Scions of War

by WilhelmCederholm

Summary:

Following the Fourth Succession war, as the war of 3039 dies down... A new generation of Mercenary MechWarriors graduate from one of the Inner Sphere's newest and most elite training grounds. As they follow in their parent's footsteps these scions are bound to make the same mistakes and pay for their parents' sins. Across the galaxy a coup is brewing. Long buried grudges will be exhumed and the unwary will be caught in it's maelstrom.

Original Fiction set in the BattleTech universe.
Inspirations: Michael Stackpole's books, MechWarrior video games.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Summary:

On the planet Lebanon, the heir to a minor noble family and his cousin discuss their long game.

Notes:

Scion: The descendent of a notable family.

Note that there is a mix of canon locations/entities and non-canon ones for the sake of the story. Lebanon is one of those non-canon locations.

MechWarrior: Scions of War

01: Prologue

Youssef

Emir City, Lebanon

Draconis Combine

12 December, 3035

“How is he?” Youssef asked.

Fouda slowly closed the door into the bedroom and walked to the huge wooden desk. Family lore was that it was made of real mahogany from Terra and was over a thousand years old. Each generation of his family, the patriarch always sat at that desk while penning letters and edicts, running the family businesses. Youssef strode across the office and sat down facing his older cousin.

“If God wills it, he will last through the night. If God wills something else, then by morning I will inherit his lands and titles.” Fouda Jaber answered cryptically.

“Then what will be your first act as Sheik?” Youssef asked.

Absent mindedly, Fouda toyed with a fountain pen before spilling a drop of ink and returning it to its holder. He wiped his hands on a tissue but only spread the ink around. In disgust he dropped the tissue to the floor and rang a small bell at the edge of the desk. He propped his head up with one hand and waited until the servant had come and gone before answering his cousin’s question.

“My first act as Sheik? You mean my first act as the head of a family that spent its wealth creating an army to overthrow the Atassi family and take its rightful place ruling this planet, only to lose that army in the infighting of the Free Worlds League? The family that spent its resources on aimless revenge schemes against anyone who wronged my father…” Fouda nodded towards the door into the bedroom. “Instead of investing wisely and uniting the families against the Sultan? What should I do? Start marrying second and third wives to make entitled and useless sons for whom I have to divide up my depleted wealth among who will accomplish nothing?”

Youssef kept his mouth shut at his cousin’s exhausted rhetorical questions. The other man straightened up and met his eyes.

“My first act? I should write a letter to Hanse Davion and thank him for attacking Lebanon.” Fouda said.

When Youssef answered only in a questioning look, he expanded. “Then write another to the Coordinator thanking him for not sending reinforcements when the Sultan begged.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that, Cousin.”

“Simple.” Fouda responded. “Because something my father never did was lift a finger against Sultan Atassi. Davion’s mercenaries saw fit to destroy much of the Atassi house forces, leaving them vulnerable, before retreating. Had the Coordinator sent reinforcements, that situation would be different. A foreign army would be occupying this world just waiting for the day when some Kuritan warlord decided to replace the Sultan. So, in a way, Hanse Davion’s adventurism and raiding and my father’s soon to be demise has left the circumstances wide open for a long-awaited change of power on Lebanon. We are simply missing a few factors.”

Ticking off fingers, Youssef followed the line of reasoning. “An army. One could be purchased, but the Combine would not allow mercenaries to be used here. Our meager house forces and the even more beggarly army of the Abbas family were stationed far away from the city and strategic targets that the enemy struck. Our one saving grace was them not being involved in much of the fighting.”

“Purchased yes. But not in the traditional way. One thing that having far too many sons has accomplished is that some of them have become successful in the hired military trade off world. Since they are family members, then we could invite them here on a different pretext. Guarding house assets on a temporary and emergency basis as relief for indigenous forces.” Fouda answered. “Filling in empty spots we are allowed by treaty to have.”

Another of Youssef’s fingers extended. “We would need an excuse, otherwise a straight up coup would only result in a counter coup. Killing off family members and using up money wouldn’t get the desired result.”

“One can be manufactured as easily as Hanse Davion’s excuse for invading anyone.” Fouda waved away the objection. “If anything, writing that excuse afterwards would be just as easy. The victors write history.”

When Youssef extended his third finger he grimaced. “To get buy in from the other families, you would need to honor tradition. Which is a problem. To my knowledge there aren’t any legitimate Abbas women you could marry. All their daughters of age have been married off. When your father invested in the Lebanon Irregulars by purchasing the hand of the Abbas woman, she never gave him an heir. That alliance was never sealed. By the time there is another generation of women of age, the time will be passed.”

Sitting back in his chair, Fouda stared above Youssef’s shoulder. “Two things my father wasted money on. That woman and sending men after her when she ran away with the mercenary.” He paused and closed his eyes for a moment. “Amina Abbas had two children with the mercenary Jan Hunt, twins. A boy and a girl. Thanks to the MRB, a man like that never could hide which is how my father wasted money sending his army after them.”

Trying to seal an alliance by marrying a half-bred noble woman isn’t going to go over well with the rest of the Abbas family. Youssef kept his thoughts to himself.

As if Fouda could read his concerns, he answered. “Bastards can be legitimized. Convincing Sheik Abbas to give his name to the Hunt twins and adopt them would be strangely less of a challenge as convincing the Abbas-Hunt twins to marry one of my concubines’ daughters and one of my useless bastard sons. Four half-breed bastards marrying instead of two full blooded. The union doesn’t even need to produce children, just seal the business my father started. Sheik Abbas would go for this arrangement because it doesn’t cost him any additional children. The twins would have to willingly participate in this scheme, even without knowing the full extent. More runaway brides and grooms would not suffice.”

“I suppose you know where they are?” Youssef asked.

“Indeed. I also have an idea of how to get them here.” He answered with a smile.

Chapter 2: Outreach

Summary:

After a final examination in their MechWarrior training with the Dragoons, Gotfrid, Liko, Amira, and Rain meet an old acquaintance of their parents.

MechWarrior: Scions of Warfare

02: Outreach

Outreach

Federated Suns

12 November, 3039

Liko

“Attention candidates!” The range control officer’s voice boomed in Liko Storesund’s helmet.

Excitement tempered by years of painful training with Wolf’s Dragoons flowed through him. He flexed his gloved hands over the Centurian BattleMech’s controls.

“Your final examination begins in one minute. In order to pass, you will score one victory. In order to pass with good repute, you will score victories and someone from your lance will stand in the objective ring uncontested for a minute. Fail, and you will be relegated to remedial training until you re-test successfully or quit in despair. May fortune favor the brave.”

Liko flipped the switches on the mech’s control board to bring it fully online. Its lasers were down powered for training, its autocannon loaded with frangible low power rounds, and its missiles loaded with chalk instead of a real warhead. Unlike anyone else in the human sphere, the Wolf’s Dragoons insisted that MechWarrior candidates know what it felt like to be hit by real, albeit weaker, weapons.

In theory the training computer would calculate a critical hit and deactivate a mech during the simulation. In Liko’s short time, he’d seen the system work sometimes and glitch other times. Glancing to the side he spotted his lancemates waiting. From the machines he couldn’t see their faces but knew they all had a similar expectation. In a moment of levity he laughed at his older brother in a lightweight Javelin and imagined him cursing the luck of the draw that put the younger brother in a fifty-ton Centurion.

To his left, Amira Hunt and her twin brother Rain stood in a Commando and a Vulcan. Both mechs, like his, had burn scars and impacts from training rounds already as a reminder of the simulated skirmishes that led up to this one. Ahead, the rolling wilds of Outreach showed burned equipment and tracks from training. A battlefield of its own, even if one that trained warriors to kill in a less lethal environment.

The memory of one of those training fatalities made Liko’s breath catch in his throat. During basic infantry phase, one of his platoon mates had died when a simulated grenade went off too close. He remembered the agonizing cries of the man as the whole platoon watched their medic try to stabilize him before the medevac helicopter arrived. Then the silence except the wind howling that accompanied his last breath.

“Examination begins… now!” Range control radioed.

His mech started moving forward with practiced ease. No contacts on radar yet but he knew the enemy would present itself soon enough.

“Remember the plan. Isolate, concentrate, we each get our victories, then worry about the objective.” Amira radioed a reminder.

“You and your plans. Nothing in the rules says I have to help you graduate.” Gotfrid radioed back.

Great. Just great. Family drama before the first shot is even fired. Liko kept his mech on course toward the flank of the capture objective. His brother’s Javelin, armed with four lasers, started sprinting off on a tangent. Flanking him, the Commando and Vulcan went the pace of the slower mech, staying in formation. Liko grit his teeth, then turned his attention back to the radar and thermal sensors.

They had barely travelled a kilometer when the first enemy combatant appeared. A Locust that looked just as pock marked and ugly as the rest of the training mechs ran out from the small hill it was using as concealment. Liko turned, fired his autocannon, missed, then followed up with his lasers. The computer reported armor damage only then the Locust replied with its twin lasers.

