round.” As the group of soldiers huddled around Elliot, he pulled a map from his pocket and unfolded it on the ground. “Aight. Here’s the plan. We’ll be gearing up and heading out for some Lurp fun. We’ll head down the mountain and into the Scotia River Valley, then turn south and work our way towards Dosilin. If any of you ain’t heard yet, the fuckers leveled Dosilin. I’d be willing to bet we’ll find some of them between here and there…and I’m sure anyone else that’s heard about Dosilin won’t deny us a little support in the way of provisions. We’ll be gone at least a week or two, maybe more depending on the situation, so pack appropriately. Make sure everybody has ghillies, NVGs, and as many explosives as we can carry. I want thermite, AT and AP mines…whatever you think will help and can hump, bring it. Leave all electronic devices here other than personal comms and mission-specific equipment. We’ll carry one long-range radio per team and maintain strict radio silence unless we come across something important. I’ll compile a list of radio click signals to be used between teams. Any time we’re within visual range, hand-signals only. I can’t stress light and noise discipline enough here. Our lives will depend on our ability to remain undetected. We’ll spit into teams of twelve. I want snipers and FOs dispersed evenly among teams. Any questions?” “Yes, Captain. I have one, but it can wait until after you’re finished.” Elliot gave Reed an acknowledging nod. “Sir, what are our mission parameters?” asked a young private. “Find and kill whatever enemies we can, report back to command what we see and kill. Use good judgment. You know how I feel about heroes…they do stupid shit and have to fight like hell to get out of it.” Elliot paused for a moment to field more questions. “Nothing else?” With no reply he stood. “Very well. Merry-Fucking-Christmas! Now let’s go collect some scalps!” After his scouts had dispersed, Elliot turned to 1st Lieutenant Reed. "You had a question?" “I just wanted to make you aware that the time frame you have indicated is beyond our contract. The SAC will be boosting for the Nadir jump point in six days which gives your LRRP Teams four days to ‘collect scalps’, five days at best.” Reed also went on to explain to Captain Coleman the dire circumstances that the SAC was in. He told his fellow officer of how of twelve ‘Mechs the SAC began the campaign with, only five were currently operational. Two were totally destroyed, the Commanders Warhammer and the Hunchback from Command Lance. All four ‘Mechs from Reed’s Lance, Recon, were down for repairs and while they were down, Reed had authorized them to be refit as well. Killing two birds with one stone. The SAC had salvaged three enemy ‘Mechs, a Shadowhawk, a Nighthawk, and a Griffin; however, all available resources were being thrown into getting ‘Mechs up and running with familiar pilots. Speaking of pilots, two were MIA and five were down to due injuries which only left five healthy pilots. They were down to one self propelled Artillery Gun. Gun Delta had been destroyed, and Alpha and Charlie needed repairs before they could return to the field but like Reed had already indicated, ALL available resources were being devoted to ‘Mech repairs. That included personnel and material. The SAC had lost 45 percent of their HMMWV combat vehicles to battlefield casualties and another 15 percent were out for repairs. Both SAC aerospace fighters were offline until they could get to a proper Aerospace Repair Facility. Storm’s Armored Cavalry personnel ranks had been decimated with thirty three troopers listed as missing in action, another twenty eight as confirmed KIAs, nine combat veterans honorably discharged due to disabling medical injuries, and thirty eight more listed on the roster as the ‘walking wounded’. And two thirds of their medical staff were included in those listed as MIA so Doctor Baptiste Lenoir, from Spectre Platoon, was way over worked attending to those SAC Troopers injured. In addition Commander Storm had ordered the Storm’s Armored Cavalry ammo stores and GESV bunkers destroyed when they were overrun at the Peridem Spaceport so they wouldn’t fall into the enemy’s hands. Consequently leaving the SAC with no reloads other than what was currently in their weapons. Of how the Lieutenant was sending search parties out every two days to the two SAC rally points to see if any survivors had straggled in. He informed Captain Coleman that the SAC’s DropShips were performing in planet burns from pirate points as they spoke. Reed reminded the Captain that it was hard to keep a unit combat effective if he couldn't feed the unit nor pay the men and women the comprised that same unit. Reed told him that the SAC had fallen into survival mode while they prepared for depature and was merely trying to hold on until the MRBC re-upped their contract or the unit boarded their incoming DropShips. Reed concluded by explaining to Coleman how the SAC was running low on food, consumables, medical supplies, replacement parts, manpower, c-bills, and morale. Elliot listened intently to the interim commander as he explained their situation in detail. He sighed. "Lieutenant, I fully understand how dire the situation is. You'll excuse me if I'm a little pissed about it. Now allow me to ask you something. How in the hell do you expect us to ever get off this rock? You saw the air power they brought to the table. As you said yourself, our fighters are outta the fight. That means no air cover for our ships, which will be extremely vulnerable once they breach the atmosphere. And you can say all you want about pirate points and stealth. There ain't shit stealthy about a multi-hundred ton behemoth on a burn-in. Have you not seen the recon flights over this continent? You think that's gonna go unnoticed? We'll be lucky to get off the ground. You also mention we have people MIA. You just gonna up and leave 'em? They might operate that way in the Suns, but where I'm from, we don't leave people behind. I might not be very friendly, or even much of a team player when we're all dickin' around on Galatea, but I'll be damned if anyone under my command is gonna get left on some God-forsaken rock while I turn yella and haul-ass for some perceived safe-zone. If our people are out there, I will find them, come hell or high water. So if we ain't back in six days, you see to it our people get to safety. We might be down, but we're far from out of this fight." Elliot could see his words struck a chord, so he continued. "You wanna talk about morale. The best thing you can do for morale right now is to carry yourself like a soldier. Pick yer damn head up and walk with pride. These men are lookin' to you to lead 'em right now. Keep that in mind before you mope around." Elliot extended his hand and offered a rare warm smile. "See you around, lieutenant." ***sorry about the delete*** Edited by Teso River, 30 March 2015 - 10:41 PM. Like This Captain Elliot Coleman CO Cav Scout Company "Coleman's Rough Riders" Storm's Armored Cavalry Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #13 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #13 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 01 April 2015 - 08:22 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #13 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains SAC Bivouac Hidden Cave Camp 25th December 3091, 06:05am local “ . . . {SNIP} . . . you see to it our people get to safety . . . {SNIP} . . ." “You can bet your sweet ass I will.” Elliot could see his words struck a chord, so he continued. . . . {SNIP} . . . Elliot extended his hand and offered a rare warm smile. In that moment, two things came crashing down with crystal clarity in 1st Lieutenant Ellison Reed’s mind. The meaning of Loyalty and the meaning of ‘stubborn’. If nothing else, Captain Elliot Coleman was one loyal MF. He was unyieldingly loyal to his command, . . . to a fault. And on the other hand the Captain was as stubborn as a mule. There was no way of getting through to Elliot to make him see things from Reed’s point of view. Reed was responsible for the lives of combatants AND non-combatants. And where Elliot could get his fighting men to rally around him without food, water, or pay; it just wasn’t quite that simple with non-combatants. Maybe without pay, but with the trifecta, food, potable drinking water, shelter, and medical supplies – there was just no way to keep the men and women of Storm’s Armored Cavalry in good fighting spirits. Commander Storm was indeed quite shrewd because she had seen that. She had known that Reed would put the needs of the many ahead of the few and even against his own moral compass. She had known that if her last order were to get her people off of this rock, that Reed would stop at nothing to make that a reality. Reed was simply wired that way. He had wanted to tell Coleman its been more than eight weeks, two whole months, so if their people had not made it to one of the two Rally Points then either they’ve been captured or else they’re dead. But instead he looked Coleman directly into his Taurian Concordant brown eyes, accepting his hand in camaraderie, and said, “You can count on me Captain. I got this.” And popped the Captain off a sharp salute, before hurrying back inside to get out of the rain. He just prayed that Captain River would snap out of his lethargy in time to negotiate a new contract because he dreaded being faced with the decision to leave the planet knowing that the Storm’s personnel were POW’s or asking the men and women for SAC volunteers to stay behind. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains SAC Bivouac Hidden Cave Camp 25th December 3091, 10:00am local First Lieutenant Ellison ‘Ely’ Reed got back to his cave quarters, changed out of his wet underwear and into dry SAC BDUs and sauntered over to the makeshift repair bay. It wasn’t as bright as it was when they had first set it up due to three generators being offline as Command Sergeant Major Riena Muljana sought to conserve their dwindling fuel stores. The several rows of hanging lights illuminated the natural cavern enough, however; to show the multitude of Technicians and AsTechs that swarmed, like a colony of worker ants, out of every opening or crawl space on the four ‘Mechs from the SAC Recon Lance. It was a scene of organized chaos. With the sounds of pneumatic power tools hissing and cutting, arc welders sparking and spitting hot embers from theirs seamed slag, and the overwhelming odor of hydraulic oil and ‘Mech coolant. Reed wrinkled his nose at the smell. He hadn’t had a chance to grab his usual cup of joe this morning and it was one hell of an environment to start Christmas morning in. The Mercury was the simplest one to upgrade on paper. Reed had authorized the removal of half of the Mercury’s armament to make room for a Beagle Active Probe and a Myomer Accelerator Signal Circuitry System or MASC for short. The MASC System was a piece of equipment that allowed a BattleMech to move twice its walking speed. The BAP (Beagle Active Probe) is a suite of enhancement technology that, when attached to general electronic sensors of a BattleMech, enables the equipped unit to detect and classify other battlefield units whether they are camouflaged or even shut down, with the exception of conventional infantry. In addition to the ability to detect and classify targets at longer range, the Beagle includes a memory unit that records the events of a battle and allows for later playback. This includes the ability for the pilot to "re-fight" the battle by making different tactical decisions, which are then analyzed and implemented by the system, allowing for the resulting consequences to be observed. And upgrading its armor from standard battlemech armor plating to Ferro-Fibrous armor , which is a special type of armor used by vehicles and BattleMechs. Utilizing a weave of ferro-steel, ferro-titanium, and diamond weave fibers which boosts the tensile strength of the plating, it provides more protection per ton than standard armor but takes up more space on the 'Mech or vehicle. The other three ‘Mechs, Reed’s Dart, Krystal Steele’s Jenner, and Shepard’s Locust, were all undergoing engine refits as well in addition to other upgrades as well. They were all being refitted with an Extralight Fusion Engine or in his Dart’s case a Light Fusion Engine (often shortened to XL Fusion Engine). These engines were mechanically similar to a Fusion Engine but used much lighter radiation shielding. Replacing the dense tungsten carbide of standard fusion engines with a crystalline polymer similar to that of double heat sinks. The XL fusion engine is half the mass for the same performance and the Light was three quarter the mass. There is a penalty in bulk, however. The Inner Sphere XL fusion engine is twice as large as the standard fusion engine. The larger volume of the engines makes them much more likely to end up in the path of penetrating hits. Further, these bulkier engines intrude into the side torso bays of a BattleMech, exposing the 'Mechs to catastrophic engine damage from structural damage that would be otherwise survivable. But Reed had calculated the benefit more than out weighed the risk factor. They engineers had used the heavy winch and crane on the BattleMech Repair vehicle to lift out the standard fusion power plants and swap in the newer lighter engines and now worked side-by-side with the AsTechs to get all three of them reconnected. With the weight savings of the Light Fusion Engine to his Dart, and after the AsTechs removed both medium lasers from the Dart’s center torso, Reed was able to get a Light Particle Projection Cannon installed an extended range small laser and a Targeting Computer. A Targeting Computer was a sophisticated piece of an electronics suite that, unlike normal targeting systems, physically help MechWarriors target their opponents. Recoil compensators and gyroscopic stabilizers are used to prevent normal weapons drifting from factors such as recoil and movement while the computer accounts for atmospheric and other conditions to present an accurate "lead" on the target. This allows for more surgical precision of weapons fire, especially with naturally accurate systems, allowing for the user to hit specific parts on the target ‘Mechs. Shepard’s Locust’s upgrades were the most impressive. Not only had the Technicians installed a MASC system in it as well, but scuttlebutt around the ‘Mech bay was that the Locust could now hit two hundred kilometers per hour when the throttle was wide open. He would have to see it in action to actually believe it. The upgrades hadn’t stopped there though. The Locust was also fitted with a Guardian Electronic Counter Measure suite, designed to interfere with guided weaponry, targeting computers, and communication systems, the Guardian is typically used to shield allied units from such equipment by emitting a broad-band signal meant to confuse radar, infrared, ultraviolet, magscan and sonar sensors. And equipped with Target Acquisition Gear (TAG); an advanced targeting device for use by artillery spotters on the SAC’s FIST Teams. The TAG unit works by firing an infrared laser beam to designate the target and transmits that data via a tight-beam laser communication system to the guidance systems of friendly "smart" bombs and missiles. The Locust’s lead Tech rounded the ‘Mech out with an upgrade from Ferro Fibrous Armor to Light Ferro Fibrous Armor and the removal of its entire weapons loadout, including its four pea shooter small lasers, and upgraded them to twin Extended Range medium lasers that tripled its effective combat range. The Jenner was going to be the most difficult of the four to upgrade. The engineers had gotten a wild hair up their collective asses and put their heads together to rip out the Jenner’s internal structure and replace it with a Composite Skeleton. The SAC engineers installed a chassis, one section at a time, that was light weight but wasn't as bulky as the Endo Steel skeleton. Though they were successful, the materials used in the Composite Structure were incredibly fragile; any damage to a Composite Internal Structure is twice as damaging as that of an Endo Steel or even a standard BattleMech skeleton. Though the Composite Structure remains restricted to BattleMechs, several combat units have taken advantage of its combination of light weight and lack of bulk to add additional weapons and equipment. The Jenner was switched over from Ferro Fibrous Armor to Light Ferro Fibrous like its lance mate the Locust. With the advent of an XL engine it was automatically upgrade to double heat sink capacity. They’d also removed the short range missile launcher and added to more medium lasers. The Jenner was now equipped with a Null Signature System. The Null Signature System is capable of shielding a BattleMech's presence from all but visual detection. A Null Signature System can cloaked a ‘Mechs heat output and electronic emissions. While the system is engaged, the 'Mech is more difficult to track at anything other than short range, with the Beagle Active Probe and its unbranded Clan equivalent unable to locate a hidden unit with its null signature system engaged. Only the modern and experimental Bloodhound Active Probe can penetrate the null signature masking. And installed in its right torso location is an Angel ECM Suite. The Angel ECM is an experimental version of the Guardian ECM Suite operating on a broader spectrum and greatly advances ECM technology on the battlefield. The Jenner was the Engineers pet project. Well Reed was down here to get a status on the upgrades and repairs. He walked over to a welder, welding a piece of armor plating over the ankle of the Locust and tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. Several piece of molten metal sparked up and lit on Reeds BDUs burning small holes in his fatigues. The welder turned his head to see who was interrupting his progress and when he saw Lieutenant Reed he shut down the arc welder and lifted his journeymen face shield. “Sorry about that EllTee. What can I do you fer?” he asked through a ‘raccoon’ mask of dirt and grim covering his sweating face. “Where can I find Sergeant Major Muljana?” The welder, turned all the way around and gazed out across the cavern. “I don’t see . . . Oh, thar she is. Right ova yonder working on the Jenner.” Lieutenant Reed thanked him before walking away in the direction of the Jenner. By the time he had made it over to the Jenner Sergeant Major Muljana was waist deep in the Jenner’s right leg panel with her ass tooted up in the air. Reed tugged on her coverall leg as he shouted, “Riena! Hey Riena!” She wiggled her way out of the access hatch bumping her head on the way out. “Gawd Dayum It. Oh, Lieutenant Reed. Its you. What’s up, Sir?” “Is your head alright?” “Yeah, it’s fine. Should have been wearin’ my hard hat, as should you,” she quipped before he could lay into her on safety regulations. Reed shrugged his shoulders and gave Riena a knowing smile. “I just came by to get a status report on how the upgrades are coming along.” She had already started wiping the grease from her hands with a shop towel and then she pulled out her tablet. “Look around Lieutenant. They’re not done.” She smirked up at Reed. “Naw. I’m just bustin’ your balls Lieutenant. Lemme see, well . . . . The recoil compensators and gyroscopic stabilizers . . .” Reed threw up both hands as if he was being held up at laser pistol point, “Whoa, whoa, whoa Muljana. I meant in English.” “Huh? Oh, Sorry Sir.” “The Mercury went through its first startup and trail run late last night. You should have been forwarded a report to your PDA.” She looked up from her tablet for confirmation. “Hadn’t checked it yet. I’ve had kinda of a busy morning. Please continue.” “The Locust is locking up every single time we engage its MASC and we cannot get its heat sinks to act in their double capacity. The Engineers ‘think’ they have identified the problem and as soon as we get its ankle armor back on it will be ready for another test. Its weapons have fully integrated with the TAG and ECM. Unable to test its C3 Slave as we have no C3 master. Stupid upgrade. Complete waste of tonnage. The Dart is twelve hours away from its third weapons test. The Target Computer works flawlessly with its weapons system however the Tech assign to it could not get the LPPC to generate enough power to fire. We know its an issue with the power coupling module. I’ve pulled the regular lead tech, Specialist Odoardo Cravoa, off of that job and re-assign it to Corporal Robbie Owen. I needed a fresh pair of eyes on it. The Jenner, oh boy. I don’t even know where to start on that one Boss. I can’t even give you a estimate time. You see when we were replacing the power plant an engineer removed the center torso’s internal structure to make way for the composite one and did not label the leads. So we’re still sifting through which connections go where.” “How does something like that happen?” “Seven days a week, twelve hours shifts. Mistakes are bound to happen.” “Yeah, I know Riena. I know. “And its gonna get worse with this rain and the rationing of medicine. flus, emphysema, pneumonia, bronchitis . . .” “I get the picture Sergeant Major. Get me back my ‘Mechs and I’ll get you all the medicine and food you can handle. Get me back my ‘Mechs.” “I’ll try.” “Our lives depend on it.” WORD COUNT 2516 Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #14 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #14 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 02 April 2015 - 12:51 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #14 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Planet Hoolaran’s Moon Centari Lunar Station Night Cap Bar 11th December 3091, 06:05am local Sergeant Major Cathryn 'Bull's Eye' Whitley was a rather large framed woman, whose ancestors hailed from Terra's British Isles or better known as Ireland. Though she did not share her ancestry accent she did share in the Irish temper they were known for. "Well excuse me there, mister, I believe I was sitting there," said Cathryn to the bar patron who seemed to be content on taking her seat. "Not from where I am sitting you aren't," shot back the drunken patron. "Well sir, we have one of two ways we can do this. One you can take your drink and move along as I need to talk with the young lady or two I can make the rest of your night really, really bad. But either way you’re going to give me my seat back," responded the SAC Black Ops Trooper rather calmly. Before the man could so much as utter a syllable Cathryn had grabbed him by the arm, twisted it back and had the man laying on the ground. "Ahhhh, you little bit…." the drunken patron was cut off as Cathryn finished him off with a kick to the side of the head. The patron was knocked out cold. "Was that really necessary?" asked the lady Cathryn was here to meet. "No Ma’am, but I have this thing about people drinking and acting like a drooling child. Now should we move over to a table where we can speak a little better in private?" asked Cathryn. "All that and we are moving to another table anyway?" she laughed a bit and smiled for the first time since she had walked in. The two walked over to one of the tables in the rear of the building. Though it was busy most of the people stuck to the bar, as it was one of the only sure ways you would get a drink in a place like this. "So what is it I can do for you?" the woman asked. "Well I liked to know who am I speaking too," stated Cathryn. "You can call me Motovich." She said back. "Well Miss Motovich my name is Cathryn Whitley. I work for a Combined Arms Merc Unit known as Storm’s Armor Cavalry. And we are in a bit of a fix." Cathryn began, “I've been lead to believe you are a person who can get your hands on certain items, some say you might be one of the best in Lyran space." "Well you know how rumors are Miss Whitley. They are only about 10% truth and then 99% of that truth is distorted, but depending on what you are looking for I might be able to help out," quipped Motovich. "Miss, I really don't have a lot of time, my unit is getting their teeth kicked in and we need some of everything, including food, medicine, replacement VTOL pilots maybe even a few Mech repair kits if we can." Raising her voice a little louder then she intended too. "Do you happen to have a list of what you need? She asked. Cathryn slid a flash drive over to her. "This has everything we need, but one thing is, I need it in 36 hours as I am lifting off heading back with or without those items." Cathryn said "Well assuming you don't have anything exotic on here I can have it for you in about 22-23 hours, but the price is doubled." She said raising an eyebrow as she told Cathryn the price. "Fine, money the unit will have, its support we have none of. You get me everything on that list and find me three or four VTOL Pilots who check out, a couple of battlemechs and I’ll make sure you get paid triple your asking price." Cathryn said smiling back at her as she took a long pull of her bottle of beer. "Hmm, ok. Well you are in luck. It just so happens I have four flight crews, a sundry of military rations and med supplies and a pair of ‘Mechs on my hands, one is a light and the other one is a heavy class ‘Mech and I know of 3 solid VTOLpilots, I will vouch for them all," she said. "Really? But are the ‘Mechs worth a crap or are they on their last leg, because sister I don't need a bunch of broke down, wasn't worth a crap to begin with ‘Mechs. I need top of the line or we can do with out," Cathryn shot back at her. "They are all top of the line, and for your information it’s my own unit we are currently in-between contracts, but we can work that out with your commanding officer when we hit Halifax," retorted Motovich. Cathryn was puzzled, as she had never told her where the unit was stationed. Motovich could tell by the look on Cathryn face. "Well Cathryn maybe what you heard was true about me, I know an awful lot about the SAC and their ‘acting’ CO." said Motovich. "I will have everything ready to go by this time tomorrow make sure attest half of the money is deposited in this Com-Star account before 0800 hours." Cathryn took the slip of paper and watched the women who had just thrown her for a loop; walk out the bar without saying another word. Then it struck her. She never told Motovich how to get a hold of her or where they would meet. But Cathryn smiled to think maybe the SAC had made a new friend but could she be trusted. Cathryn thought on it for a minute as she finished her beer. They didn't have much of a choice. First Lieutenant Reed and the rest of the unit needed the food, medicine and expenditures. She would have to trust Motovich, at laest until she delivered the items. Back on Halifax Several days of travel overland in a bid to evade capture had taken their toll on Ciara Storm. Pushing herself to the limit of exhaustion only to get a little rest and do it over again with a limited supply of food meant that she was now at the point where deprivation starts to effect the human body and psyche. The hide she had constructed was less than luxurious, but she had not found the energy to make it overly elaborate and had cut a few corners. Because of her proximity to enemy forces she had avoided using electronic forms of communication, but now it was looking less and less likely that she might effect self rescue. Reaching into her pack, she removed the SR-121C survival radio from its sealed plastic baggy. Pulling out the headset and whip antenna she plugged them into the main unit and tested the batteries. The durable looking radio came on with a prompt on the small LED screen. [code=auto:0] Punching in the encryption code, she switched to the first preset channel and spoke softly. “This is Queen Six on Emergency Channel One Seven. Does anyone read?” The reply was static, and she tried again. “Emergency Channel One Seven, this is Queen Six, over.” No reply seemed to be forthcoming, and so she shut the radio off to conserve battery power. Her biggest worry however was that the enemy would be able to use direction finding to home in on her signal. . . . . On the banks of the Scotia River kneeled Captain Teso ‘Twisted’ River. He was splashing water over his face from the brisk cool water when he thought he’d heard a broadcast across the SAC coded emergency channel 17. He froze stock still. His mind had been playing tricks on him. The crazy old lady Osmina had been whispering things to him inside his mind. But no, there it was again. Faint but unmistakable, “Emergency Channel One Seven, this is Queen Six, over.” Coming across the battlenet from Recon Shedu Suits Improved Sensor Suite. Teso scrambled to his feet and raced across the rocky terrain to don the Shedu’s helmet. “Wild Card One to Queen Six, over. Come again Queen Six, this is Wild Card One. Queen Six? Queen Six? Ciara? CIARA!!!” Teso stood that way for more than an hour trembling with anticipation, with renewed vigor, with Hope repeated his call sign into a dead signal over and over again. He would force himself to stay awake for the next thirty four hours praying beyond hope that he would hear Queen Six on channel 17 again before exhaustion overtook him and forced his body to shutdown if only for a few hours for his much needed rest. . . . . Setting aside the radio, she reached into the pack and pulled out the last of her ration packs. The standard kit came with a three day supply to help keep a downed mechwarrior or pilot alive but were perhaps the least pleasing meals in the universe. It didn't help that the ration packs that had been purchased were of Capellan manufacture and seemed more like mystery meat with noodles than an actual meal. Ripping open the sealed container, she peered inside. “Oh look, mystery meat and noodles..” As she went through the process of heating the meal with a small bit of water in a heating sleeve, a process that was at least a thousand years old and a staple of meals rejected by everyone across the sphere inhabited by mankind. “If I can’t hook up with friendlies by tomorrow night, going to have to start thinking about the options.” Ciara said to herself. “Start looking for food, try and settle in for a long haul.. or... surrender..” She shook her head dismissing the surrender idea out of hand. “Not after my shenanigans, they'll line me up against a wall and shoot me.” Grabbing out her map, she took a look at the area and began to think. “We planted a supply cache in this area.” she said pointing at a spot on the map. “That's where I'll go if I can’t find anyone.” Putting away the map, Ciara grabbed up the meal pouch and didn't seem to mind the low quality of the meal because it was hot and had some nutritious value to a hungry body. Funny how true hunger made everything taste just that much better... There was no point in dwelling upon the past few days and the mistakes that had been made. All that could be done was to learn from them and try to do better next time. Ciara Storm was a survivor, and she was determined to get back into the fight one way or another... Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains SAC Bivouac Hidden Cave Camp 3rd January 3092, 23:35pm local First Lieutenant Ellison ‘Ely’ Reed had been up for a while now. Captain River had negotiated a new contract that included POW rescue clause. Coleman’s Rough Rider’s recon force, under the command of 2nd Lieutenant Edward Tucker, had confirmed the Buccaneer’s Storm was loading up and appeared to be moving on from the Annapolis Continent over to La Loutre. But he also had reports that three dropships were inbound. Which meant fresh troops were coming in to replace the Buccaneer’s. ‘Why is it always something, seems like we can never get a break.’ thought Reed to himself. Just then Reed personal communicator went off. "Reed here." "Lieutenant, sorry to bother you so late, but you left word once Cathryn broke radio silence to let you know," said the Com Operator. "Yes, put her through.” Reed said. " Lieutenant, this is the ‘Bull’s Eye’, come in Lieutenant." Cathryn said through the radio waves. Reed let himself smile. "Go ahead ‘Bull’s Eye’ this is the Nest." Reed squawked back. "Sir, we hit pay dirt. I have managed to get several repair kits, as well as most of the food, medical supplies, and ammunition we need, I also scored 2 ‘Mechs which should help out and managed to bring in in four flight crews with VTOL pilots," answered Cathryn. "That is good news ‘Bull’s Eye’. We sure can use the goods and the ‘Mechs. But these flight crews, how did you come by them and check them out?" asked Reed. "Well sir the CO of the unit provided us with the materials we needed but as part of it she wanted to work out a contract with the SAC. I figured I would leave that up to you," replied Cathryn. "Understood, ‘Bull’s Eye’. What is the CO's name?" asked Reed. "I only have her last name, but she claims to know you sir, its Motovich," responded Cathryn. There was no reply for a few seconds as Reed took in the name he had not heard in almost six years. " Lieutenant you there, or did we lose you?" asked Cathryn. "No ‘Bull’s Eye’ I am here. Would that be Natasha Motovich by chance?" asked Reed. "Well sir, again, she never gave me her first name, so I don't know, but she is about thirty years old long raven colored hair, deep green eyes, and figure that is to die for." said Cathryn. Reed closed his eyes and shook his head as Cathryn read off the description of the women."Very well Cathryn. How long before you touch down?" asked Reed trying to change the subject of Natasha Motovich. "We should be on the ground in about six hours sir, assuming we don't meet any type of resistance along the way," answered Cathryn. "I will deploy our VTOL assets to help bring you all in the rest of the way," said Reed. "Well thank you sir. We welcome the escort," said Cathryn. "See you soon ‘Bull’s Eye’. Nest out." Reed shut his com radio off. Reed thought back to almost eight years ago. Natasha Motovich, their last meeting had not been a good one, not since he never said good bye, to a women he was suppose to spend the rest of his life with. Yea it seemed like fate was not going to give him or the SAC any kind of break. WORD COUNT 2411 Joint post between Word Count 580 Commander Ciara Storm. Callsign: Vixen. Hardware Assignment: WHM-7M Warhammer. Assignment: Command Lance, Battlemech Company. Storm's Armored Cavalry Mercenary Command. & Word Count 1831 Edited by Teso River, 02 April 2015 - 02:55 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #15 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #15 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 03 April 2015 - 06:00 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #15 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains SAC Bivouac Hidden Cave Camp 4th January 3092, 10:45am local First Lieutenant Ellison ‘Ely’ Reed stood at the opening of the cave’s entrance waiting for Sergeant Major Cathryn 'Bull's Eye' Whitley and Motovich. Second Lieutenant Edward Tucker waited with him. "So Lieutenant I hear you know this Motovich?” pried Tucker. Reed gave him a good long look but did not respond. Which was enough for Tucker, as he let the point drop before it was even good and started. Cathryn appeared at the edge of the clearing along with two other males, one female and Natasha Motovich. Reed had prayed it wasn't her. The Inner Sphere was a big place and the likely hood of meeting Natasha again was slim but yet she stood not more than thirty feet from him. Cathryn walked over and saluted Reed who returned the salute. "Lieutenant may I introduce…." Cathryn’s introduction was cut off by Motovich "We know each other all too well. Though it's been seven, eight years ago. Isn't that right Lieutenant Reed," prodded Motovich. "Yes we do; however, that was another life time," replied Reed. "Another life time, you say? Ok. I guess I'll take that response. It's better than the one I was given all those years ago,” retorted Motovich. Reed’s facial expression did not waiver. "Miss Motovich you are speaking of matters better reserved for a private conversation. One I am more than willing to have but right now is not the time," said Reed earnestly. "Aaaahaaa" she said. "Lieutenant Tucker will you see to Miss Motovich and her people are taken care of." Without waiting for a reply from Tucker he looked back to her. "Once you are settled and I can debrief my Black Ops Operative, I will get back with you, until then, please accept SAC's hospitality," Reed said. "I’ve waited eight years to have this talk. I guess I can wait another few hours," she said. Motovich and her people followed Tucker into the hidden cave complex to a waiting HMMWV. Cathryn turned to Reed. "Something bad from the past?" she asked. "Yea. You could say that, but we really needed the food and med cargo she provided. So I'll have to relive a part of my life I thought was buried long ago," the Lieutenant answered non-committedly. "Well Lieutenant, I am not asking you anything about it but who ever she is she is connected. Some of the things we needed would have been hard to come by in time of peace, but in the middle of a conflict. Only premier units would have been able to get. Somehow she got it though," said Cathryn. "You have no idea how connected she is. But your right, If I have to pay for my so called sins to save the SAC . . . Well ‘Bull’s Eye’ that's what I'll be doing," Reed said. The Lieutenant pulled out his communicator. "Sergeant Major Bobo, assemble the staff in the ready room in thirty minutes we have some things to discuss," ordered Reed into his communicator. "Roger, Lieutenant, 30 minutes," acknowledged Bobo. Reed looked back to Cathryn as he put his communicator away."Cathryn you did real good, thank you for busting your ass finding what we needed and getting back here so fast," Reed praised the Intel Officer. Cathryn smiled. "Well sir, if you won't be needing me or my team, I'm going to request a 12 hour furlough. I know we have an inbound force but they busted their hides to get us back,” informed Cathryn. Reed thought to himself for a minute. "Cathryn that's fine, but you guys stay close. We may have to dust off if things get to bad or they penetrate our camouflage and discover our location or that of the Cache," said Reed. "Will do Lieutenant, and thank you," she replied, saluted, and walked away towards the back of the cave. 30 minutes later in CIC Reed had gathered his most trusted Officers. Present were Lieutenant Tucker, Lieutenant Shanahan, Captain Lane, Sergeant Major Bobo, Lieutenant Matsuda, and Lieutenant Sabir. Missing was Captain Wade and Captain Odinga from the DropShip Wing. They all sat at the table in the roughhewn CIC. "Alright. I’ve called this meeting as we need to go over what we have in the way of ready units and what we intend to do about the incoming force's." Reed said to the gathered Officers. Reed looked over to Sergeant Major Bobo. "Tucker, the reason I’ve asked you here is two fold. One I am happy to promote you to the rank of Lieutenant First Grade which means you are my new aide." Tucker smiled as several people clapped in acknowledgment of Tucker's promotion. "Second, I want you to give a ready report for the Infantry as both Captain River and Captain Coleman are occupied," said Reed. "Aye aye sir. I'll need a few minutes but I should be able to accommodate you. Also thank you sir for the vote of confidence," gleemed Tucker to Reed. “Captain Lane I’ll want a report on our Armor assets.” "Lieutenant’s Shanahan and Matsuda, I want the status of our Mech assets as well as our Aerospace assets. Lieutenant Sabir, here is a manifest of all parts brought in by Cathryn and Motovich, add that to your stores and let me know where we stand on food, medical support and the up keep of all equipment and maintenance on the Mechs." Reed said as he handed over a disk to Dread Squad Lieutenant. "One last thing, I want all of this by 1600 hours. I have another meeting to keep so please get me all you can by then. Thank you all." He said and walked out of the room. Leaving his officers to get what needed to be done, done. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Annapolis Stiefel Corpernicus Peridem Spaceport The 4th Rim Worlds Dragoons 3rd Battalion 4th January 3092, 13:15pm local Major Kevin Dansky, was overseeing his battalions disembarking from the dropship. Dansky had read all the Intel-files on the current situation here on Halifax and he didn't like it one bit. He never liked the fact the 4th Rim Worlds Dragoons had to play clean up for the Buccaneer’s Storm. Sure the Storm was the Rim Collection’s premiere ‘mercenary’ unit but the Dragoons was no slouch either, but none the less here they were playing garrison ’slash’ mop up duty, missing out on part of the frontal invasion of the Lyran's. "Major, you have a call waiting for you sir. You can take right over here," said one of the tech's who was overseeing several vehicles being moved to their new housing area. "Thank you, Corporal," answered Dansky. Dansky was a tall man nearly 6'5” and weighted almost 260 pounds. He covered the distance in a little more than five or six strides. "Dansky here," He barked over the hand held receiver. "Major, this Lieutenant Colonel York." "Yes ma’am, what can I do for you?" asked Dansky obediently. York was the newly promoted OIC of the 4th Rim Worlds Dragoons. "Major, how long before your unit is off loaded and ready to move?" asked Lieutenant Colonel York. "Well Colonel, my Command lance and Bravo Company are already off loaded. We can have the rest off the dropship in the next thirty to forty five minutes," he said back to her. "Very good. I want you to take what you have right now and make for sector 33-47-Mike, and identify any hostiles in that area. If you find any and it is favorable, you are to engage, but only if it's favorable. Once the rest of your unit is off loaded, leave instructions for them to join you.” "Very good Colonel. I will brief Captains Poskins and Fosstil - Poskins and Fosstil were the Commanding Officers of Alpha and Charlie Company - while I am enroute. If there is anything there Colonel, we will take care of it." Dansky replied back to Colonel York. "Good to hear Kevin, but be careful, these Merc's gave the Storm a black eye when they were here. I want to make sure we don't receive the same type of treatment," York said. "I'll be in touch ma’am, as soon as we have something to report," assured Dansky. Major Dansky hung the receiver up and walked over to the tech who had told him about the call. Dansky conveyed a sense of urgency to the tech to have Bravo Company and his Command Lance ready in ten minutes to march out from the space-port. The young tech hurried off to inform the unit commanders of the Majors orders. Yea on planet twenty five minutes and the mop up detail had already begun. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains SAC Bivouac Hidden Cave Camp 8th January 3092, 03:45pm local Ellison Reed sat at his desk looking over his units report for what seemed like the eighteenth time. As he rubbed his eyes he knew deep down even with the unit's additions of Natasha's people it still put the SAC at a 3 to 1 disadvantage against the 4th Rim Worlds Dragoons, though they were not as seasoned as the Pirates Buccaneer’s Storm, they were no slouch either. Their CO seemed to be a brilliant tactician as every time Reed committed to a fight, they were quickly on the ropes and in full retreat. Reed knew time was running out for him and the SAC. Natasha had told him her employer was willing to buy out the rest of the SAC's contract with the Lyran Alliance after the SAC located there MIAs, but she was not forth coming with too much information and she advised him she could not disclose her employers' identity. He could not help but wonder if she was just doing it to get him back for running out on her all those years ago or if her ‘employer’ was the enemy he was currently fighting against attempt at ‘buying’ the SAC out since they couldn’t root them out. Just then there came a tapping on the cavern wall. "Come in." said Reed The door opened and in walked Captain Teso River, Reed second in command. "Teso, sorry to have you up at this hour but I have a few things I want to talk to you about and for all accounts they cannot wait." Reed said. "No problem Lieutenant, I really haven't been able to sleep since Commander Storm went M.I.A. She’s out there somewhere. Cold. Hungry. Alone. But she is Alive. Anyway, how can I be of service," asked Teso. "Well just so you know, I haven’t given up on her. I have two Humming Bird Rescue Choppers in that area, and several armor assets scouring the country side. If she is out there we will get her back. Which brings me to my next point. we have 11 months and 22 days left on our contract with the Lyran Alliance. Natasha has said she can arrange for us to opt out of it, all clear and legal," said Reed. "Really." Was all Teso could say as he furrowed his brow and shook his head at the thought of getting off this rock and leaving his dearly beloved behind. "Yea, and it sounds real good there's two catches," Reed replied. Teso grimace turned into a leer. "There always is, when ever they dangle the carrot in front of the horse." Teso told his ‘acting’ commanding officer. "Well, one, we have to forfeit all moneys that have to be paid to us for the next three months and the second one is we have no idea who our new employer is or will be," said the 1st Lieutenant. "Wow, those are both harsh. The money, I think we could maybe make it, if we could off load some of the ‘Mechs we have that we don't need, but a new boss and we have no idea who he or she is. That's tough to swallow," replied Teso. "The money will be tight but we are heavy by three ‘Mechs. I think we can sell those to the Halifax militia or another merc unit and we can keep the unit fed. The unknown employer worries me. I mean they can't be any worse than Old Adam, " referring to the Archon of the Lyran Alliance considered Reed. "Well Ellison, you have done a great job so far and Ciara would approve of any choice you made. She did leave you in charge of the unit and her last order to you was get her people away safe," Teso reminded him. “But I can’t leave Halifax until I find Ciara. You do understand, don’t you?” Spear thought to himself and sat there in silence rubbing his eyes. "You are right Teso. I knew there was a reason she promoted you to XO. I’ll have all command personal meet up at 0900 hours for a meeting; we are going to put Natasha’s offer to rest regardless of how she plans on getting us off this rock in one piece, if she can truly even do it," Reed said. "Very good sir, I'll get the word out and if there's nothing else?" asked Teso. "No Teso. That’s all. Go get some rest and I'll see you in a few hours," sighed Reed. Teso River gave Reed a salute and walked out of the enclosure sliding the heavy curtain behind him. Reed thought to himself, he was doing the right thing he was saving the SAC from certain death. He was following his CO's last dying order, but why did he feel so bad? Why did this make him sick to his stomach? WORD COUNT 2342 Edited by Teso River, 03 April 2015 - 06:13 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #16 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #16 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 10 April 2015 - 12:29 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #16 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains Gunner’s Ridge 5th January 3092, 1730pm local The trees and rocky outcroppings were really starting to look alike to Ciara. The rains had finally abated and she was ascending toward the cache location that she had determined to be her best bet to link up with survivors of the unit. Her food rations had run out finally despite a little added food scrounged from her trio of attackers, and hunger pangs were turning into a dull ache. As she reached the top of the ridge line she fished into her pocket and pulled out her survival radio. Clicking it into the on position she hit the automated beacon that would send out a burst easily picked up by anyone with a radio tuned to emergency frequencies. She then turned off the beacon and switched to the encrypted radio frequency. “Queen Six to any Sierra Alpha Charlie Members within range of my transmission. Do you read? My position is now thirty seven kilometers north of the rock pile.” Still, static. Trying the radio again she was becoming a little bit desperate but kept on a good front her voice not betraying the fear she was beginning to feel. “This is Queen Six, I am heading for Gunner's Ridge to RV. I sure hope you are out there. Girl hate's to travel alone.” Shutting down the radio, she slipped the survival radio into its pocket and checked her land navigation unit. The compass and gps combination was extremely helpful, giving her her own position and heading in addition to where she had been and how far she had traversed. “Come on, you're only five klicks away.” She told herself, mustering what was left of her willpower and forcing one foot in front of the other. . . . . . Ever since that one fateful day when he had ‘thought’ he had heard his Ciara’s voice transmitting on the emergency frequency he never was without a commo device either strapped on his shoulder, on his cot, or inside the Shedu quadruped Battle Armor Suit. The long range communicator was always set to record mode. And the few hours when he had to sleep, he would designate the task to one of the SAC or Garrison Officer who pulled OTW duty during the day shift because Captain Teso ‘Twisted’ River performed the majority of his searches under the shroud of night. It helped to conceal him from the enemy patrols. So when the communicator started beeping in synch with an emergency beacon, Teso was Johnny on the spot. “Queen Six to any Sierra Alpha Charlie Members within range of my transmission. Do you read?” “Queen Six. This is Wild Card and we read you Loud and Clear. What’s your 20?” “ . . . thirty seven kilometers north of the rock pile.” What? In his eagerness he had stepped on part of her message. Teso took a deep breath and waited for a natural break in Ciara’s transmission. “Queen Six, this is Wild Card One. Say all again before three seven. Over?” “This is Queen Six, I am heading for Gunner's Ridge to RV.” Huh? That wasn’t even close to what she had said a few seconds ago. It wasn’t Teso this time, it must be Ciara. Either in her haste she was forgetting to release the talk button thus silencing all responses to her signals or else her radio was malfunctioning. Teso opted for the latter explanation. Either way he could not communicate with her. Damn It! Teso was a blur of motion as he grabbed up his gear and headed to the cave’s Joint CIC. He burst into the CIC like a madman with his communicator held high over his head and its volume cranked to maximum. “I have proof! Commander Storm is ALIVE!!!” All activity and conversation came to a screeching halt as the assembled men and women of the Halifax Garrison and SAC Command stop and stared. “I sure hope you are out there.” The entire CIC erupted into tumultuous, unbridled Whoops, whistles, clapping anything they could to display their relief that their Commander and Chief was still alive. Teso ordered the SAC’s upgraded Recon Lance suited and booted and to vector in on that beacon’s last transmitted location. He also wanted the Humming Bird Rescue VTOL rolled out of the cave and up in the air to start search patterns beginning at the Rock Pile and rotating northward. He’d instructed Lieutenant Mark Robinson to get his Aesterion Battle Armor Platoon Air dropped in from the Shun VTOL in and around Gunner’s Ridge. He also left orders for Motovich to provide gunship support with Raptor Flight’s Yellow Jacket Gunships. “Hauptmann-Kommandant you’re in charge!” Captain Teso River was BACK. “Where are you going Captain?!” Kommandant Mandel asked Teso as he sprinted towards the part of the cave that doubled as the Battle armor bay. “The Chameleons and I are going deploy for close combat support,” shouted Teso. “But it will be at least thirty minutes until your techs can get a VTOL prepped and airborne.” “She doesn’t have thirty minutes,” Teso replied. “That beacon was broadcasted over a general unencrypted frequency. In five minutes she’s gonna have every Rim Collection Regular Army Trooper coming down on that location and a battalion of Buccaneer’s Storm to boot. We’re going to ‘borrow’ your garrison’s Blizzard Hover Transport.” “Girl hate's to travel alone.” You’re not alone Baby. Daddy’s on the way. . . . . . Ciara could hardly believe her eyes, peering through her range-finding binoculars she could see the enemy force approaching from the south. They had obviously picked up on the beacon and were making a beeline for the area. Picking out what appeared to be a lance of ‘Mechs, and a sort of tracked heavy armored personnel carrier bringing up the rear while helicopters started to circle. “Shit, knew I was on the radio too long.” she said to herself, angry that she had gotten so sloppy. Turning away she stashed her binoculars into their pouch and hopped down from the boulder she had found purchase upon. There was no real time to construct a hide, so it was time to run and hope that she could escape capture. It was a struggle, however, as she was pushing against another foe: Exhaustion. . . . . . Second Lieutenant Mickey 'The Surgeon' Gurevich moved his Purifier Battle Armor up to better support Captain Teso ‘Twisted’ River's Shedu Quadruped Armor from the 4th Rim World Dragoon Xiphos Assault class Battle Armor; who seemed poised in destroying the Shedu Battle Armor. Mickey fired round after round of Recoilless Rifle rounds into the Xiphos, hoping to buy Teso some time. But the Xiphos pilot did not waiver, he continued his attack. Even Sergeant Major Cathryn 'Bull's Eye' Whitley's concentrated fire from her rebuilt Purifier Power Armor Suit couldn’t make the Xiphos turn its attention away from the Captain. "Teso, how you holding up?" asked Mickey as he moved around the base of a century old tree. "Not too bad, Mick, but I'm red all over, and I’ve lost my Medium Recoilless Rifle," replied Teso River as he galloped the Quadruped from behind a huge log to seek cover behind a boulder. “Whatever happens, they can not get to Ciara. Understood?” Teso said, panting heavily into the mic. "Understood Captain. Ok. I have a plan. On my mark, I want you to bring that big SOB right to me. Cathryn you and Anastasiya get in behind him and lay him open as quick as you can. This guy is going down now." said Mickey over the Chameleon’s broad band. "Ready? Mark, 2, 1! Now! Teso, go, go, go!!!" yelled the 2nd Lieutenant. Teso raced his Shedu back out from behind the boulder under the relentless assault from the Dragoon Xiphos. Cathryn and Anastasiya both popped up from behind cover into a kneeling position, to take advantage of the Dragoon Battle Armor pilot’s blood lust. Mickey continued to fire round after round into the Xiphos destroying the suit’s armor. Mickey heard a computerized voice come over his internal suit’s ear phones . "Heat level reaching critical. Weapon auto shutdown eminent," said his Purifier’s computer as his Recoilless Rifle barrel’s heat had spiked to dangerous levels. Mickey hit the override button and continued to pound the Xiphos. Cathryn and Anastasiya managed to make it into the Xiphos’ six, and let loose with everything they had. One had a Support PPC; the other one had an Extended Range, ‘Mech Grade Small Laser. The Xiphos finally took notice that there were more than just a Shedu out here. The Xiphos turned to face his attackers in the rear. "Booyah. Right where I want you," said Teso as he depressed the trigger on the fire control, letting loose with his remaining two heavy machine guns left in his arsenal at the Xiphos. The Xiphos wobbled and the pilot made a great effort to hold the armored suit up right. He even managed to hit Teso with a magshot round but the next exchange from the SAC Squad dropped the Xiphos down permanently. The armored suit collapsed to the ground and did not move. Smoke billowed from its carcass. "One down, 11 more to go,'' quipped Cathryn, referring to the platoon of Dragoon Battle Armor arrayed against the SAC’s Black Ops Squad. "Very true Cathryn. Very True. Look alive team. We have incoming," responded Teso. "Teso why don't you pull back we can handle this without you," offered Mickey. "Negative Lieutenant. I’ll be fine, but the next target gets to beat up on one of you," answered Teso. All of the Chameleon Squad shared a chuckle, and moved back over the ridge to continue to provide close combat support for their Commanding Officer, Ciara Storm, until she could be extracted. They reengage their next victims and it appeared that a squad of Ogre Battle Armor and a squad of Leonidas Battle Armor where the ones chosen. Both enemy squads fell to the combined firepower in the Killzones of the SAC’s Black Ops Squad. A full twenty one manned platoon of 4th Rim World Dragoons Jump Support Infantry came jetting up the opposite side of the clearing in response to the cries of their fallen comrades . Without a single word transpiring among the SAC Black Ops Team, they each perform their tasks unerringly with a surgeon’s precision. Mickey quickly, in close succession, heaved two grenades over the edge of the cliff from where the Jump Infantry appeared from. One High Explosive and one Fragmentation to deter any other platoons from joining the firefight. Cathryn Whitley instinctively through her Purifier Armor over Ciara’s prone form as a human meat shield. The Commander had duck down with her hands covering the back of her head. Anastasiya vaulted over the Infantry platoons position to land in their rear arc, intent on blasting them from the back. Captain River, after seeing that Cathryn had his Lover covered, opened up his twin, 50 caliber, heavy machine guns on full auto and mowed the entire platoon down. At such close quarters, the unarmored Dragoons never stood a chance against the Shedu armor’s onslaught. The Dragoons were intent on capturing the elusive commander of Storm’s Armored Cavalry, that meant River would have to keep the SAC at least one step ahead of the 4th Rim Worlds Dragoons. An easier said than done job. The Regimental Command Company was a Head Hunter Pursuit unit who was made for just this type of fighting, a company of all jump capable ‘Mechs. "Fire Support, mark 63199-Hotel-Echo-Mark-2! Fire for effect!" came the command from River to the Halifax Garrison Infantry Support lance that was doubling as his fire support. Attempting to pin down the 4th, which would give his force seconds to put some distance in between the two opposing units. "Roger, that Captain. All LRM's mark that bearing and fire, fire, fire!" replied Lance Sergeant Kapalious. With the command a little over 20 missiles arched through the sky in bound for the fast moving Dragoon Mechs. Several ‘Mechs were hit by the inbound warheads but they did not give up on their prize. The chance to be the man or woman to capture the SAC CO and a chance to end this fight once and for all. The Garrison’s ‘Fire’ Lance let another volley fly. This time the missiles claimed a Dragoon Gambit and Havoc. When River saw a Locust slow its pursuit, he depressed both heavy machine guns firing studs and destroyed the Locust, cutting it in two. "Good job Team. I count three down with that volley," River congratulated over the general com line. "No, make that four sir; this Mongoose is a scrap now," corrected Mechwarrior Sergeant, Krystal 'Lock Hammer' Steele from aboard the SAC’s Jenner. River smiled at his Recon XO’s reply. "Very nice," he said. The Dragoon ‘Mechs slowed but continued toward the SAC's battle lines, even with the Fire Support being called in on them. They were determined to not allow the SAC to run away again, not this day. But in truth, River had no notion of retreating. He had told his officers they would hold this ground and force the Dragoon ‘Mechs to pull out or the battle would be decided right here, right now. "Natasha, you started your run?" asked River. "Ten four, Captain. We will be there in 55 seconds," she shot back slightly muffled through her oxygen mask. "Reed, how about you? Where is your current location?" River asked. "Captain we are about two minutes out. Sorry we are a little behind but we are trying to make up some time now," 1st Lieutenant Ellison ‘Ely’ Reed responded back to River. "We’ll never survive that long Reed. Time for your unit to test out the MASC technology," Captain River said. "Will do, sir," Came Reed’s reply. River was drawing in the Dragoon ‘Mechs and then two of his lances would strike from the 4th’s rear flank, causing them to either pull out, split fire on several lances, or be utterly destroyed as they were now caught at perfect range for the Garrison’s LRM equipped vehicles, the Drillson, the Blizzard, and the Heavy Tracked Armored Personnel Carrier. "All SAC and Allies go to second phase of ‘RUN NO MORE’. Repeat, second phase of ‘RUN NO MORE’!" ordered River into the general communication line. With that order, 2nd Lieutenant Mark Robinson and his Asterion SAC Battle Armor Platoon came out of hiding and proceeded to have their way with a Quasimodo and a Jenner. The Jenner was turned into a ball of flames in a matter of minutes. Eleven, one shot SRM2 launchers were deployed at almost point blank range at the hapless Jenner. The pilot never knew what hit him. Soon after, the lance of transports broke cover from the 4th’s nine o clock and made mince meat out of a Shadow Hawk and destroyed the Quasimodo. "Robinson, pull your people back." River said over the command channel, as he sent two streams of heavy caliber machine gun fire to help finish off the Quasimodo that his Purifier Squad had been working on. The ‘Mech fell hard and never moved again. Natasha and her flight cleared the wood line which started the 3rd phase of the operation. Her flight of Yellow Jacket Gunships picked off two Winston Combat Vehicles, both fell to the 78mm rotary auto cannons firing unbridled wide open. "Scratch two more! What is that now? Seven or eight?" queried Natasha. "No it makes nine. Splash a Bulwark Assault Tank too." Said Reed who out of nowhere destroyed the 4th Rim World Dragoons 85 ton Assault Tank with his lances concentration of fire power. The Rim World unit was not use to losing units like this. They had, once again, under estimated the ferocity of this small merc unit. Now they were paying for it and the cost was going to high. River had no intention of allowing them to just stroll out of here. They were going to have to fight for every inch and every step they took. The Rim World forces were now pulling back. Losing almost a full company in less than 4 minutes of a battle that they had the merc's on the run not 2 minutes ago. Now they were the ones pulling back. They, in every sense of the word, had fallen hard into River’s trap. Once they made it out of the armor and LRM range, River allowed them to turn tail and run but the SAC's claimed another four vehicles before they let them leave the field. "All units damage report, ASAP," commanded River. All units called in. They had not lost any ‘Mechs or any armor assets just some minor damage was reported. The Halifax Garrison reported that they had 12 infantry dead and another 7 wounded. River had Reed’s Recon Lance backed up by Natasha's Raptor flight sent out to make sure the 4th Rim World Dragoons were not going to regroup and come back at them. He then ordered Robinson’s Asterion platoon to set up a security perimeter. Next he had the Hummingbird Rescue choppers land in the clearing to retrieve Ciara Storm. Finally, he ordered the tech crews to get to work on salvaging what they could off the fallen Dragoon’s ‘Mechs and what they couldn't salvage, would be destroy so the 4th could not bring it back into the fight. The Garrison Infantry reported they had captured five Dragoon Mech Warriors. They would be returned to their unit but not today. "Great job everyone, I would call this a real victory one worthy of the SAC's tradition." The Captain said to all units. He felt a lot better and that knot in his stomach was gone. During this whole fight the SAC had been on the run, but not today. They stood up to the larger unit and won the field. It was a great day for the mercenaries. Now if only Ciara could have been lucid enough to see it. "Not bad SAC. Looks like the Dragoon forces are in full retreat,” reported Lieutenant Reed, executive officer of the SAC ‘Mech Company. In all being told, this being the first major fight of their new contract, the SAC had heavy damage to two ‘Mechs and three vehicles would be down for major repairs; including Teso's Shedu Battle Armor. The Shedu was riddle with so many holes and scorch marks that if a BB gun was fired at it, it would crumble. The Dragoon Forces lost 11 units, either destroyed or captured by the SAC and another 3 or 4 were so badly damaged that they pulled out well before the Dragoon commander sounded the retreat. The SAC, on any other day, would of pursued but this was a Rescue Operation spear head. The Rim World Dragoon forces on Halifax would be taken care of soon enough, as would the rest of the Rim Collection. Now was a time to check on his dearly beloved. He extricated himself from the depilated Shedu Armor and made it over to the Hummingbird where Ciara was already onboard strapped to a gurney with an IV inserted in her arm. The words caught in his throat as Teso was overwhelmed with emotion. He gingerly stroked her hair and the side of her face as he broke down and sobbed uncontrollably. Looking a bit thin and somewhat the worse for wear but obviously happy to be rescued, Ciara slipped an arm around Teso and smiled. "I missed you, now let's get the hell out of here before more company shows up." “Captain. We have to go now , Sir. She needs immediate medical attention. Sir? Sir?” WORD COUNT 3438 JOINT POST BETWEEN Word Count 466 Commander Ciara Storm. Callsign: Vixen. Hardware Assignment: WHM-7M Warhammer. Assignment: Command Lance, Battlemech Company. Storm's Armored Cavalry Mercenary Command. "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry." -Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms. & Word Count 2972 Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #17 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #17 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 18 April 2015 - 07:17 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #17 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Norval The Strip The Black Hole 8th January 3092, 08:45 pm Local Leutnant Randi Steele was smart: she was one of the LAAF’s top computer and systems technicians. She was attractive: other soldiers at the base were always trying to pick her up when she wasn’t on duty. She was young: at twenty-six, she could expect at least another half century of healthy, productive years ahead of her. And she knew she was on the verge of making the biggest mistake of her life. She glanced warily around the bar, sipping nervously at her drink as she pressed herself deeper into her small corner, trying not to draw attention. Average in both height and build, Randi’s only really distinguishing feature was her shoulder-length blond hair . . . a genetically recessive trait, natural blonds were nearly extinct. But her hair was a dirty blond, with streaks edging toward shades of brown … and there were still plenty of people who dyed their hair blond anyway. She didn’t normally stand out in a crowd. That made it easy for her to escape notice here . . . the Black Hole was packed. Most of the crowd was from the Lyran Alliance. Not surprising, considering the bar was an upscale establishment within walking distance of the dropport on La Loutre, one of Halifax’s oldest and largest continents on the western hemisphere. But at least a third of the patrons were made up of other nationalities. La Loutrians were the most predominant; she could see their narrow heads bobbing on their sinewy necks among the crowd. They had thin nostrils and small, triangular noses that were almost flat against their face, the tip pointing straight down to their lips and rounded chin. Their faces were covered with hair so short and fine it looked like the soft velvet of a horse’s nose, though the hair grew longer and thicker on their heads. They, on a whole, possessed course, shiny, jet black hair. But the most unique characteristic of the La Loutrians was undoubtedly the fact that they usually wore dark sunglasses even indoors. They had a habit of looking at you through the lenses of their dark sunglasses making it difficult for other races to know when to focus on them during conversation. The inability to maintain eye contact was disconcerting for most other nationalities, and the La Loutrians always tried to exploit this advantage in situations involving bargaining and negotiations. Like the Annapolis, the La Loutre government was actively settling the Mi’kmaq Island, trying to establish a foothold in a region ripe for expansion. But the Black Hole currently played host to a number of other foreigners as well. She saw several Periphery Mercs among the crowd, their features largely obscured by the hard, tattooed carapaces of metal that covered their heads and faces like fierce pagan masks to hide the fact that they were probably wanted. She noticed the quick, darting eyes of a small cluster of Lunenburg Natives across the room. A pair of massive Clan Elementals loomed in the shadows near the door, like prehistoric dinosaurs standing on their thick legs, guarding the entrance. A few rotund off world Lyrans waddled about the room. And a single geisha server, ethereal and beautiful, glided effortlessly through the crowd, moving from table to table while balancing a full tray of drinks. Randi had come here alone, but it seemed as if everyone else in the bar had arrived in a group. They were leaning on the bar, or huddled around the high tables, or milling about on the dance floor, or pressed up against the walls. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, laughing and chatting with friends, coworkers, or business associates. Randi was amazed they could even hear one another. The constant din from fifty simultaneous conversations rose up to the ceiling and crashed down over her like a wave. She tried to escape it by squeezing herself even farther back into her own little corner. When she’d first arrived she had thought the presence of the crowd would be comforting. Maybe she could lose herself in the faceless mass of people. But the drinks at the Black Hole were as potent as their reputation, and even though she was only halfway through her second glass, her senses were already slightly dulled. Now there was too much noise, too much motion. She couldn’t keep a fix on what was happening around her. Nobody here had any reason to be suspicious of the young woman standing alone in the corner, but she found herself constantly scanning the room to see if anyone was watching her. At the moment nobody was even glancing in her direction. Not that this observation brought any comfort. She was in a tough spot, and a case of alcohol-fueled paranoia wasn’t going to make things any easier. Randi set her drink down on a small counter built into the bar’s wall and tried to collect her thoughts, taking stock of her situation. Several weeks ago she had walked off the premises of the LAAF Halifax Research Facility without permission. Leaving the base was a minor infraction; things escalated when she didn’t show up for her assigned shift eight hours later. Dereliction of duty was serious enough to go on her permanent record. And after being off site for more than twenty four hours her status had officially become UAWOL . . . Unauthorized Absence With Out Leave . . . a crime punishable by court-martial, dishonorable discharge, and even imprisonment. She picked up her half-finished drink and took another long sip, hoping the alcohol might help slow her racing thoughts. Everything had seemed so simple when she’d left. Randi had proof that her superiors at the Halifax Garrison Research Facility had found an important Military Cache and was bartering with someone other than the LAAF to sell its location, and she was determined to report them. She’d caught a Shuttle leaving Annapolis, flashing a pass she’d forged by hacking into the restricted security files, and arrived here on La Loutre a few days later. It was somewhere on that trip that she’d started having second thoughts. With plenty of time to consider the full consequences of her actions, she began to see that things weren’t as black and white as she’d first assumed. She had no idea how many people at the base might be implicated in a formal inquiry. What if people she worked with, people she considered her friends, were somehow involved? Did she really want to bring them down? Part of her felt like this was an act of betrayal. But her hesitations went beyond loyalty to her fellow soldiers: she was taking a huge risk with her own career. She had evidence that the someone in the upper echelons of the Halifax Government was selling LAAF secretes way outside the scope of its official parameters; evidence obtained by ‘illegally’ compromising top-security-clearance files, acting on nothing more than her initial suspicions and a wild hunch. Her hunch had turned out to be true, but technically her entire investigation had been an act of treason against the Lyran Alliance. The more she’d thought about it, the more Randi realized she had no idea what she’d gotten herself into. She couldn’t say if her superiors were acting alone, or if they were just following orders from someone higher up the LAAF chain of command. What if she reported them to the very person who’d ordered the illegal sales conducted in the first place? Would anything change, or would it just be covered up? Was she possibly throwing away her career, and risking some serious jail time, for nothing? In truth, if they really wanted to find her, it wouldn’t have been that hard. She was on record boarding a Shuttle heading to La Loutra with her fake pass. But she doubted that Halifax would send anyone after her. Not until she was missing for more than sixty days and it became a criminal offense. So she still had a little time to decide what to do. Not that a few more days would make much difference. She’d been struggling with this problem ever since she’d touched down days ago. Randi was too wired to sleep, too afraid to go back to Annapolis and face charges, too scared to press on. She kept moving from bar to bar, having a few drinks then walking it off to sober up. She never stayed in one place for long, fearful of drawing unwanted attention. Her path took her from bar to lounge to club as she hoped to find some sudden inspiration that would miraculously solve her problem. She glanced up at the news vids showing on the holo screen set into the wall on the far side of the bar, her eye drawn by a familiar image. Although she couldn’t hear what the broadcast was saying, she recognized a file photo of the Halifax Garrison Research Facility. Puzzled, Randi furrowed her brow and squinted, trying to read the rapidly moving type skimming across the bottom of the screen. … DOSILIN DECIMATED … Her eyes snapped wide in alarm and she slammed her glass down on the counter, spilling what remained of her drink. Ignoring it, she stepped out from her little corner and shoved her way through the crowd, heedlessly pushing and elbowing the other patrons out of her way until she was close enough to hear the newscaster’s words. “Details are still sketchy, but we have received official confirmation from government sources that the entire city of Dosilin appears to have been the victim of a terrorist attack.” Anxious to hear more, Randi pressed forward, jostling one of the other patrons and causing him to spill his drink. The man turned toward here, angrily exclaiming, “Hey, watch where you’re … ” He trailed off when he realized the bump had been delivered by a comely young woman. Randi didn’t even acknowledge him with a glance, keeping her eyes riveted on the screen overhead. “The scene is still restricted pending the LAAF investigation, so we aren’t able to bring you any live images … ” The man looked up at the screen, feigning interest in the hopes of forming a connection with her. “Gotta be ULTRA,” he said matter-of-factly. The friend he’d been talking with chimed in as well, eager to impress the attractive newcomer to their conversation. “The LAAF has been predicting something like this for months,” he said, assuming the tone of an unquestioned authority on the matter. “My cousin’s in the military and he told me . . . ” A withering gaze from Randi shut him up. His silence secured, she turned back to the vid just in time to catch the tail end of the report. “ … there are no reported survivors. In other news, the Confederated Magistry ambassador to its former world of Tikonov recently held a press conference to renounce the action of the United Leadership of the Tikonov Republican Army … ” No survivors. The words left Randi numb, stunning her like a heavy blow to the back of the head. She had been at the base a month ago. Less than a month! If she hadn’t run off on this foolish mission, she’d be dead right now. The room began to list to one side and Randi realized she was about to faint. The man she had bumped into caught her as she teetered, holding her up while she struggled against the vertigo. “Hey, what’s the matter?” His voice showed real concern. “You okay?” “Huh?” Randi muttered, not even aware that most of her weight was being supported by a complete stranger. The man helped her stand straight, then let go . . . though he was poised to leap in again if she fell. He placed a hand on her arm to comfort her, or maybe to help her keep her balance. “Did you know someone at the base? Did you have friends there?” “Yes … I mean no.” Too much booze, too little sleep, and the shock of what happened at Dosilin had momentarily disabled her, but she was beginning to feel secure on her feet again. Her agile mind was clicking; the full implications of what had just happened were finally registering. She’d fled a top security research base mere hours before it was attacked. She wasn’t just a survivor … she was now a suspect! The two men were looking at her with a mixture of puzzlement and concern. She smoothly disengaged herself from the hand on her arm and gave them an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. That story caught me off guard. I … I knew people in Dosilin.” “Anything we can do?” the second man asked. She got the sense his offer was sincere, just a nice guy looking out for a fellow Halifax citizen. But right now all she wanted was to get away without doing anything else that could make anyone remember her. “No, no. I’m all right. Thank you, though.” She took a step back as she spoke. “I have to go. I’ll be late for work. Sorry about your drink.” She turned and disappeared back into the crowd, heading for the door. Glancing back over her shoulder, she was relieved to see neither of the men made any attempt to follow her. They simply shrugged, dismissing the bizarre encounter, then resumed their previous conversation. It was dark and chilly outside as she stepped out from the bar. The news of Dosilin’s destruction had sobered her up, but she could still use a walk in the crisp night air to really clear her head. The Black Hole was located on one of Norval’s main thoroughfares. It was still early in the evening, and the sidewalks were full of people. She moved quickly down the busy street, not heading in any particular direction, just feeling the need to be on the move. Her head was still spinning as she fought her way through the heavy pedestrian traffic. Slowly the paranoia began to creep back into her thoughts until she shied away from every passerby and jumped at every unexpected sound. She felt vulnerable out here with all these strangers, needlessly exposed. A deserted side street offered temporary refuge. She darted down the narrow alley, stopping only when she had gone to the end of the block. The noise of people and monorails coming from the main drag was now only a faint murmur. The news about Dosilin changed everything. She had to reevaluate her situation. Had her disappearance somehow triggered the attack? It was hard to imagine it was mere coincidence, but she didn’t see how the two events could be related. One thing was certain: they’d be looking for her now. She had to cover her tracks. Find some way to book a flight off Halifax that couldn’t be traced back to her. She’d need to find a fake ID, or bribe someone to let her board a ship illegally. If she stayed here much longer someone was bound to . . . Randi screamed as she felt a heavy hand slam down on her shoulder. She was spun around and found herself staring into the chest of a terrifyingly large man with a vicelike grip. Looking up, she met his eyes, cold and hard. “Randi Steele?” It was more an accusation than a question. Alarmed, she tried to take a step back, squirming and twisting away in an effort to break free. Her captor shook her once, roughly, and she winced in pain as his nails dug into the flesh of her collarbone. “Leutnant Randi Steele, you’re under arrest on suspicion of conspiring to commit treason against the LAAF.” In her surprise it had taken Randi a second to realize what the man was wearing. Now she clearly recognized his uniform: Timbuktu Theater MP. They had finally found her. He must have spotted her on the main road and followed her into the deserted alley. All the fight went out of her. Her head slumped forward as she surrendered to her fate. “I didn’t do it,” she whispered. “It’s not what you think.” He grunted as if he didn’t believe her, but he did drop his hand from her shoulder. She could feel the skin beneath her tunic bruising already. Pulling out a pair of cuffs from his belt, he held them up for her to see. In a curt voice he ordered, “Turn around, Leutnant. Hands behind your back.” She hesitated, then nodded. Resisting would only make things worse. She was innocent, now she’d have to prove it in front of a military tribunal. “Don’t try to run,” he warned. “I’m authorized to use lethal force if necessary.” His words drew her attention down to the weapon on his hip even as she slowly turned her back to him, complying with his commands. From the corner of her eye she was just able to make out the Free Worlds League–manufactured Sunbeam Laser pistol holstered on his hip. Her mind screamed out a warning even as she felt the cuff slap onto her right wrist. The Mauser & Gray Service/RPG3e Auto-Pistol was the standard-issue pistol for all LAAF personnel, not the Sunbeam! The realization came a millisecond after she felt the second cuff slap around her left wrist. Acting on instinct and adrenaline, Randi threw her head back violently. She was rewarded with a wet crunch as it smashed into the face of the fake Timbuktu Theater MP. She spun around as the man dropped to his knees, momentarily stunned by her unexpected attack. His arms dangled limply at his sides and a river of blood was pouring from his mouth and nose, creating a moist, dark stain on his face: the perfect target as she brought her knee up, inflicting even more damage to the injured area. The blow knocked him backwards, and he slumped down onto his side, gurgling and choking as the blood clogged his throat. His body twitched and he flailed his legs, trying to ward off his attacker. But Randi was remorseless. She didn’t know who this imposter was . . . mercenary or assassin . . . but she knew if she didn’t get away from him, she was dead. Calling on memories of the hand-to-hand combat classes all LAAF Garrison personnel received during basic training, she easily avoided his feeble kicks. With her hands still cuffed behind her back her feet were her only weapon. She danced around the prone figure, moving in so she could deliver the steel toes and heavy heels of her combat boots to the vulnerable areas of his head and chest. Her opponent rolled onto his stomach, trying to protect himself. Randi hesitated for a second, then spotted his hand fumbling at the holster of his gun. She leaped forward and stomped on his fingers, again and again, turning his digits into a mess of broken bones and mangled flesh. She ignored the whimpers and burbling cries as the man tried to beg for mercy through blood and shattered teeth. He was still conscious, so he was still a threat. She kicked him hard in the temple, possibly fracturing his skull. His body spasmed once, then went limp. Another hard kick to the ribs evoked no reaction, assuring her he was really out. She dropped down onto the ground beside the body, moving quickly in case somebody came into the alley to investigate the commotion. The fake MP had cuffed her hands behind her back, but he hadn’t done a very good job of it. The metal rings were loose enough on her wrists to allow Randi to slide them several inches up and down her forearms . . . there was just enough play that she might be able to get free. Squirming and struggling, she managed to contort her body enough to slide her chained wrists down past her hip bones and along the backs of her thighs to her knees. She rolled onto her back and side, twisting so she could pull her feet through. Her wrists were still cuffed, but at least they were now in front of her. Suppressing a gag reflex, she crawled on her hands and knees through the blood of her assailant until she was directly over his motionless body. He was still breathing in shallow, half-choked gasps. Randi let loose the breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding. She felt no remorse over the savage beating she’d inflicted while fighting to save her own life, but she was glad she wouldn’t have this man’s death on her conscience. Training and adrenaline had saved her. That, and the carelessness of her opponent. But as her adrenaline wound down and she took in the gruesome scene, she felt the first hints of panic. She was a soldier, but she’d never seen combat duty. She’d never encountered anything like this. Come on, Steele! The voice inside her head was that of her former drill instructor, though the words were her own. You’re not out of this mess yet. She gritted her teeth, determined to finish the job. Even so, Randi shuddered as she fumbled around the man’s blood-soaked belt until she found the key to unlock her shackles. Releasing the cuffs proved even more difficult than sliding them around to her front, as she had to clasp the key in her teeth and try to fit it into the lock. But after several frustrating minutes she heard the click, and the bonds fell away from her left wrist. With one hand free it only took another second to unlock the other cuff and Randi was free. Randi took a quick look around, relieved to see nobody had stumbled into the alley yet. She grabbed the gun from the man’s holster, checked that the safety was on, and stuffed it beneath her jacket and into her belt. She stood up, then froze. She didn’t know who the unconscious man at her feet was working for, but it was obvious he had been specifically looking for her. That meant others probably were, too. They’d have the ports staked out, just waiting for her to try and get off-world. She was trapped. She couldn’t even go back to the main street. Not with her clothes covered in blood. There was only one option left. Taking another breath to calm her jangling nerves, Randi left her assailant’s body where it lay, moving quickly in the direction away from the busy thoroughfare. She spent the rest of the night skulking through the back alleys of Norval, careful to avoid detection, slowly making her way toward the house of the only person she could turn to for help. A woman she promised her father she’d never speak to again. WORD COUNT 3851 Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #18 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #18 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 21 April 2015 - 12:05 AM LA-GW-12-01 Post #18 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Cornwallis Denton Coppell Warehouse 10th January 3092, 09:45 pm Local Halifax was originally a part of the Timbuktu Province of the Rim Worlds Republic and was conquered by the Lyran Commonwealth during the 2773-2775 Republic-Commonwealth war. Starting in 3053, Halifax was used as a base of operations for Comstar's Explorer Corps Anti-Spinward Operations Area, with the blessings of Melissa Steiner and Victor Ian Steiner-Davion. However, with the secession of the Lyran Alliance, and increasingly cordial relations between Katherine Steiner-Davion and Thomas Marik, the Explorer Corps have all but abandoned their exploration efforts originating from Lyran space. In 3084 or 3085 Halifax was hit by a pirate force, possibly originating in the Rim Commonality, and which mustered at least a combined-arms battalion in strength. On hand were half of the 25th Arcturan Guards LCT, who promptly smashed the pirate assault, breaking the pirate force and leaving the survivors to run with more than a third of their numbers dead on the battlefield. Halifax has been neglected for decades by the Lyran Alliance. ComStar had deactivated its Explorer Corp. base. The citizens of Halifax have survived and maintain a decent level of living since then. Lately, pirates have been raiding Halifax and creating havoc. Pirates seem to steal any high technology equipment they can get their hands on. The government officials of Halifax have requested a garrison force or pirate hunters from the LAAF but nothing has been done. They finally submitted a request to Archon Adam Steiner. The Archon has decided to send a mercenary force out to Halifax to eliminate the pirates. Halifax was easily the wealthiest worlds of the former Rim World Republic and Baron Jacob Horowitz was one of the wealthiest nobles on Halifax. He was quite likely among the ten richest individuals in the entire region claimed by the Lyran Alliance, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. Normally he wore the latest in cutting-edge fashions: Draconian-designed ensembles made with the finest materials imported from Luthien itself. His preference ran to the opulent and extravagant . . . flowing black robes highlighted with splashes of red to bring out the hues of his skin. But for the meeting tonight he had donned a simple brown suit covered by a drab gray overcoat. For someone as infamously ostentatious as Baron Jacob Horowitz, his plain garb was an almost impenetrable disguise. Typically, Jacob would be enjoying a soothing nightcap at this hour, sipping the finest of Timbiki liquors in the den of his mansion in Copernicus. But this night was positively atypical. Instead of relaxing in comfort and luxury, he was stuck sitting on a hard chair in a dingy warehouse in the desert outside Coppell, waiting for the Periphery’s most infamous bounty hunter to arrive. Jacob didn’t like waiting. He wasn’t waiting alone. At least a dozen other men, all members of the Buccaneer’s Storm mercenary unit, were milling about the warehouse. Six of them were from the Rim World Collective, two were Free Worlders, and the rest were swore allegiance to the Circinus Federation. Jacob didn’t like CircFeds, either. Like his own nationality, they were a proud bunch. Similar in height, the CircFeds were thicker in the torso, arms, and legs. They had short, stubby necks and square, blockish heads. And like all the other races, their faces seemed lacking in character and intelligence. Instead of refined nose they had an odd jutting protuberance for a nose. Even their mouths were strange, their lips so full and puffy it was a wonder they didn’t slur their speech. He actually thought they closely resembled the Africans . . . another race Jacob didn’t like. But he wasn’t one to let personal prejudice get in the way of business. There were several other so-called private security organizations for hire in the Periphery, and most of them charged a lot less than the Buccaneer’s Storm. But the Buccaneer’s had developed a reputation for being both discreet and ruthlessly efficient. Jacob had used them several times in the past when “unconventional” business opportunities had presented themselves, so he knew from personal experience that their reputation was well earned. He wasn’t about to trust a mission as important as this one to someone else simply because the Buccaneer’s had recently started taking on CircFeds. Even though it had been a Federation Native of the unit who had screwed up on La Loutre. Normally Jacob would never meet directly with the mercenaries he employed. He preferred to work through agents and go-betweens to keep his identity hidden . . . and also to avoid dealing with those who were socially beneath him. But the man he was hiring tonight had insisted on meeting him in person. Jacob had no intention of bringing a bounty hunter into his home … or of meeting with him alone. So he’d donned the nondescript clothes, left his mansion, and traveled hundreds of kilometers by private plane to the outskirts of Coppell’s twin city on the other side of the mountain range. Now he was spending the night in a cold, dusty warehouse filled with soldiers for hire, sitting in a chair that was causing his back to ache and his legs to go numb. And the bounty hunter was over an hour late! But it wasn’t as if he could change his mind. He was in too deep. The Buccaneer’s Storm in the warehouse knew his identity; now he’d have to keep them around as his personal bodyguards until this job was finished. It was the only way to make sure they didn’t reveal his identity to the rest of the Buccaneer’s Storm crew. What happened to Dosilin was going to draw attention, and Jacob couldn’t take the risk of someone exposing his involvement. He also needed to make sure there were no loose ends that could link him to the attack, which was why he had agreed to this meeting. “He’s here.” Jacob jumped slightly at the voice. One of the Buccaneer’s Storm . . . a fellow Halifaxian . . . had crept up silently behind him and was now standing close enough to whisper in his ear. “Bring him in,” he replied, quickly regaining his composure. The merc nodded and left the room as his employer stood up, grateful to be out of the uncomfortable chair. A moment later the guest of honor finally appeared. He was easily the most impressive Elemental Jacob had ever seen. At two and a half meters tall and nearly two hundred kilograms, he was large even by the standards of his iron womb race, but not enormous. Like all Elementals, Skarr was trueborn, a genetically-engineered infantry of the Clans. Designed and bred over dozens of generations to operate Clan Battle Armor, Elementals were the largest and strongest of the three common Clan warrior phenotypes. Elementals average two to two and a half meters in height and are disproportionally muscular compared to even the strongest Inner Sphere soldier. While generally used as shock troops Elementals have found use in other military roles as well, such as security personnel or marines or in Skarr case, Bounty Hunters. His features were flat and brutish, almost prehistoric. His nose had been broken several times and never reset. He was missing half of his right ear lobe and his eyes were small and set wide apart, though they gleamed with a cruel cunning. An Elemental could live for several decades, his or her complexion growing duller and darker with age; this one’s skin was all mottled browns and tans, with almost no remaining trace of the pale tint common to younger members of the clans. A labyrinth of discolored welts and scars crisscrossed his face and throat, ancient battle wounds forming a disfiguring pattern, as if all his veins were on the verge of bursting through the surface of his skin. He wore clan battle armor, but he carried no weapons . . . those would have been removed at the door, as per Jacob’s previous orders. Despite being unarmed he still radiated an aura of menace and destruction. The Elemental walked with an odd, lumbering grace; a force of nature rolling across the floor of the warehouse, merciless and unstoppable. Four Buccaneer’s Storm escorted him in, two marching on either side. They were there to intimidate the bounty hunter and dissuade him from any aggressive responses if the negotiations went poorly. But it was clear that they were the ones who felt intimidated. Their tension was obvious in every step; they moved as if they were standing on the edge of a volcano about to erupt. One of them, a young CircFed with a Buccaneer’s Storm tattoo covering his left eye, kept reaching down to the pistol at his side as if trying to draw courage from the mere act of touching it. Jacob would have found their discomfort amusing if he hadn’t been relying on them for protection. The Halifax Noble decided he would do everything in his power to make sure this meeting went smoothly. As the Elemental approached, his lips pulled back in a snarl, exposing his serrated teeth … or maybe it was a smile. He stopped a few steps away, still flanked on either side by the four mercenaries. “My name is Skarr,” he growled, his voice so deep it sent thrumming vibrations across the floor. “I am Baron Jacob Horowitz,” he replied, giving a slight tilt of his head to the left, a gesture of admiration and respect among his class. Skarr tilted his own head in response, but he leaned to the right: a greeting usually directed at inferiors. Jacob bristled involuntarily. Either Skarr was insulting him, or the Elemental didn’t understand the significance of the gesture. He chose to proceed as if it was the latter explanation, though from what he knew of Skarr there was a good chance it was the former. “I don’t normally agree to meet with the people I hire,” he explained, “but in your case I chose to make an exception. Based on your reputation, your skills are worth bending the rules for.” Skarr dismissed the compliment with a derisive snort. “Based on your reputation I thought you’d be better dressed. You sure you can afford me?” There were some shocked murmurs from the mercs in the room. Casting aspersions on the monetary worth of a social better was a grave insult among their culture. Again, Jacob wondered if Skarr had done this on purpose. Fortunately, he was used to dealing with the less-cultured race’s of the Inner Sphere, and he wasn’t hiring Skarr because of his renowned etiquette. “Rest assured, I have sufficient funds to pay you,” he replied, his voice calm and even. “It is a simple job.” “This have anything to do with the Dosilin?” Jacob’s eyes blinked once, registering his surprise. Negotiation was a subtle dance of deception and misinformation, each party holding secrets from the other in an effort to gain the upper hand. And Jacob had just slipped up. His involuntary reaction had revealed a fact he’d meant to keep hidden … if the Elemental was smart enough to pick up on it. “Dosilin? Why would you think that?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. Skarr shrugged his massive shoulders. “Just a hunch. And my price just went up.” “Your involvement only requires you to find and eliminate your target,” Jacob countered. His voice gave nothing away, but inside he was silently cursing himself for losing the first round of bargaining. “Target? Just one?” “Just one. A female LAAF Officer.” The Elemental turned his head from side to side, scanning the dozen or so Buccaneer’s Storm mercs scattered about the warehouse. “You’ve got a lot of men here. Why don’t you make them do your dirty work?” Jacob hesitated. He preferred to ask the questions; he didn’t like answering them. He was wary of making another mistake in their negotiation. But even his reluctance gave away more than he intended. Skarr barked out a laugh. “These freebirth screwed it up, didn’t they?” Every merc in the warehouse tensed up at his words, confirming them as fact. Not that it mattered. Somehow Jacob knew Skarr would see through any false denials, so he simply nodded, conceding another point to his opponent. “What happened?” the Elemental wanted to know. “I hired the Buccaneer’s Storm to find her and bring her in for interrogation,” Jacob admitted. “One of them spotted her on La Loutre. They found him several hours later crawling around a side street, looking for his teeth.” “That’s what happens when you’re too cheap to hire a real professional.” One insult too many. The man with the tattoo whipped his pistol out and slammed the butt against the side of the Elemental’s skull. The force of the blow rocked Skarr’s head to the side, but it did not knock him off his feet. He wheeled around with a deafening roar, catching his attacker with a vicious backhand that broke the young merc’s neck. The other three mercs fell on Skarr before their comrade’s body hit the ground, their combined weight dragging the big Clanner to the floor. Before the meeting, Jacob had given them strict orders not to kill Skarr unless absolutely necessary … he needed him to track down the missing woman. So instead of shooting the bounty hunter all three were piled on top of him, pinning him to the ground as they tried to pistol whip him into unconsciousness. Unfortunately, nobody had told Skarr he couldn’t kill them. A long, jagged vibro blade appeared in his hand, materializing from some secret hiding place in a boot, belt, or glove. Jacob jumped back from the fray as the blade gashed open the throat of one merc. The return arc sliced through the vulnerable joint between the knee and thigh in the PA-L armor of a second, severing his femoral artery. As he instinctively clutched at the gushing wound with both hands Skarr drove the blade into his chest, piercing his protective chest armor and puncturing his heart. The blade momentarily stuck in the rib cage as the Elemental tried to pull it out, giving the last surviving merc, another Halifaxian, the chance to roll away from the pile and scramble to his feet, safely out of the knife’s range. The Circinus Native whipped out his pistol and pointed it at the gore-covered bounty hunter, who was still on the floor. “Don’t move!” the man screamed, his voice cracking with fear. Skarr’s head snapped from side to side, ignoring the enemy in front of him as he took stock of the eight other mercs in the warehouse. Every single one of them had their assault rifles trained on him, ready to fire. The knife dropped to the floor and Skarr raised his empty hands above his head as he slowly stood up. He turned to face Jacob as the merc with the pistol took a few steps farther back, just to be safe. “So what happens now, Spheriod?” Jacob finally had the upper hand in their negotiations, and he was eager to press his advantage. “Maybe I should just order them to kill you where you stand.” He kept his eyes focused on Skarr, but swung his hand out around the room to draw attention to the fact that the bounty hunter was surrounded. The Elemental merely laughed at the empty threat. “If you wanted me dead, they’d have shot me before I had a chance to pull my knife. But they didn’t. You must have given them orders not to take me out, so I figure I’m worth more to you than a handful of dead mercs. My price just went up again.” Even with a warehouse full of armed mercenaries pointing their weapons at him, the Elemental was perceptive enough to turn the situation to his profit. Underestimating Skarr’s intelligence was a mistake Jacob vowed he wouldn’t make again. He wondered how many other people had underestimated Skarr in the past … and what it had cost them. “You could’ve made a lot of money in my line of work, Skarr.” He made no attempt to hide his grudging respect. “I make a lot of money in this line of work. And I get to kill people as one of my perks. So let’s stop screwing around and make a deal.” Jacob gave a slight nod and blinked his eyes once, signaling the mercs to lower their weapons. They weren’t happy that Skarr had killed three of their comrades, but loyalty meant less to them than money. And with the three dead, their cut just got larger. Only the young merc closest to the Elemental, the one with the pistol, didn’t comply. He looked around in disbelief at the others, his weapon still aimed directly at Skarr. “What are you doing?” he shouted to the others. “We can’t just let him get away with this!” “Don’t be stupid, freebirth,” Skarr spat out. “Killing me won’t bring your dead friends back. It’s just bad business.” “You shut up!” he snapped back, focusing all his attention on Skarr. The Elemental’s voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “Think hard about your next move, freebirth. Nobody else is going to step in. It’s just you and me.” The merc was trembling now, but he managed to keep the pistol aimed at his target. Skarr didn’t seem concerned. “You’ve got to the count of three to drop that gun.” “Or what?” the merc screamed. “You make one move and you’re dead!” “One.” Jacob noticed the Elemental was suddenly surrounded by a faint aura, barely visible even with the benefit of the dim lighting. There was a subtle waver around the bounty hunter, as if the light in the room were being ever so slightly distorted as it passed through the surrounding air. Skarr was using Enhanced Imaging! The Enhanced Imaging system combines two separate components, the first of which is an Enhanced Imaging Display. This advanced computer uses sensor data from friendly units in combination with pre-loaded terrain data to essentially create a more detailed "virtual reality" heads-up display. This component can be used by itself to aid in battlefield coordination and piloting, and by 3050 most Clan Elementals were equipped with EI Displays. The second and more dangerous of the EI components are Enhanced Imaging Neural Implants, which only work in conjunction with EI displays. Implanted just beneath the skin and connected to the subject's central nervous system, these implants not only replace the need to wear Neurohelmets but allow a person to access the EI system by thought and communicate with their machine instantaneously for superior reflexes.. But the merc didn’t realize what was happening. The Inner Sphere didn’t have any individuals with latent Enhanced Imaging abilities; Jacob suspected he wasn’t even aware such a power existed. But he was about to find out. “Two.” The merc opened his mouth to say something else, but he never got the chance. Skarr thrust a clenched fist in his direction, and the air rippled as a wave of invisible energy surged out and over his adversary. The unsuspecting mercenary was picked up off his feet and thrown backwards several meters. He landed heavily on the floor, knocking the wind out of his lungs and sending the pistol flying from his hand. He was stunned only for a second . . . plenty of time for Skarr to cross the distance between them and wrap his five-fingered hand around the merc’s throat. He raised the man to the ceiling, easily holding him with one arm as he slowly crushed his windpipe. The merc kicked his dangling heels and clawed at the massive forearm choking the life from him to no avail. “Your death comes at the hands of a Trueborn Elemental,” Skarr casually informed him as his victim’s face turned bright red, then blue. “I hope you appreciate the honor.” The rest of the Buccaneer’s Storm stood by and did nothing, watching the whole affair with cold disdain. From their expressions Jacob could tell they weren’t enjoying the spectacle, but none of them was willing to step in and put a stop to it. Not if it meant offending their employer … or incurring the Elemental’s wrath. The merc’s struggles grew weaker, then his eyes rolled back up into his skull and he went still. Skarr shook him once then gave a final squeeze, completely collapsing his trachea before dropping him disdainfully to the floor. “I thought you said he had to the count of three,” Jacob remarked. “I lied.” “An impressive display,” Jacob admitted, nodding his head in the direction of the bodies. “I only hope you have similar results with Randi Steele. Of course, you’ll have to find her, first.” “I’ll find her,” the Elemental replied with absolute conviction. “That’s what I do.” WORD COUNT 3511 Baron Jacob Horowitz Halifax Political Leader LYRAN ALLIANCE Edited by Teso River, 23 April 2015 - 01:47 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #19 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #19 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 23 April 2015 - 01:42 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #19 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Planet Hoolaran’s Moon Centari Alliance-Class Lunar Space Station The Citadel Civilian Ward or 'C-Ward' 'Civi-Land' LOKI Safe House 12th January 3092, 20:45 pm Local “Citadel control says we are cleared for landing” came the helmsman’s voice over the shipboard intercom. “ETA to docking, seventeen minutes.” Through the Caerleon Small Craft’s primary viewport, Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bull’s Eye’ Whitley could see the Citadel in the distance, the magnificent space station that served as a cultural, economic, and neutral political center of the Timbuktu Theater. From here, several thousand kilometers away, it resembled a five-pointed star: a quintet of long, thick arms extending out from a hollow central ring. Though she’d seen it many times before, Cathryn still marveled at its sheer size. The middle ring was ten kilometers in diameter; each arm was twenty-five kilometers long and five kilometers in breadth. Since before the Star League Senate was established on the Olympus Classed Space Station in the Terran System and before the Liberty Holds Council was even a gleam in Premier Isis Marik eye, great cosmopolitan metropolises known as the wards had been constructed along each arm, entire cities built into the station’s multilevel interior. Over a million people from every nationality and House, major or minor, across the known Inner Sphere now made their homes there. There was quite simply no other station to compare it to; even Tharkad’s would dwarf it in its presence. But it wasn’t just its small size that made it so amazing: like the pirate points, the Citadel had originally been created by the Terran Hegemony. Its hull was formed of the same virtually indestructible material used to construct their WarShips . . . a technological feat no other House had equaled since the Exodus four centuries ago. Even with the most advanced weaponry it would take days of steady, concentrated bombardment to do any significant damage to its armored hull. Not that anyone would ever consider attacking the Citadel. The station was located at the heart of a major operational Space Defense System junction deep inside a dense nebula cloud. This gave it several natural defenses: the nebula was difficult to navigate . . . it would slow any enemy fleets and make it difficult for them to launch any sort of organized attack. And with several dozen worlds in the vicinity, reinforcements from virtually every planet of the theater were only a jump away. If anyone did penetrate these exterior defenses, the station’s long arms could fold up around the central ring, drawing together to transform the Citadel from a five-armed star into a long cylindrical tube. Once the arms were closed, the station was all but impregnable. The final layer of protection was provided by an LAAF Fleet, a force of Lyran Alliance vessels that were always on patrol in the vicinity. It only took Cathryn a few seconds to pick out the flagship, the Yggdrasil. A Mjolnir-class Light Cruiser, the Yggdrasil was more than just a majestic symbol of the LAAF’s power. Two times the size of anything in any House’s fleet, and with a crew approaching five hundred, the Yggdrasil was one of the most formidable warship ever constructed. Like the Citadel itself, it was without peer. Of course, the ships of the LAAF Fleet were not the only vessels in the area. The Citadel was an Alliance-Class Space Station at the zenith jump point . . . all roads eventually led to the Citadel. Traffic here was constant and crowded: this was one of the few places in all the Timbuktu Theater where there was a real threat of crashing into another vessel. Congestion was particularly heavy at the free-floating recharge stations. Generating the jump fields necessary to run at FTL speeds caused a powerful charge to build up inside a ship’s drive core. Left unchecked the core would oversaturate, resulting in a massive energy burst being released through the hull . . . a burst powerful enough to cook anyone on board who wasn’t properly grounded, burn out all electronic systems, and even fuse the metal bulkheads. To prevent such a calamity most ships were required to discharge their drive cores every twenty to thirty hours. Typically this was done by grounding on a recharge station or dispersing the buildup through close proximity to the magnetic field of a large stellar body, such as a sun or gas giant. However, there were no astrological bodies of sufficient size in the nearby vicinity of the Citadel. Instead, a ring of specially designed docking stations allowed ships to link in and release the energy in their drive cores before continuing on using conventional sub-FTL drives. Fortunately, the Caerleon Small Craft had discharged her core when she’d first arrived in the vicinty over an hour ago. Since then she’d been in a holding pattern, patiently waiting for the clearance they had only just now received. Cathryn didn’t need to worry about the crew’s performance on a routine approach like this; they’d done it hundreds of times before. Instead, she just shut her mind off and enjoyed the view as the Citadel drew slowly closer, looming ever larger in the viewport. The lights from the wards twinkled and shone; their piercing illumination a counterpoint to the hazy, swirling brightness of the nebula cloud that served as the backdrop to the scene. “It’s beautiful.” Cathryn jumped, startled by the voice coming from right behind her. Sergeant Anastasiya 'Pitbull' Stepanov laughed. “Sorry, Sergeant Major. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Ana had hopped on board due to her being on medical leave. Cathryn glanced down at the bandages and walking brace that encased her leg from the upper thigh all the way down to her ankle. “You’re getting pretty good on that thing, Sarge. I didn’t even hear you sneaking up on me.” Anastasiya shrugged. “Medic said I’m going to make a complete recovery. I owe Mickey one.” “That’s not how it works,” Cathryn replied with a smile. “I know you’d have done the same for him.” “I like to think so, ma’am. But thinking it and doing it aren’t the same. So … tell him thanks for me.” “Don’t tell me you came all the way up here from the infirmary just to thank Mickey.” She grinned. “Actually, I came to see if you’d give me a piggyback ride.” “Forget it,” Cathryn replied with a laugh. “I hear Mickey nearly threw his back out hauling your ass out of there. You really need to shed a few pounds.” “Careful, ma’am,” she warned, lifting her braced leg an inch off the floor. “I can deliver a pretty good kick with this thing.” Cathryn turned back to the viewport, grinning. “Just shut up and enjoy the view, Ana. That’s an order.” “Yes, ma’am.” It only took a few minutes for Cathryn to clear customs after they landed. They had touched down at a Lyran Alliance port, and military personnel were given top priority whenever they came in from a mission. The Citadel security officers checked her MRBC ID and verified it by scanning her thumbprint, then gave a cursory check of the pack carrying her personal belongings before waving her through. Cathryn was pleased to see they were both from the Lyran Alliance; last month there had still been a few Free World officers assigned to the Lyran Alliance ports due to nationality staff shortages. C-Sec had promised to recruit more Lyran Alliance nationals into their ranks; it looked like they’d been true to their word. Leaving the ports behind, she stepped onto the elevator that would bring her up to the main level. She yawned once; now that she was off duty the fatigue she’d been holding at bay during the entire trip began to wash over her. She couldn’t wait to get to a private safe house in the wards. Considering how much time she spent with the SAC, it could be argued that the LIC paying rent for a Safe House on the Citadel was an extravagant expense. But she felt it was important to have a place she could wind down at, even if she was only here one week out of fifty two. The elevator stopped, the doors opened, and Cathryn stepped out into the pandemonium of light and sound that was the wards. Throngs of people filled the pedways, individuals of every nationality coming and going in all directions. Rapid-transit cars zoomed by overhead on the monorail, each one filled with commuters, students, and general gawkers taking the high-speed tour. The lower streets were packed with smaller ground-transport vehicles weaving in and out of the designated thoroughfares, each driver in more of a hurry than the last. It was always rush hour on the Citadel. Fortunately she didn’t need to flag a driver down or head to a transit stop. The Safe House was only twenty minutes away by foot, so she simply hiked her gear up over her shoulder and fell in with the mob, jostling and shoving with the rest of the maddening crowds. As she walked, her senses were under constant assault from an endless stream of electronic advertisements. Everywhere she looked there were flashing holographic images, futuristic billboards promoting a thousand different companies on twelve hundred different worlds. Food, beverages, vehicles, clothes, entertainment: on the Citadel, everything was available for purchase. However, only a handful of the ads were geared specifically to the periphery; they were still a minority on the station, and corporations preferred to spend their advertising dollars on Houses with larger market shares. But with each passing month Cathryn noticed more and more of her own kind among the hustling, bustling masses. Cathryn knew that it was important for the denizens of the periphery to integrate themselves with the rest of the interstellar community. What better place to do it than the Citadel, where all the disparate cultures in the Inner Sphere were on display? That was the real reason Cathryn enjoyed the Safe House in the wards. She wanted to understand the other Houses, and the quickest way to do that was to live among them. She reached Safe House building, pausing at the main door to speak her name so the voice recognition system would let her in. The Safe House was on the second level, so she eschewed the elevator and lugged her pack up the staircase. At the door to the personal quarters she again gave her name, then staggered into the room and dropped her gear in the center of the floor. She was too tired to turn on the lights as she made her way through the small kitchen to the single bedroom at the back; barely registering the faint whoosh as the apartment door automatically closed behind her. When she reached the bedroom she didn’t even bother to undress . . . she simply collapsed on the bed, exhausted but glad to be in a domicile that she didn’t have to share with anyone else. Cathryn woke several hours later. Night and day meant little in the perpetual activity of the Citadel, but when she rolled over to check the clock by her bed the digital readout said 17:00. On Halifax and out on missions Storm’s Armored Cavalry still used the familiar twenty-four-hour clock based on Terran Coordinated Universal Time, the protocol established in the late twentieth century to replace the archaic Greenwich Mean Time system. On the Alliance-Class Space Station, however, everything operated on the galactic standard of a twenty hour day. To further complicate things, each hour was divided into one hundred minutes of one hundred seconds … but each second was roughly half as long as the ones she was used to. The net result was that the twenty-hour galactic standard day was about fifteen percent longer than the twenty-four-hour day as calculated by Terran Coordinated Universal Time. Just thinking about it made Cathryn’s head hurt, and it played havoc with her sleep patterns. This was to be expected, given that she’d been preconditioned by several million years of Terran evolution. Three more hours and the day would roll into tomorrow, when She was supposed to present herself to the LIC commander for a debriefing on Dosilin. She didn’t have to be there until 10:00am, however, which meant that she had plenty of time to kill. She’d probably need to catch a few more hours of sleep before the meeting, but she wasn’t tired now. So Cathryn rolled out of bed, shed her clothes, and tossed them into the small laundry machine. She had a quick shower, changed into fresh clothes . . . civvies . . . then logged on to her data terminal to check for news updates and messages. Communication across an entire galaxy was no simple matter. Ships could use Kearny-Fuchida drives to exceed the speed of light, but signals transmitted through the cold vacuum of space by conventional means would still take years to travel from one solar system to another. Transferring information, personal messages, or even raw data across thousands of light-years expediently could only be accomplished in one of two ways. Files could be transported by courier drones, unmanned ships programmed to travel through a relay of network jump points by the most direct routes possible. Although this was the most secure method, courier drones weren’t cheap to produce or operate: fuel was expensive. And if they had to pass through several worlds it could take hours for them to arrive at their destination. The solution wasn’t practical for back-and-forth communications. The other option was to transmit data via the extranet, a series of Hyper pulse generators built on almost every world in the Inner Sphere that were specifically designed to enable real-time communication between systems. Information could be sent by a conventional radio signal to the nearest array of HPGs. The HPGs were telemetrically aligned with a similar array thirty or even fifty light-years away, connected by the tight beam projection of a mass effect field; the space-age equivalent of the fiber-optic cables used on Terra in the late twentieth century. Within this narrow corridor, signals could be projected several thousands times faster than the speed of light. Data in the form of radio signals could be relayed from one HPG to the next virtually instantaneously. Once the HPGs were properly aligned, it was even possible to speak to someone on the opposite end of the galaxy with a lag of only a few minutes. However, while the extranet’s HPG arrays made communication possible, it still wasn’t exactly feasible for the vast majority. Trillions of people on thousands of worlds were accessing the extranet every second of every day, overloading the finite bandwidth capabilities of the com arrays. To accommodate this, information was sent in carefully measured bursts of data, and space in each burst was parceled out in a highly regulated priority system. Top priority in each burst was given to organizations directly responsible for preserving a House’s security. Next came the various official governments and militaries for each and every House and Periphery Nation in the Inner Sphere; then the assorted media conglomerates. Anything left over was parceled off and sold to the highest bidder. Virtually all of the unused space on every burst was purchased by extranet provider corporations, who then divided their allocated space into thousands of tiny packages that were resold to individual subscribers. Depending on the provider and how much an individual was willing to pay, it was possible to get personal updates from hourly, daily, or even weekly bursts. Not that Cathryn had to be concerned about any of that. As a LIC Agent her private extranet account received official bursts every fifteen minutes. Piggybacking personal messages onto the official bursts was one of the perks of LIC There was only one message waiting for her in her in-box. She frowned, recognizing the sender’s address. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, but she wasn’t happy to see the file. For a second she considered ignoring it, but she knew she was being childish. Better to just get it over with. She opened the file, downloading a series of e-docs and a short prerecorded video message from the litigation attorney. An image of Ib Haman, her lawyer, appeared on the terminal’s screen as the video began to play. Ib was a portly, balding man in his sixties. He was wearing an expensive-looking suit and was seated behind his desk in an office Cathryn had become all too familiar with over the last year. “Sergeant Major. I won’t bother with the formality of asking how you’re doing … I know this hasn’t been easy for you or Franklin.” “Damn right,” Cathryn muttered under her breath as the message continued. “I’ve sent you copies of all the documents I had you sign the last time we met. Franklin’s signed them now, too.” The man on the screen glanced down and shifted some papers on the desk in front of him, then looked back up at the camera. “You’ll also see a copy of my fee. I know this isn’t much consolation right now, but just be glad that there was no one else involved in the accident. It could have been a lot worse . . . and a lot more expensive. When wrongful death becomes an issue the proceedings rarely go this smoothly.” Cathryn snorted. Nothing about this mess had felt “smooth” to her. “These proceedings will be officially absolved on the date indicated in the documents. I suspect that by the time you get this message your case will be final.” “If you have any questions please feel free to contact me, Sergeant Major. And if you ever need me for . . . ” The message terminated abruptly as Cathryn deleted it and dragged it into the trash. She didn’t plan on ever talking to Ib Haman again. The man was a good attorney; his prices were reasonable and he’d been fair and unbiased throughout the proceedings. In fact, he’d been nothing but the model of efficiency and professionalism. And if he was standing in the apartment right now, Cathryn would have punched him in the face. It was a funny thing, Cathryn thought as she shut the terminal down. She’d just participated in two of humanity’s oldest and most enduring customs: Law suits and restitution. Now it was time for an even older tradition: She was going to the bar to get drunk. WORD COUNT 3143 Name: Cathryn Whitley Rank: Sergeant Major Position: Guardian MH: Purifier Battle Armor Suit Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Edited by Teso River, 23 April 2015 - 01:43 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #20 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #20 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 25 April 2015 - 01:29 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #20 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains SAC Bivouac Hidden Cave Camp Commander’s Quarters 9th January 3092, 1730pm local " ‘Queen Six’, this is ‘Wild Card One’, respond." We should be close enough by now, though Captain Teso ‘Twisted’ River. "Think someone's got to her?" Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich’s voice broke in over the comm. "Hey, hey, hey, watch yo’self. That could be the future Mrs River that you are referring to," replied ‘Twisted River’ grinning to himself inside his Shedu Battle Armor. Verbally calling up magnification, ‘Wild Card One’ zoomed in on the relatively concealed location of the Storm’s Armored Cavalry hidden Bivouac. It was tough to make out nestled in the Sundry Mountains Sergeant Major Chantel Bobo had chosen as their camp site. “There! Those sparks must be techs making repairs, “Sergeant Anastasiya 'Pitbull' Stepanov blurted out animatedly. "Over here," ‘Wild Card One’ indicated to ‘The Surgeon’ by pointing with his Battle Armor’s ‘foreleg’, "Poor bastards, that bucket of bolts is always needing something ever we captured the Shadowhawk from the Pirates Buccaneer’s Storm. I just hope she's not dead in the water, so to speak," he threw in looking around at the heavy forest and foliage on the mountain side around them. "Better try them again," taking careful aim with his laser comm Teso opened the channel, " ‘Queen Six’, this is ‘Wild Card One’, respond." No response. "Great." ‘Twisted River’ commented through his external mics as he turned to look back over his left shoulder at the convoy of HMMWVs just down over the hill. "Lieutenant Robinson please join us, Sir." "There you go my dear," frozen with fear First Sergeant Torra MacHutchin flinched as Colonel Frank Able reached both arms around her neck and fastened a necklace, "a little momentum of your visit with us." I still didn't believe it. He'd said the same thing when Corporal Kayla Rivera left. Only a week later he "invited" me to watch Kayla's new "show" via remote camera. Torra stood shock still, having learned early on the punishment for any sign of resistance. Her mind recorded every detail, but processed nothing. All hope of rescue or escape had been thoroughly removed from her psyche. But dreams are almost always different from the way it really happened, at least in one detail. In this case, the ability to scream! "NOooo!" Torra shot bolt upright in the back seat of the M3077 transport vehicle, slick with sweat. In her blurred vision she saw two armored soldiers standing beside the craft and one more walking up a hill toward two more armored figures. I'm still his prisoner! He lied again! He always lies! In her disoriented frame of mind, still living through the after-shadows of her nightmare, she screamed again. "Easy Ma’am'," stammered Corporal Jack McGhee, the Asterion soldier nearest the freed POWs. Finally catching her breath and gaining some composure, she breathed "I'm ok." Torra looked sidelong at her friends next to her. Kayla looked like hell, around her eyes were dark, as though she hadn't slept in quite a while, her skin was taught like she hadn't eaten. But the haunted look in her eyes! That's the most frightening. She just keeps staring at her feet and she hasn't said a word since the two had been reunited. Several times during the HMMWV ride, and the helicopter ride before that, Torra had attempted to start a conversation to no avail. Torra had been so relieved to see Kayla and the others when they were first ushered into the helicopter, at least she wouldn't die alone. Her mind still wouldn't allow her to contemplate the possibility that they were being freed. Lieutenant Mark Robinson looked at one, then the other battle armored trooper, then back at their newly rescued POWs in the M3077s before commenting quietly, "that bastard Able put our female POWs through hell. Let's just get them back to the SAC quickly and in one piece Captain River, I think they need some time to heal." "Yeah, I agree Lieutenant." Teso spoke as quietly as his external speakers would allow. . . . . Teso River spent the next twenty four hours tending to Commander Storm’s every need. He hovered over her like a mother hen, hardly sleeping a wink himself. Every time she moved or turned over, or her breathing changed he was right there to make sure that she had everything that she needed. The relief he had when he had found her alive and well still had not worn off yet. The Captain was still amped up on pure adrenaline. The boost in morale among those in the encampment was palpable. For the first time they felt as if something had been accomplished in the rescue of their commanding officer and their POWs. For her part, Ciara Storm was somewhat rough around the edges but a hot meal and flavored electrolyte drinks were bringing her back up to snuff quickly enough. Staring at the table top map, she was listening to the status of her unit and found that Coleman had absconded with a sizable force of her infantry force. Nodding softly. “When you get a chance please see about contacting the good Captain and inform him that Commander Storm wishes to know his status. He is still under my command and I need every asset available if we are going to make this work.” “Uhm, yeah, yeah, Sure Baby. But he hasn’t went off the grid Rogue or anything. Lieutenant Reed assured me that he had granted Coleman clearance to conduct the LRRP mission. Coleman’s Teams have missed a checkpoint here and there but we always hear from him within a three missed checkpoint tolerance. So he knows that his Rough Riders are still under SAC command. But I’ll let him know that the ‘Queen’ is back in the roost and that ‘she’ is requesting a SitRep. Cool?” “I know we managed to replenish our mech losses somewhat from the cache, if the Shadow Hawk is unassigned I will take it. Also, tell Mechwarrior Folly that he has a choice as to the Flea or the Night Hawk. Whichever he picks will bring my lance up to paper strength. If we have anyone who is mech qualified who isn't in a vital position shuffle that person to the Recon Lance, and tell Lieutenant Reed that he's now running a Clan-style star for the time being.” Ciara ordered. Teso chuckled slightly under his breath and added, “Even if it is assigned, you will still take it woman. You are the Commander.” Then adding a little more bravado to his timbre he continued, “Ciara assigned to Shadowhawk, check. Folly, check. ‘Mech qualified, check. Inform Reed he’s running a 5 man lance, check. Hey Boss Lady? Do you have any special loadout request for the ‘Hawk? You may as well get them installed now before we pull it out of the repair bay if you do.” Looking to Teso, she smiled just so. “I want you to take charge of all Battle Armor forces, work with the platoon that Coleman left behind. I think we are going to be needing the capability to hit hard with that particular asset. “I’m all over that one already Babe. As a matter of fact we’ve already ran some joint ops together. Lieutenant Mark Robinson runs a pretty tight ship. His teams performed admirably on our latest Rescue Op. Our two teams worked together like a well oiled machine. We experienced a few hiccups but nothing ‘You’ need to be concerned with. Lieutenants Robinson and Gurevich straightened them out in the debriefing.”. Any word on your suit?” “Yeah. Which suit are you referring to first? I don’t know if you were aware or not but the SAC lost my Purifier Suit in the same engagement that we lost your Warhammer.” By the grimace on Ciara’s face he could tell that she hadn’t yet come to terms with that loss so he didn’t want her to dwell on it; hence he plowed on along. “But the acquired assault Shedu Battle Armor Suit is one bad mutha. It can take a Lickin’ and it keeps on Tickin’. It suffered severe armor damage and quit a few system breeches when the SAC rescued you. But Specialist Taye Cyilima salvaged some compatible advanced armor from some other Shedu’s found in the Cache and pretty much has all the armor damaged repaired. She’s pretty confident that she can get the recoilless rifle back online and all the subsystems as well.” “Maybe the Demi-Precentor can help. That said, I want to meet with both the Demi-Precentor and the Hauptmann-Kommandant. Coordinate our efforts and see about liberating parts of this planet from the Rim Worlders and their lapdogs. Arrange it for tomorrow at 0800.” “The Hauptmann-Kommandant is not a problem. He’s a shoe in. He and the loyal Halifax Garrison forces are staged a cave over and a cavern rearward,” said Teso with a grin, “but the ‘Demi-Precentor’? What a phukking joke. That sycophant has shown his face in since you went missing. I’ll have Sergeant Major Bobo reached out to our Explorer Corp Contact, Adept Betty Qian, to see if maybe she can get a bead on him.” Looking over her shoulder, Ciara thought for a long moment and then looked back to Teso. “We're going to save our artillery for when we really need it. If we can draw the enemy into a Cauldron battle where he is stuck in the center of a firestorm, we may be able to inflict enough losses upon him that we can win this. First, we need to look to knocking out his principle advantage in the air.” Ciara said pointing to a spot on the map. “Tell me about where they base their aerospace forces.” Captain River could actually see the wheels upon wheels turning inside Ciara’s mind. He thought military chicks were Hot. And his Ciara was thee Hottest. He was following her rationale. “Uhm yeah. We have reason to believe that the have dispersed their ‘aerospace’ fighter squadron over three continents here, here, and here.” He indicated Nova Scotia, Annapolis, and La Loutre. We have confirmation that they have a flight of heavy Transgressors on La Loutre, shielded by a unit the fits the profile of the 2nd Squadron of the 4th Rim World Conventional Fighter Wing. It was confirmed by Coleman’s Bravo Lurp Team not more than thirty hours ago.” “Since we've lost most of Rough Rider for the time being. We need to get eyes on that airfield. Organize that detail, send them out and send out another detail to check routes to get a force there without being detected. If we can catch the enemy fighters on the ground we can knock them out and deprive the enemy of the sky.” “Roger that Commander. The best unit to get eyes on the La Loutre staging air field is our newly refitted Recon Lance. They have Active Probes, state of the art Angel ECM Suites, and MASC technology now. And I’ll delegate the route detail to my Black Ops Second and her Spectre Platoon supported with the remnants of our First and Second FIST Teams and a squad of Asterion Battle Armor. It'll enhance everyone who's involved combine arms tactics. When ever we do here back from Coleman I’ll see if he can effect a transcontinental hop to get eyes on the Spaceport on the mainland.” Ciara considered for a moment. “The only way that they can respond, to come after us. We are going to have to follow up with an engagement when they make a drive to come seek us out. I want to lure them into an area that we've prepared and trap them there. Cut off, no air support, we are going to massacre them.” Whenever Ciara got ‘that’ look in her eyes and her voice rumble from her throat in a deep throaty whisper it sent shivers trembling up and down Teso’s spine. Teso unconsciously stuck a finger inside his collar to loosen it up. “I’ll get Dread Squad on it.” He answered her unspoken command with inflections on the words to make it sound more like a question than an acknowledgement. WORD COUNT 2140 JOINT POST BETWEEN Word Count 535 Commander Ciara Storm. Callsign: Vixen. Hardware Assignment: WHM-7M Warhammer. Assignment: Command Lance, Battlemech Company. Storm's Armored Cavalry Mercenary Command. "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry." -Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms. & Word Count 1605 Edited by Teso River, 25 April 2015 - 01:31 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image ....... LA-GW-12-01 Post #21 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains SAC Bivouac Hidden Cave Camp 10th January 3092, 0930am local The first thing Captain Teso ‘Twisted’ River did when he woke up the next morning was request a private area of the cave complex. He had to review the entire SAC personnel files by 14:00 local hours. In the four hours between then and now he planned to conduct private interviews with a handful of the Mechwarrior hopefuls. The Storm’s Amored Cavalry Combat Engineers of Dread Squad weren’t expecting his request, but they did their best to accommodate it. They set him up in a small aclove furnished with a desk, computer workstation, and a single chair. River was sitting behind the desk reviewing the personnel files on the monitor one last time. Competition to be accepted to pilot a Battlemech in the SAC recon lance was fierce. Every ‘Mech wannabe in the SAC had been handpicked from the best young men and women the MRBC had to offer. Yet the handful of names on River’s list had distinguished themselves from the rest of the elite; even here they stood out from the crowd. There was a knock on the nearby cave wall . . . two quick, firm raps. “Come in,” Captain River called out. The curtain slid open and Corporal Niyati ‘Mako’ Mukku, the first name on River’s list, walked in. Fresh out of training, she had already been marked for the ranks of non-commission officers aboard a Onager, and looking at her file it was easy to see why. River’s list was not arranged alphabetically, but based on Mukku’s marks during live training and the evaluations of her commanding officers, her name would probably have been right at the top regardless. The corporal was a tall woman for an Asian, five foot three according to her file. At twenty two years old she was just starting to fill out her large frame, still growing into her buxom breasts and small, rounded shoulders. Her skin was tanned like the Captain’s own, her black hair cut high and tight in accordance with MRBC regulations. Her features, like most citizens in the multicultural society of the late thirty-first century, were a mix of several different racial characteristics. Predominantly Japanese, but River thought he could see lingering traces of Central European and Native American ancestry as well. Mukku marched smartly across the cavern rough hewn floor and stopped directly in front of the desk, standing at attention as she snapped off a formal salute. “At ease, Corporal,” River ordered, instinctively returning the salute. The young woman did as she was told, relaxing her stance so that she stood with her arms clasped behind her back and her legs spread wide. “Sir?” she asked. “If I may?” Even though she was a junior non-comm making a request of a Captain she spoke with confidence; there was no hesitation in her voice. River scowled before nodding at her to continue. The file showed Mukku had been born and raised on Dieron, a Draconis Combine holding, but she had almost no discernible regional accent. Her generic dialect was likely the product of cross-cultural exposure through e-schooling and the info nets combined with a steady barrage of universal entertainment holo-vids and music. “I just want to tell you what an honor it is to even be considered for the position, Captain,” the young woman informed Teso. She wasn’t gushing or fawning, for which River was grateful; she simply stated it as a matter of fact. “I remember seeing you on the news after the Dompaire expedition when I was only twelve. That’s when I decided I wanted to join a Mercenary Unit.” “Are you trying to make me feel old, lass?” Mukku started to smile, thinking it was a joke. But the smile withered under River’s glare. “No, sir,” she replied, her voice still sure and strong. “I only meant you’re an inspiration to us all.” He’d expected the corporal to stutter and stammer out some kind of apology, but Mukku wasn’t so easily rattled. River made a quick note in her file. “I see it says here you’re married, Corporal.” “Yes, sir. He’s a civilian. Lives back on Cavanaugh II.” “I have family,” River told her. “I have a niece. I haven’t seen her in twelve years.” Mukku was momentarily thrown off balance by the unexpected personal disclosure. “I … I’m sorry, sir.” “It’s hell keeping a marriage together when you’re in a mercenary unit and your spouse is not,” River warned her. “You don’t think worrying about a husband back on Cavanaugh is going to make it harder when you’re out on a six-month tour?” “Might make it easier, sir,” Mukku countered. “It’s nice to know I’ve got someone back home waiting for me.” There was no hint of anger in the young woman’s voice, but it was clear she wasn’t going to be intimidated, even when speaking to the SAC’s second in command. River nodded and made another note in the file. “Do you know why I scheduled this meeting, Corporal?” he asked. After a moment of serious consideration Mukku simply shook her head. “No, sir.” “Twelve days ago three Lurp Teams left our outpost here on La Loutre. They were heading through to Annapolis to provide intel on the Regiment of the 4th Rim World Dragoons: two cargo vessels and three Overlords.” “They made contact with the Dragoon Army out there. Some kind of patrol, we think. We haven’t heard from them since.” River had just dropped a bombshell in the young woman’s lap, but Mukku’s expression barely changed. Her only reaction was a momentary widening of her eyes. “Advanced equipment, sir?” she asked, driving right to the heart of the matter. “We don’t think so,” River told her. “Technologically, they seem to be on about the same level as us.” “How do we know that, sir?” “Because the Battle Armor Platoon the Dragoons sent out to engage them the next day had enough firepower to wipe out their whole patrol.” Mukku gasped, then took a deep breath to collect herself. River didn’t blame her; so far he’d been impressed with how well the corporal had handled the whole situation. “Any further retaliation from the 4th, sir?” The kid was smart. Her mind worked quickly, analyzing the situation and moving forward to the relevant questions after only a few seconds. “They sent reinforcements,” River informed her. “They captured Norval. We don’t have any other details yet. Comm satellites are down; we only got word because someone got off a courier message just before Norval fell.” Mukku nodded to show she understood, but she didn’t say anything right away. River was glad to see the young woman had the patience to give herself time to process the information. It was a lot to wrap one’s head around. “You’re sending us into action, aren’t you, sir?” “The Storm’s Armored Cavalry Commander makes that decision,” River said. “All I can do is advise her. That’s why I’m here.” “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Captain.” “Every military engagement has only three options, Corporal: engage, retreat, or surrender.” “We can’t just turn our backs on Halifax! We have to engage!” Mukku exclaimed. “With all due respect, sir,” she added a second later, remembering who she was talking to. “It’s not that simple,” River explained. “This is completely unprecedented; we’ve never faced an enemy like this before. We know nothing about them. If we escalate this into a war against the Rim Collection, we have no way to predict how it will end. They could have an army three times the size of ours. We could be on the verge of starting a war that will culminate in the total annihilation of the Halifax way of life.” River paused for emphasis, letting his words sink in. “Do you honestly think we should take that risk, Corporal Mukku?” “You’re asking me, sir?” “The Lyran Command wants the SAC’s advice before they make their decision. But I’m not going to be on the front lines fighting the war, Corporal. You had some ‘Mech Piloting training during your MRBC Basic. I want to know what you think. Do you believe our company is ready for this?” Mukku frowned, thinking long and hard before she offered her answer. “Sir, I don’t think we have any other choice,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Retreat isn’t an option. Now that the 4th knows about us they aren’t just