While the Locust barely scratched the armor on the larger Centurian, its pilot turned and started sprinting back the way it’d come. It’s a trap, to make us chase! Before he hit the radio to say something to the others, Amira and Rain sprinted off behind the Locust. Exchange of gunfire happened near the brush covered hill and his computer showed the Locust eliminated.

Coming back towards him, both Hunt twins sprinted as fast as their mechs would go. Lumbering around the hill, a Hunchback mech fired its autocannon at one of the fleeing light mechs.

“Rain! Split north, I’ll go west. Liko, meet him head on! Execute!” Amira radioed while Liko’s thumb hovered over the transmit button.

Suddenly with a plan his hesitation cleared, and he triggered his autocannon. Although smaller than the Hunchback’s gun, the round did noticeable damage and threw off the other mech’s aim. He followed up with a flurry of long-range missiles that peppered the Hunchback with blue marker chalk. As he stepped into range, the Hunchback fired its lasers, damaging the Centurian’s main gun arm, but not critically.

Running in from the side, Rain’s Commando peppered the Hunchback with short range missiles then a blast from its laser cannon. The Hunchback pilot didn’t turn to track the smaller mech, keeping his weapons on the Centurian. Liko fired his autocannon again but missed wide as the computer simulated damage to the weapon. Amira’s Vulcan dropped out of the sky on jumpjets then delivered a blast from its light autocannon and laser before bathing the Hunchback in flame.

As Amira withdrew, the Hunchback started to track her, leaving its back side exposed as Rain closed and hammered it again with SRMs. The enemy mech’s side was exposed now, Liko aimed, compensated for the damaged weapon, and fired his autocannon. His training computer showed it as a critical hit to the mech’s weapons, then another strike from the Commando counted as a victory against it.

“Liko?! Need some help over here!” Gotfrid radioed.

His older brother’s location showed up on the battlegrid, two kilometers to the west. The idiot went and got himself into a fight he couldn’t win! Liko started to push the transmit button when a Trebuchet appeared further down the course, about a kilometer away. He turned and started to get a missile lock.

“Rain! Get a move on to back up Gotfrid. Liko, let’s take down the Trench!” Amira ordered just before he let a flight of missiles go.

The Trebuchet was already responding with its larger missile pods. Liko moved his clumsy mech sideways to avoid the missiles, but the chalk rounds peppered his mech anyways. Amira’s Vulcan sprinted, jumped, and zig-zagged downrange towards the Trebuchet. Liko’s missile launchers reloaded, and he fired again just before the other mech. Again, getting hammered by the Trebuchet’s missiles.

Damnit. Taking too much damage! Liko looked at the increasingly red and yellow spots on his armor read out. Amira’s Vulcan was in range of the Trebuchet and started working it over. Once in range, Liko fired his autocannon, blasting the last of the armor off the other mech’s torso missile storage. A precision shot from Amira counted as an ammo detonation and the Trebuchet’s marker blinked off.

The faster Vulcan was already running ahead towards where Rain and Gotfrid were battling an unknown enemy. If Gofrid fails, what then? His impulsive older brother probably wouldn’t accept going through remedial training and just quit. Then his options would be slim. The thought of him hiring on with a bad company or even pirates occurred and clenched Liko’s stomach.

Rolling hills parted and he got his first view of the skirmish. Gotfrid’s Javelin riding its jumpjets soared over a Thunderbolt that tracked it with its weapons while the Vulcan and Commando danced with a Shadow Hawk. Liko selected the Thunderbolt and waited for a target lock while his mech plodded towards the skirmish. At max range he let a flight of missiles loose and waited for the next shot.

Engulfed in simulated flame, the Shadow Hawk moved slowly while the Commando continued to fire volleys of missiles into it. Another load of missiles was ready and Liko fired. Downrange, his brother’s mech showed critical damage but wasn’t out of the fight. Lurching with simulated injuries, the Javelin moved towards the objective ring, still aimed back at the Thunderbolt.

It seemed like the ‘bolt pilot was toying with the Javelin instead of finishing it off. Liko’s autocannon got the other pilot’s attention then the heavier mech turned his direction. I’m so cooked if he gets a good hit on me! Liko turned his non-gun arm side with it’s armor shield to the Thunderbolt and started moving to the flank. Missiles then lasers struck his mech and made it lurch forward to a symphony of diagnostic warnings from his computer.

“Guys?! Need help with the Thunderbolt!” Liko radioed in a moment of panic.

As Liko turned to get a missile lock he spotted Rain’s Commando running up behind the Thunderbolt and firing its single laser into the larger mech’s back. When the ‘bolt didn’t turn to face it, the Commando ran a figure eight pattern behind it, keeping its torso aimed at the ‘bolt until it could fire its laser again and again. Shit. Rain is out of ammo! Another autocannon shot towards the ‘bolt missed wide as Liko failed to compensate for the damaged weapon.

Seeing a flight of missiles approach, he turned his side towards the enemy again, feeling the pounding of the chalk rounds.

“Gotfrid!? Get your ass back here and finish the Thunderbolt or I’ll add it to my victory count!” Rain’s voice seethed.

Turning back towards the fight, he saw the Thunderbolt pivoting to face the approaching Vulcan that was taking surgically aimed autocannon shots at it, picking away at its armor and weapons while the Commando danced outside its arc of fire. At its max range for weapons, the Javelin appeared from his hiding spot behind a pile of boulders and fired. The lasers didn’t converge right, and it took two strikes into the back of the Thunderbolt for the heavy mech to show destroyed in the training simulation.

“Looks clear to the objective. Rain, run ahead and circle it. Liko, Gotfrid, I’ll walk you slow mechs into the finish line.” Amira ordered.

From a distant rise, Liko spotted another mech, something small and bird shaped, then another humanoid one. They peaked, then backed away like they was doing a poor job at trying to stay hidden.

…

Amira

Waiting outside their training officer’s office, Amira felt cold after the heat of the cockpit. She zipped up the red hooded sweatshirt emblazoned with the logo of the Wolf’s Dragoons an wished she had a jumpsuit to cover her legs. The boys all seemed caught up in their own thoughts, replaying the exam or thinking about something else. Tall and lanky with long black hair that was bound in a ponytail except for where it was shaved for neurohelmet contact, Gotfrid looked the most unhappy.

“Much as that was the final, we could still AAR.” Rain broke the silence.

Her brother was just a few centimeters taller than her with features like their father and black hair and brown eyes like their mother. He kept the sides of his head shaved with just enough length on top to comb over. Like their father he had athletic physique and was in the top ten of their cadet group in athletics. Gotfrid was the tallest of them, but like the stories she’d heard of his father often eschewed the gym for more entertaining pursuits.

“Why bother? We passed. Each of us got a victory and we stood in the capture circle uncontested. Now we’ll get a good reference from the Dragoons for all that’s fucking worth.” Gotfrid bemoaned. “We’ll be king shit of mercenary scum!”

“Sustain. Rain got two kills because he’s fast and handles short range weapons well. Sustain, three of us worked together and didn’t fall for the ambush.” Amira started then clenched her jaw. “Improve. Gotfrid ran off by himself and found a heavy mech to play with.”

“Oh, here we go. Miss Lance Leader, the class know it all, here to tell me how to do everything.” Gotfrid straightened up and rolled his eyes.

Rain who had been leaning against the wall next to Amira silently took a step to her side.

“I won the roll of the dice to be Lance Leader. Same as we all rolled dice to select our mechs.” She objected.

“Right… and here we are. You had to drag me across the finish line. Great job! Not like it matters. In a few weeks I’ll be working for someone else and taking orders from someone that’s been there done that, not just spent their lives reading about the exploits of others.” Gotfrid’s words dripped with sarcasm.

Just as Rain seemed to be ready to say something, Amira put a hand on her brother’s arm to stop him.

“Is that really it? Why are you so difficult? We grew up together on the same ship, the same barracks, the same farm. We’ve spent the last seven years here on Outreach together in the same constant training and trials. You’re not my blood but you may as well be my brother.”

Gotfrid made a violent shrugging movement with his arms then sat back down staring at the floor. “You wouldn’t understand.” He mumbled.

“Try me?” Amira asked gently.

Before anyone responded, the door to the training officer’s room opened and one of the Dragoon officers stepped out. The Cadets stood to attention, and he walked past them with a glare. Anna the secretary stepped out and motioned the cadets into the office. Seated behind the desk, Major Avery had the look of someone who would rather still be in frontline combat and took out his anger on anyone he could.

A collection of scars started on his right hand where all but the thumb and middle finger were gone. His uniform hid most of the scars, but Amira knew they covered his body. Above the collar of his uniform, the constellation of scars disfigured the right half of his face as well. Stories about the battle that had put him behind a desk training Cadets spread around the corps and were varied. Amira had never had the courage to ask him or research it.

“At ease, cadets.” Avery growled. “First off, do you have any questions about your final examination?”

“Sir, why were there seven mechs? Our briefing said there would be a lance.” Gotfrid blurted out.

“In real war you must learn to adapt to bad intel. That is one of the final lessons we taught you. Some day in real war you may face a lance of five and the extra mech will not surprise you.” Avery responded. “Anything else?”

Politely, Rain raised his hand and waited for Avery to nod before speaking. “Sir, who were the pilots we tested against? Were they ordered to ‘go easy’ on us?”

“Volunteers from Zeta Battalion that were too hungover for duty.” Avery answered in a way Amira wasn’t sure if he was serious.

“You passed. Barely. You.” He pointed to Rain. “Used up all your ammunition in short order and were combat ineffective. You.” He pointed to Liko. “Were one good shot from being blasted out of your mech despite being in the heaviest iron. You.” He pointed at Gotfrid. “Ran off by yourself and brought back a critically damaged mech. The only reason you killed a mech and passed is because your siblings killed it most of the way and called you out. In fact, the only bright spot was your lance leader that tried to keep you hot heads under control.”

Avery sat back in his chair. “After the graduation ceremony you will find out if the Dragoons want you or if another company is willing to waste their C-Bills on you. You have one day of leave. Dismissed.”

He returned their salute then Gotfrid was first out the door. Amira looked over the other lance of Cadets fresh in from their exam, waiting to see Major Avery. They looked similarly as unhappy and Amira wondered if they had passed as well. The difference is those cadets were Dragoons, not children of mercenaries sent here as teenagers to train. Amira felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Liko.

Gerhard and Xing Storesund’s younger son stood short and had the same long black hair as his brother. Often overshadowed by his louder and more headstrong brother, Amira had known Liko to be intellectual with a personality heavily influenced by the teachings of their foster mother Suzuka.

“For what it’s worth I thought you did well. I’m kind of trash in a slow mech like that and let myself get beat up.” Liko acknowledged.

She looked down the hall to see her brother and Gotfrid out of earshot already.

“Thanks… Why’s he like that?”

Liko shrugged and started walking with her. “I think he’ll interview well. When he puts his mind to it he shuts off the attitude. His scores were generally good enough to land a good company. We’re multilingual too, that counts for a lot. I hope.”

“It wasn’t his performance in a mech that I was talking about.”

“You’ve known him as long as I have.” Liko acknowledged. “He’ll never open up about it, if he has the emotional presence to self-analyze. I think he just resents you and Rain… and everyone. You’re both naturally gifted. Suzuka always treated you differently, pushed you harder. She let our mother raise us, then treated us as inferior because mother wasn’t teaching us martially. But I think mostly it’s that your father lived longer than ours. He resents it because Gerhard died defending your parents and we barely knew him.”

For a while, Amira didn’t speak. Going back to their barracks and planning a day of leave seemed foreign. The training center seemed like her whole world and anything beyond that in the civilian space was foreign. Even with all the years spent on Kwamashu under the tutelage of former MechWarrior Suzuka Nakamoto, that place had never seemed like home the way their parents mercenary outfit the Iron Irregulars’ dropships had.

“Really I just hope we all hire on with the same company.” Liko said. “We’ve always been together, you know, the four of us. I just can’t imagine us not being together.”

They stepped outside into the late afternoon sunshine. Storm clouds on the horizon threatened a wet and soggy leave day before graduation.

“I agree with you there.” Amira replied. “I had the paranoid thought that Rain might get hired by the Dragoons… you know, since he got two victories in the exam. Probably just a delusion though. He’s in the top of the class.”

“If any of us got an offer from them, it would be him.” Liko agreed. “He’s one of the best in the training battalion.” Liko seemed to stumble. “Not that you’re bad.”

Amira laughed at his faux pas and attempted recovery. “Thanks. Speaking of all that. Any plans for leave?”

“No. You?”

“Nope. Uh. Want to go into the city and have no plans with me?”

…

Gotfrid

“Man, what the hell is your problem lately?” Rain’s voice echoed through the barracks.

They were alone in the common room between the private rooms of their platoon’s wing. The floor was tiled in already fading red while the walls were painted gray. Gotfrid noticed that some of the other cadets who were already away on leave had tracked dirt in and if he didn’t hurry he’d be stuck cleaning instead of catching a bus into the city. Rain stood with his arms crossed leaning against the wall next to Gotfrid’s bedroom.

“Piss off. Just because you got two kills doesn’t make you better than me. Your sister softened them up for you anyways.” Gotfrid responded sharply.

Rain’s stare didn’t let up. “It’s called teamwork. You should try it. I’m not talking about just the final. For the last half a year you’ve been trying to piss off everyone. Do you want to get rejected and end up back on Kwamashu on the commune?”

Gotfrid crossed his own arms. “Get out of my way, Rain.”

“I’m not in your way.” Rain said and motioned to the doorway next to him with his head. “Door is right there.”

He stepped closer then shoved Rain away from the doorway. As Rain’s stance widened and his body moved into a ready position, the door into the common room opened and shut. Gotfrid looked to see the visitor, an underclassman, tracking more dirt onto the tiled floor.

“God damnit plebe.” Gotfrid yelled.

The kid looked down then realized he needed to finish his task and get out quickly.

“Sirs. Uh… Cadets Hunt and Storesund?” The kid stammered.

“Yeah. Two of them anyways. Which are you looking for?” Rain asked.

Gotfrid stepped forward and snatched the paper dispatch out of the younger cadet’s hand and read it over. He handed the paper to Rain and made a shoo gesture.

“Well… How about that.” Rain acknowledged the note.

“Fuck.” Gotfrid looked at the dirty tile floor. “Help me with this dirt before we try to find the others.”

…

Rain

By the time Rain and Gotfrid finished cleaning their bay, Liko and Amira had arrived. The four of them changed into matching Wolf’s Dragoons sweatsuits and left the platoon wing before other cadets could track in more dirt and made their way back across the small campus to the mech bays. In a set of offices normally inhabited by technicians, Rain found the conference room and opened the door to see one of his father’s business associates and friends.

Standing tall for a woman with the build of a wrestler, Tanesha Cross wore a faded blue business cut suit and had a worn leather document satchel with her. Rain estimated she was in her mid-sixties by now with her short frizzy black hair mostly turned gray. The last time he’d seen her was when his father visited his teenage MechWarriors in training before leaving for one of his last contracts.

“Rain, Amira… Liko, Gotfrid. It’s good to see you all.” Tanesha greeted them before shaking each one’s hand. “Grown up, trained, and passed by some of the hardest warriors in the business…”

“What brings you to Outreach, ma’am?” Rain asked.

“Several reasons, really. I came for your graduation. Suzuka and Xing are here as well but Suzuka is exhausted and went straight to the hotel with your mother…” She looked at the Storesund brothers. “I think she’s sick of Kwamashu and was considering staying here. I’ve accepted a position with the Dragoons here at their hiring hall. Lastly, you all know I’m the executor of Jan and Amina Hunt’s affairs.”

When Tanesha said the last part, Rain’s guts tightened. His mother had been dead since thirty-thirty and his father only passed for a year. To his knowledge, the old company was long gone and one of his father’s last acts had been to pay for the four children to be trained by the Wolf’s Dragoons. Then again, father and mother always kept business details tightly guarded, even from us kids.

Tanesha pulled an old manilla envelope from her satchel and shook out four electronic lock keys.

“Gerhard Storesund’s wish was that his Valkyrie be passed to his eldest son, Gotfrid. As godfather of the Storesund sons, Jan made sure to refit and put the Valkyrie into storage after Gerhard’s passing.” Tanesha handed one of the keys to Gotfrid.

The tall lanky MechWarrior looked at it with something like confusion on his face.

“During one of the Iron Irregular’s jobs for the Capellan Confederation, the reward for going above and beyond the contract was a Raven BattleMech. Jan used it once in combat before having his technicians go through it with a fine-tooth comb and placing it into storage, saying that a Raven fit into the Norse mythology that Gerhard espoused, and that his second son should pilot it.” Tanesha handed another key to Liko.

Rain started wondering what mechs his sister and him would get. His father had never even hinted to them that they would receive mechs after completing training on Outreach. While growing up, his assumption had been that he would work for his father’s company but with the destruction of the Iron Irregulars, he had never even considered that there was any inheritance left to disperse, much less BattleMechs. Tanesha held out two keys and Rain saw they were engraved with their names.

“Your parents always felt that light and fast mechs were the key to survival. Amira, you receive your mother’s Assassin. Rain, you get your father’s Phoenix Hawk. It’s not his original ‘Hawk but its in better shape.” Tanesha smiled faintly. “The other thing is that any remaining assets of Jan and Amina’s have been liquidated and divided evenly among you.” Tanesha finished. “All the mechs are in factory refitted shape. Having your own iron increases your chance of a good posting too. Which with my new job I’ll help with if you want.”

“Did you find the Sidon?” Rain asked about his parents’ Leopard class dropship.

Tanesha nodded. “I found it. After the… last contract, the hired crew abandoned it on Dayr Khuna. It was critically damaged. When I found it, the spaceport had already put a lien on it for storage costs. It’s simply… not financially feasible to pay off the lien and rebuild it. I know it has sentimental value, but it’s just more C-Bills than it’s worth.”