going to sit on Annapolis and do nothing. Eventually we’ll have to either engage or surrender.” “And you don’t think surrender is an option?” “I don’t think Halifax could survive being subjugated under Rim Collection rule,” Mukku replied. “Freedom is worth fighting for.” “Even if we lose?” River pressed. “This isn’t just about what you’re willing to sacrifice, soldier. We provoke them and this war could make its way to Timbuktu. Think about your husband. Are you willing to risk his life for the sake of freedom?” “I don’t know, sir.” was Mukku’s solemn reply. “Are you willing to condemn your niece to the life of a slave?” “That’s the answer I was looking for,” River said with a sharp nod. “With enough pilots like you, Mukku, the SAC just might be ready for this after all.” WORD COUNT 1,586 Edited by Teso River, 25 April 2015 - 02:37 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #22 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #22 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 25 April 2015 - 03:15 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #22 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Sundry Mountains Tishue Plains 14th January 3092, 1730pm local "CONTACT!" Corporal Niyati 'Mako' Mukku yelled over the line. A staticky live sensor feed sprung to life on Mechwarrior Booker 'Jumpshot' Wilcox's HUD showing multiple contacts strung out in a ragged line all across the Flea's sensor range. " ’Lock Hammer’, Contact, live feed incoming!" Booker called as he punched in the relay commands. " ‘Mako’, pull your ‘Mech back! I'll move mine closer, so we can get the Intel at a safer range." The long range proximity alarm blared in Booker' ear as the long range sensors of his Beagle Active Probe began painting new contacts all along the left edge of his sensor's range. " ‘Mako’, break off! ‘Lock Hammer’, relay to all units, I have massive contact readings we're about to be surrounded!" "ALL UNITS this is ‘Recon Two’," came the immediate response from Mechwarrior Sergeant Krystal 'Lock Hammer' Steele, "fall back to the column! We've got confirmed contacts all along the front and left sides of the column. Robinson, I want you and the column to break right and back." Krystal was about to confirm her withdrawal command and turn in the column of FIST HMMWV's direction when ‘Mako's HUD relay caught her eye. " ‘Mako’ withdrawing." ‘Mako’ began the rundown of acknowledgments, followed quickly by the others. Something isn't right here. Krystal glared hard at the flickering HUD relay. "Recon Actual this is Recon Two, I'm moving forward to investigate." First Lieutenant Ellison ‘Ely’ Reed had already turned his Dart and had begun heading back to the column when Krystal signaled she was heading toward the contacts. WHAT?! Ellison's mind screamed, but before he bellowed a counter command he paused, " ‘Lock Hammer’, what have you got?" Better to trust in your people, than try to micromanage. " ‘Mako's signal was sporadic but I don't think this is a 'Mech column." Ellison checked his sensor readings again, she's right! Ellison slowed his 'Mech to a walk. "Recon Actual, this is Recon Two, what's ou.. p..ay," came Krystal broken reply. " ‘Lock Hammer’, your signal is starting to break up. First Lieutenant Robinson will keep the FIST HMMWV column loaded with Spetre Platoon and his Battle Armored Squad moving away and I'll send the Flea back to act as runner. Acknowledge." "Ack..le..ged, Ma.o on ..he way." Ellison veered toward Krystal's last position, his Dart leaning hard against the driving winds. I hope ‘Mako’ doesn't get lost in this mess! Lightning flashed through the storm, very near by. Ellison jumped in his command chair, Damn this Bullshit is starting to get to me!. He keyed the comm. channel again, " ‘Lock Hammer’, report?" No response. Ellison checked his sensors which painted the blue ‘friendly’ contact at the edge of his range, fading in and out. " ‘Lock Hammer’, report, " he called again. A blue contact flared to life on the opposite side of her display, running at high speed along the edge and fading in and out as well. Dammit ‘Mako’! Your heading the wrong way! She can't see us in this soup even with her HiRez B electronics with the limited visibility range! " ‘Mako’, this is Recon Actual, your headed the wrong way. Come left to heading 2-7-0!" Krystal knew ‘Mako’ couldn't respond at this range, but watched intently for several seconds to see if the little icon changed direction. Instead of changing direction the icon vanished from the display again. This keeps getting worse and worse! " ‘Ely’, this is ‘Lock Hammer’, ‘Mako’ is off course and headed straight for the contacts, I am breaking off to pursue. R..ger, my last.." Krystal's voice broke through the static, "..'re ok. Con…t ….. Awaiting sit-r….." "Recon Lance, Stay Put! I'm marking your position so I can navigate back!" And if I don't hurry ‘Mako's going to run straight into that line of contacts, while our column's running blindly off into this storm! Without waiting for a staticky reply, Krystal made several marker points on her map to show distance from current location and broke into a full run in the direction she last saw ‘Mako’ headed. She got the thirty-five ton ‘Mech up to a full 117 kilometer an hour gait. Long minutes crawled by without any contact on her display. Should have known better than to request ‘Mako’ take that half blind Flea alone into this shit looking for us! Shouldn't ”I” be able to see that column of contacts by now?! Suddenly a single blue icon bleeped for a second now on the right side of her display straight ahead, before fading out again. What's she doing? She's running all over the phukking map! Another flash of lightening seared the ground very near by, causing Krystal's whole HUD to flicker. The contact she had pegged as ‘Mako’ flashed into existence again. "DAMMIT ‘MAKO’! STAY STILL!" Krystal yelled into her mic, to no avail, the contact vanished again. Only to reappear two heart beats later, this time it wasn't moving. Krystal repeated her hail as she approached, each time there was no response. As she got closer her sensors informed her that the Flea was, in fact, powering down! " ‘Mako’, have you gone nuts?!" With only 4 meters remaining between the two war machines a small sounding Asian voice answered. Krystal could tell that her signal wasn't coming from the 'Mech's comm system. "No Ma’am! I've been running around back tracking to your last known position, but this lightning keeps scrambling the guidance system. Then a minute ago I thought I heard a signal off in this direction and figured it might be you or ‘Ely’, so I bolted in that direction." Great! The storm is reflecting our comm signals! Krystal thought as ‘Mako’ continued. "Then I got hit with this lightning strike and the whole command console starts going berserk! So I initiated a shutdown, I just hope the thing will restart!" "How are you broadcasting if all the 'Mech's systems are down?" Krystal queried. "I brought along a handheld just in case. I still don't really trust this ‘bucket’." Krystal giggled as she walked her Jenner around the Flea and leaned in close to survey the damage. There was a scorch mark just aft of the cockpit, but other than that the little 'Mech seemed fine. Let's hope that boy is a real good tech! "Ok ‘Mako’, try bringing it back up. I've marked your position on my guidance systems but I've got to get back to Booker's position. The column must be half way to the Southern hemisphere by now! I don't want to loose everyone! Stay put, and hunker down. I'll be back as soon as possible. If you have to move, and can't stay in the area, make your way back to the forest. As soon as the storm breaks head to our Bivouac. Got it?" "Yes Ma’am! Hurry back, I don't fancy sitting blind in this soup for long." "Right, ‘Hammer’ out." With that Krystal charged back to the place she had marked as Booker's last known position. Navigating by HUD only, buffeted by winds high enough to stagger her 'Mech, and stumbling on the ever shifting muddied landscape, getting back seemed to take an eternity. Just as she began to wonder if her guidance systems were experiencing the same problems ‘Mako’ described, her HUD started painting contacts, That's a LOT of red! Krystal thought with some reservation about continuing, then a single blue icon appeared in the center of the sea of red. Krystal slowed to a walk to assess the situation. Those aren't 'Mech signatures, they're people! As she approached the sea of red continued to spread over her HUD. Hundreds, no thousands of people! What the phuk is going on? . . . . . "Lea..er, this is ..ammer’ " Krystal’s broken voice sprang to life in Ellison's ear. "Roger, ‘Lock Hammer’, what's the situation?" "Survivors Sir," Krystal began, her signal getting stronger with each step Ellison took, "mostly from Dosilin. They would like to have a word." Relief spread through Ellison's body. "Roger ‘Lock Hammer’, but you'll have to entertain for a little while, I've got to go track down the FIST HMMWV column and round up ‘Mako’ too. Her Flea had some difficulties with this weather." Ellison continued with his best imitation of ‘Mako’s Asian accent, "Seems she went for a ‘Walk about’ and got lost." Booker's laughter boomed over the command line, between gasps he stammered, "Right, tell ‘Mako’ I'll hold her hand next time so she doesn't get lost." "Affirmative, Recon Actual out." Ellison chuckled as he cut the comm. I hope the column isn't moving too fast! Or worse, getting as turned around as ‘Mako’ in this miserable shit. Not for the first time since the march through the storm had begun, Krystal wished they could use the VTOLs, instead of having them strapped to the cargo bed of the flatbeds. It took two hours to track down the column, round up ‘Mako’ and get everyone back to Booker's position. Happily Lieutenant Mark Robinson realized that they didn't need to be too far away to be at a safe distance in this storm, so the column members had simply dug in just a kilometer from their previous position. Krystal knew that she liked Mark for reasons beyond his devilishly handsome good looks. He was a quick thinker on his feet whenever the proverbial shit it the fan. . . . . . Wind tore at Ellison as he ascended his Dart causing him to loose his hand hold. Briefly he caught himself, but just enough to swing around and bounce off his 'Mech's leg. His grip lost, he fell free of the ladder landing hard on his back in the mud. Two meters isn't a great distance to fall, especially when you land on a bed of mud, but in a swirling thunder storm, with zero visibility, Ellison had only instinct to tell him he had a short fall to the ground, rather than a potentially deadly ten meter fall. The short freefall was not unpleasant, just scary, but the quick stop at the end still managed to knock the wind out of him. Ellison lay still for a moment, catching his breath, and letting the face plate of his Neural Helmet come back into focus. I better start moving again! Ellison thought as soon as his vision began to clear, I'm going to be buried alive in this rain if I stay here much longer. That wasn't an understatement, in just a few seconds his legs and torso had already begun to disappear under a layer of watery soot and mud. Using his 'Mech's direction beacon to reorient himself, Ellison felt around like a blind man through the storm until he again found his 'Mech and began clamoring back up the ladder. Finally dogging closed the hatch on his 'Mech, Ellison collapsed against the bulk head and began attaching his suit links. Plugging in the helmet’s connectors Ellison swore aloud. He proceeded to store his weapons and re-situate himself in his command chair. His comm console was already blinking at him as the feedback from his neuro-helmet and issued the release commands to restore his war machine to normal operational mode. "Recon Actual, respond," came Krystal's voice before his systems were fully active. "Go two." "What kept you?" Ellison rolled his eyes and sighed, "felt the need to play in the mud, but it's not as much fun as I remember." Ellison's voice dripped with dry humor. Several chuckles broke over the comm as Krystal continued her own tone sparkling with mischief, "If I'd known I'd have brought you an Easy Bake Oven." More laughter echoed over the line as Krystal, obviously struggling not to laugh herself, continued, "Soo, what's the story? " "Well, they got to the point quickly, they don't have a full head count, but they think they've got 50 thousand plus," a low whistle could be heard in the mist of the background noise, "and they're headed for a system of caves over in the Red Ledge Pass River Valley of the Sundry Mountains. That's roughly 20 klicks North of our destination. I told them our plan, but the Vigilant Falcon’s can't take a fraction of their numbers due to consumables, food, and health limitations. Hell we'd need a fleet of Flying Fortresses to begin moving that many! So we agreed that we're going to continue along our original plans. We both felt that we've lost a great deal of time with our little encounter. Night is upon us and they tell me the storm looks to have teeth for a while yet. We're going to get the word out and they're going to ground until the coast is clear. They've given me some contact names to try in the Lyran Alliance that might cause enough of a stir to get them here to mop up. The former Dosilin City Mayor seems to think the General Leutnant wouldn't take well to a force the size of the one we've identified sitting on his back porch." "No kidding!" ‘Mako’ broke in, before Krystal could respond, "I doubt the Rim Collection would appreciate it very much either." "Ok so it's on to the airfield then," Krystal finally interjected. "Right, we've picked up some help in the form of a couple of elderly gentlemen who feel they can guide us through this storm better than we can. The price is safe passage for them and what's left of their families. To prove their point, they pointed out that we are, in fact, 2 klicks off our planned route and heading further away." "WHAT?" ‘Mako’ broke in again, " ‘JumpShot’ has led us astray?" Peels of laughter could be heard bouncing off the closed-in walls of the Flea. "Careful ‘Mako’, ‘JumpShot’ can't see the mountains from here, but he can alpha strike a Flea’s cockpit without scoring the paint around the canopy! I can see you, can you see me?" The laughter stopped cold. "Ahh Recon Actual, where is Wilcox?" asked ‘Mako’ nervously. Ellison laughed along with the rest of the unit. "Right, if we're finished…" A light lit up on Ellison's console indicating a message from Captain River. A sequence of keys later and the coded text message appeared on Ellison's HUD, [Recon Actual, met with representatives of Heimdall, Major Luke Ailemer. Very informative. Detailed report later.] Short and to the point Ellison reflected as he signaled River his "Message received" code. WORD COUNT 2469 Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #23 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #23 Blackheart Major Storm's Armored Cavalry 1329 posts 0 warning points LocationGalatea Posted 25 April 2015 - 10:26 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #23 La Loutre Halifax, Timbuktu Theater Lyran Alliance January 14, 3092 1843 Hours “This is Roughrider Actual. Come in, over,” came the low and weary voice of Captain Elliot Coleman over an encrypted channel being monitored in the SAC’s makeshift base. “Go ahead, Roughrider Actual,” replied a nasally, masculine voice. “We’re a half klick from your outer perimeter, comin’ in from the south. Don’t shoot us.” “Hold position and standby,” the voice replied. “You’re clear from the south, come on up.” “Roger.” It had been three weeks since Elliot had left with a thirty-six man long-range reconnaissance patrol. They had spent the first week making their way towards Dosilin, setting up mock hit-and-run ambushes against small patrols they had run across. The idea had been to draw attention away from the SAC’s main force and attempt to find any sign of the commanding officer or any of the other MIAs in the unit. They had been successful, at least in the former, managing to get a few patrols to take chase. The latter, however, had proved to be unfruitful. Having made it almost to Dosilin before running empty on their supplies in the second week, the recon troops had found no sign of any of the units missing personnel. Granted, their area of operations had been rather narrow, even after the group split into three separate teams and each had taken a different route to their rendezvous point. It was at that point that Elliot decided to turn back. The teams hadn’t run across very many people willing to lend aid for fear of reprisals, but they had managed to convince them to keep the recon teams’ presence quiet. Coleman wasn’t very pleased with the outcome of the patrol. They had only managed to eliminate a few troops in each ambush before being pushed back by superior firepower, and a third of the patrol was either dealing with minor wounds or suffering from three weeks of malnutrition and minimal sleep. Their pace for the first week had been hard and fast, with an increased emphasis on stealth on the return trip. They were exhausted, hungry, and most of them only had a single magazine or two of ammunition left by the time they had reached the outskirts of the SAC perimeter. After making their way through friendly lines, Elliot dismissed the patrol. They were in need of serious rest. He entered the headquarters area, his camo field uniform stained nearly black from sweat and mud, hanging from his now-boney frame. He lazily slid the rucksack from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor, then slumped down in the nearest chair, resting his hands and forehead on his rifle’s front sight post. Elliot felt a presence looming over him as opposed to having really heard or seen the figure approach. At first he thought it might have been Captain River, the man was about as quiet as he was and yet that momentary assumption was shattered by the voice of Ciara Storm. "You look like something the cat dragged in." she said with a bit of a smile that didn't quite reach those brown eyes. The sight of Ciara standing over him made Elliot smile inwardly. He could sense a hint of annoyance in his commander’s tone, but he still felt his actions were entirely justified, even if they had been gone longer than anticipated. “I did what needed to be done. Reed is a good officer who thought he was doin’ the right thing by keepin’ us heads-down. In a way, he was right. Too many wounded, too many repairs to do. But, somebody had to take initiative and at least buy us some time. Even now it’s only a matter of time before they find us.” Ciara silently listened to him without argument. There was something distinctly different about the young woman who had managed to build herself a mercenary command and make a somewhat successful go at it for the first contract at least. She had a look of someone who had faced a crucible of some sort and come out changed. When she finally spoke, she merely asked. "What do you have to show for your operations?" “We can go over it now. Really ain’t much to tell.” In truth, Elliot wasn’t really in the mood to answer questions about the patrol, but the presence of Ciara perked his mood enough to talk. Ciara crossed her arms, her body language and expression was not one that betrayed weakness. “We left here on Christmas day, headed southwest for a few kilometers until we were well clear of the perimeter. Then we split off, headed south towards Dosilin along parallel routes. I wanted to see the carnage for myself, try to find any survivors, get whatever intel I could on what happened there.” "What did you find?" she asked. “We never got there. In the first week we were movin’ at as fast a pace as we could muster, wantin’ to leave a trail to be followed…try to draw off anybody who might have been gettin’ close to the camp. We managed to draw a few patrols into ambushes, but we were almost always outgunned and wound up havin’ to haul ass before they figured out just where our fire was coming from. After that we sorta toned it down a bit and tried to keep a low profile as we got closer to Dosilin, but the pace of the first week caught up to us. We’d blown through nearly all of our rations and over half our ammunition. I guess I was a little too optimistic in my assessment that the locals would be helpful. The few inhabited areas we passed through were hesitant to give us any help. All we could talk any of them into doin’ was givin’ us a bit of food before tellin’ us to leave. They were scared they’d be wiped out if they gave us any more help than that. It was at that point I decided we should make our way back.” "Did you come across any of our missing?" Ciara asked, while the majority of the prisoners from her unit had been rescued, there were still some listed as missing much as she had been listed as missing. In war, sometimes people just disappeared and never came home. “Not a damn thing. If our missin’ people are still alive, I’d venture to say they’re bein’ held near the capital. We questioned a few civilian transport drivers we came across, but they didn’t know anything about any prisoner camps or anything of that sort.” Ciara nodded. "We liberated the bulk of our people, go ahead and pass on any intelligence that you gathered on the towns and routes to the S-2. We've got the kitchen running, get something to eat and then rest up. I'm sending you back out in a few days for a mission that we are going to need all hands on deck for." Elliot nodded as he struggled to his feet. He was weak. Mustering what little strength he had left, he gathered his pack and started to leave. As he passed Ciara, he stopped. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy you’re back,” he said with a weary smile. Edited by Duchess Ravenna Black, 26 April 2015 - 10:17 AM. Post # Like This Captain Elliot Coleman CO Cav Scout Company "Coleman's Rough Riders" Storm's Armored Cavalry Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #24 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #24 Duchess Ravenna Black Colonel Storm's Armored Cavalry 1832 posts 0 warning points LocationOfferman in the Federated Suns Posted 26 April 2015 - 04:43 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #24 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés 4th Rim Worlds Aerospace Base 16th January 3092, 0445 local It had started out to be a good evening for the man who was at this moment working feverishly at the controls of his aerospace fighter to get it moving and off the ground. He had been on a winning streak, and had just been about to lay down a straight flush to close out the night when the sound of explosions and the call to scramble had put the card game on indefinite hold. The aerospace fighter's pilot pushed his machine to a speed that was dangerous for taxiing yet managed to keep it upright as he whipped it around onto the runway. Knowing his wing-man was right behind him by seconds he grasped the throttle and pushed forward. Fuel was sprayed into the fusion engine and a bright blue flame lit up the night, speed increasing the pilot could see the tracers and explosions streak across the base perimeter. Some of the hangars and outer buildings were already on fire and he could see what appeared to be battle armored troopers advancing against the troops stationed there for security mowing them down without mercy. That is when he saw it, a Shadow Hawk battlemech striding into his path and leveling the 100mm autocannon in his direction. The 100mm shells that exploded from the long barrel seemed to be fireballs that were coming straight for him. The first shell tore into his left wing followed closely by a second shearing the wing from the body, the follow up shells tearing through the aerospace fighter's armor. The pilot yanked on the ejection handle, and after an agonizing moment was blasted out of the canopy on his ejection seat. The Shadow Hawk pilot ignored the flaming wreck that was rolling toward her and fired another burst of death catching the second aerospace fighter which rolled off the runway crashing into a collection of emergency vehicles parked off the runway. No ejection seat was visible there. In the cockpit of the Shadow Hawk, Commander Ciara Storm found a sort of grim satisfaction in giving back to the enemy a little of what her people had received. The war machine strode through the flaming wreck left behind by the first fighter as if an angry giant looking to bring death to those who had angered it. “Line abreast formation, advance and target at will.” And so the four mechs advanced, covering the battle armored infantry swarming across the field to wreak as much destruction as was possible while other troops held back with orders to move in and raid the ammunition and fuel bunkers for valuable supply. Bringing her Shadow Hawk to a stop, Ciara glanced at her secondary display and punched in a mode switch. She keyed up her mic, sending out an encrypted signal to the raiding force. “Queen Six to Raiders, estimate enemy QRF to be on us within thirty mikes maybe less. Smash and grab, you know the mission.” Now, for Ciara Storm, came the test of patience and the hope that she had not miscalculated... [Scene Shift] 24 hours earlier.. Storm's Armored Cavalry Temporary Base Camp Somewhere in the Sundry Mountains. The water that cascaded down over her body was not exactly what Ciara would call hot, but it was warm enough to prevent it from being considered cold. The fact that they had the luxury of showers was due to foresight, the portable field support unit was brought into being when she had decided that Storm's Armored Cavalry should be able to carry along with it not only portable field kitchens but the ability to purify and use local water for not only drinking and cooking, but for cleaning and laundry. By no means was it a perfect arrangement, but it certainly helped with morale. Nearby a small buzzer sounded and with a sigh she pushed the button to turn it off and turned off the shower flow. While a luxury of sorts, it was by no means a long shower and in order to conserve water a timer was kept to help curtail overages. Drying herself off and slipping into a somewhat fresh field uniform Ciara could not help but get a glimpse of how she looked in the mirror. In the mirror she saw a woman who was in some serious trouble, and if she was not careful she would get more of her people killed. Having set into motion a new, more aggressive plan she was determined to change the fortunes of her command. With the return of Elliot Coleman and his Rough Rider infantry scouts, Ciara could set into motion the next part of her scheme that even Teso River may not have been able to piece together. As she exited the showers, Ciara knew that her officers would be waiting for her at this unusually late hour when she had called a staff meeting. The location of the meeting was the makeshift command post that was a series of tarps arranged off of the side of the Light Military Tactical Trailer that served as her forward tactical operations center. As she entered she could smell coffee and found a cup waiting for her at the map table. “Thank you for assembling here, I know its an odd time to be doing this but I felt that time is of the essence. As a few of your know, we've been on the defensive from day one and I am not about to lose this command to any piddling away against objectives that are unrealistic.” “With intelligence gathered by this unit, I have decided that it is past due that we take the fight to the enemy. Operation Wolverine is the name of our present contract, therefore we are going to undertake Operation Slash, and Operation Cut Throat immediately.” Ciara nodded for Teso to pull the top layer off the map to reveal a marked up version. “Operation Slash will be a raid against the enemy aerospace assets which cover our area of operations most closely. We are going to use a mostly secure route to get part of our mobile forces.. mostly battle armor supported by our battlemechs along with a salvage force to knock out the fighters and steal whatever supply in the way of ammunition, food, fuel, whatever we can grab. This will draw the enemy response force in our direction.” Ciara said pointing at the map. “That will allow Operation Cut Throat to commence. When the enemy reaction force has departed to deal with our incursion, Captain Coleman will launch a mission of his own. Captain, your infantry force will insert via helicopter against the enemy headquarters supported by helicopter gunships and pre-registered artillery fire targets. You will get in, kill anyone you see, set demolition charges and then get out. Our artillery will be at the very edge of their range so make good use of the smoke and confusion that a strike brings. When you get out, you will go to Rally Point Rubicon where you will link up and join the combat engineers and other units assigned to prepare the battle space for the arrivale of Task of Task force Slash..” Ciara paused a moment for the whole thing to sink in. “When Operation Slash has completed its objectives, we will begin to pull back and seek to disengage as quickly as possible to Rally point Rubicon.” She then stopped and looked to each of the men and women present. “At Rubicon we make our stand. Rubicon is an area that will provide us with not only defensive positions but the ability to ambush the enemy. Our combat engineers have been working to dig pits, trenches, the hole nine yards. The good news is that we are not facing the entire 4th Dragoons, only scattered parts of it. The playing field will we even.” “On ancient Terra, Three Roman Legions and their Auxiliaries were ambushed and slaughtered to a man by a force of Germanic Tribesmen who banded together to free themselves of the invaders. We are going to launch a similar ambush against our pursuers. We are going to draw them in, and slaughter the lot of them. They don't take us that seriously, and they certainly don't fear us. It is time to divest them of that attitude.” Ciara said thumping the map table with her fist for added emphasis. “We execute both operations in twenty four hours. We have a lot of time to do and very little time to do it. Make the preparations.” Like This Sarcina Generasco Ravenna Black, Daughter of the Suns. Duchess of Cimeron. (Federated Suns) Countess and Protector of Offerman. (Federated Suns) Countess Seychelle of Paradise. (Free Worlds League) Executive Officer, Black Wolf Rangers. Commanding Officer, 1st Ranger Expeditionary Force "The Gray Wolves" "You know, Ariana Winston made all of us officers write our own obituaries during the Battle of Huntress, when we thought that the Smoke Jaguars were going to end it all right there. And, once we clued into the fact that life is finite, the thought of losing it didn't scare us anymore. The end comes no matter what, the only thing that matters if how do you want to go out, on your feet or on your knees? I act, knowing that someday this job and this life will end, no matter what. You should do the same." - Duchess Ravenna Black. (Marshal AFFS, Retired) and Commander Ciara Storm. Callsign: Vixen. Hardware Assignment: WHM-7M Warhammer. Assignment: Command Lance, Battlemech Company. Storm's Armored Cavalry Mercenary Command. "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry." -Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms. Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #25 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #25 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 27 April 2015 - 01:39 AM LA-GW-12-01 Post #25 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Operation Slash Anhur VTOL 16th January 3092, 0245 local Second Lieutenant Mickey 'The Surgeon' Gurevich tried to sit comfortably in the Anhur's plastic backed seat. Traveling at over one hundred twenty kilometers per hour everyone inside the Anhur P Stealth class VTOL was uncomfortable. It was a necessity, as was the night insertion the VTOL pilot had used to deliver them to the Rim Worlds Aerospace Base. Newton’s first law of motion made the trip even worse, though again, it couldn't be helped. Twentieth Century science fiction, had made man dream of artificial gravity, and the long gone Star League had gotten close, but it was still a dream even to this day. Despite the discomfort, Gurevich focused in on the Intelligence Officer and the latest information from the main site, the enemy AeroSpace Fighter Base. Gurevich's stocky frame and fit body could take the discomfort. His life depended on this information. Within two hours, he would be fighting for his life along with the rest of the Storm’s Armored Cavalry detachment he was part of. Like most of SAC Black Ops Section, the Storm’s Armored Cavalry Special Ops Teams would never be mentioned in the same breath as some of the other Successor States' more famous covert ops teams. Even so, the Chameleon Battle Armor Pilots and the Spectr Commando's of the Storm’s Armored Cavalry were still some of the best warriors around. Hand picked from the MRBC, each soldier was expertly trained and committed to completing the most difficult of mission. "Most of the defending units around the target are conducting searching operations to locate our hidden base; However, we have been able to confirm that at least a company of assorted units in addition to a veteran Periphery Battle Armor Squad is guarding the AeroSpace facility and warehouse." The Intelligence Officer, Sergeant Major Chantel ‘Radar’ Bobo was a tall, attractive woman in her early 30's. Everyone in Gurevich's squad knew and respected the woman. Though she had been away from combat in some time, Sergeant Major Bobo and her analyst team always gave the best they could in providing the Battle Armor Pilots the most accurate information possible. Gurevich's left arm adjusted the seat belt of his chair as the Sergeant Major continued. "We suspect that this is a squad of mixed Battle Armor Units belonging to the 4th Rim World Dragoons outfit's 3rd Battalion. From what our LRRP Teams were able to identify about the unit, it used to be a lot larger. The core leadership is all 5th Succession War veterans and they fought for the Federated Commonwealth against the Pirate invasion for several years. The Squad you're likely going to square up against is the one unit left behind while the rest of the commands are off base trying to support the enemy search for our base of operations. Expect them to be tenacious fighters and unlikely to surrender the facility.” "The most important factor is that the nearest population center is only 10 klicks away from the target. Remember, even a 'Mech class extended range small laser can reach out to 20 kilometers, though we can’t aim that far nowadays. And our goal is not to create mass civilian casualties. We want to punish the Rim Collection, not give Halifax the excuse to retaliate in the future for the Dragoon's invasion". Everything the Sergeant Major said was true. For the last several years, Halifax had been left on its own from the rest of the Lyran Alliance in the wake of the disastrous beginnings of the United Leadership of the Tikonov Republican Army (ULTRA) aggression. Almost immediately, the separatists had struck out against their ancient foes in the Halifax government. Through long battles and bloody days, the Pirates had been fought off by the defenders, and now the Lyran Alliance was getting ready to take the hard luck planet back under its wing, willing or not. First though there was the Rim Collection problem to solve. Though Halifax, aided by the SAC, repelled their Pirate attackers, the Storm’s Armored Cavalry Commander wanted revenge. Frank Able, the almost certainly mad Colonel of the Rim Collections Military Arm was already making noise and conducting light raids into the Lyran Alliance’s territory, and that was something the Archon of the Lyran Alliance could not allow. Of course, Colonel Able was a little too crazy to note the obvious fact that his miniscule realm was in no shape to fight off the entire Alliance. Of course, no one wanted the SAC to have to fight the Rim Collection when more than enough troops were going to die fighting for the planet of Halifax. To make matters worse, the current Chairman, Arcturas Launtis, was in a tenuous position himself. He was actually having his office filled by his son Thaddeus, a former acolyte of the quasi-religious Comstar communications agency due to illness. Thaddeus was filling in well enough for his father, however the Rim Collection Parliament was being as difficult as always in allotting manpower to the war everyone knew was coming. Hence why the Storm’s Armored Cavalry were now embroiled in a battle on the Lyran Alliance held world of Halifax. The SAC answered to their Commander, Ciara Storm, herself, never mind what LAAF wanted. Three other detachments like Captain Teso ‘Twisted’ River's were striking targets within the Area of Operations hoping to convince Frank Able that the price of waging war was too high. Sergeant Major Bobo continued with her update, "The Black Ops mission, along with detachments of more conventional ‘Mech units is to strike at several key enemy Aerospace structures. While none of the blows are supposed to be crippling to the Dragoons, they should stress the point that the continent of La Loutre is hands off." As the intelligence officer spoke Gurevich looked around the cabin at the rest of the squad and the infantry officer that was going to drop in support. Gurevich was glad to see Captain River focused but not overwhelmed by the information. The white haired captain copied down pertinent information and calmly waited for the slide the Sergeant Major was briefing on to change. Many commanding officers could overload their own brains trying to process their responsibilities and Gurevich was starting to appreciate the Captain’s poise. Like Gurevich himself, River had joined the Storm’s Armored Cavalry at the same time, but even the old hands acknowledged his potential. As the Squad's second, Gurevich had the additional responsibility of assisting and being a buffer between the Captain and the squaddies, and he was already feeling confident that the veteran Captain was well suited for the task. As Sergeant Major Bobo finished her portion of the briefing, the Captain stood up and walked over to replace her. "Okay ladies and gents, it is t minus 70 minutes until landfall. Remember, our Battle Armor will be doing a combat drop to be followed by the Spectre infantry platoon later from a HALO jump. We gotta get it right in one, cause nothing hurts more than landing on the hard, angry, unforgiving rocks. Lieutenant Yamasaki, I'll let you focus on your Infantry platoon's preparation. Battle Armor Pilots, I'll expect to see you in the loading bays in 10 minutes. "Once we've completed our preparations, we should have thirty minutes to wait inside the drop pods for the Anhur to entire its target zone. During that time, we will be dropping from high altitude onto the southern sector of the AeroSpace base. From there, we will proceed to the warehouse the RCM has used to prepare replacement parts for a sizable portion of their available Mech forces. Once we've secured the facility, the infantry will follow on, load up appropriate salvage and blow the remains of the facility." Captain River looked around the expectant men and women. Everyone knew their jobs, Batlle Armor Pilots and Infantry both, but it was important to rehash the facts before everyone broke to their separate duties. River nodded to himself internally and concluded his litany. "Alright ladies, gents, lets get ready to pick a fight". The rest of the troops unbuckled themselves and rail walked off to inspect their Battle Armor, weapons or in 1st Lieutenant Yamasaki's case, she cut the video feed to the infantry Pandion Combat WiGE and prepare her troops. Perhaps some would even get to catch some sleep in the next 12 hours. WORD COUNT 1431 Edited by Teso River, 27 April 2015 - 01:40 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #26 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #26 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 27 April 2015 - 06:37 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #26 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Operation Slash Anhur VTOL 16th January 3092, 0345 local Technicians and AsTechs were running around the Battle Armor Suits inside the belly of the Anhur VTOL. Everyone was making final preparations for the drop and just about ready to wrap the Battle Armor inside their ablative shells for their drop. Captain River looked over his Battle Armor Pilots to see how their preparations were going. Everyone had their own rituals before battle, and Captain River had gotten to know them all in the few short months he had been leading his troops. Second Lieutenant Mickey ‘The Surgeon’ Gurevich was inside the helmetless suit of a borrowed Asterion battle armored suit, a 1,000kg jumping beast with the second heaviest armor profile in the Squad. Heavy Metal music screamed from inside the suit’s helmet speakers, what Gurevich called ‘mood music’. The former MI5 Agent was most likely going over the maps of the target in excruciating detail, wanting to know every inch of the battlefield. In the next two bays, almost matching Purifier Adapter Reconnaissance Battle Armor Suits were lined up. The armored suit nearest the Asterion was the traditional layout of the venerable 1,000kg mimetic armored suit, armed with an extended range small laser and a flamer via a detachable weapons pack. It was a trusted scout among the Word of Blake, though somewhat under-gunned for a medium Battle Armor platform hence the addition of the DWP. The Purifier next to it was something else all together. It was called a Republic Armed Forces, 'RAF’ model Purifier Suit and was specifically made for the Storm’s Armored Cavalry. Dropping the mimetic armor and its replacing it with Clan standard armor identical to that used on the Elemental suit. The Purifier RAF uses a Modular Weapon Mount to provide a variety of weapons options. The SAC version included a Clan level ER Small Laser and AP Gauss Rifle for a weapons load out on its MWM and was absolutely wicked in close quarters. The pilots for these two Battle Armor Suits were almost as different as their respective mounts. The RAF pilot was rapier thin and obsessively going over the inside of the Suit’s Clan grade laser with a towel. Sergeant Anastasiya ‘Pitbull’ Stepanov was one of the few Capellans that had remained part of the Confederated Magistry when her Duchy had begun its succession. As was, the woman was quarrelsome and liked to drink, but a loyal and damn fine pilot. She would probably never get past Sergeant, but she was content to fight for the SAC. The woman had a fearsome scowl on her dark handsome features as she found some minute speck of dust inside the barrel of her Suit's main weapon. In the bay next to her was the diminutive Sergeant Major Cathryn ‘Bull’s Eye’ Whitley. The small brunette woman working next to her tech, making final adjustments to her targeting computer. Like Lieutenant Gurevich, Whitley was scout trained, though Captain River had to admit that she was likely better at actual reconnaissance than his second in command. Gurevich tended to like "recon by fire", while Whitley was more than content to flutter between enemy formations to deliver the most up to date information. As they neared the objective, she would be piloting the Standard Purifier and feeding information to her squad mates. The Spectr Infantry platoon supporting the Chameleon Battle Armor squad had already left on their own transport, the Pandion Class Wing in Ground Effect Combat Vehicle. They would be making their own preparations and jump to support River's squad once the objective was secured. Already, the assault forces supporting VTOL Gunships were flying in advance of the two transports, ready to battle against any Dragoon force sent to intercept them. It was almost time. Climbing into the pilot interface of his 2,000kg Shedu Quadruped Battle Armor, Captain River started his own last minute preparations. It was going to be a long, hard drop, but the Dragoons were in for a rude surprise. Of course, before that, he had a long, dull thirty minute wait inside his battle suit. Sighing, he pulled on the Shedu armor’s head gear and began his wait. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Operation Slash 4th Rim Worlds Aerospace Base 16th January 3092, 0445 local Sergeant Major Cathryn Whitley looked out through the viewport of her Purifier Armor that she had named Warbeast. The venerable Suit was her pride and joy, and all hers. She had fought a long hard two years alongside a Liberation unit inside the Lyran Alliance for the Purifier Suit, but ultimately prevailed. During the course of the Succession Wars, a form of neo-feudalism had arose, and Mech and battle armor ownership had become close to knighthood. Entire communities, like some of the villas back on Whitley's home of Kanderstag existed by maintaining, fixing and serving the Pilot and his multi-tonned mount. Not bad for a woman who had started out as a dirty, grungy street urchin. The last few hours had been exciting to say the least. Gurevich and the rest of the squad had completed their drop in good order and quickly reformed. Since then, they had maneuvered across La Loutre's semi-arid landscape as covertly as possible. To add to the confusion, the infantry WiGE, the Pandion, had done a series of false drops across hundreds of miles. It was an old tactic, armies have done it for millennium, but it still worked. Eventually, the WiGE would disgorge its cargo of special ops soldiers and help the Chameleon squad secure the warehouse that was the objective of today's raid. Hopefully, Lieutenant Gurevich mused, the subterfuge would work and most of the defenders in the area would be spread out looking for the attackers. One of the problems of thirtieth century warfare was that there were simply too many possible locations an attacking force could hit. That was why a single squad could wreck a disproportionate amount of damage that would have been unheard of back on old Terra. There were several high priority targets that the Dragoons wanted to defend, and no way of knowing that it was the AeroSpace base and parts warehouse that was the objective of the raid. The small raiding force would need that element of confusion if they were going to pull it off. "All clear in this sector," Whitley's slightly accented voice called out. "5 Klicks left until the target". She had been moving a kilometer ahead of the rest of the squad, providing intelligence to the force. Sergeant Stepanov was moving around the center of the formation providing flank security. Thus far, they had avoided the 4th Rim World Dragoons infantry patrols, but Whitley had detected what was likely a ‘Mech unit or two several times. They had been able to avoid confrontation, but everyone was nervous. Captain River responded to the scout using the unit's callsign, "Roger Chameleon 3. Once we're two klicks out, hold your position until we're with you. Everyone hits it together." The Battle Armor squad maneuvered through what passed for a heavy forest on La Loutre. The local ecology was a strange mix of desert hills and scrubby forest that provided some concealment, but not much cover for the armored behemoths. Here and there were patches of dense pine-like trees in the area, which the squad was gathering around now. If the pilots peered through their Battle Armor's magnified sensors, they could just make out the roof tops of the warehouse complex they were about to strike. "Alright lady and gents, here we are", River spoke to his assembled team. "last checks before we hit it. We're going in hard, target the base defenses and call in the grunts. We need to be in and ou . . . " Sergent Major Whitley broke into the Captain's brief. "Contact! Two signals approximately three klicks to the South east. I’m picking up a probable Ogre and Leonidas." The advanced sensors of Whitley's RAF were more than capable of identifying the Battle Armor opposing them. It was probable that the enemy knew the SAC squad was there, but the far inferior sensor suites of those Battle Armor had most likely been unable to identify what they were facing. Either way, time was up for Chameleon Squad. River sent the contact details on up to Commander Storm via the SAC command net. "Alright team, that's it! Everyone advance! We'll take the facility before the other Battle Armor can get there and then use the buildings for cover. Lets go!" Captain River led the way, kicking his Shedu forward to its max speed of 32kph. Everyone else followed suit, with the two Purifiers bringing up the rear. Now that the assault was on, it was time for the big boys to come out and play, leaving the lighter scout Battle Armor in support. The four Battle Armor Suits burst though the tree cover towards the five buildings that made up the AeroSpace Base compound. Combined, the facilities held enough parts to provide a battalion worth of Military Hardware supplies to last over a year. In the grand scheme of things, it was minor, but it was one of four separate facilities being hit at the same time. Losing a regiment's worth of supplies in the matter of days would be a nasty reminded to the Dragoons that the price of war with the Lyran Alliance was too high to pay. Lieutenant Gurevich could see the other Battle Armor closing in on the compound but there were over a klick and a half away. They wouldn't be in range in time to stop Chameleon Squad from reaching the compound. More importantly was the platoon of infantry in thinned skinned trucks guarding the site. Four gun trucks, two J Edgar hover vehicles, and two Darter Scout Cars were scattered around the buildings, armed with machine guns. Most likely, several infantry squads were inside the building as well. "We got the PBI’s", Sergeant Major Whitley's voice broke out over the radio. "Careful Sergeant", River replied, "watch out for any surprises." “Don't worry Mi Amore. I'm faster than them any day". Whitley was from an old casa in the Pandora Theater of the Lyran Alliance. Like Gurevich, her world had a strong Italian background, though Gurevich couldn't actually speak Italian to save his soul. Whitley often teased him of it, and mildly flirted. Both were too professional to let any fraternization happen, but everyone knew there was an attraction. There was a massive explosion somewhere to the west of the Squads infiltration point signaled by a huge blossoming fireball that illuminated the night like a ‘Mech size Roman Candle. It was Commander Storm dispatching the two grounded Transgressors before they could get airborne. And then came the command they had been waiting for from their Commanding Officer. “Line abreast formation, advance and target at will.” True to her word, Cathryn pushed her RAF forward, followed by Sergeant Stepanov's Purifier. Gurevich and River added their Support PPC and Recoilless Rifle to the mix, but it was the smaller Battle Armor that were going to really put the hurt on the infantry. Sergeant Stepanov opened up with her machine gun and extended range small laser against the front of the nearest compound. Infantry inside were firing medium and heavy machine guns at the Battle Armor. The weapons opened up the walls of the building and the Purifier brought out every infantryman's fear...fire. Her flamer poured burning fuel into the walls of the building, suffocating anyone who wasn’t burned to death. Whitley was just as deadly to the gun trucks assembled outside. While they poured their weapons into the modified Purifier, none of them had the time to focus their weapons, which was the only real hope a conventional grunt had of downing the armored beast. She opened up with her Suit's Sperry Browning machine gun, the full metal jacketed slugs ripping into the vehicles. The crews inside two of the trucks, ten men in total were simply shredded by the .50 Cal rounds. She followed up with her small laser and machine gun against the other trucks. In a matter of moments, the two Adaptive Purifier Suits had snuffed out the lives of over thirty men. Cathryn barely had time to revel in her victory when warning tones sounded from her Purifier's computer. She first thought it was the two Medium Battle Armor closing in, but that wasn't the case. "This is Chameleon 3, I got one, maybe two fuel cell battery start ups. No confirmation of - wait, got it, were looking at . . ." "Pull back Chameleon 3 and 4, get some distance" The concern in Captain River's voice was clear. It was also too late. Just as he finished speaking, two large steel doors ripped open. A 2,000kg monster strode from one, a Xiphos. It was followed by a clearly modified Ogre, armed with a Support PPC in its right arm. The Xiphos however was by far the clearer threat. Armed with a Bear Hunter Super Heavy Auto cannon, it could strip the armor off of almost any armored Suit in a single burst. And it was point blank with the two Purifiers. Sergeant Major Whitley and Sergeant Stepanov barely had time to respond before the beast was on them. Sergeant Major Whitley opened up with her extend range small laser, melting two small pools in the Xiphos’ armor hide. Sergeant Stepanov kicked her Purifier forward instead, moving around the Ogre as it came out. The Xiphos faced the much smaller suit Whitley was in and opened fire with its massive weapon. The Super Heavy Auto Cannon sounded like a deep throated roar as the shells cratered the center of the Purifier’s armored chest. Whitley tried to keep her Suit standing, but it was a futile effort. Gurevich could see from his position the sharp heat spike in the Cathryn’s Purifier, the clear sign of a battery being damaged. Just as quickly as it spiked, the battery shut down, preventing itself from erupting and annihilating the Powered Armored Suit. Without its battery providing power, the machine simply fell in on itself. Gurevich and River both turned their weapons on the 2,000+ kg monster that snuffed the life out of Sergeant Major Whitley's Purifier. Chances were, she had survived the death of her suit, and the rest of the squad was going to ensure she had the best chance possible of survival. Gurevich's Asterion dumped PPC and machine gun fire into the Xiphos, followed by matching firepower by the Shedu. The enemy Xiphos staggered under the sustained assault, but remained standing. It turned the massive maw of its weapon towards them, but as it staggered, its shells flew over the shoulder of River's Shedu's fore shoulder. Stepanov continued her fight against the Ogre, peeling armor from the Battle Armor’s rear and legs. The heavy Suit ignored the relatively light damage of the scout armor and kicked into flanking speed, moving towards the heavier Battle Armor of Chameleon Squad. Even more troubling, the Ogre and Leonidas had moved into range, adding their own firepower to the mix. Chameleon Squad was getting into a tight situation. Already one Suit down, the enemy forces had a slight advantage on the other three soldiers. Taking down the Xiphos was the top priority for the Black Ops Squad if they were going to have a chance to win. River's Medium Recoilless Rifle and twin stack heavy machine guns poured fire into the left side of the Xiphos, followed by the Support PPC and Anti Personnel Gauss Rifle of Gurevich's Asterion. River ignored the Ogre for the time being, content to let it fire him up with its own support PPC and infantry automatic rifle. The Particle cannon bit deep into the left fore leg of his Shedu, but the advanced assault armor withstood the punishment. The Xiphos was not as lucky. The combination of machine gun and AP Gauss fire was too much for the armor of the enemy Suit. Neither River or Gurevich would know which one of them did it, but its torso caved in on itself, followed by the sympathetic destruction of its' auto cannon's shells. The 2,000 kg Battle Armor Suit staggered and quaked as it was torn apart from the inside. River couldn’t tell if the pilot had survived or not. "Gurevich, keep the Ogre off of me, I need to support Stepanov against the other Battle Armor!" River moved forward, dumping fire into the medium class Ogre battle armor. Now that he was close, he could see the Suit had removed its traditional light recoilless rifle in its left arm for a support PPC. It was a deadly one two punch the Ogre had and it was dumping blasts into the Shedu as rapidly as its weapon would recycle. Stepanov had begun moving her Purifier around the rear of the enemy Ogre, hoping to penetrate its rear armor. The Lieutenant radioed his confirmation and moved against the heavier Ogre, or ‘Tank Killer’ as some called it. It wasn’t unusual for Battle Armor to house configurations that deviated from the manufacture standard. Four hundred years of almost continuous warfare had made innovation a necessity, and the Ogre's PPC was a deadly weapon. Gurevich could see jump jets added to the back of the Suit, giving it the ability to maneuver quickly around the battlefield. At the moment, the Ogre staggered as over a 200kg of armor was peeled away by laser fire. River was standing firm in the middle of the battlefield. Pouring fire into the enemy Battle Armor. He fired a quick burst of heavy machine gun fire from his Shedu's twin machine gun mounts at several infantry men moving towards Cathryn’s downed Purifier. He would be dammed if some ground pounder would reach the possibly wounded Sergeant Major inside. All of a sudden, his Shedu Armor staggered forward as a horrific burst of fire tore into his rear flank. Gurevich looked on as his commander's quadruped Suit stumbled. The Ogre has chosen to ignore his Asterion and fire at the Shedu's fragile rear armor. The Particle Cannon tore into the Shedu's armor, collapsing its medium recoilless rifle. "Keep 'em off of me Gurevich!" River growled through clenched teeth as he regained control of his armored mount, returning fire against the Leonidas. The Ogre moved towards to grove of trees to the north of the compound. River followed the armored pilot, blasting into it with his weapons. It was the Ogre's turn to stumble as its left hip actuator was fried by a PPC blast as River moved in for the kill, following up with a kick from his 2,000kg suit. His armored foot caved in the side of the opposing Battle Armor’s knee joint, driving it to the ground. As the Ogre fell, River ripped into its rear armor with both of the Shedu’s front paws, confident in his assault armor being able to manage the damaged produced. The Ogre shuddered and died as its center torso was carved out. River turned, just in time for him to be horrified. Lieutenant Gurevich was in serious trouble. The Leonidas and Ogre continued to ignore the relatively minor firepower of Stepanov’s Purifier, focusing their attacks on the Lieutenant's Asterion instead. The King David Light Gauss Rifle of the Leonidas cratered the armor of Lieutenant’s left arm, followed by the Support PPC of the Ogre. The beams deadly light ignited the gauss ammunition inside the Asterion’s ammo bays, causing a chain effect of destruction. As the Suit died around him, his automatic Harjel system kicked in, projecting the young Battle Armor pilot inside. River looked on in horror as the Lieutenant’s lifeless suit carried him right into the crippled SRM launch that he had twisted to fall directly in their flight path. The 4-ton missile system barely budged as Lieutenant Gurevich's seat crashed into it; however the limp Suit deflected off of the launcher. River cried out as he watched his friend, and his second tumble off into the distance. He rushed forward, focusing his fire on the Leonidas. "Stepanov! Keep up the attack on their rear, but the Leonidas is mine! This is Chameleon Actual! Requesting immediate air support in grid Delta Charlie one niner!" Stepanov was nothing if not a skilled battle armor pilot. She rushed her Purifier Suit forward, firing her Clan grade small laser and machine gun into the now destroyed rear armor of the Ogre. The enemy Battle Armor’s right arm sagged as the support structure in the torso sagged under the onslaught. Following up her weapon's damage, Stepanov kicked the already damaged leg of the Suit. The Ogre stumbled and fell as its hipped seized up. Quickly reversing her Purifier, Stepanov tried to make it to the cover of a small hill behind her. It was the right move, and she almost made it when the enemy Leonidas turned from River and dumped light gauss rifle and laser fire into the smaller machine. Stepanov slid and stumbled under the onslaught but carried on. She almost made it behind the hill when the Ogre got back into play. It had taken a knee and reversed its remaining weapon. A long torrent of PPC fire ripped into the Purifier, igniting its remaining ammo. "Chameleon four is out!" Stepanov cried into her radio as her harjel dispenser fired beneath her. River looked on has his ally Purifier belly flopped onto the ground and plowed up a mound of sod. It looked like a clean break, but he had a more pressing problem. Now, he was alone. Moving forward, he fired his weapons into the right arm of the Leonidas. The Ogre turned its fire onto him, caving in the left chest plate of his Shedu. River was able to keep his quadruped upright as two of his four legs failed. This was getting dire. Two Battle Armor Suits against one was never good odds, but River was confident he would win. Both of the enemy Battle Armor Pilot’s were limping from actuator hits to their legs. The last burst from the Ogre did its damage, but River was sure that the cannon had belched out its last few rounds. While his own Suit was badly damaged, most of his torso was unscathed and the Shedu was well known as a 'Demon' Suit. It was time to show the Dragoons just what the Storm’s Armored Cavalry could do when pressed. His two failed limbs came back online, engaging his two rear leg myomers, he jump skywards, River sailed above the crippled Ogre. The enemy Suit tried to turn towards him, but hobbled as it was, it was going to take several critical, long seconds to bear its PPC against him. As he landed, the Leonidas turned its King David LGR towards him. Sparks leapt from the right arm as the Leonidas tried to fire point blank into the larger Shedu Suit. River gave a grim smile. His last attack had fried the controls for the weapon. "NOW YOU'RE MINE!" River’s two remaining heavy machine guns carved deep into the enemy Suits armor. Before the Leonidas could respond, he raised up on his 2,000kg Suit's hind legs, driving it into the remaining armor of the Leonidas's right knee with his forelegs. The Suit fell, struggled to rise, but River followed up his previous attack with another savage clawing, caving in the side of the Suit until he saw blood seeping from the rent in the armor. River moved around the downed Leonidas. Turning his weapons to the Ogre, he fired away. The enemy pilot had to know that he wouldn't win. But Sergeant Major Bobo's assessment of the opposition was proving correct. The pilot was not going to surrender, no matter what the price. Both Battle Armor Suits stood firm, dumping fire into one another. Inevitably, the Ogre fell, its armor shredded to the heavy machine gun fire of River's Shedu. As River looked out of his Shedu's viewport, he could see the faint contrails of a passing WiGE in the moon light. He was sure that was the infantry finally making their HALO insertion. Sure enough, his radio crackled to life. “Queen Six to Raiders, estimate enemy QRF to be on us within thirty mikes maybe less. Smash and grab, you know the mission.” "Wild Card One this is Queen Six, what is your status"? River keyed into his comms unit. "Queen Six, this is Wild Card One, our sector is secured, repeat southern sector is secured. There are three friendly Deltas at this time, one likely Whiskey." Delta and Whiskey were the code words for an down or wounded Battle Armor Pilots. By saying those words, it seemed like River was condemning Gurevich to his fate. He continued to look out of his viewport as some of the grunts became visible. He sighed internally. Sometimes it was hard to know if it was worth it. This battle, these deaths, the enemy pilots, their infantry, likely Lieutenant Gurevich were all supposed to stop a larger war. But the only reason Chameleon Squad was here at all was because the SAC wanted to fight an entirely different war instead. River didn’t know the answer, but he did know that his place, his role was to be part of it. For good or ill. WORD COUNT 4285 Edited by Teso River, 27 April 2015 - 06:54 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #27 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #27 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 29 April 2015 - 10:30 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #27 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Operation Slash 4th Rim Worlds Aerospace Base 16th January 3092, 0515 local From inside the cockpit of her Shadow Hawk, Ciara heard the report from Teso River regarding the losses his group had sustained. Feeling a tinge of emotion she pushed it away. “Understood, Wild Card. Priority for our losses on the birds. Maintain security, and prepare to ex-filtrate as soon as we spot company.” “Roger that ‘Queen Six’. Maintain Security and prep for exfiltration. ‘Wild Card’ One over and out.” Captain Teso ‘Twisted’ River acknowledged and confirmed the orders given to him by Commander Ciara ‘Vixen’ Storm. He hobbled around his Area of Operations inside the Shedu Quadruped as two limbs continuously went off online and back again. He saw to his downed pilots while calling in the SAC Apollo Section’s Bluejay Flight of rescue Hummingbird choppers. While the Hummingbirds were illuminating the LZ for a possible hoist extraction location he relayed orders to his three Spec Ops maneuver squads, Mike, November, and Poppa through 1st Lieutenant Morgan Yamasaki. Ciara looked down toward one of the vehicles that had been brought in for salvage and recovery operations, men and women in exoskeletons were working to pile ammunition and spare parts onto a vehicle while another group were commandeering the enemy's own fueling trucks and jeeps. The entire operation was a gamble, she was well aware that the enemy was sending a ground force to confront her and that while it would leave open a chance for Coleman and his Rough Riders to lop off the head of the enemy there was a definite risk that they could end up all being killed due to misstep or miscalculation. “..enemy ‘Mechs spotted bearing 250 range about ten klicks..” Breaking through the static, a call from one of the VTOL transports was the first report of the enemy quick reaction force. Ciara didn't quite catch who it was exactly who called it in, but she got the gist. Thick black smoke bellowed from the burnt-out hulk of a 10-ton Thang-Ta APC, 20 meters in front of 1st Lieutenant Ellison Reed’s Dart, as he crested the low dune. Ellison guided his Dart up the remainder of the shifting dune in long even strides to come to a full stop at the top. Below him the battlefield was taking shape according to plan, with the exception of that one rogue Thang-Ta APC Ellison mused. Ellison had caught the Thang-Ta APC from behind after the warrior had out distance his unit. The smoke from the burning wreck completely concealed the battlefield from his view screen, however the Heads Up Display drew the picture with exacting detail. The smoke had the added bonus of concealing Reed and his Recon lance from casual observation. Tactical systems would as easily paint their 'Mechs on the enemies HUD as they appeared on his, but it is human nature to overlook things that you can't see with your own eyes. Everything is ready, or should be. But… better be sure. "All units, this is Raccon Actual. What's your status people?" "Blue Phoenix is green," 1st Lieutenant Glen Bensin, the operation acting XO by default due to the fact that he was the next highest ranking Combat Officer, was first to respond, typical. "Coyote is green." "Dingo is go." … The unit ran down the muster until lastly … " ‘Messenger’ is ready to deliver the savages." Ellison smiled and shook his head underneath his neuro helmet. Mechwarrior Daniel 'Messenger' Shepherd, the lance’s moral fiber was an odd Mechwarrior to say the least. Formerly a fire and brimstone Baptist minister, now a Locust pilot. How he resolves the paradox of his strict Baptist beliefs verses his association with a group of hell bound sinners was a continual topic of debate within the unit. "Recon Actual, this is ‘Jumpshot’," Booker Wilcox was the lance’s oldest Mechwarrior, after Krystal herself, and the self-appointed morale officer. Many in the unit thought that he could make a much better living as an academy guidance counselor. "According to my sensors they've got us cornered and out numbered 3 to 1…" Wait for it… "Don't you think we should give them the opportunity to surrender?" There it is, before Ellison could respond; however… "WHAT?! An' ruin all my fun?!" Niyati Mukku responded in her strong Asian accent, "You keep your mouth shut! They can surrender after I've shot them up a bit!" "Easy ‘Mako’, I just figured …" ‘Jumpshot’ began. "CUT THE CHATTER!" Mechwarrior Sergeant Krystal 'Lock Hammer' Steele commanded before ‘Jumpshot’ and ‘Mako’ could continue their debate. Ellison laughed to himself. ‘Jumpshot’ had a point though. No one observing this battle would call the scenario that was taking shape a brilliant battle plan. In fact, all indications pointed to a small unit that has been hunted down and caught out in the open by an over whelming force. The other battlemechs of Ellison's company, the Storm’s Armored Cavalry, were spread out on the foothills leading up to way point Rubicon, a strange anomaly on the mountain planet of Halifax. The SAC Command was apparently trying desperately to keep moving and survive a brutal assault. The core of this small group was Ellison's Raccoon Provisional Command that included, aside from Ellison's five Battlemech, Blue Phoenix Flight, Coyote Lance, Dingo Lance. The remaining three Provisional Command’s on the field made up Merecat, Badger, Mongoose. Mongoose consisted of the SAC Battalion Command Lance, Rover Lance, Steel Rain Lance and Raptor Flight. Merecat included Coleman’s Rough Riders, Diamondback platoon, the M3077s of the FIST and Caisson, and Angry Hornet Flight. Badger was the SAC Black Ops Squad; Chameleon - Spectre Platoon, and Whooping Crane Flight. All whom were moving at a full run while sniping at the incoming forces with the exception of Merecat who was standing by for Operation Cut Throat. Opposite of the Raccoon PC, just emerging out from under the cover of the massive 100 meter high trees of the Forest, was a force of thirty eight military units, minus the Thang-Ta APC, amongst them there was 18 ‘Mechs and ten were considered "mediums", weighing in at anywhere from 40 to 55 tons. All of the aggressors were heavy or assault class. The force also included a 10 unit vehicle company of Bulwarks, Winstons, and Bardiches. All heavy and assault class tanks and a mix lance of Thang-tas and Tufanas. And they were supported by Alpha and Charlie Company's Heavy and support jump infantry platoons, two each and the full three hover Assault infantry platoons of Bravo company. Things didn't look good for Storm’s Armored Cavalry. The gambling houses of Solaris VII would have given us less than 100 to 1 odds, mused Ellison. Yet, despite the appearances, Ellison was very pleased. Just a few more seconds and they'll be in position, he thought. Amid the general melee one particular exchange caught Ellison's eye. A new and pristine Tufana lobed a flight of long range missiles at the Storm’s Armored Cavalry Jenner from Recon Lance and followed up with it's pair of medium pulse laser. Many of the missiles went wide, creating a sand storm that momentarily hid the nimble 'Mech from view. Those that did hit pocketed the Jenner' chest, followed an instant later by the powerful laser. Armor melted and ran away in streams down the front of the Jenner. None of this even slowed the light war machine however. The sight of the Jenner emerging from the swirling sand, like some mythical monster now bent on revenge, amplified the sinister effect of the jutting forward cockpit assembly, creating a nightmare image. Judging by the sudden reversal of the Tufana, now reversing as fast as the vehicle would allow, the Tufana driver thought the same thing. Ellison guessed that vehicle crew was feeling the true fear experienced by those unfortunate enough to draw the attention of a Battlemech since they were first introduced onto the modern battlefield. Before the inevitable slaughter began, Ellison thought that this poor RCM crew didn't know the half of it. Mechwarrior Sergeant Krystal 'Lockhammer' Steele, his second in command of Recon Lance is one of the Storm’s Armored Cavalry' best pilots, and her Jenner was a recent upgrade. It is an JR10-X variant, at great expense but with tremendous results. After a dramatic pause, the response came with all the vigor that Ellison had been expecting. Krystal fire an Alpha strike of six 5cm medium grade lasers that shot across the gap between the war machines, as though hungry for the kill, melting through the armor on the Tufana's right front flank. The unfortunate Tufana crew was caught mid-turn with its left fan shut off and full power being applied to the right one. The force from the blow spun the light hovercraft