“Was there anything on it… you know, personal stuff?” Amira asked.

The old Fixer shook her head. “The man at the space port that I traded letters with said the interior had been stripped of anything of value. I doubt there’s anything left there anyways. Jan wasn’t the type to keep a lot of possessions around.”

That little Leopard class ship may as well have been our childhood home. Both parents gone, no home world, no family. Rain felt his sister briefly squeeze his hand. My sister, my godbrothers, and my foster mother Suzuka is the only family I have.

“Is that all, Tanesha? I have a bus to catch for leave.” Gotfrid announced.

In response, the old Fixer stared him down. “You should go visit your mother. She’s at the Ridgefield Motel.”

“She’ll see us at graduation. I haven’t had leave in a year it seems!” Gotfrid complained.

Planting her hands on her hips, Tanesha used her military control voice. “Gotfrid Storesund. Your mother travelled hundreds of light years to see you. There will be other opportunities for leave that aren’t Outreach. With your upcoming career as a MechWarrior, you may not even see her again for years. You will go to Ridgefield and see her. A few hours of your time is all.”

With that she made a dismissive gesture and both Storesund cadets left the conference room. Rain stayed, feeling that there was something else to be said. Out of her document bag, Tanesha pulled a stack of audio optical discs and handed them to Amira.

“These were in Jan’s safe deposit box. They’re addressed to both of you.” Tanesha announced.

“What’s on them?” Amira asked, holding on of the disc cases up to examine the handwritten label.

Tanesha shook her head. “I don’t know, I didn’t listen to them.” She paused and closed her bag. “Well, that’s the last duty I had to your parents. I’ll see you at the graduation and hiring hall event. You’re lucky really, because you’re entering the scene while one of Davion’s wars is ending. Garrison ops are safer to gain experience.”

With Tanesha gone from the room, Amira handed the discs to Rain. They were all labeled “to my children” and with a recording year. One of the discs had her mother’s writing on it and the year she died.

“I think getting to the city can wait until tomorrow morning. Want to listen to these?” Amira asked.

Rain replied. “I didn’t know… Heck. I didn’t know mom and dad left mechs for us. I just assumed between Shiba and that last contract everything had gotten destroyed. I didn’t have any idea they’d recorded things for us or anything.”

Amira sat at one of the chairs and lay her head on her hands looking at Rain.

“Besides those old pictures… its like we didn’t have anything of them left. No heirlooms or anything else. Everything was on the Sidon and the Donkey. I guess… I guess it’s fitting that we have their BattleMechs. Instead of useless knickknacks we have useful machines for earning.” Amira pondered.

Rain sat next to her and held up the oldest recording.

“They never really tried to settle down. Always said that our home was in the mech cockpit…” Rain trailed off. “Even when mom was with us on Kwamashu she never acted like it was our home.”

“Our home is in the cockpit, and our family is our lance.” Amira completed the statement. “Fitting that our inheritance would be the mechs then, instead of… I don’t know… old furniture or plates.”

…

Dramatis Personae

Liko Storesund – a MechWarrior cadet training under the Wolf’s Dragoons

Gotfrid Storesund - a MechWarrior cadet training under the Wolf’s Dragoons, Liko’s older brother

Amira Hunt - a MechWarrior cadet training under the Wolf’s Dragoons

Rain Hunt - a MechWarrior cadet training under the Wolf’s Dragoons, Amira’s twin brother

Tanesha Cross – a Fixer and contract negotiator. Executor to Jan and Amina Hunt’s affairs. Former executive officer of the Lebanon Irregulars mercenary company.

Suzuka Nakamoto – a retired MechWarrior who fostered Liko, Gotfrid, Amira, and Rain for much of their childhood

Xing Storesund – a former Capellan servitor, mother of Liko and Gotfrid

Gerhard Storesund – MechWarrior from Rasalhague. Father of Liko and Gotfrid. Mercenary. Deceased

Jan Hunt – MechWarrior from Griffith in the FWL. Father of Rain and Amira. Mercenary. Deceased

Amina (Abbas) Hunt – MechWarrior, intel specialist, from Lebanon in the Draconis Combine. Mother of Rain and Amira, Jan’s wife. Mercenary. Deceased

Timeline

Events connecting “Irregular Warfare” and “Scions of War”

3014-3017 The events of “Irregular Warfare” take place

Dec 3016 Gotfrid Storesund Born

June 3017 The first of Jaber's men come after Amina/Jan

March 3018 Rain and Amira Hunt Born

June 3018 Liko Storesund Born

3024 The children are sent to a Buddhist farming commune on Kwamashu to be fostered by the retired MechWarrior Suzuka Nakamoto.

3025 The skirmish on Alexander's world when Gerhard dies.

3026 While visiting her children on Kwamashu, Amina decides to stay

3030 Amina dies of cancer. It's detected too late to stop. The commune is middle of nowhere without a good hospital nearby.

3032 Jan brings the children to Outreach then takes the company of Iron Irregulars to Shiba. (kids would be 14/15)

3034 Most of the Iron Irregulars get wiped out on Shiba. Jan puts a lance together and goes back to Shiba with McCarron's and destroys the Lebanon Irregulars. Jan fights a duel with Amina's older brother.

3035 Jan visits the children on Outreach then returns to war.

3038 Jan and the Iron Irregulars are killed during an operation that's somewhat murky and even Tanesha doesn't know the details.

3039 Tanesha brings Xing and Suzuka to Outreach for the kid's trial/graduation. All three of them stay on Outreach.

Notes:

I don't know a whole lot about the training center the Dragoons established on Outreach after taking possession of it so I've patterned a fair bit of that after Clan stuff.

Chapter 3: Epistolary 1

Summary:

A recording by Jan Hunt to his children

MechWarrior: Scions of War

03: Epistolary 1

Jan

Recorded 3037

“Rain, Amira. My wonderful kids. I hope that you realize how much you meant to your mother and I, even if we didn’t say it in words. I hope you don’t resent sending you to foster with Suzuka on Kwamashu or bringing you to Outreach to train as MechWarriors. Regrets though are not the purpose of these recordings. After your mother passed, after Gerhard died, I felt compelled to start telling my story, in case I couldn’t tell it to you in person. Maybe some of this will sound familiar, other parts I didn’t talk about because you weren’t old enough yet to understand. Perhaps when you get these recordings, you still won’t be old enough to understand.

“Suzuka told me once that she hoped I would find a place to call home and a woman that I would stop being a warrior for, but for whom I would keep fighting for. That was Amina. When we met, she was completely off limits for a banished wandering MechWarrior like me. Then over the course of half a year we got to know each other during wartime. Because she was off limits, I had to keep our association a secret, and that’s why she was willing to talk to me, because I would keep her secrets.

“Your mother was from a family of minor nobles. Which meant that her hand in marriage was to be given in trade for something to another minor noble. Which meant that she was off limits in a huge sense for a guy like me. Tanesha warned me of that when I hired on with the company. Love happened. I guess because it had to be a secret. Because we spent a few days evading capture in the desert and got to know each other’s qualities in a life-or-death circumstance.

“The Lebanon Irregulars fired me, after the first night Amina and I spent together. Not because of that, but because they were replacing all the non-family MechWarriors with family. Amina did her duty and went off to marry Sheik Bashar Jaber. We didn’t see each other for a year. During that time, Gerhard and I struggled to make it on our own. Contract wise we were the bottom of the barrel. He met Xing and they made Gotfrid. At the end of that first year, we found ourselves in Canopus space.

“Tanesha set me up with an arena fight. A mysterious benefactor put up the money and the mech. Imagine my surprise after winning the lightweight NYE championship title to find out that it was Amina behind the money! That’s when I found her and Tanesha had planned getting the pieces into place for half a year for her to flee her arranged marriage. We gathered our things and set out on a yearlong contract with the Magistracy of Canopus.

“The price that Sheik Jaber had paid for your mother was two ships, twenty-four mechs, and all the extras. The fact that she didn’t give him a child and left him wasn’t going to go unnoticed.  Six months into our contract, the first of his men tried to bring her back. We defeated them and took their mechs as chattel. Our Magistracy contract was up and we moved into Capellan space for a different job.”

“Thirty eighteen and thirty nineteen went the same way. Our company grew thanks to Amina’s business acumen, and it was impossible to really hide. Each year, Jaber’s men would find us, and we would fight them. In that time, you twins came along. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve made in my life to keep at being a MechWarrior. There was no real hiding, so it was better to be a warrior in a fight rather than being a man hiding from a fight that would come either way.

“Gerhard and Xing had their second child while we were in Capellan space. That became a complexity because she had been a Servitor caste member. Your mother figured out a way to make it work and we finished our time in the Confederation then went into Federated Suns space for a year. That contract never really worked well for us. Simply too much competition and the Suns representative disliked us from the start because of who else we’d worked for. That put us back into League space, trying to avoid the Lebanon Irregulars and Andurien space.

“Back in thirty fifteen when I was with the Lebanon Irregulars, I saved the life of a semi-noble then Colonel. He reached out to us and employed my small company for things in Andurien space that were exceptionally high risk. You probably don’t remember because you were too young, that’s when we sent you kids along with Gerhard’s children and Xing to foster on Kwamashu with Suzuka. Our work for General Andrew Leon-Marik was successful in the kinds of ways the sordid tri-vid dramas show merc work. We made a lot of dirty money and collected a lot of high-tech salvage which found its way onto the mechs you’re inheriting.

“Coming into the mid-twenties, all our mechs were outfitted with some of the best LosTech in the galaxy. That’s when Sheik Jaber sent men against us for the last time. On Alexander’s world, a lance of their medium and heavy mechs faced off against us in mediums supported by some light armor. We could have run, but your mother put together a good plan. Confronting them in a valley that let us use the terrain to our advantage. Initially we evened the odds, took down two of theirs. Then Amina’s younger half-brother in a Warhammer landed a lucky hit that detonated the LRM magazine in Gerhard’s Trebuchet…

“He didn’t have time to eject. Taking down the last two of them was hard but in the end, your mother and I stood victorious. Winning and ransoming the survivors wasn’t going to stop Jaber’s vendetta, like we had in the past. Amina’s younger half-brother had ejected, and we captured him. He expected to be held for ransom because of his noble status. What I tell you next is the unfiltered truth, because by the time you hear this, you’ll be adults and need to understand how bad the world that you’re going into is.

“Your mother executed her half-brother. Not because it made the universe better. Not because he deserved it any more than anyone else we’d ever fought. But to show the other side that they were not above the horrors of war. That’s when we captured the Sidon. We sent the crew back on civilian ships with the recording and body. After that, we didn’t hear from Jaber or the Lebanon Irregulars for some time. They stopped hunting us and it wasn’t until Shiba much later that I faced them.

“With that contract completed, we came to visit on Kwamashu. Things in the galaxy were quieting down, but that’s because of the great houses consolidating. The Fed Suns and Lyrans were talking about an alliance and everyone else knew that meant another war. Your mother stayed on Kwamashu, and I’m glad she did. She deserved what little time she had left to spend with her children. Even harder than any battle I’d fought was telling Xing and her children that Gerhard wasn’t coming home. When Gerhard had been alive, I agreed to be godfather to his kids.

“In civilian life, that might be a mostly ceremonial position. As MechWarriors it’s an oath to take care of them in the likely event of the other man’s death. To that end, I put two mechs into storage for them. A Raven I’d received as a reward and Gerhard’s Valkyrie. Xing resisted at first, when Gotfrid and Liko were teenagers and I came to take them to Outreach. Then, in the middle of the night she knocked on my door and told me simply that if they wanted to go, it was their choice. That Gerhard would have wished it.

“That was the same time when I picked you two up and took all four of you there, to the cruel tutelage of the Wolf’s Dragoons. If it weren’t for the connections Tanesha and I made hopping around the galaxy, they never would have accepted outsiders like you. I remember the enthusiasm you had, Rain, when I asked you and Amira if you wanted to go. You wanted to show me how good you were behind the controls of an agri-mech.

“Amira, you laughed and said you’d go along to keep him out of trouble. Neither of you wanted the quiet farm life. Or maybe Suzuka was working you too hard! By now you’ve probably found out which mechs I set aside for you. They may not be the biggest or best armed, but they’re quality machines and fast enough to keep you out of the enemy’s gunsights.

“I’m sure by the time you hear these recordings, the Wolf’s training program will have beaten the enthusiasm out of you. You’ll probably be better MechWarrior’s than I ever was. You’ll stand tall and be ready to face whatever the galaxy throws you into. Just remember to know when to run away and live to fight another day. Dying in battle for someone else’s gain doesn’t do you as a mercenary any good. Amira, Rain, I love you very much.”

Notes:

An Epistolary is a work that is made up of letters, diary entries, news clippings, etc.

Chapter 4: Contracts

Summary:

While the newly minted MechWarriors try to find their first contract, wars in distant lands simmer.

MechWarrior: Scions of War

04: Contracts

Outreach

Wolf’s Dragoons Hiring Hall

Federated Commonwealth

16 November, 3039

Gotfrid

“Copper four! You’re too far out!” His lance leader radioed.

Making his way across the treacherous side of a mountain, Gotfrid grit his teeth at nearly tripping and sending the thirty-ton Valkyrie tumbling down. One missed step, one moving boulder, that could be the end. Down the mountain side, the rest of the lance was having just as difficult of a time staying in formation. Gotfrid was the highest up, that gave him a commanding view of the battlefield.

While trying to get back into formation he spotted it. Further ahead, partially hidden in a gully, the red and blue paint of a Davion unit was unmistakable against the gray rock.

“One! Davion mechs straight ahead, two clicks.” Just as Gotfrid let off the comms button he heard one of the other lance members making the same call.

Without waiting he flipped the arming switch for his LRM pack and started moving with purpose to get into a firing position.

…

Later, after a disastrous debriefing by a merc company’s representative, Gotfrid poked at his half-eaten meal in the cafeteria of the hiring hall. It’d been just like every debriefing for the entirety of his BattleMech training career. Just some desk jock has been yelling at him about something. This time it was berating him for moving into combat without being ordered to. Like the officers expected mech drivers to wait to be ordered to shit or move into contact with the enemy.

The cafeteria was as blank and featureless as the one in the academy but served slightly better food. It’s windows overlooked the spaceport in the distance and the walls were decorated by the crests of different units that had visited. His brother had joined him at some point and was talking about his own try-out in the simulators and whatever had become of it. Gotfrid hadn’t been paying attention.

“… really it’s just that the sim treats EW like it’s just a mathematics problem. A certain clearly defined range, and a certain range based algorithm for deciding what kind of interference it makes in targeting. That isn’t how it works in real life.” Liko continued. “In real life the ECM on the Raven works by blanketing the area with a broad spectrum of electromagnetic fuzz that effects every mech or vehicle differently. What it does to incoming guided missiles too. What is on the battlefield is so random that the ECM’s effect is a combination of factors, all the different sensors and refits and computers that make up a factory fresh or periphery refit mech and…”

“Liko…” Gotfrid interrupted. “I could not give two shits about what you’re saying much less understand it.”

His brother stopped talking and looked down at the meal he’d forgotten to eat, then started shoveling it in his mouth. Off on the other side of the cafeteria he spotted Amira Hunt who waved at them before walking over. She wore a gray jumpsuit, her face looked sweaty, black hair hastily pulled back in a top knot, and she carried a stack of printouts that Gotfrid couldn’t see the nature of. When she sat down, she blew a breath upwards to move stands of hair off her face.

“How did your morning go?” Amira asked.

Liko kept quiet, expecting his brother to say something. Finally, Gotfrid spoke. “Spent the morning trying out with the Roughriders. Uh… I dunno. Selling my mech and going back to Kwamashu to dig in the mud is looking like a realistic option. You? Lemme guess, some swanky FedCom unit offered you a job?” He said bitterly.

“No. Far as I know they aren’t hiring from the pool here anyways.” She answered as if his question was genuine. “I was talking with one of the officers from the Dragoons, then had two interviews. Agents for companies that are already in a contract somewhere. Tanesha set me up with a few companies but both of them gave me a weird vibe. Like they were in too much a rush. Tanesha said later that they hire a lot of fresh faces, which means they’re a meat grinder. I have another try out in a few hours.”

Like he’d just caught up with the conversation, Liko’s head came up and he stared at Gotfrid. “You can’t sell the Valkyrie. That was father’s mech!”

“I’m joking. Maybe. Guess like dear old dad I’m not all that great. I just need a Jan Hunt to drag me around the galaxy and maybe I can get a war bride then die for him.” Gotfrid’s sarcasm didn’t wane.

His feelings of despair only amplified when he saw Rain Hunt enter the cafeteria and get in the chow line. There’s someone I can ride the coat tails of. Probably end up just as dead working for Jan’s son as my dad did for him. The others turned to see where he was looking, Liko waved at Rain.

“You’re not bad, just need to work with your team a little better.” Amira soothed. “Like, when you’re doing individual sims or real training, you’re good with your mech. It’s just when you’re with a lance you always run off on your own.”

“Whatever. Feel like talking with a different agent in the hall. Feels like Tanesha Cross is only working with us out of sentimentality that I don’t give a shit about. She knew my father better than I did.”

Liko shrugged and kept eating. Amira fixed her eyes on him. “Sentimentality could be good, even if you don’t feel it. It means she isn’t trying to place you with any company, she’s trying to place you with one where you’ll get experience instead of just getting snuffed in the first fight.”

When Rain walked over, Gotfrid sneered at him before covering the sneer by putting a spoonful of rice in his mouth and chewing. Rain wore a gray jumpsuit but didn’t look sweaty. His face was freshly shaved, and his hair neatly combed. His plate was neatly piled with roasted meat and vegetables with nothing else. No rice, no dessert, and he drank water instead of the sweetened fruit drinks. His discipline in the chow line made Gotfrid’s resentment grow.