almost completely around, exposing the weaker rear armor. Her second Alpha strike was already on their way to her target before the spin was complete and delivered its full fury into the rear of the craft. The driver was so caught off guard that he was still backing up, into the oncoming onslaught! Ellison's sensors described the scene, as all the Tufana's rear armor was super heated from the lasers intense heat and ‘evaporated’ into thin air and the remaining energies tore through the delicate inner machinery of the vehicle. Heat and power spikes told the tale of lost heat sinks and damage to the engine shielding. From the way the Tufana was suddenly shuddering Ellison didn't need his battle computer to tell him that there was an internal ammo explosion as well. Finishing her relentless assault, Krystal didn't even allow the last beam to finish its destructive work before she cut loose with the two medium lasers in her 'Mech's left arm. Krystal’s aim was impeccable as the remaining magnetic containment shielding disintegrated and then completely uncontained fusion reactor exploded spectacularly. The crew never had a chance to escaped. This display seemed to have earned Krystal a new respect from the opposing forces, who were now scrambling to get out of the way less they become the next smoldering stain on the battlefield. Ellison smiled as he considered the truth of the words emblazoned on the upper right arm and chest of that Jenner. Calm. Cold, and Calculated. Thirteen months of battle has come down to this Ellison reflected. The forces of Rim Collection still don't know the true purpose that brought the Storm’s Armored Cavalry here to Halifax. Not that you could tell that by their response. They have been throwing everything they have at us since we made planet fall. No doubt, after today, Lieutenant Colonel Victoria York (military Commander for Colonel Frank Able) will have a great deal of explaining to do when she has to stand in front of the Colonel and explain how she lost a whole battalion Ellison thought. If she gets to stand in front of him that is. Over the past eight weeks the Storm’s Armored Cavalry have kept moving and fighting on their own terms. The good Colonel has lost a full battalion of military hardware, a lot of their ground support including six platoons of troops, several dozen tanks, and a wing of aerospace fighters already. At least it looks like the Colonel is keeping the conventional fighters out of the mix today Ellison thought as he checked his sensors and visually scanned the horizon. Reed raised his ‘Mech’s right arm and swirled it high over as a signal to Force Recon Lance to move out to way point Rubicon. I'll bet up until yesterday York never considered the possibility of losing aerospace fighters to VTOLs. Ellison surveyed the battlefield once more. It's time. They're in position. Ellison turned his ‘Mech to face the enemy horde. In his chest he mounted a Light Particle Projection Cannon, and brought it bear, with the aid of his targeting computer, on the nearest 'Mech, a 40 ton Assassin which was maneuvering into position at a full run, ignoring the other four ‘Mechs of his Recon Lance who was still shrouded in smoke. It had burst into view a few minutes ago after emerging from around the twenty five meter base of a tree, just down the slope from the Recon lance’s position. The Assassin twisted it's upper torso wildly trying to bring it's weapons to bear on this new group of foes. People may ignore a stationary HUD image of a 'Mech they can't see, but the solid tone of a weapons lock is lost on no one. "Tag, you're it" commented Ellison to the image on his HUD, as icy ropes of charged particles arched from Reed’s LPPC across the battlefield and struck the Assassin all along its left side damaging its hip. Waiting for the SAC’s Commanding’s mark, Reed’s Recon lance mates quickly followed up with a multitude of lasers and missiles, a few went wide but most of them converged on the hapless 'Mech as it’s left arm went spinning off and buried itself in the sand. The Dart's double heat sinks struggled to dissipate the heat from launching the attack in the stifling nighttime temperatures that were normal on La Loutre. The Assassin pilot fired his medium lasers wide as he fought to keep the 40-ton giant from toppling over. The blast to the hip, and the sudden loss of the weight from the left arm appeared to be too much for the pilot as the 'Mech went down hard on it's chest. Not good, for a 'Mech with a chest mounted cockpit jutting out from the body thought Ellison as he took a moment to scan the field again. It's time to issue the signal. But as Ellison reached for the switch that would emit the pre-programmed signal for them to withdraw, an urgent voice blared in his ear. "Storm’s Armored Cavalry Actual, this is ‘Wild Card’ One. TANGO SIERRA! REPEAT. TANGO SIERRA!" " ‘Wild Card’ One, this is ‘Queen Six’. Feed me." The incoming secure channel indicator flared to life on Commander Storm’s communications console. Ciara reached over and hit the correct button sequence to bring up and decode the incoming data stream, while quickly glancing at her scanners to make sure it was safe to look away. Celebi’s Merlin and Folly’s Nighthawk were thirty meters in front of her, one to the left and the other one to the right. And thirty meters behind him was Donahue’s Dervish. The Assassin was still down but sensors indicated that the cockpit was still intact, perhaps the pilot is unconscious. Two windows appeared on Ciara's HUD, one showing a radar tracking image of a disturbing number of incoming units, the second showing a live camera view of the same QRF under extreme magnification. Damn! They were coming in hard, the rooster tails of dust and debris they kicked up were nearly twice as long as the ‘Mechs and getting longer. Which meant that they were pulling some serious speed. Radar tagged 18 ‘Mechs of various classes, but any one of those lance of heavies amongst them could give her light company of 'Mechs Hell by themselves! Keying up the command frequency. “That's it then, Queen Six to all units, Cut and Run, I say again Cut and Run to RP Rubicon. Recon Lance, screen our withdrawal. Rover Lance, escort position.. Command will run point.” Ciara ordered. She hated to move out first but the issue became one of practicality, her lance was the slowest and therefore she needed to move out earlier so as to not slow everyone down to much. Turning away from the base, she keyed up her public address. “Cut and Run, destroy what you cannot carry.. move out!” The raiding party finished loading up the motley collection of tracked and wheeled vehicles, moving out in a column that seemed to crawl a bit, but Ciara was certain that they would get moving as no one wanted to be caught away from Rubicon with the enemy closing especially in a vehicle laden with provisions. WORD COUNT 2781 JOINT POST BETWEEN Word Count 360 Commander Ciara Storm. Callsign: Vixen. Hardware Assignment: WHM-7M Warhammer. Assignment: Command Lance, Battlemech Company. Storm's Armored Cavalry Mercenary Command. "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry." -Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms. & Word Count 2381 Edited by Teso River, 30 April 2015 - 01:14 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #28 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #28 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 30 April 2015 - 06:12 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #28 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Operation Cut Throat 4th Rim Worlds Aerospace Base 16th January 3092, 0530 local First Lieutenant Mark ‘Diamondback’ Robinson’s bones vibrated to the howls of the generators braking the new Shun-Class VTOL to a soft landing in the auxiliary faux military airstrip of the continent the Halifax Regime called La Loutre. The AsTechs hadn’t bothered to jury-rig displays after they gutted the ship’s hold for the assault force. If the Storm’s Armored Cavalry Asterion armored marines of Diamondback Platoon wanted, they could tap visuals from the flight deck onto their helmet visors and look at the depilated looking Rim Collection’s Mechanized Corps structures they would attack in the next few seconds. Robinson didn’t bother to watch. Instead he rechecked his underslung Support Particle Projection Cannon. He wore crossed bandoliers of power packs and dangling short range missiles; a medical kit; two supplementary communication units; two knives . . . one of them a powered vibro, the other with a shorter fixed blade that could double as a climbing spike; and a packet of emergency rations. The integral canteens of Robinson’s back-and-breast armor held two quarts of water, but he carried an additional three gallons in a backpack. The weight slowed him and made his armor sag brutally against his shoulders, but the cost was worth it to him. When you’re pinned down in the hot sun, thirst is the worst torture. Worse than the ripping pain of your wound, worse even than the stench of your friend’s half-burned corpse on the ground beside you. ‘Diamondback’ Robinson knew. The VTOL quivered, still twenty feet above the ground though she was nearly in equilibrium with the field her thrusters had induced on the ferrocrete on which she was landing. “Wait for it!” ordered the Command Sergeant Major Christian Carpenter, Diamondback’s executive officer, over the command channel. Christian Carpenter was following standard operating procedure, but on this mission there wasn’t any risk that a marine would unass early. Normally Diamondback inserted aboard a purpose-built landing vessel. The hatches opened minutes before contact. For Operation Cut Throat, speed, rather than camouflage was the requirement. At touchdown, the flight crew would blow explosive bolts to separate the outer bulkheads from the skeleton of support members, but until then the troop Transport’s hold was sealed like a prison cell. “Hey, I think I changed my mind,” a marine called over the ship noises. There was brittle laughter. Corporal Shawn Bryan stood solidly at Robinson’s shoulder as he always did during an insertion. On Diamondback’s table of organization, Bryan was a communications specialist. In reality he was Robinson’s bodyguard, a huge, strong man who carried a plasma rifle in addition to his other weapons and equipment. “I wanna be a Storm’s Armored Cavalry ranger . . .” sang Specialist Kabira Kamil, a Juliet Squad marine. “I wanna live a life of danger . . .” The Shun VTOL sank the last few feet like a leaking bladder. Wait for it, Robinson mouthed, but no sound passed his dry lips. A locator chart overlaid the upper left quadrant of Robinson’s visor: eighty green dots, each one a Diamondback marine or a Rough Rider trooper. They were crammed too closely together at the moment for him to count them individually. Every one was a veteran: not only of combat, but veterans of SAC itself. Rough Rider squads were prefixed Bravo, Charlie, or Delta depending on their creation date. Diamondback was not the longest standing unit of the Storm’s Armored Cavalry but it was damned sure the best unit in the Company. The Rough Riders had received eight replacements since the last operation, but Captain Elliot Coleman decided not to bring them along on a mission as rough as Operation Cut Throat looked like being. The replacements were good people or they wouldn’t have passed Storm’s Armored Cavalry screening after they volunteered, but they hadn’t worked with the Rough Riders before. There was no margin here for somebody who misunderstood an order or reacted in an unexpected way. The Rim Collection had a support colony of five thousand on Halifax in addition to the logistics bases that served their military on fourteen worlds. There was no margin at all for error when Diamondback attacked the 4th Dragoon’s auxiliary airstrip ahead of the full-scale Coleman’s Rough Riders strike. The dual landing skids touched the ground in sequence. The VTOL rang in three descending notes. “Go!” Robinson shouted, unheard over the clangs of the bolts shearing. He and more than a dozen other marines shoved at the toppling bulkhead. They’d landed a few hours before local sunrise. Moonlight quivered through heat waves from the port’s white ferrocrete surface. An ECM signal emitted snarling cacophony from the VTOL’s fuselage mounted Guardian ECM Suite, disrupting every operating radio-frequency within its eight hundred meter range radius. Lieutenant Mark Robinson hit the ground running, headed for the temporary administration building with his headquarters group and two marines of Juliet Squad. Diamondback had begun their attack. The rest of Coleman’s Rough Riders had better follow soon. The pair of 4th Dragoon Corpsmen in the cab of the maintenance vehicle goggled to see the recently-landed VTOL fall apart as they drove past. Command Sergeant Major Christian 'Templar' Carpenter killed them both with a single burst from his Support PPC before he jumped to the ground. “Kilo to the truck!” Carpenter shouted. Most of his squad was already running toward the eight-wheeled vehicle. It slowed but still coasted forward after the driver died in a spray of coppery blood. Recently brevetted to battle armor marine, Staff Sergeant Juliana Garro and Corporal Hachi Batho leapt aboard, flinging the dead Corpsmen out of the way. Juliana managed to turn the vehicle before it plunged into an open sump, but she couldn’t seem to find the brakes. One of the Corpsmen hung out the open door. Carpenter kicked the body the rest of the way to the ground as he climbed into the cab beside Hachi Batho. The last marine of Kilo Squad, Master Sergeant Gusti Subagja clambered onto the back of the vehicle, shooting at any visible Corpsmen to keep the enemy’s panic boiling. Juliana goosed the throttle. She steered east and accelerated without needing orders. The truck was a godsend if you believed in God, which Carpenter more or less did. The black navy flight crew had landed the Shun-Class VTOL on the runway nearest the air strip’s northwest corner according to plan. Carpenter could see the sense of that, since the air strip garrison’s compound and the administration building were immediately north of the site and the transient military barracks were adjacent on the west. The trouble was Kilo’s objective, the huge maintenance hangar along the east edge of the field, was almost four hundred yards from the VTOL. That was a hell of a long way to run across bare ferrocrete with a combat load. By the time the exhausted marines got to the hangar, the Corpsmen would have had time to organize a response. They were responding already. A hundred-foot-wide segment of hangar door had been open when Diamondback appeared. It was closing now, rolling down from the building’s roof. “Don’t stop!” Carpenter said, not that there was any likelihood Juliana had planned to. Carpenter hooked his left arm around the frame of the shattered windshield and sprayed a crackling burst from his Support PPC across the shadowed figures moving within the hangar. Two of them were instantly incinerated and left a pile of ash on the ground; one sprang up again and limped out of sight behind his fellows. The Support PPC’s coils accelerated ion particles to 10,000 degrees to cut through ‘Mech grade armor. The beam wasn’t effective beyond 1,000 meters, but the marines carried SRM’s to handle the occasional distant target. Their Asterion armor’s Support PPC Cannons had the impact of a phosphorous grenade on a target at short range. With thousand-round power packs containing a fresh power supply, they were the weapon of choice for the sudden assaults in which Diamondback specialized. The truck had a three-man cab, but the three weren’t supposed to be in full battle armor. The Rim Collection denizens were long-limbed, pale-skinned race. From a distance the men and women appeared hairless, but if you looked closely you saw that their skin was covered with fine hair follicle. The Rim Collection natives were on average taller, slimmer and significantly quicker than their Lyran Alliance counterparts. Because RCM Corpsmen weren’t as strong, their troops carried lighter, less-powerful weapon loads. A marine learned fast, though, that if you missed your first shot the RCM Corpsmen was going to get in the second one. Juliana Garro had the truck up to forty miles an hour. Immediately ahead the hangar door closed with a rattle that Carpenter hoped meant it was fairly flimsy. “Hang on, boys!” he said as he pulled himself into the cab and crossed his arms over his face shield. “The party’s about to start!” They hit the quivering door with a crash louder than the battle going on all over the air strip. . . . Each of the eight 1,000-round boxes of heavy machine gun ammo weighed a hair over forty pounds, and there was the weight of the air-cushion dolly besides. Diamondback marine, Specialist Jordan Allison liked to tell herself she was as tough as any man in Diamondback, but right at the moment she was glad 1st Sergeant Tracy Hansen and Private Morihiro Nishimura, the other loader, had paused to lift her dolly from the hold instead of leaving her to struggle with it alone. Allison could keep moving despite the heat and constriction of her Asterion armor as long as anybody, sure; but hefting a full ammo dolly was largely a matter of mass and peak strength in spite of the additional lifting capacity provided by the enhanced myomers of the battle armor suit. Support PPC and the Adaptive Combat Rifles most marines slung from their belts already raked the port area. Spectre Platoon (Special Ops Infantry Rifle Platoon) was the first out of their VTOL. With their body armor and bulky loads they’d have needlessly slowed more mobile equipped marines. There was no return fire as yet but it’d come soon enough. When it did, the maneuver platoons would be damned glad for the long range missile launchers and the Support Machine Guns Sergeant Hansen was a big woman who looked gigantic in her polished urban camo Asterion armor. Her dolly supported the cannon itself and a three-round belt of ready cartridges. Twenty yards to the northeast was a pit holding a transformer beneath surface level where it didn’t interfere with AeroSpace Fighters being hauled across the air strip in giant cradles. Hansen hunched toward it at a dead run. The pit was the best cover in her sector. All Spectre Platoon personnel wore body armor. The crews handling the support weapons had to worry about the back blast of their own heavy missiles, and a mist of ions as hot as a sun’s corona bathed the cannoneers as soon as they began to fire their belt-fed weapons. The armor’s protection from enemy counter fire was a secondary concern. Jordan Allison heard the high-pitched scream of Corpsmen lasers in addition to the snarl of Laser Cannons and the crack WHAM! of the marines’ missiles. The port’s surface flared white at the corner of her eye as a beam burned concrete to glass and quicklime. The RCM Corpsmen were returning fire, though for the moment they seemed to be spraying the landscape in panic. Hansen stepped into the waist-high transformer pit and wrestled the gun onto its bipod in firing position. Nishimura simply pushed the ammo dolly in ahead of himself. The canisters were padded against shock, but a direct hit from a laser might penetrate. The best result the crew could hope for then was a low-order explosion that might not kill them. If the bead of deuterium at the heart of each cartridge detonated, Asterion armor wasn’t going to make a hill of beans worth of difference to the resulting thermonuclear explosion. The Shun-Class VTOL belched smoke and another sheaf of Magshot projectiles. Those were fired automatically when the unit’s artificial intelligence sensed Periphery-type radio frequency emissions. The streak of light that ended in a lightning-sharp explosion in the transient barracks was a missile from one of Spectre Platoon’s LRM launchers. That was fast work, but the team had set up beside the VTOL because there wasn’t any cover in their direction anyway. Allison jumped her dolly into the transformer pit and followed it. Hansen fired her ready ammunition in three ravening pulses as fast as the gun would cycle. The ringing air glowed like the heart of a rainbow. “Feed me!” the sergeant screamed as Nishimura dragged a 1,000-round belt from one of his canisters. “Feed me!” As she opened a canister one-handed, Allison looked over the rim of the pit. She dialed up her Battle armor visor’s magnification. The gun was placed to cover the main highway entering the air strip from the north. Seven klicks up that road was the continent’s second largest military base, code-named Travis for this operation. That was probably where the 70 ton wheeled tank at which Hansen was hammering had come from. The PPC blast had grounded the heavy vehicle in an iridescent fireball, but they hadn’t destroyed it. Air shimmered in a corona discharge as the tank’s generators rebuilt its Blue Shield Particle Field Dampener. The Corpsmen were responding, all right. . . . The front door of the guard barracks started to open while Corporal Erina Vogel was still twenty yards from the building. She fired one of her High Expolsive grenades through the panel. An instant later the warhead’s atomized fuel mixed with the air and detonated, blowing splinters of the door in one direction and the charred fragments of Corpsmen in the other. Vogel liked to be on point. In this war the choice was to be quick or dead, and the Corpsmen were plenty damn quick. Your best chance of survival was the Corpsmen’s hesitation, and if you hesitated you were handing him your head as well as maybe the heads of the troopers behind you. Technically the building’s ground floor wasn’t Vogel’s responsibility, but this wasn’t a time to stand on ceremony. Vogel trusted herself not to hesitate. Never. Not so much as a heartbeat. Oscar Squad’s objective was to clear the air strip garrison’s three-story barracks. Command had nixed putting a LRM missile into the structure because the port command center might be either in the barracks or in the administration building. The command center would be hardened. Burying it in the rubble of the upper floors wouldn’t keep the Corpsmen in the center from using their outlying calliope turrets and missile positions to blow the hell out of the first VTOL, then any Storm’s Armored Cavalry vessel that appeared in this area of the airstrip. Vogel and Specialist Yayuk Sumual were Black Ops’s scouts from Spectre Platoon’s Oscar Squad of the Special Ops Infantry Platoon. They’d been assigned to lead the two squads of the platoon’s understrength roster through the top floor of the barracks while the remainder of the platoon took care of the lower stories. If there was a control room in the basement, First Lieutenant Morgan Yamasaki wanted to be able to open it without worrying about Corpsmen coming down the stairs behind her. At the base of the wall Vogel armed her jump pack. She paused and bent over when she heard the roaring ignition of one of Heavy Weapons’ long range missiles. An instant later the transient compound to Vogel’s left disintegrated in a green flash and a thunderclap. The missile warheads pulsed electricity through an osmium wire whose resistance blew it apart with enormous force. Batteries stored energy more efficiently than chemical high explosives. The bursting wire propagated shockwaves at several times the rate of HE, giving the warheads great shattering force. The blast slapped Vogel hard, but it didn’t send her tumbling as it would have done had it hit her while she was airborne on her personnel’s jump pack. Vogel looked up the barracks’ facade, then triggered her jets. The two self-stabilizing nozzles lifted her vertically at a controllable ten feet per second. She hovered beside the window she’d chosen for entry and fired a HE grenade through the pane. The projectiles were fused to burst a tenth of a second after impact and spray their filling into the space beyond. The blast blew the remainder of the pane . . . clear thermoplastic rather than glass . . . out past Vogel in a gulp of red flame. She pulled herself through the opening and unlatched the jump pack with her left hand armored glove as soon as she was into the smoldering corridor beyond. The pack still had another thirty seconds or so of fuel, but the weight was more of a hindrance than any possible gain it could offer the Spectre Trooper now. The ground wasn’t so far away that Vogel couldn’t jump down without serious concern to her health. The bodies in the hallway looked like charred logs. The explosion had destroyed the light fixtures and filled the air with swirling hot smoke. The face shield of the Trooper’s helmet offered light enhancement and thermal imaging as viewing options, but neither would have helped a great deal under these conditions. Vogel didn’t bother. She had four rounds left in the magazine of her short-barreled grenade launcher. She ran down the hall, firing one round into each room as she passed. Because the fuse required impact to arm it, Vogel shot through the wall if the door was already open. She had to hope that the internal partitions would be thin enough for the grenade to penetrate. Vogel compensated reflexively when explosions rocked her from side to side. She wasn’t thinking or seeing as a human does. She’d programmed herself like a machine to accomplish a particular task as fast as possible. “Coming through!” Sumual shouted. The hall darkened as the Specialist’s personal body armored silhoutte filled the window sash. Vogel crouched against the wall as she reloaded. The launcher wasn’t a weapon she particularly liked, but she’d spent the voyage out practicing with it until she could perform all the necessary operations instinctively. It was hard to breathe. Her head gear filtered toxins, but the fuel-air grenades had used up a lot of the available oxygen. There were three rooms left on the corridor. The Corpsmen troops in them could have used the pause to ready their own weapons, but there was no time to worry. Just to act. Vogel straightened. Sumual’s ACR Rifle rasped behind her as the specialist shot a body that was still twitching after the grenade went off. Vogel lunged forward, firing three times in a single flowing motion. Between the first shot and the second she heard Sumual scream, “Cease fire! Cease . . . ” But the words didn’t penetrate until Erina Vogel had completed her mission. “ . . . fire! They’re not soldiers, they’re kids!” WORD COUNT 31241 Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #29 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #29 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 01 May 2015 - 12:40 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #29 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Operation Cut Throat 4th Rim Worlds Aerospace Base 16th January 3092, 0535 local Specialist Jordan Allison’s Asterion helmet highlighted movement on the panorama display at the lower edge of her visor. Three Corpsmen were running toward the rear of the gun position. She turned, bouncing her armored hip against the transformer as she raised her Support PPC. Her burst went wildly high. The Corpsmen dropped into a sunken track twenty meters from the transformer pit. It held one of the cogged tramlines that spider webbed the port to haul AeroSpace Fighters after landing. Allison should have been watching the south. The cataclysmic destruction of the tank had drawn her attention three klicks down the road in the wrong direction. She didn’t know where the Corpsmen had come . . . Two more RCM Corpsmen ran from the underside of a conventional fighter a hundred yards away. They weren’t wearing uniforms, but one had a laser, and the bag the other carried probably wasn’t full of apples. Their long legs covered ground as fast as a shadow spreads when the sun goes behind a cloud. Allison incinerated the leader with the satchel. The second Corpsman fired as he ran, but his laser threw up chunks of ferrocrete nearer his own feet than his target. Allison sighted and sawed the slim body nearly in half. The Corpsman’s corpse hit face down, but his toes pointed in the air. A long range missile lit, blasted from its launcher, and banked in a screaming turn that took it southward out of the port area. Allison could see the target only as a series of dots low in the distant sky. A dot and the missile’s tracking flare merged. A flash that grew into a fireball filled several degrees of horizon. The target was probably a personnel carrier, armored against small-arms fire but still light enough . . . unlike the multi-ton tanks . . . to hover. All the dots vanished. Only one had been destroyed, but the others would have to slow down and hug the ground during the remainder of their approach to the battle. The Asterion visor would magnify by up to a thousand times, but Allison needed as broad a range of vision as possible to do her own job. She’d almost gotten herself and the rest of the crew killed by looking in the wrong direction. A Corpsman threw a grenade out of the tramline. It landed short and went off in a yellow flash. The shock buffeted Allison; a few fragments cracked against her armor. She fired at the top of the trench, blasting powdered ferrocrete from both sides without harming the Corpsmen below. One of them popped up ten meters from where Allison was aiming and fired his laser. If he hadn’t been more concerned to duck back to safety than to aim, he’d have burned her head off. Allison swung her Support PPC and shot holes in the air. Two more grenades sailed from separate points along the tramline. The grenadiers weren’t showing more than a hand and wrist for a fraction of a second. One grenade landed wide, but the other bounced toward the lip of the transformer pit. “Down!” Allison screamed into her external speakers to the gun crew as she hunched low. Fragments of casing and ferrocrete flew in all directions. The heavy machine gun stopped in mid-burst when the grenade exploded. First Sergeant Tracy Hansen bellowed a curse. One of the machine gun’s bipod legs had been blown off. Private Morihiro Nishimura stuck his left armored forearm under the gun barrel to support it. A second tank, starkly terrible in the glow of ions from bolts which its dampener had shrugged off, glided around the wreckage of its sister vehicle. Allison jumped out of the transformer pit and ran toward the tramline. Sooner or later the Corpsmen were going to throw a grenade into the pit. If the blast didn’t kill the marines outright, it would stun them for the fellow with the laser to finish off. She was ten meters from the tramline when a grenadier raised himself to throw. He saw Allison’s armored figure stumping toward him and dived back with a scream of horror. The Corpsman with the laser rose an instant later. Allison was standing almost on top of him. Her Support PPC blew him inside out into ashes. Without lifting her finger from the trigger, Allison hosed the two grenadiers cowering against the cogged track. Sparks, ferrocrete dust, and bits of flesh sprayed from where the ion particles hit. Allison turned toward the transformer pit. The heavy support machine gun was firing again. Only a series of PPC blast in rapid succession could hammer through a tank’s Particle Field Dampener. The tank halted as its fusion power plant shunted all available power from the drive axles to the shield. It wasn’t enough. A moment later Hansen’s sixth blast of man-made lightning hit the tank itself. The shockwave spilled the inner face of the armor across the fighting compartment. The Rim Collection crew were all dead before the next round ruptured the power plant’s containment bottle in a greater secondary explosion. Allison hadn’t noticed her Asterion armor’s weight and chafing when she charged the Corpsmen position. Now she felt drained and dizzy. She sucked at the teat supplying water from the integral canteen as she took a second step toward the pit. A black spot flecked the sky at the corner of her eye. Allison threw herself to the ground. She was still falling when the missile launched from a calliope turret plunged into the transformer pit. The ferrocrete rippled, slamming Allison on the chest. She flipped onto her back like a pancake. The walls of the pit channeled the blast and fragments skyward, but the gun, the crew, and the transformer itself vanished utterly in a white flash. Where the hell was the rest of the Rough Riders Cut Throat force? . . . The steps to the admin building’s second floor were individually taller and more shallow than those of typical structures. The RCM Corpsmen running down them hooting had no trouble until Corporal Shawn Bryan ripped his army tunic to bloody shreds an instant before Robinson got his Support PPC on target. A marine with smoke still curling from the nozzles of her jump jets appeared at the top of the stairs. She shot the Corpsman again as he toppled forward. The floor plan of the port administration building was almost circular: almost, because of Rim Collection’s distaste for right angles and constant-radius curves. The ground floor was a bullpen with office cubbies around the outer walls and an open concourse in the center. Robinson didn’t suppose there could be a design that would have provided a better kill zone for the volley of grenades and short range missiles his marines sent through the clear facade of the building as they charged. There’d been twenty-odd Corpsmen present, but only one or two had survived long enough to be killed by Support PPC fire. The upper story must be broken into smaller spaces. Marines now crouched at the side windows and the door to the parking lot behind the building. Robinson’s Asterion’s visor overlaid images from the battle armor of a guard from each quadrant. The ghost viewpoints were each an eighth-field 30 percent mask across the top. They interfered to a degree with Robinson’s normal vision, but he was used to operating that way. He had to keep track of everything that was happening or else he’d get his people killed. The breaching charge went off in the armored stairwell opposite the main doors. The electrically-generated pulse sounded like DropShips colliding: sharp, metallic, and immensely loud. The well channeled the back blast upward to tear a ten-foot hole in the bullpen ceiling. Robinson hoped none of the squad clearing the second floor had been standing in the wrong place. A marine with a grenade launcher chugged his entire magazine through the opened door at the bottom of the stairs. The stairwell belched red flame. Two marines went in with their Support PPCs pointed. Rim Collection Infantry didn’t carry the weight of armor sturdy enough to survive the grenade blasts, but it was possible that the first door opened onto an anteroom and the real control room was still sealed. Robinson instinctively started to follow his troops; Bryan blocked him without hesitation. ‘Diamondback’ was a big man at six foot four, two hundred fifty pounds. Bryan was bigger and even stronger. Bryan’s job was to keep the Lieutenant alive. When that meant stopping Robinson from doing something stupid, Bryan did whatever had to be done. Sergeant Major Nata Franke carried a jamming rig instead of extra weapons. While shooting was still going on she’d attached the jammer to an antenna lead from one of the building’s wrecked consoles. A Short range missile had cut the roof mast while Diamondback unassed, but the stump was sufficient for Nata’s purposes. She glanced up from her display and caught Robinson’s eyes on her. “The Air strip orbital defenses shut down when we blew the vault,” she said, shouting over the racket instead of using battle armor’s commo to speak to Robinson ten meters away. “The missile batteries at the Travis military base are live, though, and the base has links to the sensors here. There’s nothing I can do about that.” “We’ve got support coming,” Robinson said, wondering how many of his people were going to die before that support arrived. “They may be hitting Travis military base already.” There were in the order of 1,000 Rim Collection troops quartered at Travis. The sprawling base was targeted for massive strikes: initially from VTOL bombardment, followed by dedicated ground-attack vessels making low-level passes. The crucial low-level phase couldn’t begin until the Rim Collection’s air defenses had been knocked out. It would take the Corpsmen hours, maybe days, to bypass the control net centered on the vault Robinson’s marines had just opened and destroyed. The missile artillery at the Travis military installation could pulverize Diamondback, though. The jammer provided a partial defense. Terminal guidance made artillery accurate to within ten meters. If the missile depended on data loaded into it before launch, accuracy dropped to a Circular Error Probability of sixty-five meters. The Shun VTOL erupted when half a dozen Corpsmen heavy rounds hit it in rapid succession. The air strip and military base had been designed and built as a mutually-supporting pair. Buried cables linked sensors in the air strip area to consoles at the military installation, allowing the 4th Dragoon gunners to refine their targeting with sensor data. While the result wasn’t as good as terminal guidance, it was good enough for targets the size of a 40 ton VTOL. Pretty quick it would dawn on the Corpsmen they could now shell the air strip’s administration building off the map without harming any of their own people. “The building’s secured, sir,” reported Master Sergeant Tom Stadler, the commander of November Squad. “Shall I shift a squad across to help Carpenter?” A long range missile slammed from its launcher, supersonic within the first twenty meters of flight. The missile screamed downrange. Diamondback’s heavy support machine guns were firing also. One of Robinson’s overlaid remote images showed a huge explosion in the distance along the highway. The shockwave reached him in two pulses, through the ground and an instant later on the air. Bryan, restive as he looked across the concourse and out the back door, unslung his plasma rifle. Another RCM tank was maneuvering past the mushrooming tombstone of the first. “No, withdraw both squads to the warehouses,” Robinson ordered. “Carpenter has to take his chances. Nobody’s going to make it across that bare ferrocrete till the our ‘Mechs take care of that military installation.” He turned. “Nata,” he said, “leave the jammer set up, but we got to get out of here. The . . . ” Robinson’s Asterion visor flashed red, indicating a signal from SAC command. One of his supplementary commo units was a dedicated link to the Shadowhawk piloted by the SAC Commander. “ ‘Queen Six’ to Diamondback Actual, this is Ciara,” an emotionless voice said. “The operation has been aborted. A large Rim Collection Air Support Wing is hampering the Rough Riders approach to the air strip. Can you extract your unit yourself? Over.” “Ciara, hell no!” Robinson said. At the corner of his eye he saw another missile hit the remains of the Shun VTOL. “Ciara, for Chrissake, get us a strike on Travis. They’ve got the Air strip observed. They’re chewing us up and you won’t be able to get a VTOL in. Over!” “Diamondback Actual, Negative,” the voice said. Robinson wondered if it was an AI program speaking. No, a computerized voice would have more feeling. This was a human officer who wasn’t going to let emotional loading get in the way of precise communication. Ciara thought about the possibility of using the Sylvester Civilian Class WarShip, the Ulysses S Grant, to call in an orbital strike but quickly dismissed that idea as too many civilian casualties would be caused. Damn Teso River for being right. Damn the Demi-Precentor for being a coward. Damn the LAAF for this contract. NO! She wouldn’t blame this on anyone else. She knew the risk when she had come up with the idea. She regain her composer and issued the order. “If possible, withdraw your unit to a site out of Dragoon’s observation and await pickup. ‘Queen Six’ out.” Out was the operative word. Diamondback was shit out of luck. One of the marines who entered the barracks behind Corporal Erina Vogel had clamped a line to the sash for them to leave by. It was about the only useful thing anybody in Poppa had accomplished during the operation. Erina rappelled down the side of the building. First in, last out. The grenade launcher slapped against her flak vest each time she braked with her gloved palms. The weapon was heavy. She’d locked in a fresh magazine to replace the one from which she’d fired three rounds. Her boots hit the ground. The VTOL that brought Diamondback was a shattered wreck, the upper half molten. Another missile hit the derelict, lifting a mighty fireball. The Corpsmen used chemical explosives. The general level of noise was so high that the blast didn’t sound particularly loud. Erina glanced up the way she’d come. Flames wavered sluggishly from several of the third-floor windows. The fuel-air bombs had ignited fabrics, paper, splintered furniture. Corpsmen didn’t have long hair to burn, not really, but the explosions had charred the victims’ flesh deeply. There’d been a lot of them on the top floor of the barracks. Over a hundred, Erina figured, judging from the one room she’d taken a good look into after Specialist Yayuk Sumual shouted at her. Native Rim Collection females were shorter and even slimmer than the males, and they were also members of the fighting forces. Some of the burned corpses were females but most were children. Maybe dependents, maybe overflow from civilian facilities on the south side of the air strip. Certainly not combatants. But certainly dead. And very certainly killed by Erina Vogel. She’d completed the job before anybody else arrived. Nothing wrong with her reflexes, no sir. She ran past the shattered transient compound, following Sumual. A Corpsman missile hit twenty meters away and blew a hole in bare ferrocrete. Again a red fireball pulsed upward through sooty black smoke. The air zinged, but none of the fragments hit Erina. If a missile went off at her feet, it might burn her combat boots as black as that of the Corpsmen child on the threshold of the room Erina had looked into. . . . The good news was that the hangar door ruptured when the truck hit it. Stiffeners sang like guitar strings, parting the welds that anchored them to the edges of the track. Corporal Juliana Garro skidded all eight wheels as she braked. There was nothing to hit in the left bay except bodies and whatever gear the RCM repair staff had dropped when the marines drove into them shooting. Command Sergeant Major Christian Carpenter’s battle armor’s visor reacted automatically to the lower light levels within the structure. He pointed his Support PPC toward a group of Corpsmen trying to get behind a large tool cart and held the trigger down. The fishtailing truck ripped the stream of ion particles across the Corpsmen and they all literally disintegrated. The bad news was that a 3rd Battalion, 4th Rim Worlds Dragoons Vampire-Class DropShip filled the hangar’s central bay. This was a land-force logistics base, not a fleet repair facility. There weren’t supposed to be naval vessels present, not even relatively small ones with their Donovan XVIII power plant lifted half out of the cylindrical hull on a gantry. Corpsmen swarmed up the ramped hatchway. Mostly they were maintenance staffers clothed in motley blues and grays, but a few were mauve-uniformed naval personnel. An officer with a tuft of black feathers on either epaulet fired a laser pistol at Carpenter. The Corpsman blew two divots from the truck’s door before Carpenter flash ionized him. Corporal Hachi Batho leaned through the shattered windshield and fired a missile into the Vampire’s airlock, shredding the officer’s ashes and a half dozen other RCM’ers. Juliana Garro had dove from the truck, so the back blast didn’t fry her. The hatch rotated closed. The edge mated solidly with the coaming despite the fact that a Corpsman’s arm lay across it. Carpenter jumped. There’d been nearly a hundred Corpsmen in the hangar when the heavily-armed marines entered. Now, seconds later, the only Rim Collectives still visible and moving were those who thrashed in their death throes. Some Corpsmen hid beyond the Vampire or behind pieces of equipment, but they weren’t an immediate concern. The ones still alive aboard the vessel were a real threat. The Vampire’s armory probably held enough small arms to outgun all the marines in Diamondback, but even that was a secondary danger. If the crew got the ship’s main battery in operation, it was Katy Bar the door for the whole operation. “Fire control!” Carpenter said. The code phrase keyed his words to 1st Lieutenant Morgan Yamasaki of Black Ops Oscar Support Squad. “Give me a missile soonest, mark!” He focused his eyes on the DropShip’s closed airlock and blinked twice. That highlighted the image his helmet was transmitting to Yamasaki and . . . Carpenter prayed . . . to the sergeant of one of the missile batteries. “Break, Kilo personnel take cover! Out.” By this time all six heavy missiles might have been launched or destroyed by Corpsmen counter fire. If there was a round left, Carpenter couldn’t be sure it would bear on the target. At such short range the missiles didn’t have much room to maneuver between launch and impact. The one certain thing was that Kilo would get the support if it was possible. There wasn’t a more important target on the base. Nobody’d dreamed there was going to be a 400 ton DropShip in the hangar. SAC Intel might have scrubbed the whole operation if they’d known. Carpenter threw himself on the hangar floor and tugged a SRM missile from his bandolier. He twisted the base cap to extend it and arm the missile. A short range missile was unlikely to do serious harm to a DropShip’s hull, but unless Yamasaki came through they were the best Kilo had to go on. A marine threw an fragmentation grenade into the cab of the travelling hoist above her. The sharp blast flung the operator out in a shower of glass. Both fragmentation and incendiary grenades had specific advantages. Fragmentation offered dense shrapnel and higher peak kill radius, but incendiary provided a fuel-air burning effect and greater total kill radius. Carpenter had heard arguments on the subject go on for hours, but the truth of it was that the choice was personal whim. PBI’s like to claim that their decisions are in some objective sense “right,” but they know in their hearts of hearts that they’ll probably die for no better reason than that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Kilo,” the squad channel warned in a voice that wasn’t Carpenter’s. “Shot!” The four marines within the huge hangar crouched in the best shelter they could find. Over the general chaos, Carpenter heard the crack of a missile igniting. The hangar’s central door burst inward from the supersonic shockwave and the missiles that detonated against the Vampire’s airlock. The hangar roof billowed up from the joists. Sheared rivets rained onto the floor. The missileers had set the fusing circuit for point focus because the DropShip’s hull was too thick to be pierced by an omnidirectional blast. The impact ruptured a cone of wire, forming the electrical equivalent of a chemical shaped charge. The shockwave forged a thin disk of uranium into a molten spear that struck like an asteroid. The Vampire rocked on its landing struts. The heavy-metal spike blew a hole big enough to pass a fully-equipped marine through the center of the hatch. The blast skidded Carpenter three meters backward on the smooth floor, and his ears rang despite the cancellation pulse his Asterion’s helmet produced to save his hearing. He scrambled to his feet and ran for the opening, clasping the missile in his left hand and the Support PPC underslung on his right vambrace with the butt plate against his armored hip. It didn’t occur to Christian Carpenter to order his marines to follow him. It wouldn’t have occurred to them to do anything else. If they hadn’t been that sort of people, they wouldn’t have been in the Storm’s Armored Cavalry Diamondback outfit. Two marines fired missiles through the opening before they charged. Batho threw in a fuel-air grenade. That was useful for the purpose of clearing defenders from the corridors nearest the hatch, but the airlock focused the thumping explosion and knocked Carpenter flat on his armored ass. By the time he got up, Juliana Garro was into the ship ahead of him. Carpenter was on her heels, though he had to shove Master Serageant Gusti Subagja aside. Rank hath its privileges. At a mental level pretty well buried for the moment, Carpenter was afraid to die; but he was more afraid that his squad wouldn’t follow him the next time if they had the least doubt that he was willing to lead from the front. The airlock’s inner valve had been half open before most of the outer door hit it and tore it off its hinges. Garro was left-handed so she turned right down the smoky corridor. Carpenter went left, sternward. Although the 4th Dragoons had pulled the main power plant, the Vampire’s internal lighting was on. There must be an auxiliary power unit somewhere. If the lights worked, so would the guns and missile launchers. Carpenter swept the corridor with his Support PPC for the second and a half it took to drain the power pack, then fired the missile on his left shoulder. He didn’t have a target . . . any target, though slender bodies writhed on the decking . . . but he needed his hand free to reload the Support PPC. Launching the missile was faster than throwing it away. As Carpenter knelt, Subagja stepped by him and hurled a grenade into a weapons bay. A Corpsman jumped from behind the control console and shot the marine in his armored visor. The grenade detonated, blowing the shredded Corpsman against the ceiling. Carpenter tugged a fragmentation grenade off his belt left handed and threw it into the compartment’s opposite bay. A Corpsman hopped up from that console also. Carpenter and Batho shot him together. As the body fell back, Batho tossed a fuel-air grenade on top of it. When the bomb blew, the two marines ran to the last compartment sternward. Neither Diamondback marine sent a grenade ahead to warn the Corpsmen they were coming. They’d worked together so often in similar situations that they coordinated without overt signals. The Dragoon repair crew had removed the compartment’s upper plating in order to lift out the power plant. A sailor was trying to climb out of the ship through the large opening. Batho incinerated him. An officer’s mauve-clad legs lay in the well where the Donovan XVIII had been bolted. Carpenter’s randomly fired missile had hit him in the chest. Two Corpsmen waited by the bulkhead just inside the corridor hatch. One of them managed to trigger his laser as Carpenter’s Support PPC crisped them point-blank. The saffron pulse ruptured a pouch of Support PPC reloads and gouged a dollop from the sergeant’s breastplate beneath. Carpenter, Batho, and Juliana an instant behind hosed the lockers and netting-secured bundles that festooned the aft compartment. Support PPC blast hit too hard to ricochet, but the long bursts ripped sparks from the fittings and bulkheads. The compartment roared like a megawatt short circuit, giving the air an ambient neon radiance. Forward, a pair of incendiary explosions thumped. There was a sharper blast and the Vampire’s lighting went off. Garro or one of the marines with her had found the APU. Carpenter reloaded. There were no Rim Worlders alive aboard the ship. The three pips on the corner of his Asterion’s face shield indicated that they’d only lost Subagja in clearing the vessel, better than he’d figured. Last year on Galatea . . . two years ago? . . . Carpenter and Subagja had drunk their way through a case of whiskey they’d stolen from an admiral’s private suite. “Kilo come on, we’re not done here,” Carpenter ordered. “We’ve still got a hangar full of . . . ” “Diamondback, all personnel,” First Lieutenant Robinson’s voice broke in over the command channel. “Evacuate the port area soonest and reform in the equipment storage lot behind the warehouses west of the ferrocrete. We’ll set up a perimeter there and wait for pickup. Soonest, people, soonest! Out!” “What the hell?” said Hachi Batho. She’d been counting PPC power packs remaining. Her index finger still pointed to the pouch she’d reached when the call came. Carpenter tried to suck a drink of water. He coughed and spewed it across the inside of his suit’s face shield. “Kilo to the truck,” he ordered when he got his voice back. “Watch that there’s not somebody waiting when we come through the hatch.” He hoped the truck still worked. He really hoped the truck still worked. He was afraid to think any farther ahead than that. WORD COUNT 4497 Edited by Teso River, 01 May 2015 - 07:39 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #30 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #30 Blackheart Major Storm's Armored Cavalry 1329 posts 0 warning points LocationGalatea Posted 02 May 2015 - 02:41 AM LA-GW-12-01 Post #30 La Loutre Halifax, Timbuktu Theater Lyran Alliance January 16, 3092 0534 Hours It had been less than forty-eight hours since Elliot Coleman’s LRRP teams had returned from the jungle. Many of them were still weary from the patrol, although they’d been given most of the time prior to their current operation to rest. After being briefed on the operation, Elliot had instructed them to take in as many carbs and calories as possible, and had scheduled chugging sessions to make sure everyone was well-hydrated. Apollo, the SAC’s search and rescue team, had given all of them energy supplements before taking off. The pills would oxygenate their blood and pump the infantrymen full of B vitamins and light stimulants. They weren’t even half way to their target yet, but they were all extremely pumped. Since the passing of his wife and son, there had been few things Elliot took part in that made him feel truly alive. Combat was one of them. Sitting in the door of a Ferret scout helo screaming over the treetops at full speed was a good start to his day. The cool early morning air whipped through his beard and burned his eyes, pulling them into a squint. A sly grin tugged at the edge of his lips as he glanced down to confirm his weapon was in battery. “Two minutes to target,” called the pilot from the cockpit. “Roger,” Elliot replied over the onboard communications system. He switched his frequency so that he could be heard by all thirty-six troopers in the strike team. “Two minutes out people. Make sure you’re squared away. Our artillery and air assets are preppin’ the area now. There’ll be a lotta shit goin’ on, so keep tight. Remember this is a quick hit-n-run. We need to project extreme aggression from the time we get boots on the ground ‘till we pull out. We don’t expect any civilians at the target, so we’re cleared weapons-free. Shoot anything that ain’t friendly.” Elliot ran his hand across his chest rig, double checking each pouch. It wasn’t so much as to make sure he’d brought everything he needed for the mission. It was more of a ritual he did before every assault, something he had done since his days in the Taurian Defense Force. Every warrior had their little rituals before battle. It was one of those quirks that seemed to be genetically ingrained into humans since before recorded history. This morning was no different. One of the Roughrider sergeants had come up with a unique idea for quickly identifying friendly targets. He’d had them all paint a big letter R in IR-luminescent paint on the front and back of their helmets. This would cause the letters to glow while the infantrymen were using infrared night-vision equipment. Additionally, each trooper had painted his face in their standard camouflage face paint with a twist – they had all agreed to wear blood-red skulls for added psychological effect against the enemy. “One minute,” announced the pilot. Elliot motioned for everyone to get ready as he and another trooper prepared the ropes for air assault. Ahead, the pilot of the lead bird picked out an open area amongst the low-lying buildings and pointed his helo in that direction as they crossed above the base’s perimeter at flank speed. Everyone in the chopper stood ready. As the Ferret passed over the clearing, the pilot pitched the nose of the aircraft up, then settled it back into position so that the rotor disc would grab air and accelerate. The whole “rocking chair” maneuver took only a few seconds to accomplish, but the entire contingent of infantrymen aboard was on the ground by the time he began to pick up speed. Now on the ground, Elliot’s team split into three four-man fire teams, each one heading to clear a separate building. The area was thick with smoke from the preparatory artillery strikes. He could hear the desperate calls of nearby wounded enemies. As they approached the main administration building, Elliot’s team stacked, himself being the lead assaulter. His number four stepped up to the door, placing explosive charges along its edges before returning to his position in the stack. With a deafening boom the door was blown into the building in a flash of white light, the four troopers moving fluidly through the opening before the door clanged to a stop. Straight ahead were two shapes leaned against the back wall. Elliot didn’t think, he simply acted, firing a burst of .30 caliber bullets into each body. Alive, dead, or wounded, everyone got the same treatment. Bravo and Charlie Teams were each tasked with destroying a mobile field repair unit and an ammunition dump on opposite sides of the base while Elliot’s Alpha Team cleared personnel from the central buildings. Rifles chattered and machine guns roared across the base as the Roughriders moved through, gunning down anyone and everyone unfortunate enough to present themselves. On the outskirts of the base, explosions rocked the night as attack helicopters made rocket runs on enemy weapon emplacements. So far everything was going well. Having cleared the administration building, Elliot’s team moved toward the next structure, an olive drab walled tent that was set up close to a long trailer. It was a familiar structure. Field hospitals were a common occurrence in rear areas all across the Inner Sphere, and the majority of them were much alike. Small tent-like buildings with a MASH unit attached for emergency surgical procedures. “Frag it,” Elliot called out as they approached. His number two, Specialist Melanie Mcintyre, stopped in her tracks. “But sir, it’s full of woun-“ Her voice was cut-off by a blast from a shotgun that tore through her neck, causing her to slump to the ground. Elliot and the remaining two troopers unloaded into the tent’s entrance, tossing fragmentation and incendiary grenades inside. Elliot motioned for one of his team to place explosives on the MASH trailer as he knelt to check on his downed trooper. She was struggling to breathe as blood filled her airway. Elliot took one look at her gruesome wound and knew there was nothing that could be done for her. “You hesitated. Don’t ever hesitate,” he whispered as he stabbed a dose of morphine into her arm. As he stood, a pair of earth-shaking explosions rocked the ground beneath his feet. The other teams must be wrapping up. He motioned for one of his troopers to carry Specialist Mcintyre as his the other two fire teams converged on his position. “Everybody on me. We clear the barracks and regroup with Bravo and Charlie.” Edited by Teso River, 02 May 2015 - 08:56 AM. Like This Captain Elliot Coleman CO Cav Scout Company "Coleman's Rough Riders" Storm's Armored Cavalry Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #31 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #31 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 04 May 2015 - 01:23 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #31 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Operation Cut Throat 4th Rim Worlds Aerospace Base 16th January 3092, 0540 local Corporal Erina Vogel lay in the crawlspace beneath a warehouse, ten meters back from the wall. She could see wedges of the port through half a dozen of the open ventilators, but she was practically invisible from the outside. She had her portable small Black Ops IR and ECM baffling systems powered up to full gain. A pair of Rim Collective Corpsmen crouched at the base of a Heavy Tracked APC in the middle of the field. They held shoulder-stocked lasers. Erina aimed her Support PPC and squeezed twice: separate short bursts rather than a single long one. The beams vaporized both Corpsmen driving bands of fluoresced ashes in the dimness. Beams that missed sparkled like fairy dust against the APC’s hull. The Corpsmen ceased to exist under the hellish energy emitted from the Spectre Agents Support PPC. Erina scrambled a few meters sideways. Somebody might have noticed the vague flicker from her PPC’s muzzle. You’ve got to be fast. You’ve got to act without thinking. Otherwise you’re as dead as a child in a fuel-air blast. On a corner of Erina’s helmet’s visor was a remote image from Specialist Yayuk Sumual. Yayuk had retreated with most of Diamondback behind the line of warehouses. The lot there was half the size of the huge landing field. It held scores of vehicles and pieces of heavy equipment in open storage ready for transshipment, but even that quantity of materiel didn’t fill the space. The pickup VTOL could land without scratching its paint on the Corpsmen hardware. If a VTOL arrived. If anybody in Diamondback was alive when it arrived. But worrying about that was somebody else’s job. A vehicle drove through one of the smashed doors of the huge maintenance hangar across the port. Erina aimed, dialing up the magnification of the spec ops helmet holographic sight while keeping her visor at 1:1 for breadth of field. No target. It was a 4th Dragoons truck, all right, but there were two marines in Asterion armor in the battered cab and one clinging to the back. Command Sergeant Major Christian Carpenter was bringing his people back, most of them at least. A pair of missiles hit close enough to stagger the vehicle, but it continued to accelerate. Two of the left-side tires were flat, giving the truck a shimmy. Erina wished she was alone on a planet. No decisions to make, no responsibilities. Nobody to worry about but herself. Something rustled; the local equivalent of a rat, or perhaps just leaves blowing. Erina didn’t look away from the ventilators, her firing slits. Her personnel armor sensors would warn her of any infrared source corresponding to a human or a Rim Collective Corpsmen. Even a Rim World child. Three Rim Worlders ran out of the distant hangar. Two had lasers; the Corpsman in the middle lifted a long launching tube to his shoulder. Erina shot the missileer first. The Corpsman dropped his tube and staggered backward, but he stayed on his feet. This was long range for a Support PPC. The beams depended on kinetic energy for their effect, and air resistance scrubbed off the PPC’s intensity. Rim Worlders lasers had better performance than Support PPCs at ranges of three hundred yards and beyond, but it wasn’t often you had to worry about shooting the breadth of an Air strip. Erina raised her point of aim slightly for the second target. The charged ions hit the Corpsman in the face and throat. He flung up his hands and fell backward. The third Corpsman looked around wildly. Erina nailed him in the upper chest, then gave him a second burst when he didn’t go down. That Corpsman and the missileer collapsed together in a tangle of spindly limbs. Erina hoped Carpenter made it clear. Well, she’d done what she could. There was lots of room in the crawlspace. The extruded-metal joists were several meters off the ground across most of the building. A gal could live in a space like this if she had food and everybody left her alone. She’d have no decisions to make at all. The truck went over a sunken tramline at forty miles an hour. They must have crossed the same trench headed for the hangar, but Carpenter didn’t remember the jolt being so bad. The present condition of the truck’s running gear probably had something to do with it. Corporal Hachi Batho bounced high enough to dent the cab roof with her Asterion’s helmet. She shouted a curse. “Quit bitching, Hachi,” Carpenter said. “There’s people who’d pay good money for a ride like this!” A shell landed where the truck had crossed the tramline seconds before. Staff Sergeant Juliana Garro dragged the steering yoke to the right, fighting the vehicle’s tendency to drift left because of the flat tires on that side. “They can have my fucking ticket then!” Batho said. She fired at an APC on which nothing moved but wisps of smoke from all the open hatches. More shells hit, well behind and this time to the left of the truck. Garro continued to steer right. Her elbow rang on Hachi’s breastplate. A heavy weapons squad had set up in a pit near where Diamondback landed. Carpenter couldn’t tell whether they’d been a missile or a heavy machine gun crew, because a shell had scooped everything out and sprayed it high in the air like ejecta from a volcano. Bits of night camo personnel armor lay in a circle around the pit where they’d fallen. None of the pieces was larger than a gauntlet and half a forearm. One of the troopers lay spread eagled nearby with a full complement of appendages attached to a male torso. Blast effects were funny things. Sometimes you’d find a corpse with all his clothes blown off but not a mark on his skin. “Hang the hell on!” Garro said as she fought the yoke. She wanted to turn into the alley between the warehouses and the collapsed ruin that had been the big transient compound, but the vehicle wasn’t responding the way it should. The truck was supposed to steer all eight wheels, but there seemed to be more damage than just the flat tires. Batho gripped the right horn of the yoke and forced it down against whatever was dragging. The truck skidded. Metal shrieked, but they were turning, they were going to make it. Movement caught the corner of Carpenter’s eye. He turned his head and looked squarely at the shape waddling into the port from the north. Carpenter pointed his Support PPC by instinct, but he didn’t bother firing. While doing so would definitely get its attention, he could piss out the truck’s window and have just as much chance of damaging a 4th Dragoon 70 ton Bardiche Heavy Strike Tank. * * * “They’re eight minutes out,” Sergeant Major Nata Franke shouted to Lieutenant Mark ‘Diamondback’ Robinson. He’d handed responsibility for command com­munications to her when they left the jammer to automatic operation in the admin building. “They’ll be approaching from the west. Three birds. One transports and two escorts.” It’d be a tight squeeze getting Diamondback aboard a standard Trireme VTOL intended for two platoons of battle armored marines. Of course they didn’t have the usual amount of heavy equipment on this extraction. And again, one birds with an 18 ton cargo capacity might be about the right size. Robinson was in the cab of a construction tanker with plow-like nozzles on the underside to inject plasticizer into the ground. It was in the row nearest the back of the warehouses. Bryan squatted beside Robinson, nursing his plasma rifle and looking grim. Command Sergeant Major Christian Carpenter stood on the tread of the giant earthmover adjacent. Robinson liked having Carpenter close because of his electronics skills, though that increased the risk he and his XO would buy it simultaneously. The rest of the Black Ops marines were spread through the ranks of Rim Worlders vehicles, mostly near the back of the field. The Corpsmen artillery hadn’t begun targeting the storage field. Corpsmen sensor technology was excellent, but the amount of metal and electronics in the park were perfect concealment for the scattering of battle armor. Diamondback and Spectre were going to need all the help they could get to stay alive until the VTOLs arrived. If the VTOLs weren’t shot down. If Commander Ciara ‘Vixen’ Storm didn’t abort the pickup for reasons that a mere marine wouldn’t understand. If the VTOLs didn’t land on the wrong fucking side of the air strip, because that was sure the way the Black Ops luck had been running so far. If ‘Diamondback’ got his people aboard the pickup birds, his job was over. Even if the chopper blew up in the next instant, it was no longer his responsibility. The Rim Worlders who’d been in the port area when Diamondback arrived were either dead or cowed into keeping their heads down. The support staff had reacted fast, but most of them weren’t soldiers and they’d been up against the best. The Corpsmen’s quick individual responses meant they’d been mowed down in uncoordinated firefights against the Diamondback marines with better weapons, better armor, and better aim. The Rim Worlders whose APCs had driven in the scrub woodland south and west of the air strip were infantry operating in formed units. There were already several hundred of them and they should have been dangerous, but so far every Corpsmen who reached a firing position had been killed instantly. The Rim Worlders infrared signatures made them stand out like flags against the foliage and damp ground. House troops wouldn’t have been any better off. The Storm’s Armored Cavalry marine’s battle armor suites could track targets crawling forward for hundreds of yards. When a Corpsmen raised his head, several Support PPCs or a short range missile blew him apart. Sun-heated equipment hid Diamondback as effectively as absorbent sheeting could have done. The orange digits Kilo lit a corner of Robinson’s visor indicating a priority report from the squad leader, Command Sergeant Major Carpenter. “Six, a tank’s entered the field from the north. We’re observing, but we don’t have shit to stop it. Over.” Mark Robinson switched to visuals from Carpenter on the left side of his visor. The Rim Worlders Bardiche Heavy Strike Tank was an opalescent dome moving onto the field with the care of a blind man. It was too wide to pass through the space between the transient compound and the end warehouse without touching, but the tank’s armored sides would simply brush the rubble apart. “Kilo,” Robinson said, “take firing positions but don’t do anything ‘till I get there. Out.” He grimaced to Bryan and ordered curtly, “Come on. Tracy, you’re in charge.” “Five minutes!” he called back. Diamondback didn’t have five minutes before the tank had joined them in the storage lot. The pickup VTOLs would have to abort if there was a hundred-megajoule PPC waiting for them. The Blue Shield Particle Field Dampener that protected the tank against directed-energy weapons was also its main weakness. The flux was so dense that it bent light itself: the driver and gunners looked out through a rainbow curtain as dazzling as the light-shot mist at the base of a waterfall. Inertial guidance took the vehicle over mapped terrain and computer enhancement aided image resolution, but the tank crew still had to grope across the landscape unless it dropped the shield. Besides the blindness, its own Heavy PPC couldn’t fire while the shield was in place. The tank was limited to its secondary battery of its ballistic weapon. Which wasn’t saying much in the way of a consolation prize. It was four Magshots, and a multi missile launcher. Yippie. Robinson ran toward the channel he expected the tank to use. The driver might plow directly through the warehouses, but that risked filling the drive tracks with debris and immobilizing the vehicle. Though the intake ducts were kinked and protected with several sets of baffles, sand and large rumble showered from a collapsing building could still jam the track wheels. Robinson’s quartet of short range missiles rattled against his breastplate as he jogged along a line of vehicles. Bryan had a dozen more. The bodyguard almost never fired missiles during an operation, but he carried a triple load on general principles. Even if Carpenter and his marines had used up their missiles in their assault on the hangar, Robinson and Bryan between them carried enough for the purpose. The shield didn’t affect projectiles . . . in either direction. The tank’s outline quivered within the iridescent dome as an automatic Magshot fired at the block of warehouses, perhaps the only target the gunner could make out. Explosions clocked at half-second intervals. The short range missiles wouldn’t do more than scratch the tank’s paint. Even a long ranger . . . the last of them had disintegrated an APC that rose to scan the storage field for targets . . . couldn’t have penetrated the tank’s armor. A volley of light warheads might cause the Corpsmen to lower their shielding for a moment to see what was happening, though. What would be happening then was Bryan nailing the tank with his plasma weapon. The roar of the tank’s engine staggered Robinson as he stepped into the gap between buildings. The walls channeled sound the way a tidal bore focuses surf. Though the Bardiche heavy tank was only halfway across the port, its shimmering mass filled the field of view. Carpenter’s Kilo squad squatted in the wreckage of the transient compound. They’d slewed a heavy truck across the middle of the open space, but that was more to draw the Corpsmen’s attention than in any hope of blocking the tank. The tank fired a dozen explosive shells into the truck, which shuddered on its suspension. Tires and upholstery began to burn. Rounds that missed burst among vehicles parked in the field beyond. Bryan drew Robinson down in a crouch at the corner of the warehouse. He was waiting for the shooting to stop before they darted across the open space. The tankers couldn’t see a moving figure through the enveloping rainbow curtain, but Bryan didn’t want his Lieutenant to run into a random shell. Though Robinson knew he might as well. His plan wasn’t going to work. The crew of this tank had seen two of their sister vehicles blasted by the marines’ Support PPCs. They weren’t going to risk lowering their shield for even an instant, and not even ‘Diamondback’ could blame the pilot of the Trireme for refusing to land on top of a Rim Worlders tank. No member of Diamondback was going to survive the operation. WORD COUNT 2507 Edited by Teso River, 04 May 2015 - 01:28 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #32 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #32 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 05 May 2015 - 11:24 AM LA-GW-12-01 Post #32 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Operation Cut Throat 4th Rim Worlds Aerospace Base 16th January 3092, 0600 local “C’mon, Allison, get your ass in gear!” Private Morihiro Nishimura screamed. He was wearing a sweatband and a fatigue shirt with the sleeves cut to fringes, the way he did when he worked out in the weight room on the grav deck onboard the JumpShip. Specialist Jordan Allison opened her eyes. Had she been drinking? Her head buzzed and the whole universe was a rainbow blur. “Move it, Allison!” shouted Sergeant Tracy Hansen, gesturing her forward with a sweep of her armored arm. “We got a tank to take out!” The rainbow was sunlight distorted through the shielding of a tank. Nishimura and Hansen were dead, so dead that she’d be breathing bits of them if it weren’t for the Asterion armor’s filters. The tank moved no faster than a blind man walking. A rigid-walled plenum chamber enclosed the massive track assembly which supported the massive 70 ton vehicle. Vibrations blasting beneath the armored lip skidded Allison an inch along the ferrocrete, but the tank was going to miss her. A salvo of short range missiles spat from somewhere the other side of the slagged-down Shun-class VTOL in which Diamondback had inserted. The warheads twinkled harmlessly on the bow slope. The tank’s secondary armament chugged a dozen explosive shells in reply, sending distorted images across the shield’s filmy surface. It’d take a fair-sized meteor to damage a tank’s frontal armor with mechanical effect. If Juliet Squad marines were using personnel missiles, it meant they didn’t have anything better. We’ve got a tank to take out. That was a job for a Diamondback, and it looked like the call was for Marine Jordan Allison. Hansen and Nishimura might be willing to trade. . . . Allison rolled into the gutted transformer pit. The plan of action formed in her mind as her muscles acted. The tank didn’t shoot at her. She was probably just a shadow through the shimmering distortion. Darkness, brightening in a microsecond to a quivering ambience like the sun viewed from under water. The circuitry had amplified the apparent view through Allison’s Asterion visor. The tank’s treads danced no more than a finger’s breadth above the field’s surface. Her suit’s helmet enhanced to normal viewing levels the light coming through that crack, though objects’ edges were slightly fuzzy. Weight like a DropShip’s shearing boundary layer pounded Allison, shaking and bruising her despite her Asterion armor. Her helmet suppressed as much of the noise as possible, but the low-frequency harmonics made all her muscles quiver. The mass of six axles supported the vehicle’s seventy-plus tons. The forty inch high walls of the plenum chamber held the tank’s bulkiness in a resilient arc, spreading the vehicle’s weight evenly over the ground. The tank could lumber over surfaces in which wheels or hover fans would have bogged. The weight didn’t go away, though. Allison’s Asterion armor kept weight from crushing her, but the engine’s output ducts buffeted her like water from a millrace. Against it, she fought her way from the transformer pit to where she could look up into the underbelly of the Bardiche. She still had the pair of short range missiles hanging from her belt. On the tank’s upper surface the inlets to the drive motors were screened and baffled. The output duct into the plenum chamber was angled for protection from mines, but there was only one coarse grating downstream of the nacelle. Scrabbling forward to keep up with the tank’s slow advance, Allison pulled a missile from her belt and twisted the cap to arm it. She aimed it up the duct, trying to keep the nose straight against the roaring, bone-shaking gale. Standard warheads didn’t have arming-distance delays: risk was the marine’s responsibility. Ignition and the bang of the warhead blowing apart the grate were lost in the thunder of the engine. Bits of casing cracked against Allison’s armor. She didn’t know if any fragments had penetrated. Allison armed the second missile. It was getting harder to fight the massive weight of the Bardiche. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to aim the missile even the short distance to the nacelle. Her brain responded to crushing fatigue by pulsing waves of color across her vision. She fired. For an instant she thought the blue glare was another trick of her mind. Her visor muted the light instantaneously. The engine’s exhaust was a tube of arcing electricity and reflections as the nacelle destroyed itself. The solid column of noise that had rammed Allison as she squatted in the duct had ceased. Metal shrieked over the rumble of the remaining track. The armored lip was rubbing against the ferrocrete. Three axles could no longer support the tank when the open duct of its three sister axles collapsed and sent their assembly sprawling out across the air strip. The tank skidded to a halt, trapping Allison beneath its armored mass. The tank settled, closing the gap between skirt and ferrocrete. “But we got the fucker, sarge,” she whispered as darkness closed in. * * * Corporal Erina Vogel fired at the twisted image of the tank’s main gun, a high-powered Particle Projection Cannon. The chance of getting a beam through the tiny objective opening to damage the mirrors within wouldn’t have been high even if Vogel had been able to see the target clearly, but it was the best option going. The magnetic dome in her sight picture changed hue. One of the intake ducts was arcing. The ionized particles couldn’t penetrate the shielding, so they swirled around the tank like swarms of angry blue hornets. The tank slid to a halt. The scream of metal on ferrocrete was so penetrating at close range that for a moment Erina saw double. A pall of white dust rose around the vehicle, the ejecta of a four-inch trench pulverized from the Air strip’s surface. Erina locked a fresh power pack into her Support PPC’s butt well. Instead of firing, she paused to see what the changing situation would bring. The tank tried to move on the thrust of three axles. Power backed mournfully through the missing three counterparts. The shimmer of the Blue Shield Particle Field Damper vanished. The crew was throwing overload power to the remaining engines in order to get the tank moving again. The power plant didn’t have enough headroom to accomplish that and meet the enormous drain of the shield at the same time. Erina could see the squat Heavy PPC barrel clearly for the first time. She hadn’t fired more than a half-second burst into it before the dazzling radiance of a plasma bolt struck the turret. That didn’t surprise her. Nobody survived in Diamondback unless he was fast, and Shawn Bryan was damned near as fast as Erina herself. Erina swapped power packs again. Part of her wondered how many kids Bryan had killed over the years. The red mask of a priority message flicked three times across Command Sergeant Major Christian Carpenter’s visor. “Diamondback, two minutes!” his helmet ordered. “All Storm’s Armored Cavalry Diamondback marines commence withdrawal. Out!” “Time to go, kiddies!” Carpenter said after he pulled his own boots clear. Rubble shifted when the support machine gun raked the transient compound, though nobody’d been hit by the shells themselves. He paused an instant to make sure his marines were all moving. The tank moved, but it was drifting like a cloud. Its guns were silent. The crater glowing in the turret face was the only exterior sign of damage. Carpenter’s legs wobbled for a few steps before he found the rhythm. He followed Corporal Hachi Batho, the last of his Kilo squad marines, toward the pickup point. Two missiles hit the transient compound. A salvo of at least a dozen landed an instant later in a fury of noise, black smoke, and debris. First Lieutenant Mark Robinson rose from the shelter of the warehouse. “There’s a marine . . . ” he shouted. Carpenter looked back. The tank erupted a hundred meters from where the plasma bolt hit. A white-hot plume ate away the turret, spattering ash and molten metal to all sides. For a moment the huge vehicle continued to drift; then the armored skirts grounded again. The hull sank slowly as the walls of the plenum chamber softened and collapsed. A marine in Asterion armor climbed from the tramline the tank had crossed just before it stopped. The figure moved toward safety through the fiery drizzle. Robinson started to go back. Bryan grabbed him. “We’ll cover her!” Carpenter called. Batho was with him; the rest of Kilo had paused among the first line of parked vehicles. Bryan nodded gratefully. He half-walked, half-carried the Lieutenant ten strides toward the pickup point before Robinson gave up and jogged willingly on his own. Thunder pulsing intermittently from the west might be the extraction VTOLs. Carpenter sighed and armed his remaining missile. He and Batho would help the marine from Juliet Squad . . . carry him, needs must, because whatever the guy’d done was damned sure the reason that tank wasn’t squatting on the pickup point right now. But first the marine had to make her own way through the circle of debris that only an Asterion armor could survive. And maybe the VTOLs would still be waiting when the three of them got to the pickup point. * * * The range to the hilltop where the pair of Rim Worlders were setting up a clip-fed missile launcher was nearly a thousand yards. Robinson could see them clearly, magnified a hundred times in his battle armor’s holographic sight, but he either couldn’t hit them or the beams didn’t have enough energy at that range to put the targets down. The extraction VTOLs would land in the center of the storage lot. As Storm’s Armored Cavalry marines withdrew toward that point, Diamondback’s base of fire collapsed. Now the Rim Worlders could raise their heads long enough to observe and engage the marines. Mark Robinson lay full-length on the roof of an APC swathed in anti-oxidant fabric. He took a deep breath and squeezed a short burst from the trigger as he breathed out. The Support PPC’s butt was against a chimney and he gripped firmly with his opposite hand. Even so the weapon’s slight recoil jerked the magnified sight picture up from the target. An Rim Worlder shell hit between a pair of tarpaulin-covered trucks and detonated with a bang. The whole line of vehicles shuddered away from the blast. They’d been stored without fuel cells, but fabric and lubricants started to burn. Some of the 4th Dragoons troops must be observing for the batteries back at the Travis Military Base. If the extraction VTOLs didn’t come soon, there wouldn’t be anybody to extract. Robinson lowered his weapon onto the distant target again. One of the gunners jumped up and clawed at his face. The other Dragoon was staring behind him at the roaring western sky. Robinson’s finger squeezed without his conscious volition. As he did so, another marine’s missile hit the Corpsman weapon. Gun and crew vanished in a blue-white flash. The Transport VTOL came in low. It was a flattened cylinder eighty meters long and twenty wide, with the hatches already open along the rear two-thirds of its fuselage. Oval intakes sucked air through a fusion torus. The gas . . . any atmosphere would do . . . was expelled as high-velocity plasma to drive and support the helo until it reached an altitude from which its rotors could push against the planetary field. Lasers and light shells sparkled against the VTOL’s blackened armor as they bravely overflew the Rim Worlders infantry. They were Storm’s Armored Cavalry' pilots. Twin escorts Yellow Jacket VTOLs fire salvo after salvo of 78mm armor jacketed rounds into the Dragoons ranks with telling effects. But where twenty or thirty of them went down sixty more would take their place. “Diamondback, go! Go! Go!” Nata Franke shouted over the command channel. “All marines aboard in sixty seconds!” The unarmed Trireme VTOL hovered, then dropped hard onto the field. The pilots landed with the thrusters shut off to avoid endangering nearby marines. Three Dragoons missiles detonated twenty meters above the vessel. Smoke drifted from the point defense turrets in the bow and stern. The triple shockwave rocked the VTOL but didn’t damage it. Marines started jumping aboard in a well organized target, fire, and fall back retreat. Something blew a sullen smoke ring from the 4th Dragoon held woods. The fighting had lit several fires. One of them had reached a case of ammunition or grenades. Mark Robinson looked over his shoulder. Dust and vari­colored smoke rose from beyond the warehouses. Some of the buildings were burning also. Robinson’s eyes didn’t see any Storm’s Armored Cavalry marines that his Asterion visor’s location chart had missed. “For Chrissake come on, sir!” Bryan snarled. He gripped Robinson’s shoulder and slid him off the APC by main force. Robinson had stopped to provide cover while his marines withdrew, so he and Bryan still had a hundred yards to run to the Trireme. The 78mm Rotary Auto cannons in the Yellow Jacket VTOL’s nose mounted blisters raked the Dragoons positions. The weapons worked by the same principle as their Battle Armor’s Fragmentation SRMs but flung 78mm projectiles much like a Gatling gun. Trees shattered and rock outcrops disintegrated into sparks and lethal fragments. Salvos of three or four shells each dived on the VTOLs at intervals of a few seconds. Most of the rounds blew up in midair. Clouds of dirty black smoke spread above the Trireme. The point defense system cycled flechettes so fast that the mechanisms screamed like saws instead of crackling. Two of the 4th Dragoons rounds hit the ground west of the Trireme VTOL. A Storm’s Armored Cavalry marine went down; a buddy helped him to his feet. Because the missiles had been badly aimed, the defense system hadn’t bothered to engage them. The software targeted only threats to the VTOL itself. Pain crackled along the right side of Robinson’s chest. He flipped his Asterion’s visor up so that he could breathe without the constriction of the helmet filters. He should have switched to his oxygen bottle instead. The atmosphere was hot and metallic, sharp with ozone. His legs moved like wooden stumps. The Trireme was ten yards away. Marines in the open bay fired toward the Dragoon infantry. Carpenter and Batho helped the hard-suited Spectre platoon marines climb the high step and flop forward on the deck. Nata Franke was waiting at the flank of the ship. “Come on!” she screamed. The pilot blipped his air pumps. The thruster inlets honked air and a burp of iridescent plasma seared the ground. “Go!” Robinson shouted to the pilot on the ground-to-air channel. He turned his head for one last check on any of his people who might be staggering toward pickup without the helmet that ID’d marines on the locator circuitry. More shells were shrieking down. Bryan and Nata each grabbed an arm and together hurled their commanding officer aboard the Trireme. An intense red flash silhouetted them and flung them after Robinson. A shell had landed just short of the vessel. The VTOL lifted. The hatches were already closing. “Medic!” Robinson shouted. He tried to sit up against the weight of Bryan’s torso. “Medic!” The marine’s Asterion armor had performed very well, sealing off the wound to staunch the bleeding with Harjel, but there was almost nothing left of either Bryan or Nata below the waist. “Medic, for the love of God! MEDIC!!!” Word Count 2577 Edited by Teso River, 05 May 2015 - 11:25 AM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #33 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #33 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 08 May 2015 - 03:31 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #33 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Planet Hoolaran’s Moon Centari Alliance-Class Lunar Space Station The Citadel Civilian Ward or 'C-Ward' 'Civi-Land' Night Cap Bar 12th January 3092, 21:15 pm Local The Night Cap was the only bar within walking distance of the LOKI Safehouse. It wasn’t exactly a dive, though it did have a certain seedy feel to it. That was part of its charm, along with supple dancers and stiff drinks. But what Cathryn liked most about it was the clientele. At any given time the Night Cap could be busy, but it was never packed. There were plenty of more popular clubs in C-ward where people could go to be seen … or to be part of the scene. People came here to eat, drink, and relax; average, everyday people who lived and worked in the wards. The common folk, if you could call such an interesting menagerie of foreigners common. Of course, even the Lyran Alliance natives were foreigners here. Cathryn was instantly aware of this as she came through the door. Dozens of eyes turned to look at her, many staring with open curiosity as she paused at the entrance. It wasn’t that mercenaries were particularly stood out. Dwarfs like the ones from the Hanseatic League, beings that resembled two-meter-tall adults, were the exception rather than the rule. All of the space-faring nationalities in the Inner Sphere were bipeds between one and three meters in height. There were a number of theories to explain this resemblance: some were mundane; others highly bizarre and speculative. Given that most nationalities at the Citadel had ascended to interstellar flight through the discovery and adaptation of caches of Terran Hegemony technology on planets within the same solar system as their respective home worlds, many anthropologists believed the Hegemony had played some role in evolution throughout the galaxy. Cathryn, however, subscribed to the most generally accepted theory that there was some evolutionary advantage to the biped form that resulted in its proliferation across the Inner Sphere. The caches of technology were easily explained: it was only natural for the Clans to study intelligent but primitive races that bore some similarity to themselves. The various nationalities, such as the Terrans, had evolved first, and then Clan Wolf had returned to study them, not the other way around. The theory of parallel evolution was further supported by the fact that all life-forms on the Citadel were carbon-based, highly dependent on water, and breathed a mixture of gases similar to those found on Terra. In fact, virtually all inhabitable planets in the Inner Sphere were fundamentally similar to Terra in several key characteristics. They tended to exist in systems with suns that fit the type-G classification according to the traditional Morgan-Keenan system still used by the Star League Senate. Their orbits all fell in the narrow range known as the life-zone: too close to the sun and water would exist only as a gas, too far away and it would be permanently trapped in frozen form. Because of this, the time it took the home world of almost every major House to complete one orbit around its sun varied by only a few weeks. The Inner Sphere standard year . . . an average of the Draconis Combine, Confederated Magistry, Federated Suns, Lyran Alliance and the Free Worlds League years . . . was only 1.09 times longer than Terra’s. No, Cathryn thought as she crossed the floor to an open seat on the bar, it wasn’t her appearance or unusual proud characteristics that made her stand out. She was simply the newcomer, and she’d made one hell of a first impression. A pair of Rim Worlders fixed their shady eyes on her, following her every move like hawks ready to swoop down on an unsuspecting mouse. Rim Worlders were roughly the same height as your average person, but much thinner. Their bones were slender and their frames were sharp and angular. Their hands looked almost like talons, and their heads and faces were covered with striping and tribal tattoos. It flared out from the top and back of the skull in short, blunted spikes and extended down to cover the forehead, nose, upper lip, and cheeks, making it difficult to distinguish between individual members of the nationalities. Looking at Rim Worlder always reminded Cathryn of the evolutionary link between dinosaurs and birds. She met their gaze for a second then quickly looked away, doing her best to ignore them. She was in a foul mood tonight, but she wasn’t about to try and start the Sixth Succession War. Instead, she turned her attention to the Draconian dancer on the stage in the center of the bar. Of all the nationalities in the former Rim Commonality, the Draconian were the most widespread … and the ones who most closely resembled Capellans. Capellan women, anyway: waifish and slender, with well-proportioned figures. The Draconian were a sexual race . . . the concept of gender didn’t really apply. But to Cathryn’s eye she was clearly female. Even her facial features were female … although she had an angelic, almost ethereal quality to her. Her complexion was tinged with a blue or greenish hue, but pigment modification was a simple enough procedure that it was possible to see Lyran Alliance Natives of similar skin color, too. The Draconians were something of a paradox for Cathryn. On the one hand they were an aesthetically captivating race. They seemed to embrace this aspect of themselves, and often took to the openly alluring or sensually provocative professions. Draconians frequently performed as dancers or served as consorts for hire. On the other hand, they were the most respected, admired, and powerful Houses in the Inner Sphere. Renowned for their wisdom and foresight, the Draconians, by all accepted accounts, were the first House after the Kerensky exodus to achieve interstellar flight. They were also the first to discover the Citadel, and they were a founding member of the Second Star League. The Draconian controlled more territory and wielded more influence than any other House second only behind the Federated Suns. Cathryn knew all these facts, yet she often found it difficult to reconcile their dominant role in Inner Sphere politics with the enthralling performance of a Draconian on the stage. She knew the failure was hers: a product of her Lyran Alliance biases and ill-conceived expectations. It was stupid to judge an entire House on the basis of an individual. But it went deeper than an impression formed by watching a few dancers: the Draconians looked female, so they were victims of stereotypical Lyran Alliance anti-matriarchal tendencies. At least she was aware of her prejudice, and she did her best to fight against it. Unfortunately she knew there were plenty of other people in the Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater who felt the same way and were more than willing to give in to their biases. Just further proof that they still had a lot to learn about the rest of the Inner Sphere. As she continued to watch the dancer performing on stage, Cathryn found the subtle differences in their physiology easy to ignore. She’d heard plenty of graphic tales of interracial sexual relations, she’d even seen a few vids. She prided himself on keeping an open mind, but that kind of thing normally repulsed her. With the Draconian, however, she could understand the attraction. And from everything she’d heard, they were highly skilled lovers as well. But that wasn’t why she was here, either. She turned away from the stage just as the Lyran bartender waddled up to serve her. The Lyran capital world had a gravity nearly one and a half times that of Terra, and because of this the Lyrans tended to be shorter than most people, their bodies so thick and heavy they almost appeared to be spherical. While the Rim Worlders evoked hawks or falcons, the Lyran reminded Cathryn of the manatees she had seen at the marine preserve during her last visit to Terra: slow, lumbering, and almost comical. The atmosphere on the Citadel was thinner than some people were used to, so they tended to wear rebreather masks, obscuring their faces. But Cathryn had been in Night Cap Bar enough times to recognize this particular Lyran. “I need a drink, Meinhard.” “Of course, Sergeant Major,” the bartender replied, his voice wheezing through the rebreather and the folds of skin at his throat. “What type of beverage do you desire?” “Surprise me. Something new. Make it strong.” Meinhard pulled a blue bottle from the shelves behind the bar and a glass from beneath the counter. “This is ER PPC,” he explained as he filled the glass with a pale blue liquid. “From Luthien.” The Draconis Combine capitol world. Cathryn nodded, then took a tentative sip. The drink was sharp and cold, but it wasn’t exactly unpleasant. The lingering aftertaste was particularly strong, and markedly different from the first sip. It was a bitter flavor, with an undertone of tangy sweetness. If she had to use one word to describe it, she would have said “poignant.” “Not bad,” she said approvingly, taking another sip. “Some call it Sorrow’s Companion,” Meinhard noted, settling himself and leaning in on the counter across from his customer. “A melancholy drink for a melancholy woman.” The Sergeant Major couldn’t help but smile at the situation: a Lyran bartender spotting depression in his customer, and feeling enough compassion to ask what was wrong. Further proof of what Cathryn truly believed: despite all the obvious physical and cultural differences, at their core nearly every nationality shared the same basic needs, wants, and values. “I got some bad news today,” she answered, running a finger around the rim of her drink. She didn’t know a lot about Periphery culture, so she wasn’t quite sure how to explain her situation. “Do you know what a Law Suit is?” The bartender nodded. “A case in a court of law involving a claim, complaint, etcetera by one party against another. My people have a similar tradition.” “Well, I just got sued. In a wrongful death case. My license to kill is officially over as of today.” “I am sorry,” Meinhard wheezed. “But I am also surprised. In all the times you have come in before you have never mentioned any kind of espionage activity.” Therein lay the problem. She was a LOKI Agent, foremost and first. Cathryn wasn’t permitted to divulge that information. She was either roaming the Lyran Alliance or under cover with the Storm’s Armored Cavalry. She was LOKI first, and a conscience second … and the Lyran Alliance deserved better. She downed the rest of her drink in a single gulp, then slammed the glass back down on the bar. “Hit me again, Meinhard.” The bartender did as instructed. “Perhaps this situation is only temporary, yes?” he asked as he refilled Cathryn’s glass. “Maybe in time you will re-obtain your licenses?” Cathryn shook her head. “No chance of that. It’s over. Time to move on.” “Easy to say, not so easy to do,” the Lyran replied knowingly. Cathryn took another drink, but she was back to sipping. It wasn’t wise to overdo it on a new drink; every concoction had its own unique effects. She could already feel an unusual sensation spreading through her. A numbing, warmth crawled its way up from her stomach and out along her arms and legs, making her toes tingle and her fingers itch. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. “Just how strong is this stuff?” she asked the bartender. Meinhard shrugged. “Depends on how much you drink. I can leave the bottle if you wish to crawl out of here.” The Lyran’s offer sounded like a hell of an idea. Cathryn wanted nothing more than to drink until everything went away: the dull, aching pain of the memory; the gruesome photographs of the dead bodies at Dosilin; the lingering, indefinable stress that always dogged her in those first few days after she started a new a mission. But she had a meeting in the morning with the Lyran Intelligence Corps commander General, and it wouldn’t be professional to show up with a hangover. “Sorry, Meinhard. I better go. Early meeting tomorrow.” she polished off her drink and stood up, relieved to see the room wasn’t spinning around her. “Put it on my account.” With one last, lingering look at the Draconian dancer she turned and headed toward the door. The two Rim Worlders glared at her as she passed their table, and one of them muttered something under his breath. Cathryn didn’t need to understand the words to know she was being insulted. She hesitated, her fists involuntarily clenching as she felt her temper rise. But only for a second. Showing up at tomorrow’s meeting hung over was bad; having to explain why C-Sec had picked her up for beating the crap out of two Rim Worlders who didn’t know enough to keep their mouths shut was worse. That was one of the burdens of being in a deep cover LOKI Agent. She was a representative of her Realm; her actions reflected on the Alliance as a whole. Even with a mind full of dark thoughts and a belly full of stiff booze, she didn’t have the luxury of kicking their asses. Taking a deep breath, she simply walked away, swallowing her pride and ignoring the harsh, mocking laughter coming from behind her because it was her duty. Always an Agent first. WORD COUNT 2324 Name: Cathryn Whitley Rank: Sergeant Major Position: Guardian MH: Purifier Battle Armor Suit Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #34 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #34 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 09 May 2015 - 12:50 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #34 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Planet Hoolaran’s Moon Centari Alliance-Class Lunar Space Station The Citadel Civilian Ward or 'C-Ward' 'Civi-Land' Kommandant General’s Office 13th January 3092, 08:00am Local Cathryn was up at 07:00. She had a slight headache, the mild aftereffects of her late-night visit to the Night Cap Bar. But a three-mile run on a treadmill that was kept stashed in the corner of the Safe House and a steaming hot shower purged the last remnants of the ‘ER PPC’ from her system. By the time she changed into her uniform . . . cleaned and pressed from the night before . . . she felt like her old self. She’d pushed all thoughts of wrongful death law suit into a small compartment in the back of her mind; it was time to move on. There was only one thing that mattered this morning: getting some answers about Dosilin’s destruction. She walked through the streets to the public-transport depot. She showed her MRBC ID, then boarded the high-speed elevator used to shuttle people from the lower levels of the wards to the Presidium high above. Cathryn always enjoyed visiting the Presidium. Unlike the wards, which were built along the arms extending out from the Citadel, the Presidium occupied the station’s central ring. And although it housed a satellite offices of each branch of Lyran Alliance Armed Forces and the embassies of the various Houses, it was a sharp contrast to the sprawling metropolis she was leaving behind. The Presidium had been designed to evoke a vast parkland ecosystem. A large freshwater lake dominated the center of the level, rolling fields of verdant grass ran the length of its banks. Fabricated breezes, gentle as spring zephyrs, caused ripples on the lake and spread the scent of the thousands of planted trees and flowers to every corner of the Presidium. Artificial sunlight streamed down from a simulated blue sky filled with white, puffy clouds. The illusion was so perfect that most people, including Cathryn, couldn’t distinguish it from the real thing. The buildings where the business of the LAAF was conducted had been similarly constructed with an eye to natural aesthetics. Set along the gently curving arch that marked the edge of the station’s central ring, they blended unobtrusively into the background. Broad, open walkways meandered back and from building to building, echoing the landscape of the carefully manufactured pastoral scene at the Presidium’s heart . . . the perfect combination of form and function. However, as Cathryn stepped off the elevator and onto the level, she was reminded that it wasn’t the organic beauty that she most appreciated about the Presidium. Access to the Citadel’s inner ring was generally restricted to LAAF and other Houses military officials, or those with legitimate embassy business. As a result, the Presidium was the one place on the Space Station where Cathryn didn’t feel like she was under constant siege from the rushing, crushing crowds. Not that it was empty, of course. The Inner Sphere bureaucracy employed thousands of citizens from every House that maintained an embassy on the Presidium, including the Periphery. But the numbers here were a far cry from the millions who populated the wards. She reveled in the peaceful tranquility as she strolled along the lakeside, slowly working her way toward her meeting at the Lyran Alliance embassy. Far in the distance she could see the Mercenary Tower, where the Star League Senate met with ambassadors petitioning them on matters of interstellar policy and law. The Tower’s spire rose in majestic solitude above the rest of the buildings, barely visible at the point where the curve of the central ring created a false horizon. Cathryn had never been there herself. If she ever wanted to petition the Senate, she’d have to go through the proper channels; most likely the Lyran Ambassador, Damad Sandaker, would end up doing it on her behalf. And that was just fine by her. She was a top secrete operative, not a diplomat. She passed by one of the repair drones, the silent, enigmatic machines that maintained and controlled the inner workings of the Space Station. They reminded her of oversized aphids: fat green bodies with too many sticklike arms and legs, always scuttling from one place to another on some task or errand. Little was known about the repair drones. They existed nowhere in the Inner Sphere but on the Citadel; they had simply been there waiting when the Inner Sphere had discovered the station almost three hundred years ago. They had reacted to the arrival of the new occupants as servants might react to a master returning home: scurrying and scrambling to do everything possible to make it easier for their new masters to familiarize themselves with the Space Station and its operations. All efforts to directly communicate with the repair drones were met with mute, passive resistance. They seemed to have no purpose to their existence beyond servicing and repairing the Space Station, and there was an ongoing debate as to whether they were truly intelligent. Some theories held that they were in fact organic machines, genetically programmed by the Terran Hegemony to care for the Space Station with a single-minded fanaticism. They functioned purely on instinct, the theory claimed, so unaware they didn’t even realize their original creators had vanished four hundred years ago. Cathryn ignored the repair drone as she went by . . . a typical reaction. They were so ubiquitous on the station, and so unobtrusive and unassuming, that most people tended to just take them for granted. Five minutes later she had reached the building that served as the Lyran Alliance embassy. She went inside, the corners of her mouth rising up in a slight grin when she saw the attractive young man sitting behind the reception desk. He looked up as she approached, returning her coy smile with a radiant one of his own. “Good morning, Adam.” “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around here, Sergeant Major.” His voice was as pleasing to the ear as his appearance was to the eye: warm, inviting, confident . . . the perfect welcome to any and all embassy visitors. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me,” he teased. “No, I’m just trying to stay out of trouble.” With a free hand he tapped a few keys on his terminal and glanced over at the screen. “Uh-oh,” he said, feigning a deep and troubling concern, “you’ve got a meeting with the Lyran Intelligence Corps Kommandant General, Sasha Gorge, herself.” He arched an eyebrow, playfully taking her to task. “I thought you said you were staying out of trouble.” “I said I was trying to stay out of trouble,” Cathryn countered. “I never said I was succeeding.” She was rewarded with a light laugh that was probably polished and practiced, but nonetheless sounded warm and sincere. “Your Handler is already here. I’ll let them know you’re coming.” Cathryn nodded and headed up the stairs toward the Kommandant General’s office, her step somewhat lighter than it had been a few moments before. She wasn’t foolish enough to read anything into their exchange. Adam was just doing his job: the receptionist had been hired for his ability to make people feel comfortable and at ease. But she wouldn’t deny that she enjoyed their flirtations. The door to the Kommandant General’s office was closed. Adam had said they were expecting her, but she still paused to knock. “Come in” came a woman’s voice from the other side. As soon as she entered she knew the meeting was serious. There were several comfortable chairs and a small coffee table in the office, not to mention the Kommandant General’s desk. But both her Handler and the Kommandant General were standing as they waited for her. “Please close the door behind you, Sergeant Major.” Cathryn did as the Kommandant General instructed, then stepped into the room and stood stiffly at attention. Sasha Gorge was the most influential and important individual in LAAF politics, and she definitely projected an image of power. Bold and confident, she was a striking woman in her early seventies. She was of medium build, with long silver hair . . . tied up in a stylish bun . . . and high, elegant cheekbones. Her features were Terran African, though she had deep emerald eyes that stood out in sharp contrast to her mocha skin. Right now those eyes were fixed directly on Cathryn, and she had to fight the urge to fidget under their piercing gaze. “At ease,” her Handlersaid. Cathryn complied, widening her stance and clasping her hands behind her back. “I’m not going to play games with you, Sergeant Major,” the Kommandant General began. She had a reputation for cutting through the usual political bs; that was one of the things Cathryn admired about her. “We’re here to try and figure out what went wrong in Dosilin, and how we’re going to fix it.” “Yes, ma’am,” she replied. “I want you to speak freely here. You understand, Sergeant Major? Don’t hold anything back.” “Understood, ma’am.” “As you know, in Dosilin we had one of our top-security-clearance installations. What you hopefully didn’t know was that it was the primary location of an Explorer Corp memory core with data on possible planets being able to sustain life again and the location of defunct Star League Era military cache and a production facilities for AI’s.” It was difficult for Cathryn not to show her surprise. Attempting to develop artificial intelligence was one of the few things specifically banned in the Star League Charter. Developing purely synthetic life, whether cloned or manufactured, was considered a crime against the entire Inner Sphere. Experts from nearly every House predicted that true artificial intelligence . . . such as a synthetic neural network with the ability to absorb and critically analyze knowledge . . . would grow exponentially the instant it learned to learn. It would teach itself; quickly surpassing the capabilities of its human creators and growing beyond their control. Every single nation in the Inner Sphere relied on computers that were linked into the vast data network of the extranet for transport, trade, defense, and basic survival. If a rogue AI program was somehow able to access and influence those data networks, the results would be catastrophic. Conventional theory held that the doomsday scenario wasn’t merely possible, it was unavoidable. According to the Liberty Holds Council, the emergence of an artificial intelligence was the single greatest threat to human life in the Inner Sphere. And there was evidence to support their position. Two hundred years ago, long before the Clans appeared on the Inner Sphere scene, Clan Wolverine had created a race of synthetic servants to serve as an expandable and expendable labor force. The geth, as they were called, were not true AIs: their neural networks were developed in a way that was highly restrictive and self-limiting. Despite this precaution, the geth eventually turned on their Clan masters, having detonated nuclear devices to destroy a genetic repository of Clan Snow Raven, validating all the dire warnings and predictions. Clan Wolverine had neither the numbers nor the ability to stand against their former 19 other Clan brethren. In a short but savage war their entire society was wiped out. Only a few thousand survivors . . . less than one percent of their entire population . . . escaped the genocide, fleeing their home world in a massive fleet, refugees forced to live in exile as the Minnesota Tribe. In the aftermath of the war, the geth became a completely isolationist society. Cutting off all contact with the organic races of the Clans, they expanded their territory into the unexplored regions behind a vast nebulae cloud known as the planet Vinton out among the clan homeworlds. Every attempt to open diplomatic channels with them failed: emissary vessels sent to open negotiations were attacked and destroyed the moment they entered geth space. Fleets from every Clan in the Clan homeworlds massed on the borders of the Vinton as the Clan Council prepared for a massive geth invasion. But the expected attack never came. Gradually the fleets were scaled back, until now, several centuries after Clan Wolverine was annihilated, only a few patrols remained to monitor the region for signs of geth aggression. However, the lesson of Clan Wolverine had not been forgotten. They had lost everything to the synthetic creatures they created … and on top of this, the geth were still less advanced than a true AI. “You look like you have something to say, Sergeant Major.” Cathryn had done her best to keep her face from betraying her feelings, but the Kommandant General had seen right through her façade. There was a reason she was the most powerful politician in the Lyran Alliance. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m just surprised we’re conducting AI research. Seems pretty risky.” “We are well aware of the dangers,” the Kommandant General reassured Cathryn. “We have no intention of unleashing a fully formed AI on the Inner Sphere. The goals of the project were very specific: create limited AI simulations for observation and study.” “The Lyran Alliance is the underdog now,” she continued. “We’re holding on, but we still don’t have the numbers or the fleets to match Agatha Rousset-Marik bid for power in the ULTRA slash Chaos March invasion corridor. We need some kind of advantage. Understanding AI technology would help give us the edge we need to compete and survive.” “You of all people should understand,” her Handler added. “Without rudimentary AI technology we’d all be living under Agatha’s rule right now.” It was true. The Inner Sphere military strategy relied heavily on highly advanced combat simulation programs. Collating millions of variables each second, the simulations would analyze a massive data bank of scenarios, helping to provide constant updates on optimized tactics and strategies to the Kommandants of each House Army. Without the combat simulators, the Inner Sphere wouldn’t have stood a chance against the larger, more experienced, more technically advanced Free Worlds League juggernaut during the first few weeks of the ‘Age of Agatha’. “I understand your concern,” Kommandant General Gorge explained, possibly sensing Cathryn still wasn’t wholly convinced. “But the Dosilin base was operating under the strictest security and safety protocols. The project head, Dr. Shu Qian, is the Inner Sphere’s foremost expert on artificial intelligence research.” “He personally oversaw every aspect of the project. Qian even insisted that the neural networks we used to create the AI simulations be completely self-contained. The data had to be registered and recorded by hand, then manually entered into a separate system to ensure there was no chance of cross contamination with the neural network. Whatever happened, there was no way for the AI simulations to affect anything outside the restricted data systems within the base. Every possible precaution was taken to make sure nothing could possibly go wrong.” “And yet something did.” “You’re out of line, Sergeant Major!” her Handler barked. The Kommandant General held up her hand as she jumped to her defense. “I told her to speak freely, Hauptmann-General Sanders.” “I meant no disrespect, ma’am,” Cathryn said by way of apology. “You don’t need to justify Dosilin’s existence to me. I’m just a grunt who got sent in to clean up the mess.” An awkward silence followed, finally broken by the Kommandant General. “I’ve read your report,” she said, tactfully changing the direction of the conversation. “You don’t seem to think this was a random attack.” “No, ma’am. I’d say Dosilin was specifically targeted. I just didn’t know why until now.” “If that’s true, there’s a good chance whoever attacked Dosilin was also after Dr. Qian specifically. His work in the field is unparalleled; nobody understands synthetic intelligence better than he.” “You think Dr. Qian’s still alive?” “My gut says he is,” the Kommandant General answered. “I think whoever attacked Dosilin destroyed an entire city to cover their tracks. They wanted us to think everybody inside was dead so we wouldn’t bother looking for Qian.” The Sergeant Major had assumed the explosion was meant to hide the identity of the traitor, the SAC suspected Theodore Bowman, but it could also have been used to hide the fact that Qian wasn’t among the dead. There wasn’t any way to prove the theory, of course, but like the Kommandant General, Cathryn had learned to trust her gut. And her gut said she was right. “Do you think Dr. Qian could be convinced to use his research to help someone outside the Lyran Alliance to develop an AI?” she asked. “Dr. Qian isn’t a soldier,” Gorge replied, a look of grim concern on her face. “He has a brilliant mind, but it’s in the body of a frail old man. He might be brave enough to refuse to help an enemy House, even if they threatened to kill him. But a few weeks of torture would break his resistance.” “So we’re working against the clock.” “Seems that way,” the Kommandant General admitted. “I noticed something else in your report,” she continued, smoothly changing her focus yet again. “You said you believe the attackers had help from someone working on the project?” “Yes, ma’am.” “We may know who that person is,” the Hauptmann-General chimed in. “Sir?” It was the Kommandant General who answered Cathryn. “One of our top technicians left the base UAWOL just hours before the attack. Randi Steele. And before you ask, ‘Yes’, she is related to the SAC Recon Mechwarrior Sergeant Krystal Steele. She is her niece. We have reports she was last seen on La Loutre, but she’s dropped off the grid since then.” “You figure if we find her, we find Dr. Qian?” “We won’t know that until you find her, Sergeant Major.” Cathryn was surprised. “You’re re-tasking Storm’s Armored Cavalry to track her down?” “No,” the Kommandant General replied. “Just you.” Instinctively she turned toward the Hauptmann-General. “Sir, I don’t understand.” “You’re in the best damn Mercenary Unit employed by the Lyran Alliance, Cathryn,” the Hauptmann-General said. “But the Kommandant General’s asking that just YOU be reassigned due to your standing within the SAC and your unique association with the subject’s relative. I’ll smooth things over with Commander Storm.” “Understood, sir.” she tried to keep her voice professional, but Gorge must have picked up on her disappointment. “This isn’t a punishment, Sergeant Major. I’ve looked over your service records. Head of your class at Coventry Military Acadamy. Three different medals of merit during your tour with the LIC. Numerous commendations throughout your career for your innate intelligence ability. You’re the best the Lyran Alliance has to offer. And this is the most important mission we’ve ever had.” Cathryn gave an emphatic nod. “You can count on me, Kommandant General.” she was LOKI, sworn to defend the Lyran Alliance from all enemies foreign or domestic. This was her duty, and it was an honor to accept the burden being placed upon her. “You’re going to be working on this alone,” the Hauptmann-General told her. “The more people we send after Randi Steele, the more chance somebody outside this room finds out what we were doing in Dosilin.” “Officially this mission doesn’t even exist,” the Kommandant General added. “The Lyran Alliance is still the bully on the block. We’re bold, we’re brash, and every other House is just waiting for us to screw up.” “I don’t have to tell you what it’s like out there against Agatha, Sergeant Major. You’ve seen how hard it is to liberate a world from her armies and make it stick. We’re clawing and scraping and fighting for every little that we can hold onto, just trying to survive. But if The Liberty Holds Council gets wind of this, things will get a whole lot tougher.” “If we’re lucky, we’ll get off with an official rebuke and major trade sanctions, crippling our economy. If we’re unlucky, they could revoke our embassy here on the Citadel. They could make it illegal for any other House to deal with us on any level and impose a House wide interdiction.” “So soon after the ULTRA attacks, the Lyran Alliance is not strong enough to make it out there completely on our own. Not yet.” “I know how to be discreet,” Cathryn assured Gorge. “It’s not just you. Randi Steele knows something about this. So does whoever was involved in the actual attack. How long until one of these people runs across a Mu/Delta ROM Agent?” Cathryn frowned. The last thing they needed was for a ROM Agent to become involved. Elite agents of ComStar’s Covert Special Tactics and Recon branch, Mu/Delta ROM Agent answered directly to the ComStar Primus himself. Highly trained individuals authorized to act above and outside the law, a ROM Agent had one simple mandate: protect Inner Sphere stability at any and all costs. The ULTRA Invasion Corridor . . . a largely unsettled bordered region at the center of the Inner Sphere that was a known haven for rebels, insurrectionists, terrorist groups, and now Agatha . . . was exactly the kind of place where ROM Agent would be most active. And a rogue faction in possession of the Inner Sphere’s foremost expert on AI technology was exactly the kind of threat Mu/Delta ROM Agents excelled in hunting down and eliminating. “If a ROM Agent somehow finds out about this, they’ll have to report it to ComStar,” Cathryn said, choosing her words carefully. “How far am I supposed to go to keep this secret?” “Are you asking if we’re ordering you to kill an official agent of ComStar?” the Hauptmann-General asked. Cathryn nodded. “I can’t make that decision for you, Sergeant Major,” the Kommandant General told Cathryn. “We trust your judgment. If the situation comes up, it’ll be your call.” “Not that I think it’ll matter,” she added ominously. “By the time you find out a ROM Agent’s gotten involved, you’ll probably already be dead.” WORD COUNT 3722 Name: Cathryn Whitley Rank: Sergeant Major Position: Guardian MH: Purifier Battle Armor Suit Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #35 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #35 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 12 May 2015 - 07:06 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #35 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Enroute to RP Rubicon 16th January 3092, 0520 local Keying up the command frequency. “That's it then, Queen Six to all units, Cut and Run, I say again Cut and Run to RP Rubicon. Recon Lance, screen our withdrawal. Rover Lance, escort position.. Command will run point.” Ciara ordered. “Alright! You heard the Lady . . .” ordered First Lieutenant Ellison ‘Ely’ Reed, “That’s are cue Raccoon Provisional Command. Pony up people. Its nigh time we exit stage left. C’mon now! Just like we practiced. MOVE OUT!!!” Reed looked around at his people through the splotching lighting of what remained intact on at the airstrip and from the small fires that burned from various wreckages. The smell of diesel oil and the tang of burnt flesh was vaguely noticeable inside his Dart’s cockpit after his air scrubbers cycled the air. He was only made aware of the stench due to his looking down from his battlemech he could see several of the SAC AsTechs laboring to load the Blue Phoenix Flight Trireme VTOL and the Light Military Tactical Trailers of Dingo Lance wearing surgical masks. The crews were working feverishly to load both transports with ammo, foodstuffs, parts and anything else they could get their collective hands on. Dingo Lance was already down their ‘Cactus’ 3077 HMMWV and the ‘Angel’ Utility LMTT. So they had mated the mix matched pairs together. They’d kept all the motors idling for the hit and run extraction. The first vehicle to leave the tarmac was the Trireme. As its rotor blades spun up Reed’s Dart was pelted all about its feet with stones and debris in the VTOL’s wake. The battlenet was filled with chatter as each of his lance commanders sought to coordinated their own contingents expedient withdrawal from the area in response to Commander Storm’s urgent command to fall back to Rubicon. 1st Lieutenant Glen Bensin instructed his air men aboard and loading his VTOL transport, “Stack‘em, rack‘em, and pack’em girls and boys. This bird is lifting off in T-minus sixty and counting.” Command Sergeant Major Riena Muljana told her team, “Alright mah peeps, this gig is up. Sergeants, that’s your last load. Get your Salrilla Exo Squads loaded aboard Pace’s APC strapped in and powered down. You have five minutes and then this hoe train is pulling out with or without you.” “Oh Shit. Phuck Me!” It was Cadet Burgonda Alcázar. A lot of the guys in Dingo’s Logistics Transport Platoon would like nothing more than to oblige the junior officer on that very proposal. She was an attractive thirty eight year old, buxom, red headed MILF. Immediately stopping the Dart in place Lieutenant Reed zoomed out on his scanner for what it was that he had missed, “What’s Up? What’s the matter Alcázar? Over.” he inquired with a hint of anxiety already creeping up along his hackles. “This phukkin piece ‘o shit Capellan 3077 just busted a ball joint.” Reed released his breath and gave a silent sigh of relief. He was ready to admonish the Cadet on proper radio etiquette but a quick look at the mission timer told him he didn’t have the luxury of time. Why would anyone utter those words at a tense time such as this any way? He was shaking his neural helmeted head inside his cockpit. “Just leave it. Over.” “What about the ammo inside the LMTT trailer attached to it? Don’t we need it? Over.” “Yeah, we do. But we don’t have time to dick with it. I’ll have a squad from Spectre rig it to blow along with the rest of these buildings. Over.” Spectre Platoon was onsite first and was working on jury rigging all the warehouse that the SAC could not empty in the specified mission time parameters to go off in a fiery explosion by orders from Commander Storm. She didn’t want to leave anything behind that the enemy could use. Shrewd. She’d thought of everything. “But Lieutenant. I can have it hitched to 3077 ‘Angel’ in five minutes. Its fully capable of towing two LMTTs. Over.” Glancing at the mission clock again Reed said, “You have TWO minutes. Make it happen and I want to see that convoy rolling outta here. Over and out.” “Roger WilCo. Dingo Actual Out.” Back on the main battle net frequency he heard his second in command of recon lance issuing orders in his absence. She was shaping up to be real boon and intuitive as hell. “ ‘JumpShot’, range out a kilometer south by south west. Keep that Beagle on high gain. The moment it detects ANY bogies, infantry, vehicle, and especially ‘Mechs, you engage that MASC and you hightail it back here. Got it.” “Copy that Recon Two.” “Shepherd. Get that Locust up on that ridge to the north and TAG the enemy column so that them Onager Boys can keep dropping shells on that column and slow them down to buy us some time. You are not to engage but fall back if they started probing your position with ranged weapons. Engage your ECM to make discovering your position more difficult.” “No weapon forge against me shall hold!” Weirdo. “Corporal Mukku? You there?” Mechwarrior Sergeant Krystal ‘Lockhammer’ Steele continued to give orders. Lieutenant Reed heard the distinct sizzle of her lasers popping off in the background. “I read you Two. Loud and clear,” replied Niyati Mukku. “I need you on the right flank to hold those pesky Jump PBIs at bay. As soon as they reach the tarmac, however; I need you to fall back to my position. I’ll be covering the rest of the convoy extraction and also the Lieutenant with my Angel ECM Suite.” “Yeah, sure thing. Err, . . uhm . . . I meant Roger that number Two.” The wheeled BattleMech Recovery truck belched oily black smoke into the early morning sky from its two upright stacked exhaust pipes. It rumbled along the tarmac as the driver shifted through its gears. Command Sergeant Major Riena Muljana hung on to the driver side door, from the outside, by its mirror and her feet on the running board. She was a tough one that one. The Recovery truck was followed by Sergeant 1st Class Cheryl Pace’s Heavy Tracked Armored Personnel Carrier and then by the two remaining 3077 HWMMV from Dingo Lance. The Personnel Carrier was loaded up with two squads of Salrilla Exoskeleton Suits and their operators. The convoy was restricted to the movement profile of its slowest member, the heavy tracked APC. Lieutenant Reed noted Captain’s Teso River still suited up inside his bullet riddled Shedu quadruped armor hitching a ride on the flatbed of the BattleMech Recovery Truck. He was squatting on its haunches atop a crate of auto cannon ammo. Reed zoomed in on Teso and he could see the Captain’s actual flesh through rents in the battle armor. Then suddenly he was startled as he heard the Captains heavy bass voice booming in his earphones. “Sit Rep ‘Ely’.” “Convoys away and clear. Birds are in the sky. Bluejay is inbound with wounded. We had to scuttle a 3077 with a busted ball joint but managed to save the cargo. Recon Star falling back to Rendezvous Point Rubicon as we speak.” “Very Good. Remember the plan ‘Ely’. Don’t out distance your pursuers by too far. We need them to follow you into the ambush. Recon lance will pass through RP Rubicon and loop around so when the enemy does fall into the trap, Recon Lance will slam into them from their flank and rear. Got it.” “Aye, aye Captain. I got it.” WORD COUNT 1313 Edited by Teso River, 12 May 2015 - 07:10 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #36 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #36 Blackheart Major Storm's Armored Cavalry 1329 posts 0 warning points LocationGalatea Posted 14 May 2015 - 12:23 AM LA-GW-12-01 Post #36 La Loutre Halifax, Timbuktu Theater Lyran Alliance January 16, 3092 0557 Hours “That’s a pretty nasty cut, Captain. Let me take a look at it,” said Master Sergeant Bryce Davidson, the man in charge of the SAC’s combat rescue team. Elliot waved him off. “It’s just a scratch. There’s others who need your attention more than I do.” “We’ve done all we can for the critically-wounded, sir. Everyone’s been or being tended to. At least let me clean it so it doesn’t get infected.” Elliot opened his mouth to protest again, but Davidson was already reaching into his medical kit. As he rinsed the wound with a saline solution, Davidson noticed the cut was rather clean – too clean to be shrapnel. “How’d you get this gash, Captain?” “Some hero tried to take his head off with a sword when we were clearing the barracks,” blurted Private First Class Burl Rhodes with a chuckle. Elliot shot him a cold look. Rhodes lowered his head, “Sorry, sir.” Davidson grinned. “Well, Captain Coleman, you’re in luck. This isn’t the first sword wound I’ve doctored. You’ll likely have a scar, though.” “Hm,” Elliot muttered. He didn’t care if it scarred, he was just glad his assailant had only delivered a glancing blow. The sword had come down hard on the front of his helmet, but it had stopped the blow enough to save his eye, cutting a line through his left eyebrow and into his cheekbone. He glanced around at the others in the chopper. They looked like death. Many of the thirty-six troopers from the previous weeks’ patrol were still worn from the mission. Some were suffering from minor wounds received days prior. Some had fresh wounds from the action they’d seen during the assault. A few others were wounded enough to be out of the fight. Three others, including Specialist Mcintyre, were dead. His troopers had done extremely well in the assault, especially considering their condition. Though, he knew their not being fully prepared was his own doing. He regretted keeping them out on patrol for so long. By the time they’d returned, most of the Roughriders who had not participated in the patrol were running operations for the Commander or providing security for the engineers as they prepared Rubicon. He wondered if his desire for a fight had somehow caused the deaths of three of his people. Had his decision to keep them out on patrol for so long, wearing them down, caused them to lose their edge? His mind was snatched back to the present as Davidson ran a needle beneath his skin, causing him to wince. “My apologies, Captain. I need to sew you up to prevent contaminants from entering the wound,” Davidson said calmly. “It’s fine. Do what you need to do,” Elliot replied, turning his head to offer Davidson a better view of the cut. The onboard communications headset crackled loudly in his ear as the pilot in command keyed up to speak. “Sir, Queen Six is requesting a SITREP.” Elliot sighed. “Three KIAs, four being medevac’d. All three priority targets neutralized. Fuck ton of enemy dead.” He smirked when the pilot relayed his reply back to the Commander word-for-word. < Word Count: 533 > Edited by Teso River, 14 May 2015 - 09:49 AM. added post identifier Like This Captain Elliot Coleman CO Cav Scout Company "Coleman's Rough Riders" Storm's Armored Cavalry Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #37 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #37 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 16 May 2015 - 03:16 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #37 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Norval Task Force Retribution 4th Dragoons 3rd Battalion Bivouac 16th January 3092, 0445 local The alarm sounding awakened Major Kevin Dansky from a rather peaceful slumber, and stumbling in the dark from his bed disturbing the native woman sharing his bed he worked to pull his uniform pants on when Corporal Myers, the battalion clerk burst in. “Major! The enemy is attacking the aerobase!” Dansky wearily barked in reply. “What about the QRF?!” Myers eyes glanced in the direction of the attractive, half naked women but refocused his attention upon his commander. “They are in the saddle, Lieutenant Krieg's Lance should be leaving any time.” Dansky thought about it and shook his head. “No no, tell Krieg to stand by, I want the entire contingent save for the present watch in the saddle and en route in fifteen minutes! We're going to put an end to this bullshit once and for all!” “But sir, Fifteen Minutes will hardly give us time to..” The Corporal protested but the look the Major gave him was one that broached no argument. The Corporal ducked out of the quarters and hurried off to inform the Sergeant Major of the Major's orders. By the time he had gotten dressed, Dansky heard a distinct chirping coming from his personal communicator. Picking it up, he saw it was a direct line from Colonel Frank Able himself. “Yes colonel?” The voice on the other end was calm, and direct. “Major, I shall be taking command of this operation. I take it from what I am seeing that you are sending all available assets to intervene?” “Yes sir, we'll be ready in fifteen minutes.” Dansky said as he grabbed his cooling vest and trotted out in the direction of the battlemech staging pits. “My lance will be joining you then.” The Colonel said, the line going dead. Dansky didn't particularly care if the Colonel was joining them, in fact it meant to him that an experienced field commander and an extra lance of battlemechs would be joining the attack force that consisted now of sixteen battlemechs and two companies of armor mixed with a chaser of two companies mechanized infantry. It was a force that would easily overwhelm the mercenary raiders and put an end to their insurgent activities. Awakened in the middle of the deepest part of sleep, the men and women of the Dragoons hurried to pull their personal kit on. Advised to leave behind anything that does not go bang, field kits remained while the soldiers they belong to loaded up into a mix of armored personnel carriers ready to do battle. Major Dansky reached his battlemech in record time, and climbed into the cockpit strapping himself in with the help of a technician. “Status?” he asked as he began start up procedures. “All systems check out, you are fully loaded, sir.” The technician said giving him a thumbs up and helping lower the bulky neurohelmet into place. Giving a quick check to the connection between the Carronade's life support system and the cooling vest, he wasted no time getting out onto the gantry and sealing the cockpit hatch. The moment that the gantry was pulled away from his battlemech, Dansky throttled forward and trotted forward up the ramp out of the mech pit. Turning in the direction of the base exit he could see Colonel Able's Atlas and its escorts waiting for him. The communications net crackled to life with the Colonel's voice. [“Mastermind to Cobra Company, fall out and assemble in diamond formation. Mechs lead, recon lance on point.”] “Roger that, you heard the Colonel, assemble at rally point alpha.” Dansky said, moving carefully and getting his company of mechs outside the base perimeter and pointed in the right direction. Glancing at his chronometer he knew that precious time was being wasted but it was better to get there with a force that could do some good as oppose to risk losing a unit to a potentially superior foe. The conflagration taking place at the aerospace base lit up the sky as if a miniature dawn. The Dragoons were making good time, spreading out somewhat but maintaining a cohesive formation with the slowest machine, the Atlas of Colonel Able, limiting them to about fifty kilometers per hour. At this rate they would reach the scene of battle almost an hour after its start. As they reached their destination, Dansky felt the pit of anger in his stomach become a twisting knot of hatred. Death and destruction reigned as what the mercenaries could not steal, they destroyed. Enough fuel was left in the storage bunker to make it go off like a small tactical nuke with the fire blazing away into the sky and those who had survived had run for their lives from the enemy. The command net then crackled to life, a panicked voice coming through with sounds of explosions in the background. [“X-Ray Base to Cobra... .. under attack.... enemy.. artillery... raid.. need assistance..”] Dansky's blood ran cold at the transmission and could hardly believe what he was hearing. The enemy was raiding their base?! The brutal assault on the aero base was just a diversion to draw them away from their main prize. The voice of Colonel Able broke in. [“Cobra Six, the enemy has obviously tricked us. However he has split his force in order to do so. I am sending a medium lance, and with supporting wheeled assets to counter the attack on our base. Take the lead of our force to seek out and destroy the enemy who did this.”] Dansky kept his voice level. “Roger that, moving out.” Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Retribution Rendezvous Point Rubicon 16th January 3092, 0600 local With his fighting force effectively cut in half, but with a blood lust borne of revenge Dansky and what he had dubbed hastily in his mind as Task Force Retribution was moving in the direction of what appeared to be contact with enemy light mechs. He was tired, and he knew his men were tired but the fatigue seemed to disappear as anger raged in his heart. “Dragoons, this is Cobra Six. Let's hunt these bastards down like the pirates they are.” The terrain began to grow more hilly, trees began to dominate and large rock formations were limiting the range of movement for his command. “Box-Column Formation.. Mechs lead.. watch the flanks we're getting into a narrow area..” Suddenly Dansky had a thought creep into his mind. “This is a perfect spot for an ambush..” …………… Captain Teso ‘Twisted’ River had debarked from the Heavy Battlemech Recovery truck and scaled the mountain face to gain a perch overlooking the natural choke point that was designated as ground zero for the SAC’s planned attack. His Purifier Squad’s hardware had been decimated in Operation Slash just a few scant hours ago. He, himself, had taken a beating and his Shedu Quadruped Battle Armor was no better for wear but he would be damned if he were gonna sit this one out like some high school cheerleader on the sidelines. Against his Lover’s better judgment, although she had not made it an ‘order’, he deployed and grabbed a Super Heavy Bearhunter Auto Cannon from the booty they had just pilfered from the Dragoons and four ammo belts and started out on his way up the mountain. Twice two of the Shedu armor’s legs had shorted out causing Captain River to lose his footing and threatened to crash back down to the glade floor amidst a rock slide. The first time a huge mountain tree had arrested his downward fall, with a back splitting crack. The second time, after the legs had come back online, he was able to sink the armor suit’s clawed feet into the soft terrain to halt his decent. Just as he was reaching the highest peak, First Lieutenant Ellison ‘Ely’ Reed and his Recon Star, were just reaching RP Rubicon. The Lieutenant reported that the enemy was no more than two to three minutes behind them as his Star slowed their pace down to navigate the treacherous mind field. The Kill Zone of the ambush site was a natural Overlord sized glade eroded into the Sundry Mountains. It had two logging pathways that veered off to its east and western sides. On its north and south radial the logging road extended straight for about three kilometers. Roughly four hundred meters to the north of the glade, it narrowed down to a mere sixty meter wide egress, just enough for two battlemechs to pass side by side. The SAC Dread Squad Combat Engineers had dug ‘Mech Pits, laid minefields, and pre-arranged artillery points all through out the glade proper. The minefield consisted of vibro, inferno, active, and conventional mines. Vibro mines are special land mines designed to be detonated from the vibrations given off by the footfalls of walking BattleMechs. The mines can be set to variable sensitivities, only reacting to 'Mechs of a certain weight class by exploding directly under them. Their drawback is that the mines are ill-suited for 'Mechs who are lighter or heavier than the set sensitivity. A lighter 'Mech won't set off the mines, while a heavier 'Mech will set off the mines too early to be effective. Inferno Mines are special mines that are a development of the incendiary weapons of the mid-twentieth century. They combine flammable chemicals with an adhesive compound to shower their targets with a burning gel. This gel is designed to increase a 'Mech's heat levels to the point where the DI computer shuts down the 'Mech's Fusion Engine. Inferno rounds are also effective at turning combat vehicles and battle armor into flaming coffins for their crews, and are devastating against conventional infantry platoons. Anti-Jump "Active" Mines are a type of land mine first employed over a millennium ago, although their use waned in the face of less expensive conventional mines. In one regard however conventional mines were less effective against units which did not maintain contact with the ground or could avoid it, such as hovercraft, WiGE vehicles, Jump Infantry and jump jet-equipped BattleMechs. These mines incorporate a modified and miniaturized version of the Beagle Probe which continually scans the surrounding area to detect units passing overhead. If a jumping trooper or vehicle is detected a small explosive charge launches the mine into the air prior to detonation, whereupon a cloud of shrapnel brings the target down. Conventional Land Mines are autonomous explosives detonated by activation of simple pressure plates. Anti-vehicle mines will only be detonated by the massive weight of combat vehicles or BattleMechs, utilizing a shaped-charge explosive to penetrate their target. The glade floor had a smattering of the mines interspersed through out the trees and vegetation at various strategically placed locations. All of the inferno munitions, however; were placed in and around the choke point where the non-jump capable ‘Mechs would have to bunch up. The Dread Squad engineers had also erected a fixed gun emplacement roughly about a klick north of the glade itself. They had mounted four turrets into it, two inside and two on top. The top two were Assault class Long Range Missile launchers. They had stocked up with twelve tons of conventional warheads as well as a ton of fragmentation warheads and three tons of semi guided ones. They had tried to install four extended ranged particle project cannon transformers to the interior two gun mounts, two each to a turret but lacked the proper power amplifiers to pull it off. So instead they equipped turret three with dual ER PPCs and turret four with twin extended range large lasers. The only drawback with the location of the gun emplacement was that it wouldn’t have line of sight to the incoming enemy force until they reached the choke point. Thus they would require a dedicated spotter to bring their weapons online. The mountain sides were lined with the ‘Mechs of Command Lance hidden on the western side behind cover and the eastern side was lined with the ’Mechs of Rover Lance. The Ferret classed VTOLs of Angry Hornet Flight hovered just out of sensor range on the other side of the eastern cliff face ready and waiting to spring into action. Commander Storm’s voice came on the battlenet informing her command that they had two minutes to make final preparations before they launched the ambush. Teso had reached the pinnacle of the mountain peak that he was scaling and had begun to dig in clearing out debris so that he could have a clear field of fire back down the mountain’s side. Ciara received all the proper acknowledgements. Captain David Lane rejoinder was, “Tubes one, two, and three on call for scheduled fire per the Fire plan. Beginning Counterpreparation fire in under two minutes. Keep your heads down. We will bring the rain Commander. The Steel Rain.“ “ ‘Queen Six’ this is Raptor Flight Leader. We are running a wee bit behind schedule. Gonna be late for the party. Ran into some resistance extracting our boys from Operation Cut Throat. Needed to stop to refuel and rearm. You can go ahead and start your dance card without us. We are enroute, albeit we will be fashionably late,” informed Captain Natasha Motovich with all the typical, playful smugness of an aerojock. VTOL pilots didn’t get to mix it up on the ground where the Real fighting took place. They were almost as bad as their AeroSpace Fighter ‘brothers in arms’ when it came to empathy. ……………….. However the ambush that Major Dansky expected did not appear and the tree line approached with an open glade of sorts visible with some trees, and others knocked over ostensibly by the passage of enemy battlemechs. Letting out a breath that he was unaware he had been holding, he keyed up his command frequency. “Alright spread out a little bit, they can't be much further ahead.” Leaving the logging road and spreading out into a thick column the battlemechs and vehicles of the task force surged forward a bit quicker. Confident that they were perhaps minutes away from contact little did they realize that they were in the middle of a trap. To his left, Mechwarrior Lin's Gambit light mech seemed to stumble and drop halfway out of view, not far behind and on the flank of the formation not one but two of his Winston heavy combat vehicles struck what appeared to be sinkholes in the ground. Realizing that one such occurrence might be an accident, three was not. “Halt! Everyone stop!” Dansky ordered. ..That was when all hell broke loose.. A sudden flash of light blinded Dansky's night vision equipment as the Gambit was engulfed in a fireball. Petroleum and an ignition device turned the anti-mech pit into a lethal bath of flames that crept up over the stricken mech as the crews of the two stuck tanks suffered a similar fate. ……………….. Then Major Kevin Dansky, felt more than saw, what he imagined were sympathetic explosions, almost a dozen of them. His Carronade was pelted with debris, rocks, and dirt from all around his position. Then his battlenet came alive with his tank crew’s and his ‘Mech Pilot’s cries of alarms and distress calls. A wheel and an axle from a Dragoon Bardiche wheeled heavy tank crashed against the plexiglass of his cockpit, spiderwebbing it. Then and only then did he realize his sympathetic explosion theory was in gross error. The Battalion had just stumbled into a minefield. He was surrounded by secondary explosions as the battlenet erupted into chaos. Four of his armored vehicles had ran into conventional land mines and or vibro mines, including the Dragoons minesweeper variant Bardiche. How ironic. It was equipped to handle minefields in advance of walking into one during broad daylight, not after the fact and definitely not at dawn with little to no light. The minefields also detonated on three of his ‘Mechs, Graha Ben Younes’ Warhammer, Aidan Rolph’s Whitworth WTH-K, and on the Dragoons Buccaneer piloted by Zakiyya Rajput. The explosions reached up between the ‘Mechs legs shattering and destroying their leg armor. The mine directed at the Whitworth actually blasted through its right leg armor as Rajput planted his foot in order to turn and halt. The concussive force blew through the Whitworth’s Durallex Light Armor causing serious structural damage to the titanium ‘fibula’ beneath. A small laser follow up shot to that leg would take this battlemech out of the fight. Had any of the ‘Mechs been in the light class, from twenty to thirty five tons, the explosion’s impact would have knocked the three pilot’s on their collective asses. But as it were they all were able to manage their footing. He saw other bursts of exploding shrapnel through the trees off to his left and right. No doubt those were vibro mines detonated by his heavy ‘Mech’s footfalls or the Colonel’s assault ‘Mech sixty meters behind him. ……………….. Suddenly the night lit up with fire from positions somewhere to the front and the left. A barrage of autocannon, missile and energy weapon fire struck home catching the Dragoons off guard. Three battlemechs were felled almost immediately due to the sheer volume of fire concentrated upon them. Dansky searched for a target, and taking aim on what he believed was an enemy tank unleashed a gauss rifle shot that missed striking dirt and splintering the hull down protection of a mercenary battlemech fighting position. The reply from his target was a burst of 100mm autocannon shells that struck home shattering armor and staggering his seventy ton machine. …………………. “Storm’s Armored Cavalry, this is ‘Queen Six’, on my target! You get one free shot, maybe two, before the enemy pinpoints your location and starts shooting back. Make’em count.” A response to Ciara’s command was not needed nor did she get one. Everyone in the SAC knew what their jobs were. Ciara popped her Shadowhawk out from behind cover and took a knee. She was bracing the Shadowhawk for the imminent recoil of the firing of the 100mm auto cannon mounted in its left torso. Ciara continued to order her troops, “Angry Hornet Flight, deploy! We need eyes in the sky. Steel Rain, fire! Fire!! FIRE!!!” Most of the SAC ‘Mechs hiding among the rocks and boulders of the Sundry mountains had indirect long range missile launchers. Ciara had thought that they should remain behind cover for the first few salvos as to unnerve the enemy, who had stepped into a minefield and now had ordinance raining in on them from unseen attackers. Enough to rattle even the most veteran pilots. Mechwarrior Sadun Tyler exposed her Wasp’s head to get a better LOS on the lead enemy battlemech that Ciara had designated, the Carronade. She couldn’t not paint the target in time with her Target Acquisition Gear so all the ‘Mechs had to fall back to their default which was the telemetry data fed to them by the speeding Ferret’s overhead. Together with the gun emplacements the SAC rained 70 warheads down on the Carronade’s location. It was shroud in a cloud of explosion shrapnel but did no damage. Mechwarrior Phoenix ‘Dragon’ Magnus moved his Clint from out of cover too, and he and Ciara both drew beads on the Carronade and together stripped it of more than a ton of its armor. Ciara thought she could make out, in the dim light of dawn, the heavy ‘Mech pin wheeling its arms much like a person on roller blades trying to keep their balance. Captain River overrode Ciara’s command to fire on her target by feeding azimuth and range data to Derek Donahue’s Dervish. River had spotted two Light ‘Mechs, a Spector and a Talon, attempting to veer off of the glade bottom to make it to the base of the mountain. Twenty long range missiles put up a wall and served to corral them back into the ‘Kill Zone’. In an attempt to dodge the flight of missiles, the Spector stepped on land mine with catastrophic effects. The explosion blew the Light ‘Mech 30 meters up into the air, sheering off its left arm, only to come back down landing on its back, on another land mine. The second explosion made the Spector a double amputee by cutting through its torso, removing its right arm. That was too much for the small ‘Mech. The Pilot took the calculated risk and decided to eject from the wildly summersaulting ‘Mech. It was risky due to the Battlemech flailing out of control, he had no idea what his ejection trajectory would be and if it were straight into the Halifax surface it would kill him but his engine shielding had failed and the ‘Mech was about to go nuclear and that would kill him for sure. The risk paid off. Arcburn Thotten ejected safely. The irony was he didn’t get far enough away from the cascading engine failure explosion. The land mines force had ripped through fusion engine’s containment bottle and release its mini sun. In a white blinding flash of light, it engulfed Arcburn Thotton and the Spector. A SAC Ferret class VTOL was also caught in the blast radius causing the pilot to crash the fragile craft losing his life in the process. The fusion plants destruction also rained havoc on the Spector’s wing mate in the Talon, causing damaged all across the upper half of the BattleMech’s torso and arms and caused proximity damage to Younes’ Warhammer. The Land mines continued to do their destructive work to Major Dansky’s forces. Conventional mines hit two more of his vehicles. Nowak’s tank crew abandoned their Bulwark Assault Vehicle due to the loss of three of its four tracks making it an immobile death coffin. A combination of vibro mines and conventional ones hit the legs of five more of his Battlemech ground units, including his own. It was difficult to see visually but from the multiple sources of chatter coming across the Dragoon’s battlenet, three ‘Mechs were down, the Spector, the Trebuchet, and the Talon. Dansky order the remnants of the Buccaneer’s Storm command to take their western flank and the Pursuit lance to cover their eastern one. He issued the commands for the Command Lance and the indirect Fire Lance to be the vanguard and go right up the middle. He wanted his armor to stand and deliver while his two ‘Mech lance drew the enemy fire. The Carronade and the Quasimodo charged in the direction of the choke point. Dansky kept his ‘Mech at full throttle, breaking down trees and through the glade’s forest. He had taken a heavy volume off fire and it was a minor miracle that his machine had not taken more damage. However; he was no fool. He kept his ‘Mech moving to keep the SAC’s aim off. Then the warble of his radar detector started blaring. A cold dread washed over Major Dansky. His Carronade had just been tagged by SAC targeting acquisition gear. Suddenly, as if to add to the maelstrom artillery began to rain down on the armor stopped to his rear. Mechwarrior Sudan Tyler braved several units firing at his light ‘Mech to maintain lighting up the enemy with his TAG unit to ensure that they now had a target that they could fire their semi guided missiles at, thusly improving their accuracy. ………………….. Everyone who’s ever served in an armed force knows the distinctive whistle of incoming artillery fire. And unless they are crazy or clanner or both, it sends chills up their spine just as surely as being faced down with a flame thrower. The first round of artillery fire claimed a 70 ton Winston Combat vehicle and severely damaged the Dragoons remaining Bardiche. Major Dansky instructed in a very calm command voice for all his Dragoon pilots and tank crews to seek out and target the spotters hiding up in the mountains with thermal imaging. As if on cue, the green coherent light of an Extended range large laser reached out and ‘caressed’ Teso’s Shedu Battle armor. Instinctively he rolled over without conscience thought and narrowly missed getting seared alive by a follow up beam. He knew that he could not get hit again. “ ‘Queen Six’ to all units, you are weapons free! I repeat weapons free! Fire at will! Where are you Raptor? This party is well underway.” “Be on station in thirty more seconds, you just keep your panties on. We’re comin’ in Hot flying NOE through this winding canyon. I’d just hate to make an error and splatter this million Kronor bird all over the landscape, for two obvious reasons. The foremost one being the last time I checked I wasn’t splatter proof,” came Captain Motovich snide reply. Commander Storm would address the VTOL flight Captain later. “Recon?” she queried. Lieutenant Reed promptly replied, “Rounding the last bend. Be there in a little under sixty seconds Commander.” Captain Rivers was hunkered down behind a hastily prepared berm lasing targets for indirect artillery or LRM fire. “Got a new target for you Donahue.” “Roger that Captain,” came the twenty something year old ‘Mechwarriors reply. “Fire your missiles in a one two cadence. The first shot is to slow the target down and the second one we should nail the fucker.” “Aye, aye Captain.” “Okay, sending the coordinates now. You got them?” “Yes Sir.” “Fire on my mark.” “Roger.” “Steady, steady, three, two, one, MARK! Fire!” Captain River timed the twin ten racked LRM salvos launched from the SAC Dervish perfectly. Just as River and figured, the Quasimodo pilot charging towards the choke point heard his computer’s simulated voice warning, “Missile launch detected” and figure he’d slow his charge by easing up off of his throttle and that would be enough to make the salvo miss. He was dead on, the first salvo did infact miss and kicking up sod and dirt two meters in front of his ‘Mech. His computer never warned him of the second launch since they were so close together, it’s limited sensors assumed it was just the one salvo. “BooYah!” The HE warheads blasted through the armor covering the ‘Mech’s right leg. Thinking on his feet, the pilot vaulted into the air. Ciara’s heavy bore auto cannon stopped the Quasimodo midflight with a full load to its chest. Phoenix’s and 2nd Lieutenant Luke Shanahan’s combined energy weapons converged on the enemy ‘Mech to put it down hard. The glade deteriorated into a mixmash of laser beams and missile contrails going back and forth between the two opposing forces. From somewhere his Lover caught a heavy gauss rifle slug in the center of her ‘Mech’s armored chest. It knocked the 55 ton battlemech back a few meters even after it bled off kinetic energy by passing through the bole of a tree. “CIARA!!!” shouted Captain River into the command net. “I’m alight, Hun. A meter higher and it would have smashed right through my cockpit.” Why would she say something like that? Nevermind. Teso wrote it off to battle fatigue. “Well let’s pray that that NEVER happens, shall we?” “Pray later. For now we fight.” Light PPC fire set the grass on fire where Ciara was kneeling. She did not know if it were intentional or accidently, but none the less, the results were the same. She was surrounded by a flaming conflagration and smoke. She felt like a funeral pyre. It was time for the SAC to fall back to their second defensible position. “All units fallback to defensive position number two as you are able! Watch your heat people,” Ciara warned. Most of her ‘Mechs would need to engage their jump jets to reach their designated fall back positions. The farther they jumped the more heat they would subsequently generate. And she didn’t need her people to forget that and risk their ‘Mechs overheating and shutting down in the middle of a firefight. ………………….. Another burst of artillery shells struck and Dansky had to struggle with the controls to keep his mech upright. Either the SAC cannoneers were extremely fortunate or the SAC had suckered them in and they had pre-arranged their firing coordinates because they dropped those Thumper shells dead on, right on top of his Carronade and the Quasimodo. His seventy ton ‘Mech shook like it was shivering from cold beneath the heavy assault of the Thumper shells. He opted towards the latter explanation. Dansky knew that he and his people were in an ambush and from a force stronger than he had imagined. His Carronade was caught with two more energy weapons, an ER PPC and a large laser, and over three scores of long range missiles. Much to Major Dansky’s surprise, the Heavy ‘Mechs ArcShield VII Mk 5 armor held up beneath the hellish assault. His armor held but he could not. The 70 ton Carronade crashed to the unforgiving ground thirty meters from its downed lance mate, the Quasimodo. The Major had instinctively extended his left arm to prevent the ‘Mech from banging its head but to no avail. It had rocked him hard and in the process he caused a stress fracture of the equivalent to his ‘Mechs left arm ‘radial’ bone. The Dragoon’s armor was turning around, attempting to extract themselves from the minefield, and the remaining Bardiche backed up over its second mine and was put out of action and a Winston suffered irreparable damage to its soft skinned underbelly. Six or seven more explosion went off, the Major wasn’t sure anymore. His head ached and he felt like he was about to vomit all over the interior of his ‘Mechs cockpit. Sure sign of a concussion. Six more ‘Mechs had their leg armor engulfed in fiery vibro mine explosions. Five of which were able to withstand the shock and remain on their feet, the sixth one, Phil Fusarpoli’s Enforcer III toppled over causing even more damage to the ’Mech’s right side. The foot falls of the heavier ‘Mechs were causing vibro mines to detonate all over the place. They needed to stop running and start jumping. But the sun had not come up yet. They could not see clearly. Their command was in disarray. They were being fired on by indirect LRM fire and that damned artillery battery. Two more rounds landed among the Dragoons formation and claimed a Bulwark Assault Tank, and spewed shrapnel across a Command Lance Buccaneer and Augusto Ros’ Winston. They entire glade was choked with smoke, flaming wreckages, and the screams of the dying and wounded. The SAC continued to fall back suckering the 4th Dragoons farther and farther into their elaborate trap. The glade was mined all over and their artillery teams fired ordinance like they had an inexhaustible supply. They continued to use the mountainous terrain to their advantage for cover and superior height and LOS. They would leap frog back while maintaining overlapping fields of fire covering each other. The SAC gave far better than they got until the Dragoons had clearly had enough. ………………………… “Fall back! Repeat fall back!” Backing up Major Dansky called out. “Break contact!” The command net was a jumble of screams and garbled traffic as some units surged forward to try and cover their companions while other vehicles began to try and turn around to escape. As he himself turned Dansky could see shapes illuminated against the hellish inferno. Battle armored commandos crawling all over the heavy APCs and tanks, ripping open hatches and using flame throwers to cook the men and women riding inside them alive. It was at that moment that he felt terror start to override his courage with the realization that he had led his people into a bloodbath from which there was no escape. The appearance of the enemy recon star and their attack VTOL flight had sealed the fate of those stragglers while those who stood their ground bravely lasted barely longer than the coward who attempted to run away. Major Kevin Dansky's Carronade was struck in the back by it's unseen assailant and toppled forward into a pit cockpit first. The last thing he remembered was the cracked cockpit transparency, and the smell of petroleum. The fiery explosion that cooked him alive was blinding pain and agony for far too long before darkness claimed him. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System La Loutre Mustelidés Task Force Hadrian Rendezvous Point Rubicon 16th January 3092, 0945 local Hours later, smoke drifted over the battlefield and the sounds of battle were but a fresh memory for those who had survived it. Most of the fires had burned themselves out, and others were put out by the salvage team that came in at the end of the fight. Standing there, overseeing the mopping up operation was Commander Ciara Storm. The sun had just risen on what was threatening to be a cloudy and overcast day. The world appeared to be made up of a pallet of greens, browns and grays yet in the midst of the carnage and destruction that she and her people had wrought sat a small yellow songbird on the branch of a fallen tree. It's bright feathers defying the gods of war who favored the drab to the garish. Staring at it for the longest time, she was surprised that the Dragoons had not attempted to mount a relief of their expedition and that her unit was getting plenty of time to salvage what they could from the wreck that had been a formidable enemy force. “That is what it is to be shattered. We were never shattered, merely on the back foot.” Ciara said to the man standing next to her. Looking up to Teso River, it was obvious that she was tired but she would not rest because the men and women who had made this victory happen could not yet rest. Teso slid in behind Ciara and drape his arm over her chest to rest his left hand on her right shoulder. “No. No one ever said we were. You really put too much pressure on yourself Ciara,” Teso commented solemnly. After a moment Ciara then said. “As soon as the engineers are ready, we'll pull back to base and rest for about forty eight before moving out to the secondary base location. This is no time to get complacent, we've dealt the enemy a blow and yet there are plenty more troops to replace them. If we are going to win this we need to enlist the aid of others.. “ “Yeah Baby, I agree.” Answered Teso. “Sergeant Major Bobo has been monitoring civilian airwaves and there is a grass roots resistance movement popping up since the destruction on Dosilin wrought by the Dragoons and other atrocities that have driven some to seek to take up arms.” “We could make contact with these groups and organize them into small fighting units. Also, locally sourced goods and services could open up as we make more friends,” responded Ciara “Yeah, of course. I don’t see why not. I’ll run it by Hauptmann-Kommandant Lombroso and then either he or I will work on getting it all approved through Hauptman Mari Laurenson. Unless you want to handle it?” asked Captain River. While it might be believed by some present that the battle for Halifax was over, Ciara knew that while it was a turning point the war was far from over and that next time the enemy would not be so easily tricked. WORD COUNT 6063 JOINT POST BETWEEN Word Count 2083 Commander Ciara Storm. Callsign: Vixen. Hardware Assignment: WHM-7M Warhammer. Assignment: Command Lance, Battlemech Company. Storm's Armored Cavalry Mercenary Command. "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry." -Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms. & Word Count 3981 Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #38 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #38 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 22 May 2015 - 02:27 AM LA-GW-12-01 Post #38 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Cornwallis West Minchester Arlington Halifax Garrison Firebase Roanoke 14th March 3092, 1045 local The world shook each time First Leutnant Dirk Baumeister's battlemech stomped on the ground. His medium classed Assassin strode out of the makeshift ‘Mech bay and onto a chaotic battlefield. Behind him, Hauptmann Kommandant Mandel Lombroso's Whitworth stepped deftly to his side. The BattleMechs were salvaged recovered and repaired by their allies, Storm’s Armored Cavalry from Operation Rubicon and deployed under direct Halifax Militia control. "We're under attack by Heavy ‘Mechs with artillery and heavy vehicular support," the Hauptmann Kommandant yelled. Then, Dirk saw two Long Range Missile variant Striker Light Tanks, already aiming for their rudimentary hangar. "Get clear! It's gonna be bad!" A twin salvo of missiles flew past him, blowing the provisional ‘Mech bay to flaming cinders. "Get a lock on those things!" commanded the Kommandant. "I'm a-workin' on it, sir, just hang on!" responded Dirk, exasperated. "Move it!" "Lock!" Dirk shouted back. "Fire!" Dirk winced as a monstrous cloud of long-range missiles spewed out of the Whitworth's Missile Launchers, blanketing the enemy missile trucks in tremendous fireballs and blasting them into oblivion. "HQ, this is Garrison Actual, requesting orders and targeting data," Said Lombroso. "Our defenses are down and we are pulling out! Move to quadrant three and assist in the evacuation! Save as many as you can!" "Yo! Hauptmann Kommandant!" Dirk said. "Get a load of this shit…" The two of them surveyed the area ahead of them and saw half a dozen 4th Dragoons armored vehicles tearing the evacuees to smithereens. The evac ship had barely managed to lift off, and as he watched, a salvo of laser fire incinerated the main engines, causing the gigantic DropShip to explode in a spectacular fireball. The flaming mass crashed into the ground and exploded so violently that the Rim Collection vehicles were momentarily stunned. "GAWD DAYUM those Pirate Scum to Hell and back!." cursed Lombroso, focusing his fourteen missile, seven per multi missile rack, at . "Shit, shit, shit . ." was all Dirk could muster. They opened fire. A massive salvo of fourteen long range missiles surged from the Hauptmann Kommandant's ‘Mech just as Dirk opened up with a constant stream of medium laser fire. Two of the 203rd Mechanized Infantry Battalion’s vehicles stopped firing and shrank away from the withering stream of firepower, while another exploded outright, immolating itself in an inferno sixty meters tall. Using all of the weapons in his arsenal, Dirk mauled the two stunned tanks until they too, succumbed to his withering firepower. "Nice shooting, Leutnant." "Hey, where are the other ‘Mechs?" Almost as if in response, forty missiles sped out of the night and smashed into his Assassin. Dirk reeled from the impact, bruising his face against the transparent plexisteel viewport. The impact flayed armor from the left side of his Assassin, blasting away the internal structure to reveal the myomers that powered the ‘Mech's arm. Struggling to maintain control and cursing under his breath, he turned his damaged Assassin to face the threat. What he saw froze him in his tracks and caused a cold sweat to break out all over his body. Behind the three ‘Mechs that had escaped their base’s barrage loomed the monstrous, skull-like visage of an Atlas assault battlemech. Vaguely, almost as if in a dream, Dirk watched as the Atlas raised its enormous mechanical arms and aimed at his ‘Mech. Lombroso's shouted warning snapped him out of his trance, and he dodged to the side just as a barrage of particle beams, missiles, lasers, and Gauss slugs vaporized the spot where he had just been. In response, Lombroso ran right up to the Atlas and pumped fourteen short range missiles into the assault ‘Mech's torso section, blasting away armor and internal components in a horrendous cloud of razor-sharp shrapnel. "Destroy those other ‘Mechs and keep them from supporting the Atlas," he yelled. "I'll stop it from moving!" As the battle raged on between Lombroso's Whitworth and the Atlas, Dirk picked out his first target just like he had been instructed in his SAC battlemech training, a Trebuchet medium scout ‘Mech. Several well placed blasts from his medium laser and his short range missile launcher tore both arms and one of the legs from the already damaged ‘Mech, toppling it to the ground. Dirk stomped on the wreckage, destroying what was left of the larger machine. He was already aiming for his next target, a 55-ton Buccaneer, but the 4th Dragoon ‘Mech had used the distraction to let loose all of its formidable weaponry. Great globs of melted armor plate streamed down the Assassin's right leg, while the Buccaneer's SRMs vaporized most of the armor on his ‘Mech's torso. Enraged, he let loose with a murderous barrage of concentrated Alpha Strikes. Scores of lethal red energy darts and short and long range missiles penetrated the Buccaneer's torso armor and detonated the extra missiles contained within. The missiles cooked off in two dozen hideous explosions that engulfed the Buccaneer in smoke and fire. As the ‘Mech started to crumble, the pilot's ejector seat rocketed him out of the flame-filled cockpit just as his ‘Mech exploded and died. Two down, two to go Thought Dirk as he wearily turned to face his third enemy, a Phoenix Hawk. Lombroso's Whitworth bucked violently as the ‘Mech took a vicious pounding from the Atlas' Gauss rifle. He countered by triggering his ‘Mech's jump jets, soaring above the extended range large laser fire that followed, then firing yet another fourteen SRM missile salvo at the huge enemy ‘Mech's head. The Atlas managed to take out some of the projectiles with its Anti-Missile System, but it took several hits. It staggered back, exploding and sparking erratically, stunned by the hits. Lombroso then steered his ‘Mech as much as he could toward the teetering Atlas and – ‘All right!’ - actually landed on the lumbering hulk. Death from above, Lombroso thought contentedly as he watched the hundred-ton ‘Mech lose its balance and hit the ground with a thunderous crash that collapsed the remaining structures in the quad. And then it got up again. Phuk! The grizzled Hauptmann Kommandant limped his ‘Mech slowly backwards and lit off all his weapons as the enormous damaged Atlas limped towards him, almost like a zombie. Dirk slammed the Phoenix Hawk with his twin SRM rack and medium laser repeatedly. The heavier ‘Mech was rapidly losing armor and parts. WARNING… HEAT EXCEEDING RECOMMENDED LEVEL. The computer's warning sounded off in Dirk's neurohelmet speakers. At this point, the pilot of the Phoenix Hawk triggered both of extended range energy weapons, a large laser and Particle Projectile Cannon. The superheated plasma bolts tore through Dirk's Assassin. The hits created even more heat on the ‘Mech's already steaming armor. WARNING… SHUTDOWN IMMINENT. No! Dirk couldn't afford to have his ‘Mech shut down from the extreme heat. He reached for the button that activated the coolant flush. There was only so much of the precious coolant, but Dirk considered this a good time to use it. Green plumes of vaporized coolant hissed out of vents in the Assassin's back. The heat levels on the meter dropped. He took advantage of this by unloading the entire contents of his ammo bins at the Phoenix Hawk. The enemy ‘Mech's legs blew off simultaneously, and the torso and head dropped and slammed into the ground. Dirk savored the moment as he crushed it with his ‘Mech's massive foot. The resulting explosions melted the remaining armor off the Assassin's leg, but he didn't care. He was avenging those innocent evacuees! A horrified scream snapped Dirk's attention to the Whitworth verses Atlas battle. He watched in horror as Lombroso, who had lost both his missile racks, valiantly (and stupidly) tried to stop the Atlas using the only weapons he had left – two extended range medium lasers. Undeterred by the piddling effects of the small weapons, the huge ‘Mech jackhammered its enormous metal fist into the ruinously damaged Whitworth. As the ‘Mech exploded around him, Lombroso had no choice but to bail out of his rapidly disintegrating Whitworth, leaving Dirk, alone, in a seriously damaged battlemech, to fight a really pissed off Atlas now sporting a bad attitude and a splitting headache. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Low Orbit Cornwallis Aura Class DropShip The Devil Doll Bridge 14th March 3092, 1100 local Captain Kugako Amano swore furiously at the comm unit. It had been giving them trouble ever since the jumpship had deposited them at the system's Nadir jump point, and now that the Devil Doll had entered orbit, the sophisticated and fabulously expensive comm array had failed completely. "Calm down," said Private 1st Class Brian Smith, her Flight technician, "it's not worth getting into a tizzle over." Exasperated, Kugako retorted, "Yeah, but now we can't contact the Roanoke Firebase to finalize our sourced goods and services contract! No moolah, no munchies! The rest of the crew is demanding their pay vouchers, and I can't keep stalling forever. This contract is our one chance to get our merc business back on track. I won't be cheated out of it by a stupid comm malfunction." "Let me take another look at that." Brian said. "Hmm... antenna stabilized, capacitors at 89 percent charge, and the frequency scramblers are perfectly functional." Brian stared at the errant console. There was nothing wrong with the equipment, and the two of them had been using it properly. There was nothing that could stop the signal- Unless they were being jammed. The Captain didn't even have time to gasp in horror before a massive salvo of missiles slammed into the Devil Doll. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Cornwallis West Minchester Arlington Halifax Garrison Firebase Roanoke 14th March 3092, 1105 local Dirk stared into the eternal abyss of the Atlas' Gauss cannon muzzle, now pointed squarely at his cockpit. The enemy ‘Mech jockey took a moment to savor his impending victory, then mashed down on the magnetic rail gun's trigger. However, the overconfident Atlas pilot never took into account the fact that shrapnel from Lombroso's missiles had damaged the Gauss Rifle's magnetic capacitors. Instead of discharging its lethal payload at the hapless Lyran pseudo mechwarrior, the torso mounted cannon exploded into a raging fireball that sprayed shrapnel and EMP shockwaves all over the gargantuan ‘Mech's torso. Seizing his last chance, Dirk snapped off all the safeties and poured a steady stream of ruby red fire into the Atlas' ruined torso. As with the other ‘Mechs before it, the monstrous assault ‘Mech's ammo cooked off in a raging inferno that tore through the engine and reactor of the huge machine. Defeated at last, the blackened, charred hulk that had once been an Atlas toppled to the ground, melting itself in a blue-white conflagration of nuclear fire and flaming chunks of irradiated metal. The explosions continued until all that was left of the massive assault ‘Mech was smoldering circuitry. The pilot had ejected safely. Damn! Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Upper Atmosphere Cornwallis Aura Class DropShip The Devil Doll Bridge 14th March 3092, 1106 local "We've been hit in the Troop bay, the weapons array, the engines, the personnel quarters, hell, we've been hit everywhere!" Kugako checked her scope, which was calmly telling her just how screwed the Devil Doll was. "We've got a full squadron of RCM conventional fighters coming in off the port bow- BRIAN, LOOK OUT!" Brian let out a yelp as a nearby bulkhead caved in. One of the ceiling support beams broke free and swung towards him. He dove for cover and cried out as a fire extinguisher fell on him. "Is the extinguisher okay?" Asked Kugako. "Yeah, I cushioned its fall with my body." Kugako had the courtesy to roll her eyes as she grabbed the extinguisher and started spraying the flames licking at the exit. Brian realized with a sinking feeling what she was doing. There was no hope of saving the ship, so Kugako was trying to save at least the two of them. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Cornwallis West Minchester Arlington Halifax Garrison Ruins of Firebase Roanoke 14th March 3092, 1345 local They left Dirk's Assassin where it was; the battered war machine had all but melted itself in Dirk's last, desperate salvo and was so damaged that nothing short of a full 'tech crew could salvage it. As he recalled, the base's technicians were on the drop ship that had been destroyed. They spent the next couple of hours rummaging through the ruins of what had once been one of Halifax's most powerful military firebases. There wasn't much left of the structures, but many of the fallen troopers had been carrying high grade equipment. They loaded what weapons and survival gear they could find onto a Darter Scout Car that had been inside one of the surviving vehicle hangars. There was also a Blizzard Hover Transport and a 3077 HMMWV in there. Lombroso quickly appropriated the boxy personnel transport. Dirk opted for the armored, six-wheeled scout car. The Darter Scout Car responded well to his driving. He tried not to think of the many similar light vehicles he had stomped on in his Assassin. Together, they stripped the 3077 of useful components and sabotaged it. "That battle won't have gone unnoticed." Said the Hauptmann Kommandant. "Reinforcements will be here shortly. We've got to get moving. There's a major friendly stronghold to the Northwest, about a hundred kilometers from here. Hopefully the SAC will have some more salvaged ‘Mechs for us there." With that, they rode off into the sunset, leaving the base that had been their home to languish in smoldering ruin. They rode for hours, baked by the desert sun and whipped by the desert winds. Finally, they arrived at the rocky edge of the desert, only ten kilometers from Scharnhörst, the firebase Lombroso had been talking about. Dirk was bored. Really bored. Hours and hours of driving through the desert were taking their toll on him. He couldn't think straight. He thought about the buddies who had died in the initial hours of the attack. He thought about his homeworld, now in deadly danger from an Rim Collection assailant. But most of all, he thought about his girlfriend, Tana Collins, who lived in a city where this desert met the sea. He was supposed to have gone on leave to meet her before all this happened. As he drove on, her lovely visage seemed to float in front of him as he drove across the ever shifting sands, her smile glittering above the blue scarf he had given her. Then, the vision of Tana disappeared, to be replaced by a huge black boulder. Crap! He swerved just in time to avoid the rock, nearly toppling the overloaded Darter Scout Car onto its side. The suspension groaned but held, and the armored scout car lurched to a halt. Then he noticed that it wasn't a boulder he'd nearly crashed into. It was a vehicle hull. Lombroso circled back to meet him. "I've been seeing these hulks for the past few kilometers," he said grimly, "Some of them I can't identify, but the others are ours. The wreck you nearly ran into used to be a Drillson. From what I can make out of the markings that remain, that belonged to one of my platoon sergeants at Scharnhörst." Dirk could only stare dumbly. Whoever had attacked them had clearly hit Scharnhörst too. He just hoped there was something left. The two of them drove on, until there was only one rocky dune between them and the base. They crested the hill and looked down at the installation. They had been prepared for a scene of devastation, but this had far, far exceeded their expectations. The place was a battle plain, a vision of hell on earth. Massive cracks in the scorched earth spewed molten lava onto the still smoking terrain. The mountain in the center of the once lush plain had lost a hundred feet in height. Bomb craters the size of small villages pockmarked the landscape like bloody, oozing sores, while green clouds of nerve gas obscured the rest of the carnage. The lake that had once occupied the eastern end of the plain had been completely evaporated. A deadly, kilometer-high mushroom cloud now painted the sky in dark, brooding shades of bloody red and hellish black. All around were crashed helicopters, shattered tanks, and bodies, hundreds of bodies. Nearly a hundred smoldering civilian vehicle hulks dotted the burning wasteland. Shimmering waves of heat caused the landscape to twist into nightmarish distortions, while angry black clouds poured acid rain onto the charred, burning stumps that had once been a large evergreen forest. "Too late. We're not very good at saving people, are we?" said Dirk. Silence for a moment. "If we save as many as we can, even a few, it'll be worth it," said Lombroso. They plunged down into the ruined valley. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Cornwallis West Minchester Sargeras Firebase Scharnhörst 14th March 3092, 1645 local Wham Wham Wham! Lombroso pounded on the armored door of the besieged base. "It’s your Hauptmann Kommandant? Hello? Open the door!" All of a sudden, a security combat shotgun popped out of the ground, aimed at him, sparked, and collapsed flaming into the dirt. At the same time, the gate opened. Steeling themselves, they stepped inside. Behind them, the massive blast door closed with a resounding clang! . . . Lower Atmosphere . . . This can't be happening! Captain Teso ‘Twisted’ River shouted out in pain and terror as his damaged escape pod slammed through the atmosphere, in imminent danger of burning up. He couldn't believe how everything had come apart so quickly, from the debacle of Operation Slash where all his Purifier Hardware were wiped out, in a raid on the 3rd Battalion of the Rim World Dragoons forward AeroSpace base, to Kugako shoving him into the escape pod and sealing it, knowing she had no chance to escape. She was probably dead now, fried alive within the wreckage of the Devil Doll. With moisture in his eyes he prayed that her death, and the deaths of her crew had been quick. It was certainly better than what he would get. He shouted himself hoarse as intense heat leaked through the pod's damaged shielding. Mercifully, the torture lasted only a few minutes before the blackness came. . . . Firebase Scharnhörst . . . Lombroso and Dirk walked past a wrecked Goblin Medium Tank that looked like it had trekked through hell before the combat had started. Both sides of its armor had been melted off, one track was completely shredded, and the turret missile racks looked like they'd imploded and exploded simultaneously. What was important, though, was that the commander’s cupola was intact and the vehicle had apparently driven here under its own power. Someone had survived. They ran into him in the mess hall. He was pacing the aisle, staring into space. Dirk walked up to him and reached out to tap him on the shoulder. His hand never reached him. In under a second the man had spun around and was holding a very large gyrojet pistol an inch from Dirk's nose. . . . Sargeras Battle Plain . . . The Devil Doll barreled towards the ruins of the firebase, one piece of wreckage hurling itself toward another. Some miracle caused a glitch in the autopilot to change course at the last second, and the drop ship smashed into the mountain, slid a half-kilometer, flipped over twice, broke in half, and exploded. . . . Scharnhörst Mess Hall . . . A tremendous explosion rocked the whole building. Seizing his chance, Dirk swiped the pistol away, axe-kicked his assailant, jumped up, kicked off the wall, and body-slammed him before putting him in a joint lock. "Wait! He's one of ours!" cautioned the Hauptmann Kommandant. Dirk eased the pressure on the joint lock, but didn't let go. Lombroso knelt beside the man and read his name tag. "Leutnant Kirk Julian. Who did this?" "Hell if I know. RCM Bad Asses. Someone on our side, high ranking, must have turned traitor and given the base access codes to the first wave of commandos. Rat bastards stormed in here and just started killing my guys! We were supposed to be ready for this, to protect Sargeras’ civilians. But there were just too many of them, and we folded totally! There's no hope for Cornwallis now. They came in so fast we couldn't even get off a warning." Dirk let him up, and he collapsed onto a bench and put his head in his hands. "There were a thousand people on this base, and I'm all that's left." ‘Theodore Bowman’ thought Lombroso as the two brevetted mechwarriors stared at him in disbelief. "There's nothing left?" asked the Hauptmann Kommandant. "You've seen what it looks like outside. You guys have transportation?" Julian answered a question with a question. "Yeah, but where would we go?" interrupted Dirk. "Anywhere but here." Dirk pondered this for a while. "Wouldn't a base like this have an underground repair bay?" "Yeah," Julian replied, "but the first thing the elite Heavy Mountain troopes did was to sabotage the entrance. Our SAC trained vehicle crews couldn't even get to their tanks." "Well, maybe we can. There were some explosives in the Blizzard we commandeered. If we can get at those vehicles and link up with the rest of the survivors, we'd have the core of a resistance movement." Their conversation was interrupted by a loud thud outside. "What was that noise earlier?" Dirk asked. "Drop ship crash," said Lombroso. And that last one could have been wreckage, or an escape pod. We should check it out." Two hours later, Dirk and Julian had managed to rig up some explosives in front of the hangar door. "Do you think the Hauptmann Kommandant will find any survivors?" Julian asked. Dirk pondered for a moment. "No." Julian shrugged, and hit the detonator. Half a mile away, Lombroso picked through the wreckage of the crashed drop ship. It was clear that there would be no survivors on the wreck itself. One area gave him hope, though. A battered escape pod had landed on the outskirts of the base, flattening a building in the process. Teso River awakened to the sound of rapping on the exterior of the pod. He was alive! Ignoring the still-stifling heat inside the pod, he managed to reach the door controls. It was only when the hatch opened that it occurred to him that his rescuers might be hostile. Squinting in the sunlight, he made out the uniform of the Halifax Garrison Hauptmann Kommandant. Lombroso reached out to him, but the first thing Teso did was to grab his canteen and drain it completely. "Are you alright?" "My DropShip was shot down," Teso gasped. "I know. It almost landed on us. I almost didn’t recognize you. You’re Captain Teso River, second-in command of the Storm’s Armored Cavalry mercenary unit." “In the mostly charred flesh,” replied Teso gregariously gripping the Hauptmann Kommandant’s hand in a hearty handshake. “Much obliged for the H2O.” "It looks like you're the only survivor. We were hit bad too. From what I could recover from the base's comm logs, RCM forces landed on a continental beachhead and just started killing everyone in charge, including the ranking hierarchy. We're trying to get to some of the salvage that the SAC left for us after Operation Rubicon that is trapped in an underground hangar when the fighting started. Do you want to join us? It's a chance for revenge." Teso smiled grimly. "Right now, I could use some of that right after I check in with SAC command and logistics. Wouldn’t want Ciara to worry." At this point, a loud crash signaled Dirk and Julian's success. They watched as a Talon and a Warhammer strode out onto the field, crushing the mangled remnants of the blast door. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Cornwallis West Minchester Sargeras Firebase Scharnhörst 16th March 3092, 0945 local "Alright crew, here's the plan." Lombroso looked up from his tactical console. His Marauder strode forward across a predictably empty desert, followed by Dirk's Warhammer, Julian's Talon, and Teso in ta salvaged Xiphos Assault Battle Armor. "We're heading for a small outpost to the west, commanded by Colonel Frank Able. It's one of the few remaining outposts still loyal to the rightful ruling body. The Voice of Cornwallis has been broadcasting that two members of the Cornwallis ruling body survived and are heading to the capital. That means that whatever forces are left here will be outnumbered and on the run. We'll move to support them. We should be coming up on them any minute now . . ." Lombroso's briefing was interrupted by a salvo of LRMs, which streaked across the desert and plowed into his ‘Mech. "Bad guys! 900 meters!" Dirk was the first to open fire. The long range of his new ‘Mech's weapons made them ideal for desert fighting. He watched with glee as his first SRM missile salvo smashed into a 4th Dragoon enemy ‘Mech. The Locust charged forward and lit off both its medium lasers. Dirk fired his jump jets, soaring above the Locust's line of fire, shooting all the way. Beside him, Julian opened up with his extended range particle cannons. Outgunned and outclassed, the stricken enemy scout ‘Mech staggered from the hits and finally keeled over as Dirk finished it with a burst of explosive shells. Dirk heard Lombroso ruminating on the radio. "Attacking alone? He was just a scout! Meaning…" A ‘Mech stepped out from behind a hill. And another. And another. An Atlas. An Archer. A third ‘Mech, boxy, enormous, boasting two of the most enormous gun barrels Dirk had ever seen. "Oh phuk!" Dirk let go of an expletive. “Attention, Lyran Alliance mechwarriors! You will power down immediately." Dirk switched on his own loudspeaker. "Never!" "Leutnant Dirk," admonished the Hauptmann Kommandant. The whole world seemed to slow down. How does he know my name? "I know everything, Leutnant Dirk Baumeister, that is how I know your name." Dammit. "Your psych profile said to expect defiance, and that there was only one thing that could make you surrender. We are escorting a prisoner convoy from the capital city." It was only now that Dirk noticed the three large trucks in front of the enemy ‘Mechs. "If you do not shut down now, we will destroy the trucks." A pause. "You don't believe we will do it, so a demonstration is necessary. Cobra Two. Destroy the lead truck. The one with Miss Collins inside." Everything slowed down. The seventy-ton Archer lurched forward. The truck driver dived out of the cab and ran for dear life. Feeling the most focused he ever had in his life, Dirk centered his crosshairs on the seventy-ton heavy ‘Mech and let off an alpha strike. The left arm particle cannon went wide. The right one exploded against the ‘Mech's head, weakening the structure. Enormous cracks appeared all over the canopy. The missiles streaked forward, six of them, and smashed into the enormous ‘Mech's cockpit, tearing through metal and shattering glass. A small chunk of something flew out of the wreck and fell toward the ground. It bounced. Once. Twice. It got up. It staggered. It fell down. And the Archer collapsed on top of it like a marionette with its strings cut. Dirk let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He had done the impossible. Six months ago before he had went through the SAC ‘Mechwarrior training program he’d have never imagined his feat possible. He had one-shotted an Archer heavy ‘Mech. Now he had to make sure the other ‘Mech . . . The boxy ‘Mech fired a laser at the truck. It glowed. The rear end melted into a shapeless mass. No! It fired again. The truck did not explode dramatically. It did not move. It did not show any indication that it had even been hit, except that it glowed. It glowed brightly enough to hurt Dirk' eyes. He had to blink. When he opened his eyes, there was a squarish mound of molten metal sitting on the sand where the truck had been. The sand around it had been turned to glass. It sparkled. Julian's Talon soared through the air and crashed into the mystery ‘Mech, then fired its extended range particle cannon at point-blank range. The box-shaped monster didn't even flinch. There was a deafening roar, a distortion rippled through the air between the enormous gun barrels and the Talon, and the Talon went flying through the air without its arms and legs. It flew and flew and flew and then exploded before ever hitting the ground. An escape pod jetted into the air and was expertly tagged by the same lasers that had destroyed the truck. Dirk was dimly aware of Lombroso' Marauder alpha striking its duel ER particle cannons into the Atlas' chest as it destroyed another truck. He did not notice Teso’s quick thinking within the Xiphos Battle Armor and sprinting for the final truck. He only noticed that the boxy ‘Mech had fired all its weapons and needed time to recharge. His targeting system was offline for some reason, even though he hadn't been hit yet. He charged roaring at the 4th Dragoons ‘Mech, dumb-firing his missiles at it. He held down the trigger of the ER PPCs, disabled the inhibitor fields on the particle cannons, and fired them at point-blank range at the other ‘Mech's cockpit. The enormous ‘Mech – it could only be a hundred-tonner – absorbed all the hits and walked forward. There was a crash as both ‘Mech's collided. Dirk firewalled the throttle, but the Warhammer slowly gave way... toppled over backwards. The other machine stomped on the Warhammer's legs, crushing them. It took another step forward. Alarms blared in Dirk' ears as an enormous metallic foot crushed his ‘Mech's torso. He stared dumbly as the boxy ‘Mech loomed over his viewport, close enough for him to see the smugly satisfied mechwarrior in the pilot's seat, close to read the name Victoria York on the cockpit nameplate. Behind it, the Atlas, blackened and twisted, brought up its giant metal fist and swung it at the Marauder. The fist passed through the half-melted gun barrels of the smaller ‘Mech as though they did not exist and barreled toward the now-exposed cockpit. Inside the cockpit, Dirk saw his commanding officer look at him and smile. A split second before the Atlas' fist crushed the cockpit, Lombroso jabbed at a button on his console. There was light and noise, and then Dirk felt nothing. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Cornwallis West Minchester Sargeras Firebase Scharnhörst 17th March 3092, 1900 local He woke up much later. He was inside the ‘Mech hangar in Scharnhörst. He got up and looked at the survivor in the bed next to him. She was an old woman who had been injured. Her wound had been expertly bandaged with a familiar blue scarf that had his name and Tana's name on it. He got out of bed, walked a few steps, sat down and thought about nothing. Felt nothing. Teso came and sat next to him for awhile. He mechanically ate the food he gave him. Words came out of his mouth. Julian's mad rush had bought enough time for him to commandeer a truck and escape with the surviving prisoners. He had pulled him out of the ruined Warhammer's cockpit after Lombroso had self-destructed his ‘Mech. The explosion had crippled the Atlas. The other ‘Mech had retreated. It was a Lyran prototype, something called a Fafnir. It had escaped in the direction of the outpost's automated repair bays. It would be back. The people they had rescued had been loyalist technicians. There were a lot of them, and they were now using the last of the Scharnhörst's supplies to prep machine for battle. "The survivors told me that this mechwarrior led the assault on the city. What I don't get," said Teso, "is how the pilot knew your name." "It was Theodore Bowman. He is the traitor," Dirk whispered irreverently. "He's on his way here. You have to kill him. He's unstoppable." Teso placed a firm hand on his head and turned him so he was facing the only salvaged ‘Mech in Scharnhörst. "Is he?" Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Cornwallis West Minchester Sargeras Firebase Scharnhörst 18th March 3092, 1300 local The world shook each time Dirk's battlemech stomped on the ground. Behind its skull-like visage, Dirk checked the Atlas' systems and planned his strategy. Nineteen tons of Durallex Heavy Special Composite armor could absorb only a few hits from the Fafnir's heavy Gauss rifles. He had no answer to that kind of firepower. There had been explosive warheads in the Blizzard, but no weapons to launch them from. The only usable weapons left in Scharnhörst had been humble medium lasers, but there had been a lot of them. Able had used ECM to shut down his targeting system before, but the Atlas was armed with eleven lasers facing forward, two facing the rear, and enough heat sinks to fire them all nonstop. None of that needed a fancy targeting system. There was no spare ammunition available anywhere for the Fafnir's experimental Gauss rifles. She had to be running low. Dirk' train of thought stopped as the Fafnir crested the hill in front of him and fired two heavy Gauss slugs into his ‘Mech's center torso. The Atlas was catapulted backwards and landed in a heap against a ruined factory. As he struggled to right his ‘Mech, Dirk noted that his frontal armor was entirely gone. The Atlas' damaged internal structure groaned as he stood it back up. He turned it around and ducked behind another structure as another salvo demolished the remains of the factory. "You worthless coward," York shouted over her loudspeaker. "You supported a corrupt regime. You stood by and let them murder thousands! You wielded battlemechs so no one could stop them or even protest! The deaths of your friends are natural justice! Your lover's death was caused by you!" York fired another salvo that punched a hole through the building Dirk was hiding behind. The slugs still had enough energy to tear off the Atlas' left arm and send Dirk into retreat. As he moved away, he fired his rear-mounted lasers through the gap, scoring a hit on the Fafnir's cockpit. York shouted with rage and fired again – and this time, only one of the heavy Gauss rifles fired. It was almost enough. The slug punched through the Atlas' rear armor plate and crashed into the reactor. Dirk struggled to keep the ‘Mech upright as the gyro spun nearly out of control. Heat surged through the cockpit. The Fafnir moved to point-blank range and started using its pulse laser to chew through what was left of the Atlas. Dirk threw his whole weight behind the controls, but the crippled Atlas responded sluggishly. The cockpit heat spiked even higher as several bolts melted into the reactor's already-damaged shielding. Barely able to breathe, Dirk could only watch as Teso drove the Blizzard, loaded with explosives, into the Fafnir's legs. The explosion weakened York's ‘Mech, but also stripped the last shielding from the Atlas' fusion core. In the background, the technicians ran for their lives. They would make it, thought Dirk, as he triggered the coolant flush, overrode the ejection alarm, and lit into the Fafnir with everything he had. As his world turned to heat and light and noise, somewhere between memory and light and Scharnhörst, Tana took his hand, and Lombroso smiled at him and told him that if we save as many as we can, even a few, it'll be worth it. WORD COUNT 6032 You like this Unlike Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #39 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #39 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 25 May 2015 - 05:16 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #39 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Annapolis Stiefel Grimaldi Swamp 20th March 3092, 1300 local For two days, the shattered remnants of the Rim Collection’s 4th Rim World Dragoons slogged through the thick, stinking mud of the Grimaldi Swamp. If Lieutenant Colonel Victoria York had ever seen, or smelled, a more stomach-churning mess, she couldn’t recall when or where. She remembered accounts from ancient history of how soldiers fighting a brush-fire war in Southeast Asia, during the late twentieth century, had to slog through deep, muddy swamps in hopes of rooting out enemy guerrillas. She had even seen films, converted to holovid, of young men in olive-drab uniforms, wading sometimes chest deep in the polluted water, holding their rifles above their heads as they went. As horrific as the accounts of those conditions sounded in the dry pages of a history book, York was sure those swamps could not have been any worse than the putrid fen that seemed to close in around them the moment they withdrew from the battle line. Her heart ached within her. She’d been forced from the battlefield in the past. This was the first time in her long career as a soldier that Victoria York had been forced to order her men to retreat. That knowledge burned inside her like white phosphorus, refusing to be extinguished. All around her, the battered, shot-scarred ‘Mechs of her sadly depleted command limped and slogged their way through the deep mud of the swamp. At first the retreat had been an orderly one. Combat units broke off one by one according to orders, moved a short distance away, and then turned to cover their buddies as they withdrew. But the Com Guard wouldn’t let up. Taking advantage of their new, undamaged Star League Mechs, ComStar pressed the retreating Rim Collection force closely. With her Conventional Squadrons grounded on La Loutre and Cornwallis, a Level I of Aero Space Fighters gained air superiority and swung in low over the retreating lines to strafe the Periphery units. That had been the signal for a general rout. York wasn’t certain who first broke and ran. She knew what unit they belonged to and she knew the Corporal Sharon Hangca had only been reacting to fear. She knew that a single BattleMech, a Dervish, bolted and raced at top speed for the thick swamps. Then another warrior’s nerve snapped, then a group of three. Soon the entire battalion was in a state of panic. Boi, Dansky, and her had tried to stop the pell-mell rush, as did a number of their officers, but to no avail. The fleeing mass of troops simply carried them along. By the time they were able to get control of the situation again, the battalion was broken, scattered to hell-and-gone in the fetid Grimaldi Swamp. Some reports said that some of Infantry Transport Lance had managed to withdraw into the rocky Grimaldi Mountains, south of the lake. York had her doubts as to the accuracy of the stories. The mountains lay more than two hundred kilometers to the southwest of Infantry Transport Lance’s last solid position. It would be impossible for Rim Collection forces to make that long trek and not be located and destroyed by the hard-pressing Com Guard Forces. As near as anyone could figure, nearly half of the battalion had been killed, crippled, or scattered during the rout. York knew that she and she alone would have to bear the guilt of that humiliating defeat. A few ‘Mechs, vehicles, and infantry sporadically trickled into the Rim Collection lines as the withdrawing army pushed deeper into the swamps. At first the arrival of these stragglers gave York’s morale a tiny boost. Perhaps she hadn’t lost as many men and machines as she’d feared. That optimism quickly died when, after a dozen lost warriors rejoined their units, the stragglers stopped coming in. “ ‘Dragoon Actual’, this is ‘Cobra 2’,” Dansky called. There was a note of weariness and worry that the metallic effect of the helmet’s speakers couldn’t cover. “I think we may have a bit of a problem here.” “‘Cobra 2’, this is ‘Dragoon Actual’, go ahead.” To York’s own ears, the exhaustion and dejection in her heart came out in her voice. Damn, I hope I don’t sound as bad as I think I do. Dansky seemed not to notice. “Lieutenant Colonel, have a listen t’ this.” The trooper’s voice was quickly replaced by a static-laden message, whose hollow, tinny sound led York to decide that it was a recording. “ ‘Cobra 2’, this is Yasha One.” The voice was young and full of fear. “I have movement, lots of it. We’re at...ah...” the transmission ended there. When Dansky came back on the line, he explained. “Lieutenant Colonel, that was one of my rearguards VTOLs. Her transmission got cut off at the source, and we cannot raise her again. If she was where she should have been, she was about two klicks southeast of my current position. I’ve got my combat command turned about, and formed up into something like a line of battle. If it was the Com Guard that caught up with Yasha One, then they’re on to us.” …………………. It had taken Colonel Frank Able nearly an hour to rally his retreating troops. By that time, the 4th Rim World Dragoon Regiment was scattered to hell and gone across the Plains. The 203rd Mechanized Infantry Battalion was still filtering into the rally point northwest of the city. Only the 107th Infantry Company, by virtue of the fact that they had not been heavily engaged, remained somewhat intact. But there were still two other groups that he was concerned about. As his army pulled back from the fighting at the spaceport, Able had passed command of the regiment to Lieutenant Colonel Victoria York. “There’s something I’ve gotta do, York,” he said to his second in command. “And I don’t want to do it over the radio. I’m taking the command lance on a little side trip. Take the regiment to the rally point and wait for us there. If we’re not back in a couple of hours, you’re in command.” “Okay, Colonel.” York seemed to understand. “I shall see you when I see you.” The Lieutenant Colonel attempted a cliché. The side trip took Able and the two remaining command lance ‘Mechs, a Warhammer and a Rifleman, and two Blizzard hover transports on a high-speed run around the western edge of the city to the field. When he got there, most of 4th Dragoon’s support troops were already gone. It spoke well for the technicians and other support staff that they were able to pack up and pull out with a minimum of warning and little equipment left behind. He ignored the bits of forgotten gear and walked his seventy-ton mount straight across the field, stopping only when he reached the low pyramidal structure housing the Halifax 4C Complex. A dark, armored figure, visible only through his ‘Mech’s night vision gear, crouched in the narrow doorway, aiming a missile launcher at his Warhammer’s head. “Stand easy, soldier,” he called over the heavy ‘Mech’s loudspeaker. “It’s Colonel Able.” For a moment, the nearly invisible trooper hesitated. The muzzle of the launcher never wavering from the circular sheet of high-strength armored polymer that made up the Warhammer 9D’s faceplate. Then, waving his understanding, the warrior stood up and lowered the weapon. Lifting the visor of his Leonidas battle armor, he revealed himself to be none other than Lieutenant Kintaro formerly of the Draconis Combine. Able locked the Warhammer’s knees and threw the switch that would unreel the ‘Mech’s chain ladder. It seemed to eat up the little strength remaining to him to clamber down the nine meters to the ground. “Lieutenant, what the hell are you still doing here?” he barked. “And why are you standing sentry duty?” Kintaro blinked at the suddenness of his words. “Gomenasai.” He bowed as far as the powered battle armor would allow. “I am sorry Able-sama. I misunderstood your orders. You instructed me to remain here and protect the wounded. That is what my men and I are doing. As for my standing guard duty, with so few men able to fight, we all have to share the burden. It is my turn.” Able brought himself up short. With exquisite tact, Kintaro reminded him that he was following the last orders he had given him, unlike the rest of 4th Dragoons regiment, which had retreated from battle. “No, Lieutenant.” He thought dolefully, running a hand over the stubble starting to grow on his face from several days of neglect, sweat-damp stubble. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I shouldn’t have barked at you.” “Shigataganai,” Kintaro answered. “It doesn’t matter.” Able nodded, ending that particular exchange. “Lieutenant I want you to pack up all your gear and whatever men who are it to walk, and bug out for the rally point.” Kintaro nodded and vanished within the darkened interior of the pyramid. Once, the 4C Complex had been an impressive structure, designed with the specific purpose of reminding anyone who set foot within its precincts that they had entered what was to the Inner Sphere a marvel of modern science. The structure’s cavernous interior had been carved out of living stone. The floors were flagged with blue, gray, and white marble cunningly crafted to resemble the Lyran Alliance mailed fist. The walls were similarly tiled with blue granite. Dozens of seals covered the polished stone walls in strictly regimented ranks and files. Each seal bore a name and a long alphanumeric string. Able knew from intelligence reports that each of these seals held in place a control panel, the powerful deep space radar that could detect the neutrino-signature of an incoming JumpShip. This was the heart and soul of the Halifax, and the wellspring of its engineering and technological superiority over the Periphery. It was also the field hospital for the Rim Collections 4th Dragoons Regiment. Having been a soldier all his life, Frank Able had seen nearly every unpleasant form the essentially unpleasant business of war and killing could take, but the one sight that always brought his gorge rising into the back of his throat was that of a military field hospital. Wounded and dying men lay on the cold stone floors, wrapped in blankets, with balled-up uniform jackets or rag-stuffed field packs for pillows. Some were blessedly unconscious, but others were awake. Of those who were conscious, some suffered the agonies of their wounds in silence. Others moaned softly in the back of their throat as morphine and other pain-killers failed to wholly insinuate themselves between the soldier and the pain of his wounds. The air was heavy with a stench that can only be found in a military field hospital. The reek was made up of equal parts blood, antiseptic, and fear. The Explorer Corp had modified the chamber with subdued lighting to preserve the awesomeness of the place. The medical teams had brought in more powerful lighting systems, which replaced the solemn shadows with harsh, unrelenting glare. The 4th Dragoon’s medical personnel had cleared away the ceremonial, almost Levitical trappings from the complex’s main chamber. Near the structure’s main entrance, they had established a triage station. Blood spilled from many wounds had stained the beautifully laid marble a dull rust color. Able thought that the hospital orderlies certainly must have tried to clean it up. Then he shuddered, remembering a tale from his childhood where the bloodstain left after a grisly murder kept coming back again and again despite the homeowner’s best efforts to remove it. “Doctor Trimball!” he bellowed, summoning the Rim Collection’s chief surgeon. “Dammit, keep it down,” snapped a small, lean man wearing a bloodstained green smock over his camouflaged fatigues. “There are wounded men in here, and they need their rest.” “I’m sorry, Doctor, but I don’t think they’re going to get it.” Able moderated his volume, but not his tone. “We’ve been pushed out of the city. The Com Guard are headed this way. I want you to pack up everything and everyone that can be moved and bug out.” “No, sir.” Trimball rolled his head on his neck, trying to ease the burning muscles. “Some of these men cannot be moved, and I can’t leave them behind. They’re in my care, and I won’t leave them.” The medical officer held up his right hand stopping Able’s reply. “You wouldn’t leave a dismounted or wounded MechWarrior behind, would you? I’m not going to leave any of my patients. That’s final.” “For the love of God, Doctor…” Able began. “No, Colonel, for the love of man.” Trimball countered. “Some of these men are going to die regardless of medical attention. All I can do is make them comfortable. Others might live if they get the proper treatment, and that doesn’t mean being bounced around in an ambulance all across Hell’s half-acre. If you order me to leave, I’ll have to take those men with me. Those that are going to die anyway, will die, but only after hours of needless agony. Some of those that might have lived will die too. The rest will have to endure what is tantamount to torture if you drag them out of this hospital.” For long seconds he glared at the dark-haired, swarthy medic. Then, realizing that Trimball was right, he grudgingly gave in. “All right,” he growled. “I think you’re crazy, but all right. “You know the Storm’s Armored Cavalry are likely to butcher the lot of you when they find out you’ve been using the 4C Complex as a hospital, don’t you?” “I know that, Colonel.” Trimball smiled sadly. “But I still can’t leave my patients.” “Colonel, I’d like to stay too.” A tall stocky man with graying brown hair and a bushy mustache stepped up to join them. His fatigues were a bit cleaner than Trimball’s. A silver cross hung around his neck on a heavy rope chain. “Like Doctor Trimball said, some of these men are going to die. My place is here with them. Maybe I can do them some good before they go.” Able closed his eyes and nodded sadly. He knew better than to argue with Captain D. C. Stockdale once his regimental chaplain had made up his mind on such a matter. Able’s business, he once explained, was winning battles, his was winning souls. A man’s deathbed was Stockdale’s last battlefield. “All right,” he sighed. “You two can stay. Doctor, pick out enough people to help with the wounded who cannot be moved. We’ll leave you as many supplies as we can. Everyone else is coming with me. Now!” . . . Less than an hour later, the 4C Complex-turned-field hospital had been cleared of the Rim Collection force’s walking wounded. Only the severely injured were left behind, along with Trimball, Stockdale, and a few medics. All of the Halifax Garrison wounded were also left in the complex. The Indigs would be better able to treat them, and they wouldn’t be a drain on his force’s dwindling medical resources. Dropping wearily into his ‘Mech’s command couch, Able stared at the tiny column of vehicles creeping west toward the rally point. “Colonel?” Major Abraham Cantor called softly from the heavy-class Rifleman twenty meters behind Able and to his right. “I’m okay, ‘Viper’,” he answered. “But I hope I didn’t just sign their death warrants.” Name: Frank Able Rank: Colonel Position: Commander MH: Warhammer 9D Role: Mastermind Lance: Command Company: Head Hunter Unit: RIMWORLD DRAGOONS Edited by Teso River, 25 May 2015 - 05:21 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #40 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #40 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 26 May 2015 - 11:53 AM LA-GW-12-01 Post #40 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Annapolis Stiefel Rally Point 22nd March 3092, 0130 local The Rally Point, in peacetime, was a roughly flat mesa with moderately thick forest cover and two natural springs. To the west was a wide glacial valley before the terrain once more rose in steps to tall mountains. To the east was a somewhat steep grade falling away to the Vingaard River, then the rolling hills; in the distance, the lights of Copernicus reflected off the rain clouds. The south was nearly a cliff that dropped to another valley floor. The north, the approach that Rim Collection Task Force took, was a gradual slope down to more rolling hills. Lieutenant Colonel Victoria York reflected that she would like to visit the area after the campaign was over . . . if she survived and if the Rim Collection won. Though, she mused, she might want to wait a few years until things had grown back. Now, the Rally Point was a fortress. The trees had been cut down and a trench dug around the perimeter, with barbed wire strung around it haphazardly. The felled trees had been turned into bunkers, with dirt heaped on top of them. Victoria was warned to stay between two white stakes, as the defenders had stolen a page from the Storm’s Armored Cavalry playbook and had set out antipersonnel mines, antitank mines, and vibromines. They crossed inside the perimeter, and Victoria made her way to a group of bunkers where a single, solitary Rim Collection flag flew. Leaving Major Kevin Dansky to determine how to set out preliminary defensive arrangements, she dismounted from the Fafnir and climbed down. Immediately the smell of the hill hit her and she nearly gagged. It was a combination of human sweat, blood, urine, and feces, combined with cordite, churned earth, wood smoke, and something rotten. A ragged figure wearing the rank bars of a Captain came up to her. "Are you 4th Dragoons Six?" "Yes." "I'm not going to salute you, Lieutenant Colonel," the man said, seeing her rank tabs, "we've been taking sniper fire for hours." He grinned. "But I damn sure am going to hug you." And he did, enfolding her and squeezing her tight. Victoria's nose wrinkled at the unwashed smell and she was taken aback by the affection a total stranger was showing her. He pulled back. "Sorry, ma'am. Just damn good to see you. Caught up in the moment." She decided not to be offended. This man looked like he had been through the proverbial wringer. "Um, it is okay. I am Lieutenant Colonel Victoria York. You are…?" "Burks. Eric Burks. Brevet Captain." He suddenly turned somber. "You were probably expecting Major Ariel Zibler. She was killed yesterday in the first attack. Captain Jorge Burns took over, but a sniper got him around midnight. In fact, it might be a good idea to get undercover. I don't think any snipers would be stupid enough to fire with your two lances of 'Mechs and a battalion of tanks here, but you never know." He motioned her into a nearby bunker. The wood was badly chipped and boughs lay on the damp ground. Considering it had been built in haste, it was comfortable and it was safe, though she avoided the slits built into it; just the word sniper had made her feel naked. She nodded at the other two people in the bunker, who huddled next to a radio, then accepted a steaming mug from Burks. Victoria thought it was coffee and was surprised to find it was chicken soup. Burks sipped at his, then seemed to remember something. "Did you say York was your surname? Wouldn't that make you . . . " "I'm formerly of the Inner Sphere, yes, former Lyran Alliance" Victoria confirmed. "Look, Captain, we really don't have time for niceties. I shot up a couple of artillery batteries on the way in, which will buy us some time, but the Mercenaries are not going to tolerate eight ‘Mech and a mixed arms company sitting in their rear area for long." Burks nodded. "I understand. Sorry…this is kind of new to me. I'm not used to coordinating such a large contingent. I'm usually the CO for a combine arms company, Delta Company. We've never been a battalion, just a company under the 203rd." He looked to her, and Victoria was surprised to find he was waiting for orders. "What's the situation?" she asked. Burks seemed reluctant to say, and then the words came spilling out. The 203rd Mechanized Infantry Battalion had been called up as support for Dragoons 3rd Battalion, who was being pushed west out of Copernicus, but had not been expecting to see action for a few days yet, as Storm’s Armored Cavalry had been reported making for the planetary capital at Copernicus. When the 203rd Battalion had instead run into the White Cyclones advancing south and got into a confused battle at Three Forks, Major Ariel Zibler had tried to do something to turn the tide in the task force's favor. Loading up her vehicles in her DropShips and on top of two companies of medium and heavy infantry, she crossed the Vingaard over the Toston Dam, intending to drop squarely into the Com Guard’s rear. Retreating or not, no commander wanted an enemy battalion loose behind them. Unfortunately, Zibler had not counted on a rain-swollen river delaying her passage, or that Charlie Company and Bravo Company would break off their battle and mutually pull away from each other. Instead of an impressive manuever sur la derriere, as Napoleon would have called it, she ended up stuck in an open valley, her back to a river, and an angry, fanatical enemy to her front and sides. Zibler had immediately attempted to retreat, only to find herself cut off even from the river. Seeing that, she had done the only thing possible, save surrender. She had taken up position at the Rally Point, dug in, and called for help from the rest of the 4th Dragoon regiment stationed on Halifax. The SAC command had anticipated that and every time another company would arrive they would pull a counter company off the front to increase the pressure. Until the entire enemy Task Force was bogged down at the Rally Point. It was a well-orchestrated trap. Damn that Ciara Storm. As Burks pointed out the 203rd's positions on a rough map, Victoria was impressed by the late Major's skill. While the Task Force had been forced to abandon their Aerospace Fighter Coverage, which could not differentiate blue-on-blue incidents, they had dismounted the DropShip’s heavy weaponry and placed them around the perimeter with interlocking fields of fire, in hastily constructed but good bunkers. Barbed wire had been stolen from a nearby factory and strung around the perimeter, along with a trench. Long Range Missiles had been emplaced and the remaining heavy tanks dug in as pillboxes, since the perimeter wasn't big enough to move them around much. And the 203rd Battalion had waited. The first attack, Burks recounted, had been a foolish one on the part of the Halifax People's Resistance Army. Expecting an ill-prepared Rim Collection army that would fold quickly, they had run into a murderous crossfire; true, the meager vehicle battalion forces had never trained together, but its higher officers and NCOs had been involved in several battles as the Regiment fought to hold other planets against the 12th Donegal Guard Regimental Combat Team and the 1st Lyran Regulars. The ROTC and part-time soldiers were inexperienced, but having heard the atrocity stories coming from off planet, were determined to sell their lives dearly rather than face brutal capture and certain execution. Zibler had also let the Halifax PRA get within fifty meters before opening fire. The result was a lot of dead HPRA soldiers and a new found respect for the forces of the Rim Collection. Zibler herself had died at the tail end of the attack, felled by a stray shot. The second attack was better planned. This time, Storm’s Armored Cavalry had struck the hill at dusk with artillery and LRMs, and sent in the battlemechs only seconds after the barrage was lifted. "None of their battlearmored Black Op Forces, thank God," Burks said, "but bad enough. They got in the perimeter in two places before we managed to throw them back. That was when Captain Burns got it. Captain O’Shay Fosstil was killed when his Bardiche took a direct crew compartment hit." He motioned out into the darkness; Victoria could see the disabled assault tank. She could also see the wrecks of at least a half dozen more vehicles. "They had Gauss rifle hunter-killer teams too," Burks explained, seeing her expression. "Since about midnight, it's just been sniper fire and the occasional LRM, though we haven't heard from either since about an hour ago." "That's because the Mercenaries were getting ready to hurricane barrage this place, probably with another concerted attack." She decided not to mention the Sylvester-Class WarShip, the Ulysses S Grant, parked in orbit capable of delivering an orbital bombardment; there was no reason to panic her troops, who were probably just holding onto the last shreds of their sanity. None had showered in three days, and probably none of them had slept much, either. "What's your current status?" Burks grabbed at a loose leaf tablet. "We've got roughly fifty eighty percent effectives right now, with about thirty two percent wounded . . . half ambulatory." He bit his lip, suddenly trembling. "We…we started with nine lances." He made a visible effort not to cry, and succeeded. Victoria did some quick mental calculation. With fifty eighty percent unwounded but exhausted soldiers, and despite augmenting that force with her mixed company, the perimeter would still be too large to defend. She looked outside again. Her 'Mechs and tanks were now in defensive positions that would wreck a single battalion attack, but anything larger would spell their doom. And she doubted the SAC would have much artillery left. The clouds precluded an air attack, for which she was profoundly glad of. But with a force such as hers behind them, the next attack would be at best assault and heavy tanks, and more likely Black Ops Battle Armor. If the SAC was feeling sporting, they would only send their light and medium 'Mechs, but Victoria was sure that someone, either from the APCs Kevin Dansky had shot up or any survivors from the artillery batteries, had radioed that the Com Guard had arrived and that there were two Level IIs of fresh 'Mechs inbound. The SAC was not stupid, and they had enough time to still wipe out Victoria's tiny task force and Delta Company before taking on the Rim Collection 4th Dragoons Regiment. "Can I take a look around?" The diffuse moonlight was enough to see by, now that her eyes had adjusted to it. "Sure. Better take the trench, though." Victoria followed Burks in a quick tour of the perimeter. They detoured around craters and over destroyed bunkers, Victoria scraping her knees and hands, and wondering if there was a crosshair on her back. Burks had made brief introductions to exhausted troops, and pointed offhandedly at a misshapen pile to the west, explaining that those were bodies of HPRA troops, killed by the machine guns. One body was caught in the barbed wire, and to Victoria's horror, he . . . or she; Victoria couldn't tell in the darkness . . . was still alive. One leg was off and blood covered the grayish uniform, the results of a grenade going off at the HPRA soldier's feet, but he/she was tangled in the wire so tightly that it served as tourniquets. The figure gave off a plaintive, but soft moan, and made an attempt to move, jangling the wire with a metallic sound. Then it stopped. None of the 117th Infantry spared the HPRA soldier more than a glance. He led her back to the command bunker, under its ragged, bullet-holed red Rim Collection flag, nearly invisible in the darkness. They had to go through the hospital first, which was makeshift at best. Medical supplies had run out, and the dirt floor was soaked in so much blood it pooled underneath her feet. She had to suppress another gag at the stench. Some of the wounds were already festering, and some of the more badly wounded, and the dead, had voided where they lay. A score of medics lay collapsed on the far side of the wall. No one screamed or did more than groan, but that, Burks explained, tears in his eyes, was because they had used all their morphine to sedate the wounded. "Sorry," he apologized when they returned to the bunker. "I shouldn't have shown you that." For the briefest second, Victoria saw a flash of contempt for her. The high-stepping ‘Mech Warrior, who literally look on the PBIs and fought an antiseptic war of machines, where a warrior rarely saw their opponent and never really wanted to, subscribing to the fiction that they were only killing 'Mechs, not people. "It is all right. I have seen worse." Burks's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "You have?" "Yes." A phantom smell wafted through her nostrils from old, bad memories. Roasted flesh. Once smelled, never forgotten; the Rally Point had not been hit by flames. She forced back the image of small, blackened hands reaching out forever from a blasted truck, hands that would've been hers if not for a panicked jump and the grace of the Great Father, hands that might have been her sibling’s. Kevin Dansky came into the bunker. "Victoria, I've got us placed. How does it look to you?" Victoria motioned him over and said quietly, "Dansky, I think we have got a problem." "Aside from the obvious?" The older man made a twirling motion with his fingers, indicating the hill. "I guess. The 203rd’s got maybe fifty eighty percent fit for duty. The ones that are not wounded have not slept in nearly 48 hours. And now that we are here, the Mercenaries are going to send in our own captured Aerospace fighters against us." "So what? That's what they pay us for." "It is not that, Kevin!" Victoria hissed, trying to keep her voice down. "There is going to be nothing left of the 203rd Mechanized Infantry Battalion if we try to hold out until the rest of the Rim Collection get here! There is no point in rescuing this battalion if we are just going to get them wiped out in the morning . . . they can not hold against another attack." Kevin Dansky folded his arms across his rising and falling chest. "I figure the Mercenaries'll hit us in about two hours; three if we're lucky." She spoke in a normal voice and glanced at Burk. "What are your orders, Lieutenant Colonel?" Now everyone's eyes were on Victoria, and Kevin Dansky raised an eyebrow, as if to say, You wanted command of this thing, ‘Vicki’; I'll follow your orders, but they'd better be good. Victoria, however, had already made up her mind. She turned to Burk. "Captain, begin loading your wounded into the Blizzards, into your APCs, and the Engineering Vehicle. Everyone who is still upright can ride on top of the tanks. Dig out your remaining armor, power up your vehicles and get ready to move." Kevin Dansky's eyes widened; those weren't the orders he was expecting to hear. "But what about the supplies and stuff we brought . . . " "Unpack and leave it. We will burn them before we go. Dansky, I want the 203rd vehicle crews to keep an eye on the battlefield in infrared. Anything moves out there, we kill it. I don’t want some asshole sniper or mortar team plinking at us." Burk realized what Victoria meant to do just before Kevin Dansky did. "Yes, Lieutenant Colonel." He ducked into the hospital. "Wait, wait . . . we're abandoning the Rally Point?" Dansky exclaimed. "But our orders . . . " "To hell with our orders." Victoria began walking for the entrance. "The Colonel’s not going to like this." Victoria looked at Kevin Dansky with steel eyes. "The Colonel’s not here, Dansky. “I” am." WORD COUNT 2750 Name: Victoria York Rank: Lieutenant Colonel Position: Commander MH: Fafnir Role: Executive Officer Unit: RIMWORLD DRAGOONS Edited by Teso River, 26 May 2015 - 11:54 AM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image ....... LA-GW-12-01 Post #41 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Annapolis Stiefel 4th Dragoon’s Bivouac 25th March 3092, 0245 local Colonel Frank Able gently probed the swollen, painful lump on his forehead, the legacy of a Storm’s Armored Cavalry ‘Mech warrior who had mistaken his Warhammer for a punching bag. He leaned back in his camp chair with a heavy sigh, conscious of the approach of exhaustion. The Storm’s Armored Cavalry had tried another assault just before daybreak, and had been repulsed once again, with moderate losses on both sides. One Mercenary piloting a Shadow Hawk bearing the insignia of the Storm’s Armored Cavalry command lance had jumped over the Rim Collection’s front lines to attack the ‘Mechs in the unit’s reserve formation. Whether by design or accident, Able’s Warhammer was the first ‘Mech the Storm’s Armored Cavalry had engaged. The bloody fool leveled her submachine gun-like medium laser at his stocky heavy ’Mech and charged, spraying red beams of energy all over the landscape as she ran. Able tried to halt the mad rush by pumping extended range medium laser fire into the careening Shadow Hawk, but the enemy seemed bent on closing with him, even if it meant her own destruction. The SAC ‘Mech bounded into the air, just as Able was locking on to it for what surely would have been a mortal hit from his dual load of extended ranged particle projection cannons. With a shattering impact, the Shadow Hawk crashed down again, striking the Warhammer in the left shoulder. Able’s ‘Mech tumbled to the ground, as did the Shadow Hawk. The Storm’s Armored Cavalry ‘Mech Warrior got to her feet first and delivered a stunning kick to the side of the Warhammer’s head. Even as the Storm’s Armored Cavalry ‘Mech Pilot was pulling back for another devastating blow, Regimental Major Abraham Cantor poured four blasts of laser fire into the SAC ‘Mech’s thin back armor. The Shadow Hawk’s missile ammunition cooked off, deterring the ‘Mech and thwarting the brave, if foolish, ‘Mechwarrior. That’s the way it’s been ever since the Storm’s Armored Cavalry had recovered from their initial onslaught, he thought. They hate us enough already, then we go and destroy their DropShip and still he could not goad the SAC Command into violating the tenants of the Ares Convention into launching an orbital bombardment. He sipped the hot, bitter coffee that came packaged in all battlefield rations. No wonder they all seem crazy. In the aftermath of the abortive night assault, both sides had withdrawn from the battlefield. The Storm’s Armored Cavalry pulled back toward Copernicus, while the Command Lance, the 3rd Battalion, and the 203rd Mechanized Infantry Battalion fell back to the west. The 4th Rim World Dragoon Regiment moved steadily westward throughout the day, and settled into the bivouac just after nightfall, setting up a defensive position in the foothills of the Yaeger Mountains, the peaks west of the continental capital. In their evacuation of Copernicus, most of the Rim Collection’s wounded were loaded onto armored personnel carriers, empty ammunition haulers, or commandeered civilian ground cars, and carried along with the retreating task force. Able felt a spasm of guilt every time he thought about the sheer agony those wounded troopers must have endured, being dragged all over creation through some of the worst terrain he had ever seen. He felt even worse when he thought of the critically injured men he had to leave behind. A few of the Rim Collection’s medical staff had volunteered to stay to care for the wounded, as did division Chaplain Stockdale. In the past, the Storm’s Armored Cavalry had treated injured men and their caretakers reasonably well, if not necessarily according to the Ares Conventions. Under normal circumstances, leaving a badly wounded man behind was bad enough, even when you thought the enemy would honor the conventions of modern warfare to look after him. But this was different. The Periphery Nation had insulted the Storm’s Armored Cavalry’s sense of honor by destroying Dosilin. Worse yet, they had done it under the banner of a band of Pirates called the Buccaneer’s Storm, an idea the Mercenaries seemed to regard as odious. Often, those kind of circumstances voided all rules of civilized conduct. Able counted it a minor miracle that the withdrawing Rim Collection force saw no sign of the enemy during the long, exhausting, spirit-crushing retreat. Perhaps the Storm’s Armored Cavalry had been battered as badly as his troops had been. Unfortunately, he couldn’t rest on that assumption. Much of the Rim Collection’s light armor had been destroyed in opposing the Storm’s Armored Cavalry’s initial counter assaults on the Chennai Plains. What hover tanks remained to him, Able sent out on a wide patrol sweep south and east toward Copernicus. He had to know what the Storm’s Armored Cavalry was up to in enough time to formulate a response. It was nearly oh-three-hundred, local time. The patrols had been gone for nearly five hours, and yet there had been no word. He swallowed the dregs of his coffee, then dropped the stainless steel cup onto his field desk. He chuckled ruefully at the idea that, no matter how bad things got in the field, his orderlies would always make sure his tent was set up and in order. At times he hated the perks that went along with being a commanding officer. To those under his command, even the small comforts of a roomy, self-inflating tent and an orderly to look after the small details must have seemed like a wasteful luxury. He himself had thought so when coming up through the ranks. Then, one day, his father had taken him aside and, in a rare moment of anger, had told him to shut his trap about the officers. “Sure, they’ve got orderlies to look after them,” he growled. “But they’ve also got all of you to look after. What do you want them worrying about, getting a tent set up or drawing up a good battle plan that might just save your life?” Frank Able never forgot that lesson. It had been one of the last his father ever taught him before he died. Stepping out into the cold night air, he turned up the collar of his heavy maroon and black field jacket. The Rim Collection camp was eerily quiet. Gone were the friendly voices, the joking banter, the soldiers’ songs. In their place were the crackle and snap of the small campfires built against the night chill and the low groans of the wounded. Those noises only served to intensify the silence rather than to relieve it. He’d never heard the camp so still. “Colonel?” The communication officer jogged up to him, out of breath. The tech was painfully Tanya Moore. Able vaguely remembered seeing her marching proudly among the last graduating class of cadets on Gillfillan’s Gold. That was a little over six years ago. It seemed an eternity. The young lady skidded to a halt, her right hand beginning to come up, then she stopped, remembering that it was against regulations to salute in the field. One never knew when there might be a ruthlessly efficient SAC sniper about. “Colonel, we’ve finally made contact with the scouts,” Moore gasped, her breath fogging in the cool damp air. “We’ve got Foxtrot Recon Two on the horn right now.” Able grunted his thanks and darted past Moore. The Darter Scout Car was twenty meters away. He covered the distance in seconds. Leaping up the short flight of steps to the Darter’s interior, he barked, “All right, people, what’ve we got?” “Colonel, we’ve got Foxtrot Recon Two on the line.” The senior comm tech pointed at an electronic map, which displayed the recon unit’s position as a single bright dot against a darker green background. “Let me talk to him.” Colonel Frank Able said grabbing a communication set and stretching it across his head. He thought for a minute to recall who it was and also what his call sign was. “Okay, patch me in.” Able waited for a nod from the comm tech, then said, “ ‘Sentry’, this is ‘Rim World Actual’. Give me a sitrep.” “ ‘Rim World Actual’, ‘Sentry’, wilco. Sitrep. Grid: Mike Alpha niner-five-four-seven.” Able glanced at the electronic map. The tracking dot was right on target, eleven kilometers east northeast of the Rim Collection bivouac. ‘Sentry’s transmission was thin and scratchy, but staff sergeant Ken ‘Sentry’ Funai spoke slowly and clearly to make sure he was understood. The message was being encrypted to evade interception by the enemy. “We’re hull-down in a defilade about five hundred meters southeast of their position. It looks like the Sierra Alpha Charlies have pulled up for the night in an abandoned metal processing plant. I count about six lances of Bravo Mikes, a reinforced company of Alpha Victors, and fifty plus Bravo Alphas.” “Say again, all after ‘processing plant’.” Able wasn’t sure he’d heard the staff sergeant correctly. “I say again, I count about six lances, that is twenty five, two five, Battle Mechs, sixteen, one six Armored Vehicles and five zero, fifty plus Battle Armor. About half of the Bravo Mikes look like they just came off the assembly line, or out of a parade. They haven’t got a scratch on them. Stand by.” In a moment, the reconnaissance trooper came on again. “Colonel, I’ve got a positive ID on those new ‘Mechs. The warbook says they’re the 83rd Division White Cyclones-IV gamma, Eternal Phantoms Level III-Delta, commanding officer, Demi-Percentor Reginald Holloway.” “ ‘Rim World Actual’ copies, ‘Sentry’. What are the Sierra Alpha Charlies up to?” Able had distracted the scout from his report by asking him to repeat himself. Now, he had to get him back on track. “It looks like they’re making running repairs on their damaged ‘Mechs,” he said. “They’re welding armor patches over broken armor, trashing out our salvaged, really shot-up ‘Mechs to repair their less badly damaged ones, that sort of thing. If I had to make a guess, I’d say the Storm’s Armored Cavalry is really low on supplies and spares. I don’t see much ammunition being loaded into their magazines, and the techs are swapping out pods wholesale, trying to mount lasers and PPCs rather than ballistic weapons. Again, it’d be a guess, but I’d say they’re almost out of ammo.” “That’s about all we can see from here, unless you want us to move in for a closer look?” Funai’s voice betrayed reluctance to undertake a close reconnaissance of the SAC camp. Able thought for a moment. “Negative, ‘Sentry’. Stay where you are as long as you aren’t compromised. I want half-hourly updates on what the enemy is doing. If it looks like they’re getting ready to move, I want you and your team to bug out, got it? No hero stuff. You understand?” “Roger that, ‘Rim World Actual’. No fear there.” The J Edgar scout leader sounded amused and relieved at the same time. “Updates to follow at thirty minute intervals. ‘Sentry’, clear.” “Runner.” Able motioned to a Leonidas trooper standing by the command battalion’s Darter Scout Car’s open door. “Go and fetch the 4th Dragoons Company commanders and the Regimental Lieutenant Colonel and the Conventional Fighter Wing’s commanding officer. I want to see them right away.” The infantryman repeated the order back to him just to make sure he had gotten it straight, then darted off into the night. As Able awaited the arrival of his co-commanders, he ran over his regiment’s readiness figures. The initial invasion and the subsequent fighting had reduced the Rim Collection Regiment, to about sixty percent of its pre-invasion strength. The heaviest casualties had been among the light, fast BattleMechs and the unarmored infantry platoons. In addition, many of the Rim Collection’s fast hover tanks had been knocked out. Surprisingly, much of the armored infantry attached to the 3rd Battalion and Charlie Company had come through the fighting relatively intact. Those damned Mercenaries. Ammunition was in good supply, a surprising fact when one took into account the heavy fighting in which the 4th Rim World Dragoons, as individuals and as a whole, had been involved. On the other hand, expendables like satchel charges and food and medical supplies were running low. The shortages were not critical yet, but they could easily become so if the enemy forced the Rim Collection units into a protracted campaign. Another question that had nagged at him ever since the reinforcements Eternal Phantoms arrived became even more pressing with Funai’s report that the newest arrivals were commanded by a Demi-Precentor of the 83rd Division White Cyclones. A Com Star JumpShip had jumped from the Halifax system, probably energizing its drives from a bank of lithium-fusion batteries. Where had they gone, and how long would it be before they came back with enough Com Star ‘Mechs and warriors to wipe the Periphery Nation’s Rim World Dragoons out of existence? If Com Star did send reinforcements, would he be able to recall their own JumpShips and escape, or would the Strike Force be caught with no means of retreat and chopped to pieces by a vengeful Storm’s Armored Cavalry? Should he even try to recall the transports, knowing that the task force’s naval arm probably didn’t have enough strength to protect the unarmed JumpShips from their enemy’s Sylvester- Civilian Class WarShip? The battered ground forces might be able to evacuate Halifax aboard the DropShips grounded on the Continent Nova Scotia if they left all of their heavy equipment behind, but he didn’t like leaving any useful materiel behind for the Storm’s Armored Cavalry. “What’s up, Colonel?” Captain Richard Poskins took the steps into the Darter Scout Car in a single bound. For perhaps the third time since Able had known him, Able realized that Poskins had no cigar in his hands. Maybe he had finally run out. “C’mon in, Poskins. Take a seat. I only want to go over this once, so we’ll wait until everybody’s here.” Able hadn’t long to wait. The 4th Dragoon’s CO, looking as dapper as ever and a particularly haggard-looking Lieutenant Colonel Victoria York slipped into the spacious compartment inside the thirteen ton Darter Scout Car only seconds after Poskins and lopped into a lightly padded seat. Major Abraham Cantor and brevet Captain Eric Burks arrived moments later. The remaining three Commanders, Anna Brenner, Wayne Drake, and Kevin Dansky all arrived simultaneously. Able made a mental note to seek out the runner after the meeting and give him a personal word of thanks. Quickly, not wasting words, Able sketched out what his scouts had learned about the enemy’s position and situation. Almost before he finished speaking, Major Cantor was recommending that they launch an immediate attack. “They are only about two hours east of us. If we move now, it will still be dark when we hit them. We should be able to catch them flat-footed.” “I agree with Major Cantor,” Drake put in. “The SAC is low on ammunition, many of their ‘Mechs are shot up, and most of their Spec Ops Battle Armor support is killed or crippled. If we jump them now, we got ‘em cold.” “And what if we get hung up in transit?” Victoria York put in. “What if we get turned around and it takes more than two hours to get there? This planet has an east-to-west rotation, doesn’t it? If we launch our attack any later than oh-five-hundred, or oh-five-thirty at the latest, our guys will have the sun in their eyes before the battle is over.” Offered the regiment’s Commanding officer. Able looked askance at York, who seemed not to notice. Able caught the momentary whitening of the young woman’s knuckles as she spoke. York had always been the safe middle ground between Drake’s daring, almost reckless courage and Poskins’ cautious stubbornness. Something was eating away at her now. Able had thought the problem was resolved after the Rim Collection’s combat drop onto Halifax, in which the young Colonel acquitted herself quite well. Apparently, it wasn’t. Before the Caldarium campaign, Able had considered turning Rim Collection XO position over to York’s command to fill the void left by Lieutenant Colonel’s Clint McAuther’s sudden if not abrupt departure. After that bloody operation something seemed to change inside York. Able couldn’t quite put a name to it, but the change was definite. Now, in light of the younger Colonel’s reaction to the desperate situation they were facing, Able began to wonder if he shouldn’t reconsider his choice for promotion. For a moment he lost track of the discussion while he debated how to handle this officer who might be losing her nerve. He couldn’t leave York out of the fighting entirely. That would give the impression that Able didn’t trust her to command her troops under fire, and further exacerbate the problem. On the other hand, if Able included York’s troops in the coming strike, York might freeze up, or fall apart, leaving her regiment leaderless. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do,” Able said at last. “Lieutenant Colonel, you’ll move the 4th Dragoons out to the south. You’re our screening force. The mountains will cover our left lank. Major Cantor, your Lance will be the main striking force. You’ve got heavy ‘Mechs still in operating condition, and Captain Drake you cover our right flank. Anna, your force will form up about three klicks behind the main striking column. I want you to stand ready to either make a flank strike, reinforce the main attack, or hold the door open for the Head Hunter Company and 4th Dragoon if they have to bug out in a hurry. Captain Burks, you’re down to about an under strengthen company of medium and heavy vehicles, right? I want you to stay here and protect this encampment. Remember, Captain, you’ll be guarding our wounded and our supplies. Don’t let me down, son.” “I won’t, Colonel.” Eric Burks smiled tiredly. “This is going to be a fast raid-in-force,” Able continued. “No fancy stuff, just hit ’em, cause as much damage as you can, and get out. “Now, remember, people, there have been a lot of times when we’ve been on the ragged edge, hanging on by our fingernails. That’s when warriors put their heads down and fight the hardest. Half our enemy is pretty shot up out there, but the scouts say they’ve gotten a fresh influx of troops . . . elite Com Guard troops. We can’t afford to slack off on this one. We may beat them, but it won’t be any kind of a walk-over. In fact, unless we play this just right, we may get our heads handed to us. “That’s it, mount up.” . . . An hour later, Able was once again at the controls of his commandeered battered and dented Warhammer. Major Abraham ‘Viper’ Cantor was strapped into his Rifleman’s seat thirty meters behind Able, humming tunelessly as he watched his instruments through half-closed eyes. At times, Able actually thought he heard his off-key warble fade into snores. Once he’d confronted the division’s control officer about sleeping in the cockpit. Cantor had grinned and rubbed the back of his head. “Well, Colonel,” he said. “You got the hard part, commanding the division. All I do is sit in back and listen to the radio. It gets boring after a while.” The mischievous lilt in Abraham’s voice told Able that he was pulling his leg, but he couldn’t help but wondered exactly how much. But, in this case, Abraham Cantor was right. There was little to see and less to hear. Able had ordered his troops to move as quickly and as quietly as possible, navigating only by the light amplification systems built into their ‘Mech cockpits. Strict radio silence was to be observed. The Storm’s Armored Cavalry had to have detected ‘Sentry’s transmissions, scrambled as they were. Even if they could not pin down his location, they had to know that a 4th Dragoon scout had located their bivouac. A stray radio signal coming from the Regiment could betray their intentions, and instead of attacking a sleeping camp, they’d be facing a prepared and angry defender. It was another paradox of modern warfare. Ever since the development of reliable, practical night-vision equipment in the latter half of the twentieth century, most modern armies had the capability of waging war at night. Still, most armies - whether they had night operations capability or not - seemed to prefer fighting in the daylight. Now, with the refinement of available light amplification, so-called “starlight” systems, thermal viewers, ultrasound ranging and imaging gear, night and day were virtually the same to BattleMechs. But still, most battles were fought during the day, and in relatively good weather. Able supposed it had something to do with man’s primeval fear of the dark. Well, be that as it may, he told himself as Abraham’s humming resumed once again. Tonight we’ll teach the White Cyclones what kind of death lurks in the darkness. Word Count 3544 Name: Frank Able Rank: Colonel Position: Commander MH: Warhammer 9D Role: Mastermind Lance: Command Company: Head Hunter Unit: RIMWORLD DRAGOONS Edited by Teso River, 26 May 2015 - 06:12 PM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #42 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #42 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 01 June 2015 - 01:24 AM LA-GW-12-01 Post #42 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Annapolis Stiefel Grapevine United Metal Processing Plant. Storm’s Armored Cavalry Bivouac Commander’s Environmental Bubble 25th March 3092, 0645 local Not feeling a warm body snuggled up against him, Captain Teso ‘Twisted’ River sleepily rolled over and reached for his lover, Ciara ‘Vixen’ Storm. His eyes were still closed as he moved his arm around the twin cot that the two of them shared. When he had reached the far edge of the cot and still no Ciara, Teso instinctively opened his eyes and sat bolt upright. He groggily scanned the twelve man Environ Bubble for Ciara. She was no where in sight. An Environmental Bubble was a durable plastic and self sealing ceramic shelter issued to field troops operating in harsh weather conditions; deserts, arctic areas, thin air, and so on. Environ Bubbles did not provide protection from vacuums, however. Environ Bubbles do provide shelter, privacy, and other requirements such as warmth, cooling, and sanitary facilities. Ciara indulge in the luxury of the largest shelter, twelve man, because she was the Commanding Officer of the Storm’s Armored Cavalry. Teso enjoyed it as a perk of being the Commander’s significant other. Teso swung his legs from beneath the covers and sat at the edge of the cot for several minutes. He was concerned about Ciara. She was driving the SAC extremely hard trying to eradicate the blight that was the 4th Rim World Dragoons from Halifax. He ran both of his calloused hands through his matted, snow white hair. She wasn’t taking care of herself. She wasn’t eating right nor was she getting enough sleep. When she had finally come to bed last night he recalled looking at his chronometer and it was well after zero two hundred hours. And here she was up and gone before zero six hundred hours. Teso simply shook his head. He would talk to Doctor Kizza about Ciara. If anyone could talk her into caring for herself, Maxine could. Not that Teso hadn’t tried. It just seemed that no matter how much he brought it to Ciara’s attention it went in one ear and out the other. She would always fall back on how he had behaved when she was MIA. Teso had slept an average of two hours out of every twenty four until he had found Ciara. But that was different, he’d tried to convince himself. ::sigh:: Teso clambered from the cot and shuffled his way to the head to relieve himself. He washed his hands and then grabbed a wash cloth from a dolly and washed his face to get the sleep out of the corner of his eyes. He stood there looking at his reflection in a piece of stainless steel that was supposed to be a mirror. He check his blood pressure and his glucose level and brushed his teeth before jumping into the private shower. He spent twenty five minutes taking a hot shower. Now that they were near the city of Grapevine, water was not at a premium. The engineers of Dread Squad had efficiently went about procuring the SAC an amply water supply for drinking, laundering, and for the soldier’s hygiene. Most of the Battalion had taken shelter inside the abandon metal processing plant. First Lieutenant David bin Sabir had even managed to see to it that the plant had full lighting, no heat, but at least they could see and run a triage. Stepping out of the refreshing shower, Teso toweled off, and donned a fresh pair of BDUs and stood in front of the stainless steel mirror while he ran a comb through his hair. He grabbed a light weight jacket for protection from the cool morning air before leaving the Environ Bubble. Not knowing Ciara’s intentions for the night, Teso caught up with Dread Squad Engineer, Private Stewart Lewis, to instruct him to make sure the Bubble was fully charged for the night. Teso then made his way to the temporary Mess set up in the processing plants cafeteria. “Hey ‘Cookie’. Gimmee the usual.” “I have something better for you Cap’n.” First Sergeant Torra MacHutchin called out from behind the grill. “Oh yeah, and what’s that?” queried Teso. “It’s a surprise. You just sit your old keester down and let ‘Cookie’ here take care of you. Have I ever let you down before? Wait . . . don’t answer that.” She said good naturedly. Teso smiled and looked around the cafeteria turned Mess Hall. He spied Mechwarrior Sergeant Krystal Steele and 1st Lieutenant Mark Robinson seated upon opposite sides of a nearby metal table, alone, making goo-goo eyes at one another. “Uh-hmm” he walked over clearing his throat. He didn’t care to intrude on their conversation. “Do you mind if I join you two?” The both looked up at Captain River like they had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Krystal was the first one to recover and answer the Captain. “No. Not at all, sir. We were just finishing up here anyway.” “Please do Captain,” invited Mark. As Teso sat down next to Mark, Krystal stood up, swinging first one leg out and then the other from beneath the table. She nodded and offered Teso a quick salute, “Captain,” before she sashayed on her way. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything Lieutenant,” Teso fixed his gaze on Mark and said. “Nyaah. Not at all Cap. Like she said. We were finishing up anyway.” Just then Private Kerianna ‘D’ brought Teso his usual coffee, with two creamers and one low fat sweetener. Her surname was Djajadiningrat, but everyone called her just ‘Dee’ for short. No one could pronounce her last name correctly. “Thank You ‘D’.” “Your breakfast will be out in a couple of minutes Captain.” “Thanks.” Turning his attention back to the Lieutenant he asked, “What’s the status on Diamondback?” “Well, Sir, as you know, we are struggling with personnel. Lambda Squad is down two men. We’re gonna missed 1st Sergeant Tracy Hansen. That chick had more balls than some men I know. Kilo Squad is down to fifty percent too. Master Sergeant Gusti Subagja died last night on the operating table. I’m gonna move Diamondback’s second, Sergeant Major Natasha Franke, to her own squad in command of Lambda. I think she’s ready. If not she’ll have to be baptized by fire. That way we have three under strength squads, Juliet at 75 percent, Kilo at fifty, and Lambda at seventy five.” “Uh hmm. What about hardware? You do know the Commander is gearing up for another push on the 4th Dragoons?” Lieutenant Robinson let out a sigh. “Yea. I know. It won’t be so bad from here on out though. With the Level II of armored infantry from the White Cyclones they can share some of the work load with our boys. They are fresher anyway. We have a missmash of armored suits; a salvaged Leonidas and an Ogre, a Kobold and what we were able to piece together of our own Asterions.” Teso eyebrows went up, “What? A Kobold. Isn’t that a ComStar suit?” “Yes, Sir. One and the same,” answered Mark with a big shit eating grin plaster on his face. “How did you come by that?” Looking down at his hands Mark look like he was going to burst wide open in laughter any minute now, “Them there Acolytes are poor bluffers when it comes to Lyran five card hold’em.” And there it was, both SAC Officers shared a laugh. While the two men chatted some more Kerianna returned with a steaming pot of coffee and a plate with two eggs, sunny side up, three strips of bacon, and wheat toast smeared with apple butter. “Where’d you get eggs and bacon? I was told that they had no chickens nor sows native to Halifax.” “They don’t. Those are fresh gander eggs and that is wild boar bacon. Enjoy!" And Teso River did just that. The eggs were a bit rubbery and the bacon gamey. But all in all it was quite tasty. He enjoyed it. WORD COUNT 1508 Edited by Teso River, 01 June 2015 - 01:42 AM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #43 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #43 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 04 June 2015 - 06:31 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #43 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Annapolis Stiefel Grapevine United Metal Processing Plant. Storm’s Armored Cavalry Bivouac 25th March 3092, 0400 local Ciara Storm looked up at what was left of her Shadow Hawk. The machine which had actually survived centuries from the Star League and it was only by the grace of the designers of the “Royal Shadow Hawk” adding Cellular Ammunition Storage Equipment that she had not met certain death when her missile ammunition had cooked off in a particularly brutal engagement with the Rim World Dragoons. Since taking on offensive operations against the enemy she had been certain to lead from the front and took every risk that her own warriors took. Physical attacks against the enemy commander's much larger battlemech had been risky yet paid off in the fact that such hyper-aggressive tactics had thrown the enemy into disarray time and again, forcing them to fight from the back foot. The toll it wrought upon her own forces however was evident. “I'm guessing that we're not going to be able to fix it?” Ciara called out to the Com Guard technician scouting out the damage. The technician was a plain looking woman wearing the typical florescent orange jumpsuit and tool belt that was part and parcel for the specialists who knew all the secrets of how and why battlemechs functioned, and how to repair them. “We can get it mobile, but for the most part you would be combat ineffective due to the loss of the right arm and right torso. You are also vulnerable to strikes against that quarter. I have to recommend that it be given lowest priority.” Ciara nodded. “Very well, still, it was a nice ride.” Approaching Ciara was Demi-Precentor Holloway, his mechwarrior combat suit more like the flight suit worn by an aerojock but designed for mechwarriors by the old Star League. Her own outfit was made of two pieces and decidedly skimpy in comparison. Ciara felt Reginald Holloway’s gaze appraising her lithe, toned, flat stomach and her long, shapely legs that ended in her ‘Mechwarrior combat boots, the way a python sizes up a rodent. Oh My God! Was the Demi-Precentor really checking her out or was he merely showing his disdain towards her because she was not a member of his ‘Blessed Order’? He began in his haughty, nasal timbre, “Commander Storm, you may find it interesting that we've taken captive the wounded from the enemy as well as some medical personnel and even the unit Chaplain. The Chaplain would very much like to speak with you. I believe that they are under the impression that we are going to slaughter them unashamedly.” Ciara frowned and nodded turning to head in the direction of the prisoner holding area. “I'll speak with him and see if I can't divest him of that notion.” Superciliously he continued, “May I as well suggest that we transfer the whole lot of them to the upkeep of the indigenous population’s medical care. I dare say that your meager medical staff,” and in a moment of realization at how condescending his statement sounded he added, “nor ComStar’s two MIT 23 MASH Vehicles, are equipped to handle the demands put on our resources and or medical supplies to properly deal with the influx of these people’s causalities and those needing immediate medical attention or surgeries . . . Ma’am.” Ciara threw her arms up in the air, exasperated; and rolled her eyes as she turned and walked off. As she made her way across the complex to the building which housed the prisoners and enemy wounded, Ciara could understand the fear that many of those soldiers felt. When her people fought, it was with tenacity and a smash mouth style that seemed to be working for them and prisoners were taken if they surrendered. However, her people were not keen on waiting for the enemy to make up their minds and so the numbers of prisoners was pretty low. Reaching the cordon, Ciara saw a somewhat older man with what she knew was the collar flash denoting his being a Chaplain. He was a bit portly, much like a terran Santa Claus. He had salt and pepper, close cropped hair with a matching salt and pepper beard. He wore horned rimmed spectacles and a gold cross hung from his neck on a silver chain. Approaching him she asked. “You are the Rim World Dragoon’s unit Chaplain?” The man looked to Ciara Storm and was taken aback, here stood a young woman who could have very easily been his daughter. Not some cold blooded murderess who was part demon for her ability to relentlessly draw blood against his countrymen. She was clad in a military camouflage t-shirt, a pair of black form fitting shorts, and ‘Mechwarrior combat boots topped off with white sweat socks. “I am Chaplain Robert Stockdale, yes.” “Commander Ciara Storm. I'm told that you wished to speak with me?” Ciara replied. He absently fidgeted with the cross dangling from his neck, “Yes, I wanted to ask you what you were going to do with these brave young men and women. The Ares Conventions prohibit the torture and murder of prisoners..” The Chaplain said, mustering up his courage and puffing out his chest and he was suddenly cut off by Ciara who seemed to instantly change before his eyes. Calm civility was replaced with righteous indignation. “You are lecturing ME on the Laws of War? I find that laughable for someone whose army ignored the same conventions when they took it upon themselves to slaughter the innocent civilians of Dosilin. I am resisting, quite well mind you, my desire to see quick justice done and that each of you, you, Periphery Scum are held responsible. That said, I already gave orders for all prisoners to be treated in accordance with the Ares Conventions.” Chaplain Stockdale was taken aback. A bead of sweat ran down the right side of his face into his beard. His mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to utter a reprisal but words failed him. It only gave him the appearance of an enormous puffer fish out of water. Without another word, Ciara turned her back on the Chaplain and paused after a few steps. “If I were you, I'd find a thick rug and start working on forgiveness, ‘Father’ Stockdale. The shark of House Amaris isn't exactly known as a shining beacon of hope.” Elsewhere... Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Annapolis Stiefel Grapevine Industrial Complex Abandoned Building The industrial building had seen better days. Slowly decaying and overgrown, the building was now home to nesting birds and small rodents. Broken windows and glass were scattered about, and the entire building was in the long process of being reclaimed by nature. It had the dank smell of a basement encrusted with mold. Today however, it was also home to a small group of predators. Hidden deep in the gloom, safe in the shadows, Nighthawk Mk XXII PA (L) eyes were watching the images of Rim World Scouts magnified through the optics mounted upon a sleek Mauser 1200 Light sniper rifle. The voice that could be heard speaking barely above a whisper, but easily heard by her partner, Sergeant Emma Quinn was in her element. “Follow the Calia bush and just beyond.. left... about another hundred meters..” “Got it.” her spotter said, his tone just as soft yet still a deep baritone. The Mauser 1200 Light Support System was a derivative of the Mauser 960 Assault System used by the Com Guard. In the wake of the Covenant Schism, the Com Guard, in cooperation with arms independent manufacturers in the Free Worlds League, updated the venerable design by removing the cumbersome survival kit while keeping the Vibroblade and six-shot Compact Grenade Launcher. While this allowed them to increase the intensity and armor-piercing capability of the laser rifle, during automatic firing tests it drained the power pack at an unacceptable rate, forcing the design team to reduce the rifle's rate of fire to a more energy-efficient level. At its introduction the Com Guard issued the new Mauser 1200s to its elite troops, including most of their newly re-fielded Nighthawk battle suit squads Reaching up slowly, Em touched her throat mic. “Command this is Tombstone. Prepare to copy incoming information..” Later... Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Annapolis Stiefel Grapevine Industrial Complex United Metal Processing Plant Abandoned Office Staring at the holographic map table that Demi-Precentor Holloway had brought from his headquarters unit the Duat-class DropShip ‘Blake’s Fury’, Ciara was impressed how well it displayed the terrain of the countryside in a full color and in three dimensions. “My Nighthawk sniper team has been surveying the enemy reconnaissance elements. I have an inspiration. If the blasted enemy is watching us, we may be able to lure him in for an imprudent attack.” Holloway stroked at the stubble that had collected upon his chin and nodded. His actions reminded Ciara of a king cobra swaying to a snake charmers flute. “We could perhaps make it appear like we are too played out and unable to continue a pursuit, thereby closing in on them when they have sufficiently entered our pre-orchestrated Kill Zone.” Ciara nodded her agreement with the milk toast of a man. He looked like a superhero from one of those cheesy holo-vid Immortal Warrior series. She grinned as she pictured the similarities. None the less, his ‘inspiration’ was that of a shrewd thinking tactician. “I'm going to see about calling in my reserves, sneak them in quickly and have them waiting in the wings to make the difference. Have my jumpers on emcon (emission control) ready to leap into battle with my artillery bombarding them from the fringes.” Ciara said. “But Commander Storm, your mech is out of commission. How shall you participate in the upcoming conflict?” Holloway pointed out to her. Ciara smirked and ran her fingers through her dark hair. “Lend me a few techs, and let me worry about that.” “Fair enough, let’s talk troop deployment.” The Demi-Precentor replied, pointing to a spot on the map. “We can hide a portion of our force here, .. while concentrating the main line here.. Level II Beidao Lance will go to ground five hundred meters south of the industrial complex and Level II Kuantao Lance shall hit the enemy in its left flank. The Com Guard Artillery Lance shall deploy two clicks north of the kill zone and rain fire down upon the Rim World Dragoons from the relative safety of the multiple Duats’ guns and cruise missiles. The main push will come from the Com Guard’s vehicle Assault Lance, Jian. Pending your approval of course.” The Demi Precentor was still being slightly condescending to the chain of command, “Of course,” Replied Ciara with an animated look that told Holloway that his barb had not gone completely unnoticed, temporarily forgiven due to her Commands plight, but not forgotten. “And where would you like to deploy my armored infantry Level II assets?” Rubbing her hand across her forehead and down the right side of her face, Ciara thought out load, “Uhm let me see.” Studying the holographic map she manipulated the controls to spin the map around and then she stooped beside the table to view it from an eye level perspective. “I’ll need to split them up. I want your Kobold squad here,” the SAC Commander replied. Pointing to the tallest structure still standing in the abandoned industrial complex. “They will provide both our forces with updated troop movement and first strike capabilities for our LRM equipped units via their TAG, as well as adjusted artillery fire. Because I don’t want any Blue on Blue incidents due to stray arty fire. As a matter of fact, we will pre-register those cruise missile sorties and your cruise missiles will only fire at pre registered targets. The damaged inflicted by even one of those bad boys can be quite depilating to a ‘Mech, friend or foe.” Ciara stood up and walked completely around the holographic 3D map until she made it back to her original starting point, never taking her hazel hued eyes off of the map.. “We will need two teams each of two Tornado Squads to perform Hunter-Killer Ops against cripple ‘Mechs. One team in the Eastern Sector the other in the Western one. They should remain in hiding until they are specifically called for by me or my XO, Captain River or you or your Senior Adept, Hawell, given priority in that order.” Ciara glanced up from the map briefly, to gaze over at the Demi Precentor and saw him studiously taking notes on his noteputer. Good she though. At least he wasn’t trying to buck her command. “Okay commander, two teams of two Tornado Squads each.” He repeated more to display his attentiveness than his agreement, “and what about the Com Guards Nighthawk Level I?” “Have them dispersed through out the industrial complex at strategic points to take advantage of felled ‘Mechwarriors or scurrying vehicle crews.” Ciara smiled, it was the smile of a devil woman hell bent on extracting revenge. Later still... Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Annapolis Stiefel Grapevine Industrial Complex United Metal Processing Plant Makeshift Battle Mech Hangar The sun was beginning to get low in the sky, and a small convoy of vehicles pulled out of the industrial complex chock full of prisoners and guarded by troops assigned to military police duty. Their presence in the area if a battle did indeed take place would be a violation of the Ares Conventions and so Ciara had sent them away. Having better things to do than worry about POWs, she had spent the past several hours assisting the technicians assigned to work on her wounded Shadow Hawk. There was no way, she knew, that they would be able to replace the autocannon, yet the arm proved salvageable. Welding armored plate and patching myomer bundles to salvaged components made for an odd but functional fit. Wiping at her forehead with the back of her arm, she looked up at their handiwork. “So all I have are a couple medium lasers.” she looked around for a solution to the lack of a main weapon and then she saw it. “That's a fairly decent sized I-beam... think we could do something with it?” The technicians looked at each other, and then smiled with the hint being taken. “Yeah, think we can do something with it.” Another hour of hard work paid off when they used the Shadow Hawk to help fashion the I-beam into a sort of very large and wicked looking sword akin to those used in the arenas of Solaris VII. “Well, part of me always wondered what it would be like to step into the arena.” The technicians had welded a full third of the I-beam to the Shadowhawks fore arm just aft of the hand actuator. They had not the proper time to invest to make it retractable. While most 'Mechs are equipped with ranged weaponry, melee weaponry is also both feasible and useful due to increased damage over a punch and a lack of heat buildup. The Shadowhawk’s crude sword would inflict almost as much damage as a Hatchet and would offer a better hit probability due to its double razor sharp edges and rudimentary balance. The Com Guard technicians had really shone and out done themselves on this jury rigged job. WORD COUNT 2701 JOINT POST BETWEEN Word Count 1419 Commander Ciara Storm. Callsign: Vixen. Hardware Assignment: WHM-7M Warhammer. Assignment: Command Lance, Battlemech Company. Storm's Armored Cavalry Mercenary Command. "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry." -Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms. & Word Count 1292 Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image .......Posted Image Quote MultiQuote Delete Hide Edit #44 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #44 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 240 posts 0 warning points Posted 15 June 2015 - 10:47 AM LA-GW-12-01 Post #44 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Annapolis Stiefel Grapevine United Metal Processing Plant. 25th March 3092, 0730 local First Sergeant Laurel Dawes, lie down in the rain soak grass a half a click away from the United Metal Processing Plant. She had lain here at least an hour concentrating on the task at hand. Her Mercenary battalion, the Storm’s Armored Cavalry was laying an ambush for the remnants of the 4th Rim World Dragoons Regiment. It was humid and muggy from the constant rain. At least the downpour had stopped roughly about 15 minutes ago. Her joints were beginning to ache from the weight of the man portable Short Range Missile launcher she had aimed at the Coleman’s Rough Riders designated Kill Zone. The First Sergeant’s fatigues and her light infantry combat armor felt cold and wet against her alabaster skin. Ironically, it was a welcomed sensation against Halifax’s stifling tropical heat. The air around her still reek of diesel exhaust and actuator hydraulic fluids from the enemy column that had just passed within thirty meters of her chalk’s position not more than a sixty seconds ago. She had been mortified when an enemy minesweeper team had stopped to scrutinize her position. Her finger had slowly began to depress the trigger on her SRM launcher even as she silently willed the enemy minewsweeper team away. A quick glance to her right, at Private First Class Vlastimil ‘Veeman’ Oxton, had confirmed her moment of trepidation. His brow was beaded up with a nervous sweat, or residual rain; she couldn’t tell which, with his finger ominously on the trigger of his SRM launcher too. She had breathed a sigh of relief that his training had stayed his finger and had kept him from launching an SRM salvo early, causing them to blow the mission before it even had a chance to get started. Her chalk, designated Chalk Golf, was lain prone in chest high weeds between Chalks Alpha and Charlie. Chalk Alpha was under Captain Elliot Coleman’s command and Charlie belonged to Staff Sergeant Tricia Huff. They were stationed between a pair of pumping stations that fed the main complex. The buildings were made of reinforced concrete, two story tall structures overgrown by the native flora from abandonment and disuse. There were a total of six similar structures which housed various battle armored squads from their strike unit. Captain Coleman had opted out from placing his chalks inside the buildings. His argument was that the risk of the decrepit structure collapsing on his unarmored infantry once the fighting ensued far outweighed whatever protection the crumbling structure could offer. The main manufacturing plant was surrounded by, easily, what appeared to be a one hundred meter high natural berm that gradually sloped inward. It boasted two entrances to the industrial complex one on the northern side and the other one on the south, which in turn were offset to the east and west quadrants from each other. The pumping stations were stationed along the primary egress to the south. They were two main road tributaries, east side and west side that ran parallel to the complex, albeit they were external. Further west they were several administrative buildings, also overran with vines and weeds, which reminded Laurel of an apocalyptic holo-vid that she had once saw from the 80’s. And north of those were the temporary housing and recreational units for the former employees who once made the processing plant a thriving contribution to Halifax’s economy. The SAC jump capable Command Lance ‘Mechs were hidden under heat dampening tarps slightly west of the main complex, just the other side of the berm. Rover Lance was hidden in similar fashion but slightly to the east. All the ‘Mechs stationed as the main assault force would have to navigate a sheer 90 meter vault to engage in the ambush. That’s exactly the reason why First Sergeant Laurel Dawes was a lowly ground pounder. The Com Guards Jian Lance, a six unit lance of assault tanks, was stationed inside the perimeter of the United Metal Processing Plant. Three Puma Assault Tanks were stationed strategically atop the berm to better utilize the destructive power of their twin LRM 20 launchers. Inside the base proper, hidden inside the shipping and receiving bay, were the remaining three units, three Alacorns, 95 tons of sheer stopping power, equipped with three gauss rifles each. The entire complex had pre-registered artillery strike zones predefined. SAC command had tried to hand out a list with the longitude and latitude of each one listed on it and wanted the rank and file to commit them to memory. Captain Coleman had trashed the ‘stupid’ list and simply told his troops to stay clear of the ferrocrete pavement. He farther explained that they had four batteries of Artillery backing them up on this mission. They had access to all sorts of munitions, Arrow IV, thumper, cruise missiles, flechette, smoke, copperhead and that only four people could call in artillery strikes and he was not one of them. So as long as they stayed clear of the pavement, they’d be good. That was good enough for Dawes. Stay clear of the pavement. The SAC command had TAG equipped spotter units strategically located inside the Metal Processing Plant’s perimeter as well as a flight of VTOL Yellowjackets, with rapid fire 40mm auto cannons, waiting on ready stand by. In addition to the VTOL, their strike unit had four teams of Tornado Light Power Armor Units to hunt down and or neutralize ejected Battlemech Pilots and tank crews. The First Sergeant had also heard scuttlebutt that their ambush team would have two Duat-classed DropShips at their disposal for cruise missile support. She had been dumbfounded by this news. She’d always imagined the cruise missiles carried some kind of biological warfare agent. They weren’t properly equipped against biological agents. The SAC recon lance stalked up from the west, hidden among the admin buildings, until they were just shy of the ferrocrete, hidden behind the 100 meter high berm. The Com Guards Kuantao Lance was being a little more reckless with their stealth approach. Their ‘Mechs came crashing out of their concealment with their throttles wide opened. Albeit, they had a greater distance to travel but they were raising such a ruckus they could have risen the dead. In stark contrast to Kuantao Lance was the Com Guard command lance, Beidao. They stood another 500 meters up the southern path under the coverage of dense foliage. That’s all. They stood stock still, fusion engines idling, waiting to pounce on their unsuspecting foes. As the enemy Regiment crept by, stopping every two or three minutes to search out ahead for land mines, Dawes’ teeth rattled like she was shivering as the heavy ‘Mechs footfalls sent shimmers through the ground. The clattering of tank treads combined with the roar of hover fans threaten to burst her ear drums in such close proximity. The plan was to get the 4th Rim World Dragoons inside the perimeter, hit them with two lances of ‘Mechs, the lance of assault vee’s, and to rain LRM and arty fire down on them and when they extracted to close in on them with the SAC Recon lance on their western flank, the Com Guard Kuantao Lance on their eastern flank and for the Com Guard Beidao Lance to perform the Coupe de grace. It wouldn’t be long now before the bullets started flying. ……….. The Shadow Hawk looked something like a rather large armored knight sporting what looked to be a crude sword. Knelt behind some partial cover, the 55 ton battlemech as well as the other twelve SAC battlemechs were painted in a mottled mismatch of colors ranging from woodland green, dirt brown and primer gray as they had all seen brutal combat and proper repair facilities were unavailable. Sitting in the Shadow Hawk’s cockpit listening to the feed over the encrypted communications net, Commander Ciara Storm felt anxious - in the good way that came before a battle. She was certain that another titanic clash with Colonel Frank Able and his Rim Worlds Dragoons was imminent, and that this battle might decide the entire campaign. . . . The campaign’s outcome hung in the balance of this operation and Colonel Frank Able was as nervous as a sissy at the YMCA. Either his forces were extremely fortunate that the enemy had not detected their encroachment into their area of operation or that wily Commander Storm had hoodwinked him again. He feared it was most probable that it was the latter. The very thought of that knotted up his stomach so tight he thought he would shit diamonds. Her shrewd tactics had already cost him a company of ‘Mechs and a battalion each of armored vehicles and infantry. He had solved the dilemma he was facing with Victoria York. He had instructed her to make for their DropShips with some fabricated important message for chairman Launtis. Now that alleviated one woman in his life now it was time to rid himself of another. The comm net was eerily quiet with only the voice of the minesweeper team, “All Clear. You can proceed forward,” and the occasional corroboration from the Hawk Moth Flight Leader, “Clear skies and no heat signatures coming from the ground.” Frank Able had crept his command into firing range of the structure identified by his recon team as the building the SAC was using as a repair and refit location. He had even opened his mouth to give the order to commence firing when he heard the familiar warble of his missile threat indicator. It startled him at first and he mistook it for a priority message that was incoming. Then he heard the faint but unmistakably whistle of incoming artillery fire and confirmation from his computer, ‘Missile launch detected’. That Bitch. She had suckered Frank Able again. “WE’VE WALKED INTO AN AMBUSH!!! RETREAT!!! ALL UNITS FALL BACK!!! FLANK SPEED!!!” …………………….. A few moments ago Captain Teso 'Twisted' River had been pacing back and forth in his Quadruped Shedu battle armor amidst the debris of the vacant United Metal Processing Plant's machine shop. His squad mates gave Captain River his due. They remained vigilant with anti-mech, small laser pointed through the intervening windows. His footfalls echoing off the nearby walls sounded like the gallop of a mechanical horse, clop clop, cloppity clop; clop clop, cloppity clop. Teso felt the compulsion to keep active to help burn off some of the adrenaline coursing through his muscles. His pacing was interrupted by a report from his second, Lieutenant Mickey 'The Surgeon' Gurevich. "Captain, I think we've got something." "Lemme take a look." Captain River maneuvered his one ton Shedu armored suit over to peer out the window, switching places with Lieutenant Gurevich. The Captain could have just as easily verified what Gurevich saw with the Shedu's sensor suite. But the baser human instinct told him he needed to eyeball it. "Oh yeah," he loosed and long, low whistle. "We're about to have ourselves a good old fashioned Hoe Down." The elite members of his black ops team had learned, the hard way, to simply roll with the Captain’s obscure references. ……………… Looking out from her cockpit, Ciara could detect the motley grouping of battle armor under the command of Captain Teso River. Ciara let her imagination linger for a time upon the battle armor he wore, and as most people couldn't tell one suit from another she could almost sense his presence in the former Word of Blake Shedu armor which had seen battle scars painted over. Suddenly, she sensed the suit of battle armor staring back at her. Reaching a slender, gloved hand up to the cockpit's armored transparency she pressed her hand against it with a bit of a smile. There had been some strain in their relationship due to the fact that there was no real rest for them or time to be alone when every waking moment was spent waging a guerrilla war against a deadly foe. “See you after its over.” Ciara said, doubting he could see her lips moving or even make out what she was saying but her expression said it all. Her thoughts were brought