“You weren’t in a simulator?” Liko asked out of the blue.

Rain finished chewing and drank before responding. “Major Walsh wanted to talk to me. That ate up most of my morning. How did you do?”

“Walsh? From Wolf’s Dragoons?” Amira asked, sounding stunned.

High and mighty top of the class Rain going into the Dragoons. Fucking figures. Gotfrid almost got up and left the table.

“It didn’t result in an offer.” Rain said vaguely then kept eating.

The table was quiet for a moment before Amira spoke. “There’s three units on planet right now refitting and recruiting, not counting the Dragoons, and not counting reps that are here without their unit. Hansen’s Roughriders, Pascal’s Rascals, and the Red Grenadiers. They’re all established but the Grenadiers have had a bad couple years according to Tanesha. They were in the thick of it during the Andurien Secession and are rebuilding. The Roughriders are still contracted with the FedSuns and that might be an easy job, they’re licking their wounds.”

“What about the Rascals? I haven’t heard of them.” Liko asked. “I saw their name on the hiring boards but haven’t interviewed.”

Gotfrid groaned and the others looked at him. “What?”

“You know something?” Liko asked.

In answer, Gotfrid pulled a messily folded paper out of his sweatshirt’s kangaroo pocket and handed it to his brother. Liko’s eyes got wide then he smiled and thrust the paper towards Amira.

“Well, are you going to take it?” Liko asked.

Here I am the worst of us, and I got an offer before the others? Gotfrid shrugged.

“I guess I gotta think about it. It’s with their second company. Their first and third are deployed already. The guy didn’t tell me where, he was mostly telling me how shit I was in the simulator. Probably just driving their offer down. Fucking has been POGs are the ones evaluating us.”

Amira showed the paper to Rain then handed it back to Gotfrid.

“At the risk of telling you what you know I’ll say, check with Tanesha. There’s always wiggle room on that number. Negotiate. Even if just a little bit on the perks not the base pay.” She offered. “I have a meeting with them later today. Any info you can give me?”

“I’m sure they’ll treat you differently. Like I said, it wasn’t much of an interview, just getting told I suck then making me an offer ‘because I have my own mech’.”

“Well, that does improve anyone’s marketability.” Rain agreed.

Gotfrid conceded.  “With the Roughriders and Grenadiers non-starters, that means I’m probably going to take their offer. It’s a yearlong contract, then I dunno. We’ll see what the galaxy has to offer.”

Looking down at the table, Amira spoke. “I know I said it before… but… it just feels like we should all try to hire on with the same company.” Her eyes came up and met Gotfrid’s then went to Liko. “We’ve always been together, just doesn’t seem right to split up.”

…

Sheratan

Federated Commonwealth

Local Time: 22:40

Nawaf

Plodding his Centurion down the dirt road, Nawaf observed the surrounding farms and rolling hills in the green tones of night vision. Magnetic resonance was nearly useless in this region due to the network of irrigation pipes and machinery used on the farms. Thermal vision showed heat sources at the small villages, dispersed houses, and worker dormitories.

Vehicles parked nearby some of the structures looked warm but not hot. Not hot like a farm truck loaded full of insurgents that had just made a hit and run attack then retreated at high speed into the farming community. Behing him, Sa’ad in his Vindicator moved, just as slowly, taking in the sights and scanning for the insurgents. Neither pilot wanted to be there. It was the end of a very long day when the attack on the militia barracks had happened, spurring the mercenaries into action.

While any number of ideologies and economic inequity could have lead into the insurgency, the simple answer was that they were funded, trained, and directed by Capellan agents, it just couldn’t be proven. Besides funding and training, the farming communities had all the supplies for a proper guerilla war. Nitrates for fertilizer could be used for rocket fuel and explosive. Fuel oil and gas for vehicles and heaters used for incendiary warheads. Welders and pipes to make rocket bodies.

But most importantly there were people. Men who could be coerced into believing that their lives held no value, and that possible death was better than the pit of despair they lived in. Nawaf and Sa’ad were different. Mercenaries with the possibility of going home with the money they had earned; if they hadn’t in the habit of spending it all on recreation in the city near the barracks. Now they plodded down the main road scanning for the truck that had delivered a mortar and rocket attack to one of the militia barracks.

“Torrent four, control…” He radioed.

“Control… send traffic, Torrent four.”

“Torrent four, we’ve reached checkpoint echo. No sign of recent activity. Over.”

Bringing his Centurion to a stop he examined the village just two kilometers away. Unless they were in combat, their contract specified to not enter villages or cities or engage in acts that could damage civilian infrastructure. Ahead in one of the dark houses he saw lights come on, then shut off. When he flipped into thermal vision, he could see movement in some of the darkened houses.

“I think we woke them.” Sa’ad radioed on short range.

“Fuck ‘em. If I have to be up, they do too.”

Scanning to the side, one of the fields seemed like it had movement, but nothing showed on thermal. Night winds? Coyotes?

“Control, Torrent four. Proceed to checkpoint Foxtrot. How copy.”

Damnit. Why can’t we just give up this stupid chase? Every week we do this and the guerillas just melt into the shadows. By the time we react they’re gone!

“Torrent four, copy. Proceeding to checkpoint Foxtrot. Out.”

While turning around he spotted it. Thermal camouflage tarps pulling off to reveal a farm truck that was hot like it had just ran. Multiple men and a rocket pod from a tank aimed right at Sa’ad’s Vindicator. A streak of three rockets launched. Two of them impacted the humanoid mech spreading burning jellied fuel over the chest.

“Torrent four troops in contact!” Nawaf radioed before flipping the safety cover off the arming switch on his control stick.

His Centurion’s autocannon loaded with a resounding thump and before he had it aimed correctly fired. The shell flew past the insurgent truck and gouged a pit fifty meters away. In response, one of the insurgents fired his automatic rifle making high pitched rattle sounds but doing no damage. Just as he was about to fire his lasers, the insurgents fired their rocket pod.

A flurry of short-range rockets covered the distance and Nawaf felt the impacts, then his thermal sensor went blind. Switching to vis light he watched in horror as Sa’ad ejected from his Vindicator. Heat warnings were blaring in the cockpit and he didn’t hear what Control said over the radio. Out of reflex he fired his lasers at where he thought the truck was which only sent his mech into safety shutdown.

Cursing, he slapped the override button and tried to get his Centurion to move. What he could see past the flames covering his mech was the insurgents reloading their rocket pod for another attack…

Pascal

It was far too late to be walking into the command center in the Sheratan Militia command bunker. Colonel Pascal Karam returned the salute to the guard just inside the door and approached the map table where one of his tactical officers, a Captain named Faisal, stood leaning on it. The young captain didn’t bother saluting; he looked like he’d been called in from off duty.

Using a wax pencil as a pointer, Faisal indicated a farming community with a code designation. “Good news and bad news, Colonel. What do you want first?”

“Fuck it. Give me the good news.”

“The good news is that Torrent patrol found the insurgents and Lieutenant Sa’ad is alive.” Faisal answered.

“That’s cryptic and doesn’t sound like its actually good news. Tell me the rest. Short version.” Pascal ordered.

“The two mechs deployed to hunt insurgents after an attack and radioed a TIC then went silent. Militia infantry reached the area over an hour after Lieutenant Nawaf radioed  ‘troops in contact’. There was evidence of inferno SRM use, the mechs were missing, but there was debris from both pilots ejecting. Sa’ad was found, he’s in critical condition. Nawaf’s body was found. He’d been shot at close range.” Faisal briefed him. “The infantry unit did a sweep of the village and didn’t find any evidence of the insurgents storing weapons there but… they’re just militia. They didn’t take apart the village because they’re not trained for it.”

They killed one of my pilots and stole two of my mechs… This cannot go unanswered. Fire rose in Pascal’s guts that he willed down with years of discipline. With a deep breath, Pascal went to one of the desks where a red painted landline phone sat. Slowly, with purpose he picked it up and hit the one button on the dial panel. Over a hundred kilometers away, in an identical bunker, an identical red phone picked up.

“Report…” A tired sounding General answered.

“Insurgents in the eastern farm sector ambushed my patrol. I lost two mechs which are now in their possession. They used incendiary rockets to force the pilots to eject. Executed one of them.” Pascal reported.

Swearing on the line answered him.

“For now… we focus on protecting the city. When your other two companies get here… we deal with these damned insurgents.”

…

Outreach

Hiring Hall

Federated Commonwealth

17 November, 3039

Amira

“As you can see, we even have a separate barracks onboard the Gladius for women.” Ella lightly laughed politely. “It’s showers even work underway.”

Indicating a spot on the cross section of the ship, in a binder of laminated pages that had been used for years, the recruiting officer smiled then close the binder. Amira sat back and studied her. She was probably approaching fifty and wore a cream blouse and short brown tie. The uniform jacket hanging on her chair had the rank markings of a captain, but most officers wouldn’t have draped it over a chair when a proper coat hook was available.