back to reality when a squelch of static came over the comm channel, the signal that the enemy had been spotted. Ciara's expression changed and she was on her game putting out all thoughts except for those of the battle. ……………………. Teso River got the eerie sensation of the hairs prickling at the nap of his neck as if someone or 'something' was watching him. He looked up at his HUD and his eyes were drawn to the blue carat that indicated Ciara Storm's Shadowhawk. He knew that he could not see her 55 ton mount behind the 100 meter high berm but he 'felt' her presence. They had shared a kiss last night but that was all. She was still uptight and losing a lot of sleep and failing to sit down and indulge in proper nourishment. That subject was causing a slight rift between the two officers but it would mend itself once they had successfully dealt with the Rim World Dragoons. Teso refocused his attention on the enemy column slowly creeping into the Kill Zone. His HUD identified a Bardiche Heavy Tank, the minesweeper variant, two Drillson Heavy tanks, a Rifleman and a Warhammer and a host of other battlemechs and combat vehicles. But he was only interested in one machine, the Warhammer. It was believed to be the battlemech that the enemy commander, a one Colonel Frank Able, was piloting in lieu of his destroyed Atlas. As the primary grunt force commander, Teso was strapped with the added responsibility of coordinating the artillery strike. "This is Sierra Alpha Charlie Six," Ciara was ‘SAC Actual’, "All friendly and allied artillery batteries, load up with standard munitions and target PRACs (Pre-Registered Artillery Coordinates) 1 through 4. Onager 3, load Flechette target Prac 12." The answers he received to his command was the first sign that something had gone horribly wrong. "Come again Captain." "Flying Eagle One, to SAC 6. No can do. We are still five minutes out. Can not comply." "SAC 6, repeat all after artillery batteries, over." Flying Eagle One was the call sign for the Duat-classed DropShips. How had that happened? Why in the phuk were they still five minutes out and no one had communicated that to the upper echelons of this task force? They had they heavy lifting, so to speak, with the firepower the cruise missile would bring to the table. And all this popping and static that he was receiving via his SINCGARS (Single Channel Ground and Airborne Radio System) Combat Net Radio was unacceptable. Sergeant Major Chantel 'Radar' Bobo had tried to warn the pompous Demi-Precentor that while the SAC machines operated on first succession war era synthesized single frequency radios, the AN/PRC-77 and AN/VRC-12, that the newer Com Guard units operated on the SINCGARS family and it was mostly designed to replaced them and while they 'should' integrate seamlessly that there was no guarantee when introduced to the enemy ECM counter measures. The SINCGARS radios, which handle voice and data communications, were designed to be reliable, secure, and easily maintained. Vehicle-mount, backpack, airborne, and handheld models were available. SINCGARS uses 25 kHz channels in the VHF FM band, from 30 to 87.975 MHz. It has single-frequency and frequency hopping modes. The frequency-hopping mode hops 111 times a second. But the SINCGARS technology wouldn't be worth a crap if he couldn't communicate reliably with his command. Switching to the multi unit Com Guard slash SAC Command frequency, Teso River said "Demi Precentor? You got your ears on?" "Yes 'Twisted River'. I am receiving. What is it?" Demi Precentor Holloway responded with his usual haughtiness and a lilt to his tone that said Teso was irritating him. "I'll tell you exactly what it is Reginald Holloway. Your hammer to our anvil is going to be a no show to the party!" retorted River, the Demi Precentor’s timbre barb not lost during the transmission. "Hmmph. It is an eventuality that could not be avoided, I'm afraid." "I'll tell you what you are eventually going to be afraid of when I stick my foot up your . . ." "Boys, boys, boys, ENOUGH!" Interceded the voice of reason, Ciara Storm's. "We need to play the hand we've been dealt, Aces or no Aces. And Holloway, don't you think for one moment that Precentor Lafferty won't be advised of this SNAFU." Just then Mechwarrior Daniel 'Messenger' Shepherd, piloting the SAC’s Recon Star’s Locust reported, “I have range, I have azimuth, I have bearing, Booyah! I have acquired the Primary target of a Warhammer 9D. I’ve TAGged him now all you gotta do his Bag’em.” Follow quickly by Mechwarrior Sadun Tyler declaration in the Rover Lance’s Wasp, “I have tone on the right flanking ‘Mech, a Crusader.” And directly on his heels, the Com Guard Kobold battle armored Level I Lead, Adept Iva van Dalen, “and we have successfully painted the Rifleman, the left flanking battlemech, with our Target Acquisition Gear as well.” That was about when everyone on the battlefield heard the distinctive whistle of inbound artillery fire. …………….. The sound of artillery fire was like that of the sky ripping open followed by the concussion as high explosives detonated on their targets sending into the sky chunks of dirt and ferrocrete and armor raining down upon everything for roughly a kilometer in every direction. For Ciara Storm, it was the signal that the game had begun and she worked the controls raising her Shadow Hawk up from its concealment and stepping out as if to challenge the enemy and to let them know who was running this particular party. “Who said Fire?” bellowed Teso across the all hands battle net. Later, after the conflict, during debriefing review of the audio bites it would be confirmed that Teso question had come across like a statement “ . . Fire?” due to the enemy ECM and compatibility of the SINCGARS with the SAC’s older era synthesized single frequency radios. In addition to the artillery batteries launching their artillery sorties early without command, three SAC units and a Com Guard unit mis-heard the Captain question and launched their LRM ambushes too early. “GAWD DAYUM IT!!!” yelled Ciara into her throat mic. She was really beginning to feel like this contract was jinxed from the onset. “This is SAC Actual, All ‘Anvil’ units engaged!” as she simultaneously gave the visual cue by splaying her Shadowhawk’s arms out perpendicular to her sides and rising the high over her ‘Mechs head. She then crouched her ‘Mechs legs and fired her jump jets while rapidly unbounding her leg myomers. The effect was spectacular as the 55 ton ‘Mech’s head appeared above the 100 meter high berm and it continued to rise until its feet were ontop of the berm itself. All along the northern edge of the ridge battlemechs vaulted to take up a perch on its mantle. Vehicles rolled from underneath their concealment, turrets bristling with weapons. The enemy column was in complete disarray as they scrambled to turn tail and exfiltrate like rats cornered by a rabid Cougar. Hover vehicle’s fans screamed out their torque as they spun in place. Tracked vehicles belched heavy smoke as they tried to turn in place on one track. Wheeled vehicles slammed on their brakes, halted and reversed. The ones that reversed rammed into their lighter cousins, the hover tanks, causing them to go careening out of control on a cushion of air. The Battlemechs, oblivious to the plight of their poor ground pounders, stampeded and trample any vehicle, track, wheeled or hover, unfortunate enough to get in their way. Then to add insult to injury, the combined Artillery strike of the SAC and Com Guards fell into their midst with devastating results. They unerringly dropped 450kg of lethal ordnance on the enemy column with telling effects. The entire column received some level of armor damaged. An Enforcer had its right leg stripped of all its armor exposing its myomer tendons to shrapnel. A Crusader suffered a right arm armor breach and was gushing yellowish green coolant fluid from a ruptured heat sink and a puff of white smoke that spoke of a weapons critical hit in that location. Ignis Infantry Support Tank Bravo had a track literally disintegrate. A Goblin tank had a sprocket wheel ripped off. Their Winston Combat Tank lost the tread from its right track. Enemy Major, Kevin Dansky, was knocked unconscious when a round hit his 70 ton Carronade in its armored head and a second round punched through his right side armor. The Bardiche Minesweeper Tank suffered an underbelly breach. Both Tufana Hovercrafts lost hover skirts spilling air out through the rents, leaving Alpha immobile, and the one designated as Bravo was critically hit in its turret destroying its stabilizer. Blizzard hover transport Alpha had its entire fan assembly mangled, rendering it immobile. Its accompanying Blizzard transport, Bravo, was destroyed outright but the crew survived albeit they were stunned and dazed only to be killed by follow up artillery shells. Drillson Heavy hover tank Alpha suffered an auxiliary fan failure. The Alpha Thang-ta wheeled APC was now attempting to maneuver with two flat tires. The mine sweeper infantry team that Teso had ordered up the flechette load for, never stood a chance. The flechette ammo chewed through the twenty eight man platoon and left nothing larger than a grapefruit. The enemy Warhammer suffered the most grievous injuries. Half its chest had all its armor blast away, it lost a jump jet, suffered a fusion reactor shielding breach, and the Pilot; Colonel Frank Able, was injured due to a cockpit hit. ************************************************ Captain River had thought the worse had happened when the machine shop he and his battle armor squad were taking cover in, violently shook and mortar and cinderblocks came crashing down on their heads. But no, their position had not been struck by friendly artillery fire. It was Mechwarrior Walter Folly taking a spill on the building's roof top in the SAC Command's salvaged thirty five ton Nighthawk. The concussive force of a nearby Arrow IV shell had cause the pilot to lose his balance. Assured that they had not suffered a direct artillery hit, Teso was back on the horn to his Forward Observation Teams. "I need a continuous paint on the Warhammer and the Crusader. Negative on the Rifleman. I also want target acquisition on Registration Point 8, Direction 1800, 1600 mils plus 200 mils, right 600, drop 400. Over." Mechwarrior Daniel Shepherd took the lead from aboard the SAC Locust, perch atop the right side of the one hundred meter high southern entrance, "Roger that Captain. Tyler you copy?" "Yeah, I copy Recon 4 but I no longer have LOS to the Crusader. Too much smoke and debris between me and the target. I do have eyes on the Warhammer though, that is an affirmative for TAG on the Warhammer, over," replied Mechwarrior Sadun Tyler. "Roger that Tyler. I can see the Crusader. We'll switch targets then. You paint the Warhammer and I'll paint the Crusader. Cui or Dalen, can either one of you pick up RP8 with your Kobolds?" Adept Dalen replied from her perch on the opposite side of the southern entrance, "Already working on it Mechwarrior." “This is Vixen, let them have it!” Ciara called out as she took aim at the nearest target through the smoke and explosions firing her extended range medium lasers striking the Warhammer she had tackled with in the past shearing through its right torso exacerbating damage done by the artillery strike. Armor melted like wax exposed to a blow torch and internal structures failed leaving the enemy machine without the use of its arm. The small congested Processing Plant's courtyard devolved into laser beams, gauss rifle slugs, and missile contrails in the pre-dawn sun light with a concert of the cacophonous yammering of autocannons firing and missile explosions. The comm lines weren’t much better with the officers and non-comms competing for orders to their individual troops. Eighty percent of the Storm’s Armored Cavalry’s firepower was concentrated on the Warhammer. Commander Storm’s philosophy revolved around cutting off the head of the snake and the rest of the body would wither and die. To this end the Warhammer suffered the total loss of its right arm armor and every shred of Leviathon Plus Armor that protected its upper body; left torso, center torso and its right torso; the rupturing of one of three of its jump jets; the destruction of a ER medium laser; and two engine criticals. Commander Storm took advantage of the Warhammer’s depleted armor and disabled its right arm’s main gun with a precise hit and followed it up by slagging its arm actuator. Mechwarrior Dan Wakit’s Vulcan finally put the Warhammer out of it’s misery when he pulverized the remaining engine shielding protecting its light VOX 280 fusion reactor with the stuttering green energy darts from his large pulse laser. The Com Guard Assault tank Lance, Jian, put a gauss rifle hurt on a Crusader, a Rifleman, and a Dervish. The Rifleman’s port arm was left hanging on by a few strands of myomers. The Dervish had all the armor blasted away from its right arm and a second gauss slug cored its torso from back to front smashing through its Long Range Missile launcher and colliding with its fusion containment bottle; which caused it to bleed waste heat. The Crusader caught a depleted uranium gauss round in its chest, just right of center, that smashed through its Riese 500 armor plating, reducing the internal structure in that location to less than 7% remaining. The round crushed a jump jet and burst two double strength heat sinks. Scalding hot coolant splashed out around the Crusader’s abdomen, run down its legs and pooled up on the ferrocrete beneath its massive feet. Shepherd’s twenty ton Locust felled the sixty five ton Rim World Crusader with a shot through its depleted rear armor right into its engine housing, while it was running away. The heavy ‘Mech pitched forward and crashed to the pavement head first, plowing up ferrocrete with it’s cockpit. The SAC Recon Star and the Com Guard Kuanto Lance engaged a jump infantry platoon. A twenty eight manned platoon against ten ‘Mechs, ambushed, caught out in the open . . . the outcome was a foregone conclusion. The entire jump platoon and all of their equipment was crisped to ash faster than gunpowder in an open flame. The platoon never had a chance to scream, shout, or yell; they just ceased to exist. One second they were a running, sweating band of soldiers, the next second they were simply gone. Captain River, sensed more than he saw, the Rim World APCs and troop transports about to disperse their cargo laden with opposing infantrymen. On his order, the four Tornado teams and his own Black Ops squad opened up on the transports to make sure it was too hot for them to deploy their hostile troops. The Com Guard Tornado teams kept up a horrendous volume of fire with their anti-personnel classed weapons but his Black Ops squad did the most damage, armed with their anti-mech arsenal. Teso River’s own Shedu armor, braced, and opened up on full auto with his twin heavy 60 caliber machine guns. He tracked a heavy APC, chewed through its armor, ate through its delicate innards, until the stream of shells connected with the vehicles power plant erupting in a fiery explosion. The weapons ports were glowing red hot by the time he’s stopped firing. Over head the Yellowjackets and Hawkmoths VTOLS were engaged in an aerial fencing match. The first trompement went to the Hawkmoths as they drew first blood with a well orchestrated Coup d'arrêt in the form of a light gauss rifle shot against Captain Natasha Motovich bird. She took it in her side armor and immediately pulled up and away to avoid a second shot while her wingman lay down a withering barrage of covering fire. First Lieutenant Oran Kirkman’s attack chopper failed to connect with anything, but he had served his purpose . . . to keep the enemy VTOL pilots honest. The 4th Rim World Dragoons counter fire was desultory at best. It was un-focused and random. On a whole, it did little more than chip armor and scorch paint. However, their intel wasn’t too bad as they targeted the Storm’s Armored Cavalry Commanding. Unable to celebrate, Ciara jerked on the controls as several 50mm shells streaked by shattering part of a ferrocrete wall as it stitched a path striking her exposed torso armor and doing modest damage from an angry Rifleman trying to protect the Warhammer. A moment later another blast struck the machine, this time a particle blast ripping into the mechanism that had been occupied by her 100mm autocannon. It was enough to make her stumble and the gyro inside her battlemech whine with the effort yet try as she and her machine might they could not escape the cruel embrace of gravity and the war machine suffered more armor damage. Strapped tightly into the command couch of the battlemech Ciara winced at the pain of the straps digging into her at the sharp impact. “Man down! Commander Storm is down! I repeat, SAC Actual is down!” Teso didn’t know who’s voice that was but it didn’t matter, his lover was possibly hurt. The next series of actions took all of twenty five seconds but it seemed like 25 hours to Teso. He had no clear line of sight to Ciara’s position due to the volume of black oily and white smoke that choked the battlefield. His HUD’s sensors told him exactly where she was though. He had to run through his memory to recall which ‘Mechs were the heaviest thus mounting the most armor. Even as he ran through his training his fingers flew over the keypads of his data console as he simultaneously issued orders. “This is ‘Twisted River’, I want a defensive perimeter setup here around ‘Vixen’ position.” Teso order as he sent the coordinates to the four ‘Mechs in question. “Command Two, front right quadrant. Rover One, front left quadrant. Command four, rear left quadrant. Rover two, rear right quadrant. Execute like your lives depended on it!” He didn’t wait for acknowledgements before switching to the FDC (Fire Direction Center) channel. “Battery two, ‘SAC 6’ I need your next load out to be a smoke round on prac 1, over?” “Roger that SAC 6. Next round will be smoke on PRAC number 1, over and out.” The Shadow Hawk's fist slammed into the ferrocrete beneath it and slowly began to right itself, the pilot's anger at having been knocked down showing in the machine's deliberate movements. Finally, switching to their private channel Teso said calmly, “Baby, its me. Gimme a sitrep. You Good?” The transmission that came through was scratchy and with no small amount of static yet was clearly that of Ciara. "I'm fine, just a scratch." The patch worked Shadow Hawk rose from it's position and once again was in motion with the units fighting. "They look like they are falling back, Twisted, I want you to ATTACK! All units attack! Let's finish this!" From her vantage point, Ciara could see the enemy in disarray and scattered. Smelling blood in the water she activated her jump jets and rose into the air landing not far ahead of the line firing her extended range medium lasers. “Is that the best you've got?!” WORD COUNT 5356 JOINT POST BETWEEN Word Count 762 Commander Ciara Storm. Callsign: Vixen. Hardware Assignment: WHM-7M Warhammer. Assignment: Command Lance, Battlemech Company. Storm's Armored Cavalry Mercenary Command. "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry." -Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms. & Word Count 4594 Edited by Teso River, 15 June 2015 - 11:27 AM. Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image Storm's Armored Cavalry 250 posts 0 warning points Posted 01 September 2015 - 10:03 AM LA-GW-12-01 Post #45 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Annapolis Stiefel Grapevine United Metal Processing Plant. 25th March 3092, 0735 local The Storm's number two Artillery Battery dropped the smoke round right on target. Thick white smoke billowed up like the cape on the 'Phantom of the Opera', shrouding the SAC Commander in its wake, with her taunts of “Is that the best you've got?!” Ironically, in fact, that was the best that the Dragoons had. Within the next few seconds Colonel Frank Able and his mighty steed, a Warhammer 9D, would be mortally wounded leaving the Dragoons retreat leaderless and in disarray. The Storm's Armored Cavalry Recon Lance and the White Cyclones Kuantao Level II slammed into the retreating column of enemy machines from opposite sides, with devastating results. Their laser beams and shotgun styled auto cannons exploited breaches caused by the friendly artillery fusillade. And as the 'Mechwarriors ejected from dying Battlemechs and vehicle crews abandoned bullet riddled tanks they were beset by Coleman's Scout Infantry Company and the Black Ops Diamondback Trinity armored Infantry Platoon. Neither SAC unit gave the enemy no quarter and took no prisoners. They were in a bloodlust killing frenzy incited by their Commander, Ciara Storm. And any enemy unit that made it through the Recon/Kuantao gauntlet ran smack dab into the 'back wall' which consisted of the six heavy to assault class 'Mechs of the ComStar Beidao Level II. The Dragoons met with stiff resistance but were treated considerably more humanely by the ComStar forces. Demi-Precentor Reginald Holloway and Commander Ciara Storm had a few terse moments when the ComStar Demi-Precentor had allowed the remaining Dragoons to escape. For a brief moment Teso thought that Ciara was going to issue an order for her Armored Cavalry to open fire on their ComStar allies. But a drive flare burst from the overhead ComStar hovering Duat -Class DropShip quickly cleared her mind of all thoughts of engaging their Ally. However Ciara Storm was not content with allowing a single Dragoon to escape after the atrocities they had carried out against the civilians of Halifax, especially on the defenseless city of Dosilin. Even though the SAC and ComStar had reduced a combined arms regiment down to two 'Mechs and a handful of assorted vehicles, that was less than ten percent remaining of the original force. After the fighting had subsided, across the loudspeakers of her Shadowhawk, Ciara ordered Captain Coleman, "Get a team on them . . . in case they try to double back and setup an ambush." That last part was for Reginald Hollway's benefit. In reality Ciara wanted to know where the Dragoons were retreating to so that her SAC could finish what they started. Total annihilation of the 4th Rim World Dragoons. Hence the planning and execution of Operation: Aftershock. The Demi-Precentor did not have the stomach for it so he was kept out of the loop. Storm clouds heavy with rain were heralded by the sound of distant thunder. A cluster of abandoned buildings became the temporary bivouac for Storm's Armored Cavalry. It had been nearly two years since the unit had been formed and set out for its garrison contract to protect Halifax against piracy. The unit that had arrived on the planet was not the unit that stood poised to deliver a killing blow to the invading Rim Worlds Dragoons. As rain began to fall in sheets, men and women huddled under tarpaulins and drank at hot cups of coffee secured from a Dragoon supply convoy that had taken a wrong turn. Standing out of the rain and peering out from the open flap of the tarpaulin that was attached to the Command Post Trailer, Ciara Storm had more recently taken on the tempestuous nature of her surname to compensate for the immense stress that came with command of the unit that she had created. “I am aware of the difficulties, but we have a recon lance still. Get them in the saddle and execute a sweep. Just make them aware that they are not to engage unless there is no alternative.” Ciara said to the officers and NCOs present. One had just mentioned the weather conditions were making it difficult to keep on the trail of the retreating enemy and that the last contact was almost twenty four hours ago. Turning to face them, she approached the table and took a look at the map. “Send our recon lance to the position of last contact. If I read this map right the enemy has only two real options; They can head into the mountains or they can push for the coast..” Reaching out to point at a line marked on the map. “If they went to the mountains, it will be hell following them. So send the recon lance via the coastal road.. look for signs of the enemy and report back. XO, do you think that we can spare a M3077 or two and send them via this inland route to set up an observation post just in case they did go up into the mountains? I'd like to avoid being struck in the flank.” Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Annapolis Stiefel Grapevine United Metal Processing Plant SAC Bivouac 26th March 3092, 1035 local Ciara Storm had more recently taken on the tempestuous nature of her surname to compensate for the immense stress that came with command of the unit that she had created. Teso River was acutely aware of the change in his lover’s demeanor; after all, he did have to bunk with her. They hadn’t had the time to be intimate hear lately, I mean we still cuddled on our sleeping cot and kissed, when either one or the other was not suffering from a cold, sneezing and sniffling all the time. But there had not been any lovemaking in the last five weeks. So Teso had regulated himself to giving Ciara back rubs and foot massages. At this particular moment he placed a strong grip on her back and briefly proceeded to work the kinks out of his Lover’s neck and shoulders. “I am aware of the difficulties, but we have a recon lance still. Get them in the saddle and execute a sweep. Just make them aware that they are not to engage unless there is no alternative.” [TAG REED] “I doubt all the ‘Mechs will be refitted in time,” interjected 2nd Lieutenant Shanahan. “We need to prioritize repairs based on the mission profile. My Griffin and Rover Lance’s Vulcan are out of reloads. If it’s all the same to you Commander and Captain, I’d rather opt to hold Rover lance back to defend our bivouac and allow the other two lances alpha repair status.” "Duly noted Lieutenant. We'll see what we can do," answered Captain River. "ASF Reconnaissance. Where are we on that?" "No can do Captain. Our birds still can not fly yet. We still need avionics equipment and until we either yank them from one of those captured Cheetahs or order brand spanking new parts, we are still grounded," replied Lieutenant Cassie Matsuda somberly. “Send our recon lance to the position of last contact. If I read this map right the enemy has only two real options; They can head into the mountains or they can push for the coast.” [TAG REED] "Commander, in our latest assault we've captured a surplus of aviation fuel." volunteered Captain Natasha Motovich. "We can put Raptor Flights choppers in the air and use the Yellow Jackets' Targeting Computers for recon sorties with ground units to analyze and transmit the data for us." “XO, do you think that we can spare a M3077 or two and send them via this inland route to set up an observation post just in case they did go up into the mountains? I'd like to avoid being struck in the flank.” Captain River who had taken to pacing around, careful not step from beneath the tarp to exposing himself to the rain, stopped and entered some data into his portable noteputer. “Yeah, ‘Vixen’. I’m almost certain that we have at least two able Scout HMMWVs” A rub of his chin and thirty seconds later he continued. “Ah yes. Here it is. FIST Team two has an M3077 Scout under the command of Corporal Kayla Rivera and FIST Team three’s still shows their 3077 as operational as well, run by William Drake, a newly minted Corporal. Captain Coleman, get the orders out over Ciara’s signature, will you?” A brief nod from the grizzled Captain Elliot Coleman as he bit off the end of a cigar and spit it out into the rain. Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Nova Scotia Rale Ocean Off the Coast of Bernhard Island 28th March 3092, 0815 local The morning of Operation Aftershock dawned fair and bright. The tropical sky arcing overhead was a clear matte blue, the ocean below it was scarcely ruffled by the gentle breeze, and the sunlight glittered over the surface of the water like a layer of golden spangles. Bernhard Island was a dormant volcanic cone, its seaward approach dominated by rugged cliffs above vivid green slopes falling down to a long arc of black-sand beach. From the ocean, Bernhard looked like an unspoiled paradise, the stuff of a hundred tourist brochures. And all of it was lies. Bernhard Island was in fact a pirates’ haven, and under ordinary circumstances it would have been cleaned out long ago. Halifax Marine Law Enforcement was a well-armed and thoroughly professional combat force, quite capable of rounding up the typical piracy ring as soon as its criminal activities came to light. These pirates, however, were not merely local criminals. When HMLE agents tracking half a dozen apparently unrelated cases compared notes, they saw similarities in methods and structure that pointed to the existence of a larger organization. Nor, upon investigation, did all of the stolen cargoes and prisoners’ ransoms stay on-planet; HMLE’s detective work found links to off-world buyers of goods and suppliers of weapons, as well as ties to smuggling rings on Timbuktu and elsewhere. The criminal enterprises that preyed on Halifax’s shipping lanes, they discovered to their dismay, were only the planetary branch of a multiworld organization almost as large in its scope as the pirates of Sadalbari had been in their heyday. Even worse, after several months of careful investigation and infiltration it became clear to Halifaxian intelligence that the nerve center of the greater criminal organization was not located somewhere safely off-world in somebody else’s jurisdiction. The interplanetary pirates had hidden their main administrative-and-support base in the depths of the lava caves of Halifax’s own Bernhard Island. Today, a task force assembled for the occasion waited just over the horizon from the island. In their current position, the ships of the task force could not be seen by human observers, even on the island’s high ground, and they had maintained radio silence for the past thirty-six hours. Halifax Marine Law Enforcement stood poised to hit Bernhard without warning in overwhelming strength. The interplanetary scope of the pirates’ endeavors was responsible for the presence among HMLE’s current assets of Storm’s Armored Cavalry BattleMech headed up by its Commander Ciara Storm. Her Shadowhawk and the command lance’s Merlin took up most of the well deck of Halifax Marine Law Enforcement’s Amphibious Assault Andryusha-class Bombardment Frigate Waverley while the second Andryusha-class Frigate, Snead, carried two ‘Mechs from the SAC’s Recon Lance. Operation Aftershock’s other landing crafts, Rapier-Class Patrol Destroyers, had been dispersed to her sister ships Ellis and Cuthbert , also taking part in the assault. The goal of Operation Aftershock was to smash the pirate organization’s nerve center before its members could escape. There would be no advance warning, no chance for the high-level bosses to flee, no time for the incriminating documents to be wiped or shredded. Nothing but the hammer of justice, smashing down. . . and Commander Ciara Storm and her Shadowhawk had come to swing it. The landing ships waiting offshore were specialized craft, their hulls painted pale blue to blend in with the ocean mists of Halifax, each of them carrying many smaller boats. The largest of the ships, the Andryusha Frigates at 8,500 tons, could ballast down,flooding the vessels’ well decks so that small cargo craft loaded with heavy tracked and wheeled units could float out. The smaller landing ships, the Rapiers, carried boats hung from davits, each boat large enough to hold a squad of regular or armored infantry. At the moment, a rainsquall obscured the distant horizon. Just beyond that horizon, on the shores of Bernhard Island, the pirates waited. Captain Teso River was sure that they weren’t asleep; even with radio silence in effect, the approach of the landing force would be putting out too much noise on the electromagnetic spectrum for them to rest easy. No one had accused the Dragoons of being anything other than ruthless and effective. That was why an army with both regular and armored infantry, and with wheeled, tracked and hover armor, lay just over their horizon. . . and that was why Teso’s Shedu battle armored suit, along with his squad mates, squatted in a specially constructed hold in the Ellis’ belly. TheShedu quadruped suit was still attached to the ship’s service power lines, but was otherwise ready to move as soon as Teso climbed into the suit and strapped himself in. The Shedu had no jump jets, which meant that Teso, little as he relished the prospect, would have to wade his battlesuit ashore while every artillery piece on the island poured energy and projectile fire onto his Black Ops Squad. The ships drove forward, toward the horizon. Ciara ascended from her ’Mech’s resting place to meet the Waverley ’s captain on the ship’s bridge for a final conference before the assault. “They have to know we’re coming now,” the captain said, “if they aren’t blind rather than just dumb.” Ciara nodded. “So they must.” “You wanted the charts?” “Yes.” “Here you go, then.” Ciara looked at the display the captain brought up on her data terminal. “Can you give me a picture of the subsea contours?” “No problem.” The captain touched a sequence of keys, and the false-color display melted and changed, now showing the water off the coast in gradations of blue and green where it had previously been a solid-colored area. “How recent is this data?” Ciara asked. “Some years old. This has been a poorly charted area.” Ciara pointed at a bar of lighter color that thrust outward from the southern promontory of the shoreline.“Do you see this spit matching data from the task force today?” “Nothing to contradict it,” the captain said. “Then put us over the top of it . . . here,” Ciara said, pointing again. “Kick out your boats; We're going for a stroll.” “We’re getting illuminated with fire control,” a sensor tech on watch said. “G and H band, ranging and identification.” “Countermeasures,” the captain said. “Active and passive. Keep them guessing.” “They have to have figured out by now that something big’s coming,” Ciara said. “They’re going to be hitting us with everything they’ve got.” “So they will,” the captain said. “At the same time as we’re hitting them with everything that we’ve got.Thanks to you, we have something more.” “Start line,” the navigator said. “Very well. Commence launching boats, form up wave circles, guide on me.” “Commence launching,” the radio talker said. Ciara left the Waverley ’s bridge crew to their work and headed back to where her ’Mech waited in the dark of the lowest hold, power cables snaking over it. The ’Mech’s support crew. . . which, in these cramped quarters, was only two Techs from the SAC Combat Engineer Platoon, Dread Squad. . . were standing by, 1st Lieutenant David Sabir and Corporal Robbie Owens. “Armed and hot,” the master tech Sabir said. “Awaiting your orders.” “Secure from ship’s power,” Ciara ordered. “I’m mounting up.” “Secure from ship’s power, aye, aye.” While the two SAC Technicians labored to disconnect the Shadowhawk and Merlin from the Waverley ’s power, Ciara stripped down to her panties and a thin mesh shirt. As chilly as the humid morning was against her bare skin, she knew the atmosphere inside her ’Mech’s cockpit would be full of the literal heat of battle, where sweat running into a warrior’s eyes could be as deadly as inbound missiles. Without the concealment of her uniform shirt and BDUs, the tanned skin of Ciara’s limbs and torso showed the silvery, knotted tracks of myriad old scars. She climbed the ladder to the cockpit of the Shadowhawk, reviewing the weapons systems as she went. Then she entered the hatch to the cockpit, closed the hatch behind her, strapped herself into the ’Mech’s command couch, and convinced the ’Mech to recognize her as its commander. She brought the ’Mech up to its full standing height, stretched all its limbs to confirm response and agility, and cycled its weapons and communications console. Then she keyed on the intraship communications link. “All right. I’m ready. All commands this is SAC Actual, We are go for green. I repeat you have a green light for mission launch.” Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Nova Scotia Rale Ocean Off the Coast of Bernhard Island 28th March 3092, 0820 local Teso River wished he could pace, but the cramped space of the Ellis’ deep hold left him no room amidst the tanks of the Halifax Militia. He sat tight, waiting completely out of the Dragoon’s sight. He hoped to be a very unpleasant surprise when the time came, but until then he could do nothing but wait. If he had his way, battles would begin the moment they became inevitable. There would be no waiting, no buildup, no time-consuming travel. The two sides would appear instantly on the battlefield and open fire. He checked his chronometer. The time was getting closer, though seconds ticked like minutes. So far, the operation was on schedule. The comm crackled. “Time to see if anyone’s home,” said Lieutenant Stimmell of Halifax Marine Law Enforcement. “Circles to lines on my command.” Teso waited for the command, his Battlesuit echoing the forward lean of his body. He looked to his left and his right inside the Rapier’s hold. To his left was his Black Ops Squad. His XO in a captured Xiphos Battle Armored suit and his two remain squad mates in their native Purifier Suits. To his right was Kilo Squad, a member short, equipped in Asterion Battle Armor. He thought of the remaining members of his unit, Juliet and Lambda Squads, on their sister ship, the Cuthbert, being poised in similar fashion in their ragtag collection of battle armor. They had two Asterion Suits, a Leonidas, a Xiphos, a Kobold, and an Ogre. Each of their squads was down a man too. Teso was jolted from his reverie by a sharp command. “Execute,” Stimmell said. Teso exhaled. There wasn’t anything for him to do yet, but at least something was happening. The boat group, which had been circling near the island shore, straightened into lines running parallel to the beach. Unless the 4th Rim World Dragoons were blind or lax, they knew what was coming and were preparing their response.Teso glanced at his secondary screen, displaying a feed from a boat-top camera. The coast was silent and looked empty, but offered plenty of dense foliage to hide the hostile guard. “Turn course zero-one-seven, again, zero-one-seven,” Stimmell said over the comm. “Speed at five knots.” The boats turned, three lines starting a curve toward the shore. Ciara’s and Reed’s hybrid ‘Mech Lance along with Teso’s battle armor platoon would land first Then Coleman’s Infantry Company would follow them, then the SAC Steel Rain artillery Lance, then Halifax Garrison missile tanks. If Teso and Ciara did their jobs, most of them would make it onto the shore alive. Flashes like fireworks sparked across the coastline, followed brief seconds later by dim reports. Missiles arced into the sky, closing on their targets. “Hold fire. Don’t let them startle you,” Stimmell cautioned, but it wasn’t necessary. The Dragoons had fired early and their missiles fell short, vanishing in white sprays and exploding columns of water. “Gentlemen, let’s get wet,” Stimmell said, and the first wave dove into the water churned up by the Rim World missiles. More missiles fired, most still missing their marks, but a few denting hulls in the first line of boats. “They’re starting to feel cocky,” warned Brigham, captain of the Cuthbert, one of the forward boats. “All right, let ’em know we see ’em. Area fire!” Teso reached for his trigger reflexively, but it was still too early. Greenery along the shore exploded into black-and-brown clouds. Tree trunks shredded, their broad tops falling onto the rocky shore. The Dragoons weren’t deterred, and sent a more intense wave of fire. Teso watched columns rise around him like geysers, strangely beautiful in their own way. Finally, Stimmell came through with a message meant only for the Command Staff Contingent of the Storm's Armored Calvary. “One minute to position, Team Leaders. Flood the hold.” “Copy that,” Teso said, trying to hide the relief in his voice. The crewmen disconnected his team of battlearmor and scurried out of the hold, sealing the watertight doors. Water flooded in as Teso waited for sixty seconds to pass. “In position now. Release.” The door beneath Teso opened, and he fell quickly into the dark sea. He flicked on beams to help him navigate to shore. Checking his radar display he saw twelve blue blips on his screen. Soon the feet of his Shedu touched sand. Galloping underwater was only slightly faster than moving through quicksand, but at least he was pushing ahead. Above him, the incoming attack waves would continue their arc toward land while his battle armor platoon made a beeline for the shore. If the timing was right, they’d arrive on the beach at the same time. He checked his secondary screen to follow the progress of the battle above, but between the poor signal and the sprays of water above, he couldn’t make out anything. He flicked it off and waited for Ciara’s commands to tell him what he needed to know about the fight. “First wave, report. Looks like you lost one.” “Yes, ma'am,” Brigham crackled back. “One Silverfin hit and entirely lost. Others proceeding apace.” “Second?” “We’ve had a breakdown, one Coastal Cutter out and heading away. No hits from the hostiles.” Ciara didn’t bother asking about the third, which was still out of range. “All right, fill the gaps. Keep the pressure on.” “Yes, ma'am,” came the replies, and Teso added his own assent as he slogged through the water. The Dragoons could have no idea what kind of pressure they were about to feel when the SAC ‘Mech Lance made the beachhead. The surface of the water drew closer to his battlesuit’s head. He could see waves passing, though not yet breaking. Missiles and shells skipped overhead, some from in front of him, some from behind, echoing through the sea like a sounding dolphin. Teso slowed his Shedu suit further, making his machine squat as it practically crawled on its underbelly. It wouldn’t do for his head to stick out too soon . . . it would just make an inviting target, and it would ruin the surprise. Stimmell spoke again. “Wave two, prepare to launch; wave three, hold your fire. Launch on my mark . . .execute! Nail it down!” Tracer rounds the size of flaming golf balls zipped across the open expanse of beach from a static emplacement as quad mounted 20mm auto-cannons spewed forth hate and discontent upon the invaders wading ashore. The high velocity armor piercing rounds struck the armor plates of Ciara's Shadow Hawk that hunched forward and twisted at the torso a bit as if marching through a hail storm ever closer to the offending emplacement. Telltales inside the cockpit showed the status of her Shadow Hawk's armor as the high velocity rounds chewed into her machine, yet she knew it was better that they focused upon her battlemech as opposed to the thin-skinned battle armor troops led by Teso. Acting as the bullet-magnet the moment she was within range she brought down the makeshift sword she had been wielding for the past several engagements the modified I-beam smashing through the lightly armored crew compartment of the turret and putting it out of condition. “Flak Emplacement is down, advance against inland targets.” To put emphasis on her words she raised the sword above her battlemech's head and pointed in the direction of the next objective. Not entirely necessary, but such displays could be beneficial for the troops to see that their leader was in the front, sharing in the danger and leading the way into battle. "Roger that SAC Actual. Advancing towards inland targets." Teso thought he could hear the jump jets of the armored infantry firing, though that might have been his imagination or the blood in his ears. Either way, his time had come. He came out of the water and stood outlined against the churning sea, the saltwater streaming off the carapace of the Shedu quadruped battle suit. “Squad Leaders! Sit Rep!” His squad leaders replied one right after another the condition of their respective squads. All team members had made it ashore without any hazards or incidents. Off to his right, he could see the power discharges of lasers and recoilless rifles. In a moment the defenders would notice his team . . . which was the plan. Moving into their gut, the battle armored troopers of Chameleon and Diamondback would draw and return fire, allowing the landing wave to get into position and, hopefully, maneuver around the sides of the Rim World Dragoons forces. He pushed forward hard and the Shedu surged ahead. A scout vehicle with a rear-mounted heavy machine gun burst through the vegetation ahead of his Chameleon Team. Teso didn’t recognize its markings. The vehicle turned and its gunner opened fire, hosing down Teso’s Team with fifty-caliber armor-piercing rounds. They chewed up the terrain around them but other than that had no lasting effects on his unit. “No, you don’t,” Teso said. He leaned on the throttle, kicking the speed of the Shedu up a step, closing on the scout vehicle. A quick push on the left pedal while easing on the right sent the one ton quadruped suit into a leaping ram attack, pummeling the scout vehicle. It flipped over on its side, one wheel hanging at an angle that told Teso the axle had broken. He then brought the Shedu’s armored front claws down heavily on the machine gun. The wrecked vehicle, and its scattering troopers, weren’t worth any expense of ammunition. Cathryn 'Bull's Eye' Whitley and Anastasiya 'Pitbull' Stepanov cut them down with a 1,000 gigajoules of energy from their Purifier’s anti-‘Mech small lasers. On Teso’s command, Chameleon Squad and Kilo Squad headed straight in from the beach, turning his Shedu toward the area marked on his heads-up display as the location of the Dragoon’s headquarters. Pushing past the disabled emplacement, Ciara caught sight of a number of running individuals long enough to see them cut down by Teso and his commandos. There was little mercy in her heart for pirates to begin with, and even less for those who continued to fight. “Command lance, staggered column formation and mind your feet, we've got friendlies down there.” Receiving acknowledgment from her lance-mates, Ciara pushed aside a the thicket ahead of her with ease. To her astonishment most of the trees on this island were only tall enough to come up to about the cockpit level of her machine and began to open up to a valley that had obviously been cleared by human habitation which was obvious. Terraced Rice Paddies and retention ponds scattered about with what appeared to be some homesteads for farmers mixed with a modest looking road running from her position toward the objectives. Sensing a trap, she called for a halt. “Vixen to all units, take aim and anything that looks remotely suspicious to you and fire three shots.” The carefully aimed barrage was loosed, landing among the far tree line and in most cases falling short. A few stray shots landed near storage barns and homesteads, and while Ciara might have cautioned against such stray fire she was more concerned with the well-being of her troops. After the final shot landed, there was a sudden barrage of return fire from once hidden units. Someone in that area was broadcasting at high power over multiple frequencies. Teso couldn’t make out what was being said . . . the broadcasters had good crypto, whoever they were . . . but he figured that if he could get Lambda Squad close enough with their ECM equipped Kobold, neutralizing the Dragoon’s command and control would be a fine way to start the morning. Teso made his intentions known to Ciara and Reed as he issued orders to Lambda Squad Leader Nata Frank, to vector in on the transmission site and pushed his platoon into an earth-shaking run. The beach continued to explode with fire from both directions, rocks and dirt pattered across his side, and his footing kept slipping as the impact of the artillery altered the landscape beneath him. He felt calmer than he had all day. WORD COUNT 5013 JOINT POST BETWEEN Word Count 1015 Commander Ciara Storm. Callsign: Vixen. Hardware Assignment: WHM-7M Warhammer. Assignment: Command Lance, Battlemech Company. Storm's Armored Cavalry Mercenary Command. "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry." -Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms. & Word Count 3998 Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image #46 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #46 Teso River Captain Storm's Armored Cavalry 250 posts 0 warning points Posted 01 September 2015 - 01:03 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #46 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Nova Scotia Rale Ocean Bernhard Island 28th March 3092, 0825 local Captain Teso River had lost track of the beach a few times, so he couldn’t be sure, but he thought the attackers were about to put down the third wave of the assault. If he wanted this done smoothly, that meant he didn’t have much longer to keep the defenders away from the beach. Tradition dictated that the fifth wave was when the attackers would come under the heaviest fire. The defenders, confused, disoriented, and unsure what they were facing during the first waves, would rally for a push against the landing defenders. The casualties of the fifth wave could be far heavier than the first. Unless the SAC made sure the defenders didn’t get organized. The wild barrage unleashed by the enemy indicated to Ciara that while they were still somewhat organized the enemy was severely lacking in fire discipline as was evidenced by the low percentage of hits against her force. By contrast, most of the return fire was carefully coordinated to provide the best effect on target. “Reed, circle round the left flank and see if you can find where these guys stop, Recon, back up your commander..” Ciara ordered, and smirked. “Sergeant Celebi, on me!” Two Goblin Medium tank appeared around the corner of a building, off to Teso’s left. They had his Chameleon Squad locked in and tracking. He sent out a streams of heavy caliber slugs from the Shedu ’ twin heavy machine guns just to let the Goblins know that he saw them and . . . with luck . . . to ruin their firing solutions. Then his battle armor team fanned out, bringing their modular weapons mounted right-arm-clan grade, extended range, small laser to bear. The tanks were worth expending some ammo on; Goblins were dangerous. He pushed left hard, firing, letting the weight of the Shedu pull him sideways as it leaned. Leaves and woods exploded, and a secondary explosion followed closely. He’d gotten something. He sent his armored suit forward in a lumbering trot toward the Goblins. One tank was a heap of burning, twisted metal now, its fuel and ammunition cooking away. The other, intact, fired. A stream of metal slugs mostly passed wide of his Purifiers Squad mates, but a few connected with the Shedu, catching the Battle Armor in the left haunch. They packed enough of a wallop to push the armor’s torso back a little, and Teso let it move. As it swiveled, Teso pushed hisbody out, let the quadruped’s right leg fly up a little. His aim stayed on the Goblin. Pulling the trigger, Teso sent a volley of Heavy Recoilless Rifle fire into the Goblin’s teeth. It soon became an exact twin to the other smoldering tank. Turning from the light popping of exploding ammunition, Teso started to wonder what the tanks were guarding. Striding forward into the fray, Ciara’s Shadow Hawk had seen better days, a hodgepodge patched together machine that lacked any original weapons. A few scavenged weapons from enemy war machines and serious armor repairs had kept it in battle. Following behind her, the MLN-1A Merlin piloted by veteran mechwarrior Sergeant Omay Celebi with the flanks of the assault brought up squads consisting of various battle armor commanded by 1st Lieutenant Mark Robinson and Sergeant Major Nata Frank, Juliet and Lambda respectively. Looking like a living chess set of ancient Terran pawns surrounding their King and Queen pieces, charging against a beleaguered foe desperate to hold the professional soldiers yet knowing that the outcome was decidedly against them. Increasing the pressure on the defenders caused a sudden shift in the fire to focus on the battlemechs allowing other units to escape notice for several vital minutes, each seemingly longer than last... Ciara had barely taken two steps when a trapdoor in the earth opened and flames shot out. ‘Vixen’throttled back, but the fifty five tons of steel surrounding her did not reverse quickly enough, and flames scorched her ’Mech’s skin. Angrily, she briefly pulled up then stomped on her right pedal, and the Shadowhawk’s foot came down, shattering the trapdoor, the man beneath it, and the portable flamethrower he carried. Checking her readouts, Ciara saw that the flamer had hit the Shadowhawk directly enough to raise its temperature into the red zone. She held up the ‘Hawk’s hand signaling a halt to her troops, to allow her heat to dissipate. Teso took the opportunity to consider the surrounding terrain. Buildings of concrete and steel lay on every hand. The transmitter was off to his right, still a little bit out of range. He detected more infantry in motion, not coming from the proper direction and lacking an IFF signal marking them as friendlies. He gave the signal for his second, Lieutenant Mickey Gurevich, to lob a high explosive grenade in their direction to keep them from planning anything unpleasant and kept on thinking. This particular spot hadn’t been a good place for an ambush by Goblin Medium tanks . . . as demonstrated by the fact that the ambush hadn’t worked . . . which suggested that either his opponents were incompetent, or they’d had some other reason to guard this area. Teso River hadn’t reached the rank of Captain of an Inner Sphere Merc Unit by assuming that his opponents were incompetent. He turned toward the closest building, pushed the controls to move out the Shedu ’s powerful legs, and reached for the building’s outside wall. That brought the last line of defenders to life, three of them springing from the opposite side of the building, pointing a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher at Teso’s chest. Teso swore. The bastards had done a good job digging themselves into the ground, out of reach of his sensors. But they couldn’t fire a rocket as fast as he could pull the trigger of his machine guns. The .50 caliber slugs shot out, ripping apart the man holding the launcher along with his weapon. His comrades fell back with the percolating of the shells from the his twin heavy machine guns. Teso’s Squad mates surged forward and lifted up on jump jets high in the air. The burned and bleeding pirates looked at the remains that used to be their companion and at the huge metal bodies over their heads. They made the easy choice and ran. As the Purifiers landed they watched them go. With their wounds, they wouldn’t make it far. He quickly scanned the area for any other late-emerging defenders and found it clear. Captain Teso patrol around the exterior while Chameleon worked on the tan wall nearthem, pulling it down into a pile of dust and rubble. “ ‘Twisted’! You need to see this!” called Gurevich. “Well, what do you know?” Teso said . . . without amplification, so that nobody outside the Shedu’s armor could hear. Inside the wrecked building, a group of civilians with blindfolds on their faces were handcuffed and chained to the inner wall on the top floor. Teso keyed up his battle armor’s external speakers. “Friends,” he said. The amplification in the speakers sent his voice booming over the noise of battle. “Stand fast, friends are here.” Then he keyed the internal communications circuit to the command channel. “I need a squad of infantry over here as fast as possible,” he said quietly. “With medics. I’m dropping a marker-transponder. Get me some people. I’ve found the hostages.” Below him, by the beach, the defenders scattered as they heard their prize possession had been lost. The fifth wave landed on a beach free of gunfire. Late in the afternoon, a VTOL aircraft with SAC markings flew low over the beach, turned and came in for a landing. The beach was littered with broken machines; the ocean had not yet smoothed away the explosion craters. The medics and the Graves Registration unit had already cleared away the bodies and parts of bodies. The door of the VTOL opened and a lone man emerged, resplendent in a Halifax Garrison uniform. He walked down onto the sand. “Commander Ciara Storm,” he said, taking the arm of the nearest trooper. “Over there,” the soldier said, pointing, and continued on his way. The messenger turned toward the HMMWV scout vehicle that the trooper had pointed to, and walked over. The woman sitting beside the HMMWV was wearing only the shorts and light singlet of a dismounted MechWarrior, with no identification or rank insignia visible, but the messenger recognized Commander Ciara Storm from her pictures on the tri-vids. Ciara’s current uniform, or rather the lack of it, also showed what the tri-vid news interviews generally didn’t: a truly impressive collection of battle scars. “Ma’am,” the courier said. “I have a message for you.” “Wouldn’t radio do?” “Hard copy, to be delivered in person,” the courier said. He looked again at the Commander . . . who appeared tired but satisfied, like a workman contemplating a tough job well finished . . . and asked, “How was the fight?” “No real problem. They only had two battered ’Mechs against our four. Our Special Ops teams rescued the hostages. Got some prisoners; they’re being interrogated.” “That’s good to hear. May I deliver the message I bear?” “You came a long way. I might as well take a look at it. Walk with me.” Ciara Storm stood and walked down to the packed sand of the lower beach. Wavelets rolled up the beach, then retreated, smoothing the sand and making it easier to walk on. The tide was going out, leaving bits of wreckage behind: broken weapons, packing material, the shattered hull of the boat wave commander’s vessel. “What’s your message?” Ciara asked. “Here,” the courier said, and pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his tunic. It bore seals from the very highest levels of government in the Lyran Alliance. Ciara took it. She felt reluctant, suddenly, to open the letter. It would be so much simpler to merely throw the envelope into the surf, to send the courier on his way, to return to her ’Mech and live out her life as a warrior, nothing more. But she’d never chosen any option simply because it was easy. She slit the envelope open. The paper inside was embossed with the symbols of Hauptman Mari Laurenson and the Lyran Alliance Mercenary Troops Liaison Office. The message was short. “Ma’am?” the courier asked. “Do you have a reply?” “Yes. Tell them, ‘yes.” ’ The courier saluted, turned, and trotted back to the SAC VTOL. Ciara stood on the beach. There was a lot to do, including readying her Command and arranging transportation.And she would have to explain things to Teso. “We’ve been summoned,” she said aloud. The words sounded strange in her ears, and she couldn’t imagine them sounding any less strange to her lover, whom she would have to leave behind on Bernhard to conduct clean up and sweeping operations. “To Copernicus, in order to participate in the election of the next Ruler of Halifax.” A changing breeze brought the acrid smell of fire and corpses across the sand. This morning taking down an enemy Fafnir, Ciara realized, had been the easy part. What awaited her in Copernicus . . . that would be the challenge. WORD COUNT 1893 Like This Name: Teso River Callsign: Twisted River Rank: Captain Position: SAC Executive Officer MH: Purifier Adaptive Battle Armor Role: Special Operations Platoon: Chameleon Company: Black Ops Section Unit: STORM'S ARMORED CAVALRY Posted Image Posted Image #47 LA-GW-12-01: Operation Wolverine (IC): post #47 Lt. Gen Timothy Joshua Reid Deputy Director MRBC Staff Member 8267 posts 0 warning points LocationChristiansburg, VA USA Posted 08 September 2015 - 11:30 PM LA-GW-12-01 Post #47 Lyran Alliance Timbuktu Theater Halifax System Annapolis Stiefel Grapevine United Metal Processing Plant SAC Bivouac 26th March 3092, 1035 local Bang, Clang, Bang! The sound of SAC technician hammers smashing against bent armor pieces belonging to the Flea of Recon lance reverberated through the repair area. The sound of torches welding seals between panels of metal and cutters slicing sharply through broken myomer all but drowned out the background noise of other technicians discussing repairs at a level just below that of understanding. All of the cacophony of sound was blocked out of the mind of Lieutenant Ellison Reed. The lieutenant was sitting, upside down in his command couch, his head hanging, dangling in the space between where his legs, and the command console sits. He was working on something, looking beneath the mech’s open control console. To the untrained eye, it might appear as though Ely was having a few chuckles letting the blood rush to his head. But what Ely was doing was working on the structure which held some of the electronics in place. A pull tie here, a snap pin there, a few torque screws and he was ready to set the new communications control unit into place. He held it in place, being careful to keep himself 'grounded' against the edge of the structure and began the process of screwing a few more pieces into place, and he would be ready for testing. Flipping the emissions console to ‘On’, he turned the dial to ‘Test’, and brought up a local loop back circuit to check the connections. Picking up his noteputer he triggered the diagnostic, and watched as the readout on his noteputer showed that all connections and impedances were within expected tolerances, and finally he could test it out. He toggled the control from ‘Test’ to ‘Active’ and dialed up the gain. "Here we go." He said, twisting around and picking up his headset, he connecting it into the console, and toggled the throat mic. "R1 to L1 comms check, over?" "L1 here, I read you five by five," one of the officers monitoring communications replied. "How's the reception R1?" "The birds are singing pretty, switching to digital alpha niner." He toggled the communicator to Alpha band, channel 9, which he'd preprogrammed with a special encrypted channel that was used by the technicians corp. "Recon Actual to Coyote, do you copy?" "Coyote here, what can we do for you Recon Actual?" "Checking comms installation, how do you read me?" "No issues here, Recon Actual, how do you read us?" "Five by five Coyote." "Be advised Vixen was looking for you hear about ten minutes ago." "Thanks for the update, Coyote. Signing off." Elly wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, turned the radio and comm control panel off, and made his way to the egress ladder of his Dart. His eyes surveyed the repair pool and noticed the many SAC mechs and vehicles still undergoing heavy repairs. They had the enemy on the run, but they couldn't let them get too far away and break contact, that was one thing that was foremost on his mind. He dropped to the ground and made his way to the command bivouac looking for the commanding officer. Elly would have preferred to have been out there hunting the enemy now, but a glancing blow from an enemy PPC had fried his communication unit late in the last battle and had made communicating with the rest of Recon Lance highly difficult until the enemy slipped away. It had been a while since Ely had last played with a battlemech communication system, but the training he'd had at Kressly Warworks had served him well in a pinch more than once on this contract. That meant the primary technicians could focus on repairs for which they were better suited, and at this critical juncture of the Campaign on Halifax, this was critical. As he drew near to the command dome, he could hear Commander Storm beginning to scream at SAC Operations Control. “I am aware of the difficulties, but we have a recon lance still. Get them in the saddle and execute a sweep. Just make them aware that they are not to engage unless there is no alternative.” "I just finished repairing the comm unit on my Dart. It's not elite tech level work, but it should hold provided I don't have any other electrical failures in the mech. The techs were just finishing patching some leg armor when I came this direction. That brings us to three mechs. If I had ten more minutes, that might be five, if my math is right. I'd feel a lot better if we had more time to refit the rest of the Company before going after them like this. Chasing a wounded animal is fine, but wounded animals when cornered can become all the more ferocious.” “I doubt all the ‘Mechs will be refitted in time,” interjected 2nd Lieutenant Shanahan. “We need to prioritize repairs based on the mission profile. My Griffin and Rover Lance’s Vulcan are out of reloads. If it’s all the same to you Commander and Captain, I’d rather opt to hold Rover lance back to defend our bivouac and allow the other two lances alpha repair status.” "Duly noted Lieutenant. We'll see what we can do," answered Captain River. "ASF Reconnaissance. Where are we on that?" "No can do Captain. Our birds still cannot fly yet. We still need avionics equipment and until we either yank them from one of those captured Cheetahs or order brand spanking new parts, we are still grounded," replied Lieutenant Cassie Matsuda somberly. “Send our recon lance to the position of last contact. If I read this map right the enemy has only two real options; they can head into the mountains or they can push for the coast.” "I see this coast land goes on for a stretch. It's a fair bet that if they are headed there, its either because they have a ride waiting, or because they are hoping we don't continue chasing. Either way, I'll have my lance mounted up and moving out, with or without complete repairs in ten minutes. I'll patrol towards this coastal area and see what I can see. Given the shape of the rest of our unit, I'll try to avoid a direct confrontation unless necessary, at least until we can pin point and position some of our support, Sir." Ely saluted, and then took his cue to get back to his lance. They had another mission, and he wanted to make sure his crew was ready when the time to go was there. Twenty minutes later The resounding thud of mech footfalls reverberated through the rain soaked grass lands leading along the coastal road. Lieutenant Ellison Reed kept darting his eyes from his sensor scans and tactical map, to the view screen from within the confines of the Dart's cockpit. The rain was coming down hard, not nearly as thick and torrential as the night they were Ambushed and thought they had lost Commander Ciarra Storm, but it was heavy enough. Visibility had fallen to seven hundred and fifty meters, and the recon unit had to proceed at a walk while paralleling the Coastal road, while looking for any signs of mines, traps, or pitfalls. So far, there had been little sign of the enemy units, and the occasional lightning strike from the storm at times was interfering with the active scanners of their mechs. "Still nothing on my sensors, Jumpshot, you picking up anything?" "Negative, Ely, same as it was two minutes ago." That was the way of recon sometimes you'd go out patrol, and the minutes would turn into hours, comm traffic would be all that would keep you from maybe fallin asleep in the cockpit on some patrols, if such were possible that is. "According to tactical map the road turns to the south up ahead and then we are only about a hundred kilometers from the coast. If they are out here, we should see some sign or contacts here soon." "Ely, hold up, a moment." "You see something, Lock Hammer?" "Maybe, give me a minute will you?" "Okay let's bring it to a halt and cover Lock Hammer." Ely wondered what was up with Sergeant Steele as he kept his eyes glued to the horizon with an occasional glance down at the sensor display on his HUD. Sergeant Krystal Steele, actuated the light amplification of her cockpit to review the terrain just in front of her Jenner JR10-X. There she saw the outline of what she thought was half of a mech footprint moving forward three steps before disappearing again onto the roadway. "Recon Actual, this is Lock Hammer. I'm seeing signs of Battlemech Activity, at least one mech didn't cut the corner correctly on this road and left a few imprints heading further in the direction of the coast." "Are those prints fresh, Lock Hammer?" "If they aren't, then I'd be wondering who else is out here patrolling." "Copy that, I'll go ahead and radio that sign back to command. Let's keep our eyes peeled and be ready to stop at a moments notice, Our orders were to find the enemy not take her out on a date." "Aw c'mon, LT, you know the Jumpshot has the moves for that girl." "Even so, those are our orders. Let's get a move on." He said flipping his command channel to the HQ channel for output. "Command this is Recon Actual, we've got signs of at least one enemy mech along the coastal road. Will check-in in fifteen mikes if no contact before then." It was a long ten minutes as the Lance made its way along the road way, further up the road another type of mech footprint was spotted along side that of the same type that Lock Hammer had spotted. The space between each foot print indicated that they had picked up speed, at the point where the hill curved around a small hill over looking the coast, just over the rise, the first sensor contacts of possible enemies came onto the screen, moving towards the coast land, just at the edge of visual scanning range. Recon Lance halted, as Lieutenant Reed dismounted and trudged down the road way a bit further until he could kneel behind some brush that made a good hiding place for his silhouette. He broke out his specially tuned digital binoculars and zoomed on the enemy formation along the coast, just barely within his line of sight in the haze. "Now why are you stopped there," he whispered to himself as he scanned the remains of the enemy unit, and confirmed the crest of the unit they had lost contact with just a few hours prior. The window whipped the rain around, and some of the fog on the end of the coast line were concealing whatever the enemy was doing. He stood there for what felt like an hour, when the fog began to break just enough to reveal the out crop of the bow of a naval vessel with a large crane. The crane was active grabbing pieces of equipment, tanks that he could barely recognize in the visibility and setting them on the top deck of the ship. "So that's your game, trying to sneak off the coast before we know what's happened eh?" Ely thought for a moment and then his instincts told him to scan to his right. There he saw a patrol maybe four men slowly beginning to make its way seemingly in his direction. Crap, I'm too close He thought as he deposted the binoculars back into his pocket and crawled his way to a nearby ditch that was just tall enough that he could move in it bent over without revealing his presence. He went up road about half way towards his Dart and then stopped to peak gently back towards where he had just been. He breathed a slow sigh of relief as the four men paused just in front behind the bush he had been hiding behind, and then continued at an angle away from that bush back towards the shoreline. They hadn't spotted him. He waited till the four men seemed far enough away, and then began the final jog back to his mech, grabbing the egress ladder and climbing back in and buttoning the thing down. He pulled his headset and neurohelmet back over his head as he heard Lock Hammer's voice in his ear. "Well, what did you see?" "The entire enemy formation is just beyond combat range right along the shore line. It looks like they conscripted some local boats to load up their equipment for passage across the water." "Do you think they know we are onto them?" "No, there is a foot patrol out, but they didn't detect my presence." "We could jump them now, it could prevent them from continuing their safe exit, and if we are lucky, may catch some of them dismounted for easy targets." "No go, Lock Hammer, command's orders were clear, we call in what we've seen and then wait for instructions. If I know our commander, she doesn't want us getting in over our heads against the remains of the battalion in front of us. We'll get our chance, just you wait." His words proved true, as Command ordered them to observe from their current location, fall back if necessary, but confirming the no intentional action against the enemy until the remainder of the unit could catch up. So Recon Lance waited, then pulled back just behind the hill as the sun began to rise, and with it burning away the fog, as the ship or ships that had been loading all night slowly pulled away from the coastline before the rest of SAC could get into position to oppose their crossing. WC 2338 Like This Ellison 'Ely' Reed Mechwarrior, TBD. Storms Armored Cavalry 150px-MRBC-S.JPG Timothy Joshua Reid Deputy Director Outreach MRBC MERCENARY REVIEW & BONDING COMMISSION http://www.battletech-mercenaries.com MRBC_userbar.gif Lt. General Timothy "Chord" Maddox Saber Lance: Commanding Officer 137th "Vanguard" BattleMech Company 13th Battlemech Battalion 1st Hellstorm Hussar's Regiment CO 1st Hellstorm Hussars Regiment: Regiment and Unit Commanding Officer Retired