When Amira had seen her standing, the way she awkwardly adjusted her ill-fitting uniform skirt before sitting down told her that Ella didn’t spend much time in uniform and probably hadn’t been through an academy where dress standards were enforced until they were second nature.

“Let me open it up to you. Do you have questions? About the position or the company?” Ella asked politely.

“Tell me more about the history of the Rascals. When I looked them up there wasn’t much information with the MRB.”

Don’t believe anything a recruiting officer tells you. Watch their eyes, listen to what they say and do. If anyone should know about that, Tanesha would. Amira thought about all the advice her father’s Fixer and former XO had given her.

“Of course. I can understand why there might be a dearth of information. The Rascals have only existed for ten years now. We bought out another company’s bond, contracts, and ships so if you query the MRB database you’ll find missing links and incomplete data because the computer doesn’t know that the company completely changed. The only things that stayed the same was the physical assets and bond number.” Ella started.

She flipped through the binder and showed a photo of three men in front of a well-worn looking dropship. Before Amira could study the picture, Ella turned the page to another photo of a man in a sharp black business suit and black and white checkered ghutra shaking hands with an older and fatter man wearing a military uniform she didn’t recognize. Ella closed the binder before Amira could study the photo for more details.

She continued. “After a year of refits and recruiting, the Rascals took on their first contract working garrison duty along the Marik-Liao border. Currently we stand at three companies, although typically at least one company is on refit at a time. I can’t tell you where the other companies are stationed currently but we’re on our way to join the first, already on contract.”

“There’s a whole barracks devoted to women on your ship, how many women serve with the Rascals second company?” Amira asked. “Are they officers? MechWarriors? Support staff?”

It seemed Ella liked to answer many questions by flipping to a different photo in her binder and showed Amira a picture dated 3035 of a lineup of eight women in front of a BattleMech. Two of them wore trousers and uniforms typical of combat personnel while the rest wore skirt uniforms or civilian attire.

“There are more than a few. While the company doesn’t travel with any non-contributing people, or children, there are spouses that work for the company. The number of private rooms for couples onboard is short, but we make do!” Ella’s smile was oddly enthusiastic.

Years of training with mostly men and warriors made Amira pause and question her own read of the woman. I’m looking at her through the eyes of a warrior, sizing her up whether she’ll be a threat in the next examination. Except I’m not fighting her in the ring or battlefield, I’m interviewing and negotiating for a job with her. This is her battlefield, not mine. She doesn’t hold herself like someone trained for combat and seems to be more used to dealing with men on this side of the table. She’s past the age where she’s conventionally pretty to younger men but she hasn’t quite realized it.

“We? Meaning you’re one of those spouses, Captain?” Amira asked, using the woman’s supposed rank. “If I may ask.”

While the question seemed to catch her off guard, Ella continued smiling. “Oh? Yes. I’m married to the commander of second company, Ellis. I perform recruiting and other duties while we’re underway or on mission. Mostly administrative.” She laughed nervously. “Not all of us belong in a BattleMech’s cockpit!”

Ella seemed to get her mind back on script quickly. “Speaking of which… I was watching the footage from your try outs in simulator and I have to tell you how impressed I am…”

Liko

“Its all different. Not even a spectrum. Like some of the House armies might have resurrected or LosTech units that are going to behave differently than a new manufactured Capellan made unit from thirty-thirty and that’s going to be different than random black-market stuff! The well-designed units can counter other EW for friendlies, or block things out, or just act passively, but all that comes down to the individual unit. Some are smart and others just brute force! I heard that some Davion regiments modernized their systems after they first encountered the Raven in the Fourth Succession War and those mechs will have their systems interfered with less by my Raven’s ECM unit than…”

Captain David Marceau raised a hand to stop him. “Lieutenant, I just asked if you could describe when using EW in combat would be a bad idea. Didn’t need a doctoral thesis on the matter.”

Realizing his mistake and chiding himself for his tendency to overexplain one of his passions, Liko looked down at the table. Across from him in the interview office of the hiring hall, Captain Marceau wore the brown uniform of Pascal’s Rascals with his uniform jacket open and tie loosened. Compared to the Wolf’s Dragoons officers he’d seen on a daily basis for years, Marceau looked soft and worn out with a pot belly, but Liko was hesitant to believe his own bias.

“If we were in a hidden position and not detected, then flipping on my ECM in broadcast mode would potentially give away our position. Using blanket jamming is only useful in a case where friendly mechs are being targeted by enemy sensors. Any other use is just broadcasting EM radiation that the enemy might pick up. For example, if we were being actively targeted by long range missiles, a lance leader might have me shadow him with ECM on to disrupt incoming missiles.”

Marceau scribbled something on his notepad then handed a map fragment to Liko. “The canyon in the northwest corner. If there was a lance of mechs traversing it from the northwest to the southeast. Give me an accurate fire mission...”

Ellis

“Thirteen… damnit Major, don’t drop that bar…” Sergeant Eric Bourdain goaded him.

Muscles shaking, sweat breaking on his brow, Major Ellis Dubois managed the bar up then dropped it into the rack.

“God damn… either gravity is higher here or I’m getting old.”

After catching his breath, he stood up and let the other man take the bench. It was relatively quiet in the hotel gym near the spaceport.

“Maybe a bit of both? Nothing fucks you harder than time.” Eric agreed.

“It’s the kilometers, not the years…” Ellis acknowledged. “You’ve been watching the interviews. What do you think?”

Halfway through his set, Eric was slowing down. At ten reps he was having trouble but didn’t say anything and completed the set without pausing like Ellis had.

Eric answered while still lying on the bench. “We’ve replenished the ranks of armor, AV pilots, infantry. To nobody’s surprise the Wolves hire all their own children, and they only appear in the list to fill out the numbers in the hall. I know that David interviewed a few of them and made them generous offers but it was like the kids knew they had something else and were just interviewing for practice… or to me it seemed like they were interviewing him.”

With a grunt, Eric stood up and Ellis lay flat. He seemed to regard the bar before attempting another set.

“But I’m guessing you’re asking about the MechWarriors in specific.” Eric pondered.

“You guess right.”

“Some of the good ones got snagged up by the Rough Riders or the Grenadiers. Then it seemed like the other two companies on planet closed their books before filling up their ranks. Two dispossessed pilots that are warm bodies and come at a good price have signed. They aren’t bad in the cockpit, just not long-term keepers.” He said while Ellis started his set.

Eric continued. “Three recent graduates who aren’t Wolf children but somehow got a spot in their training program have signed with us with a fourth talking with Marceau right now. One is a solid pilot and techie, one is kind of an idiot and has an attitude problem, but he has solid chops in the cockpit. Another is good all-around with excellent academics. She has management potential or tactical officer written all over her.”

Again, Ellis had to pause between reps. The company first sergeant watched him and didn’t say anything until the Major lowered the bar again.

“The fourth, the one that’s interviewing now, he’s a rockstar but seems to hold back. Got leadership potential if he learns how to use it.” Eric summed it up. “They all have their own light or medium iron. Seems like they grew up together, all children of some defunct merc outfit. David knows more, he hit the archives looking at their records and researching them.”

Yes, David researched them at my insist. The older executive officer continued his set, grunting with effort. At eight reps he failed, and the company first sergeant had to pull the bar up. Ellis sat there catching his breath before standing up.

“Boss, you’re getting old. Or you’re not eating the right macros.” Eric teased in a good-natured voice.

“Or my strength disappeared during space flight. BattleMechs and MechWarriors rust on dropships. We’ve spent far too long in space this last year.” Ellis offered. “Call David, make sure we get the fourth pilot.”

…

Sheratan

Federated Commonwealth

Local Time: 21:15

Pavel

“Stop!” Pavel hollered.

Across the dimly lit workshop the farm boy froze in place. Arrayed on the table ahead of him a collection of chemical bottles, each one labeled with a large letter, measuring tools, a scale, and a basin filled with ice and smaller vials. Taking long strides, Pavel crossed the dirt floor shop and gently pulled the farm boy’s hand back, then forced him to dump the measuring spoon of material into a bucket of muddy water.

“Listen to me!” Pavel slapped the boy. “You follow the recipe exactly! If you don’t, you make a dud, or you make a kaboom and you lose an arm!” He slapped the farm boy again for the dubious reinforcement it might have.

Pavel pointed to the printed recipe which was mostly pictographs indicating which chemical into which vial in what proportion and order.

“Did you make the same mistake before I caught you?” Pavel asked.

Confusion on the boy’s face told him that he didn’t know enough to tell the difference.

“Go home. I will finish here.” Pavel ordered.

Once the boy was out of the workshop, Pavel sat down and looked at the rows of vials in the ice bath. Each vial contained only enough highly volatile explosive to detonate the more stable potassium nitrate based explosive in the dumb rockets that were being built in a different workshop. Despite the precautions Pavel and his fellow agents took, the explosives manufacturing was the most dangerous part without the proper safeguards of a real industrial park and trained people.

Gently he lowered test strips into several of the vials then examined the results. Fortunately the farm boy had followed the recipe badly and produced duds instead of explosives too volatile to even use. One by one he dumped the vials into the waste bucket and re-arranged them in the ice bath. Without needing to consult the recipe, he started mixing and filling the vials again, noting the heat that came off the reaction in each.

Behind him one of the doors opened with a rusty creak and soft footsteps approached.

“If I were the enemy, you would be dead.” A voice from behind chided him.

“If you were the enemy and you shot me, there’s a good chance this whole workshop would explode.” Pavel replied while holding one of the vials over the ice bath.

“Is that the acetone based, iodine based, or the nitro glycerin?” Alexi asked.

In response, Pavel took one of the vials and dumped it out on the dirt next to the other agent’s foot, causing him to jump back and yelp. The mixture made crackling sounds as it detonated in small uncontained bits.

“Acetone. This month anyways. Raw ingredients availability here are just as inconsistent as the people we have working for us.” Pavel answered then turned back to the ice bath.

Each vial he removed and carefully poured into waiting nose cones in a rack next to him, then screwed the backing plate into place.

“I saw you sent the Shen kid home.” Alexi commented.

“He’s like the others. Such a low IQ that he can’t even follow instructions unsupervised for long enough to be useful. Might be a good candidate for carrying some of this stuff into the city… if you know what I mean.”

“I do. Low IQ is all we have to work with here. Anyone smart enough to work in a factory doing something like this…” Alexi indicated the table with explosives components. “Is probably gainfully employed and not listening to the Voice of the Resistance.”

“That sounds vaguely like defeatist remarks, comrade.” Pavel cautioned.

“My dedication to this mission is unwavering. I am simply realistic about the populace here. Good news though…”

“Hm?” Pavel prompted, starting a new batch of detonators.

“The inferno missiles you made worked. We captured two of the Mercenary BattleMechs. The difficulty will be refitting the cockpits. Smuggling in mech components is as difficult as finding reliable workers for your little bomb factory or finding technicians to do the work.”

Pavel finished a row of vials then looked back. “Or finding indigenous pilots that are committed to the cause.”

Dramatis Personae

Pavel – An undercover agent fomenting rebellion on Sheratan

Alexi – An undercover agent fomenting rebellion on Sheratan

Ellis Dubois – Pascal’s Rascals second company Commander

Ella Dubois – Pascal’s Rascals administrative officer

Eric Bourdain – Pascal’s Rascals second company first sergeant

David Marceau – Pascal’s Rascals Captain. Reserve MechWarrior

Pascal Karam – Pascal’s Rascals First company. Colonel. Commander/owner of the unit

Notes:

I'm going to try to get on a regular Friday release tempo. We'll see how long that lasts...

Chapter 5: Epistolary 2

Summary:

Jan's recordings to his children

MechWarrior: Scions of War

05: Epistolary 2

Jan

Recorded 3037

“Your mother was… really an amazing woman. Like most of the family members in the Lebanon Irregulars she had a rank given by family status not by experience. Unlike the others, she was smart enough to validate that rank. She might not have been the best mech pilot in the sphere, but her understanding of intel and people went a long way. Especially after we ran away together in Canopus space.

“For that matter, having a woman to handle business and tactical matters with the Canopus Fusiliers helped things stay smooth. It gave me the time and attention to worry about where my weapons were pointing and keeping our mechs in fighting shape. Back to Amina though. In terms of nobility, she was like the princess of a family that could have disputed for rulership of New Lebanon. I say could have because her family had been given license to go into the merc trade to keep them out of the local political scene and get their military assets off world.

“When we met, the unit was at reinforced company strength. At their height, the Lebanon Irregulars were standing at just shy of five companies. Mostly they were spread out across the Duchy of Andurien. That was before the Andurien Secession. Sheik Jaber bought Amina for the price of two companies, buying his way into the unit. Naturally he saw it as an afront that she had left him to be with a homeless MechWarrior like me.

“Your mother was never an outgoing person. Always reserved. Especially when we were in the unit together. Our associations were always closely monitored and that turned up the dial on the rumor mill. Even Suzuka was there to tease me about it! It wasn’t until New Years Eve on Lopez that we had some privacy. Her cousins were all too drunk to pay attention to me leaving, then her leaving. After that, she left to marry Sheik Jaber.

“Amina never planned to stay with him. Never planned to live in a gilded cage and make heirs for him. Jaber already had something like ten wives and thirty children not counting the illegitimate ones. After my first arena fight, she’d won money on me and put that away secretly. While she was with Jaber, she communicated with Tanesha Cross to arrange a certain new merc company to be at the right time and place. That was the Iron Irregulars.

“The two of them kept it all under wraps right up to the point after the New Years Eve tournament when Tanesha sent me to your mother’s hotel suite without telling me that’s what it was. They had it all planned out, right down to a contract in Canopus space that would keep us on the move for a year. Tanesha fed us intel about the movements of the Lebanon Irregulars so we could know if they were detaching a force to come after us and your mother stayed abreast of other intel.

“Those years, even though we were on shithole planets, always watchful of when Jaber’s men might come after us, always at war in some manner. Those years were happy. Maybe we were too busy to realize it at the time. But with Gerhard and Xing, with Amina, that felt like wherever we were was home and we’d all found our family.

“After she had you two, the dynamic changed and she mainly worked behind the desk, rarely in the BattleMech cockpit. Besides her money, which helped us expand, she made the right decisions in contract negotiations to maximize our profits. In private, she always put us as a small family first. Right up to when we decided to send you kids to Kwamashu with Suzuka. Just as I was getting used to the small family of the Iron Irregulars with little kids running around that Leopard class ship, you were gone.

“It was for the best though because when the fourth succession war started, there weren’t many breaks in the years to come. With all the major power players looking at the Davion versus Liao fight, all the smaller power players made their claims. Minor systems seceded, pirates made land grabs, and every bandit king on the periphery made claims of greatness. That didn’t stop us from making the time every year to trek back to Kwamashu to visit. As adults you’ve no doubt come to realize just how expensive and time-consuming that was. But it was worth it. Family is the only thing that justifies what we as MechWarriors do.

“That was something I think that got lost in the Lebanon Irregulars. For many of them, family was a justification for rank and privilege. They were mostly dilettantes in combat because of it. Men that served in the unit because it meant a bigger share of the profits when they went home. It was a game for them. Home schooled at warfare, then sent to the front to find out what a real tooth and nail operation is like.

“Most of them wouldn’t have survived what Amina and I went through on New Salem Prime. The ones that lasted and were battle hardened though, they understood what was at stake. During the Andurien Secession crisis, we finally found ourselves at odds with the Lebanon Irregulars and found out that they had not forgotten about me stealing your mother. The Iron Irregulars were at a company strength back then. It was the biggest we’d ever been.

“Our contract with the Confederation at the time put us working defensively against the combined Andurien and Canopus invasion. On Shiba, we faced them in open battle. On the Capellan side it was us and Militia versus the Andurien Defenders and Lebanon Irregulars. They… moved quickly and took the world easily. Wiped out most of my unit, captured the spaceport, the Sidon and Donkey had to retreat which left us stranded. The Iron Irregulars fought a guerilla campaign for half of a year until the Sidon returned and evacuated who was left of us.

“The memory of your mother and knowing that I had to make it off Shiba to see you two again is what kept me going. My unit was down to a single Leopard and four mechs. We spent months refitting and consolidating. I brought things out of storage, repaired what was left, and recruited a few reliable men. As much as I disliked working for the Confederation, in thirty-four they offered good money and we hired on with McCarron’s as an auxiliary lance to retake Shiba.

“At that point the Andurien Secession was being crushed and the Fourth Defenders were trying to pull out. They left the Lebanon Irregulars to watch the rear-guard. Big Mac sent us around the flank and when I broke cover I radioed and told the Lebanon Irregulars who I was and that Amina had died of cancer. The few of them that knew who I was broke their battle lines to come after us. McCarron’s hit their confused and leaderless forces and wiped them out.

“It was there on Shiba that I fought a duel with Colonel Hamad Abbas, Amina’s older brother. He’d risen through the ranks to command a company. His Grasshopper versus my Thunderbolt. The fight lasted five minutes. When his weapons were all destroyed and his mech barely functional I radioed him and demanded his surrender. Instead of surrendering he charged, faster than a broken mech should have gone, and then detonated his mech’s reactor.

“Although I lost my Thunderbolt that day, it was when the last of the Lebanon Irregulars were wiped out. We left Shiba with two mechs that could still walk. I left Shiba with a feeling that I had closed a chapter of my life that had begun in thirty-fifteen when I hired on with them and met Amina. Afterwards I put the company on hold to visit her grave on Kwamashu then visit Outreach to see how my MechWarriors in training were progressing.

“I remember you seemed almost ashamed to be granted leave from your unit to spend time with me. When it was over and I saw you back to your training cadre, Rain, you asked me why I was going back to it. I never felt satisfied with what I told you. Something Suzuka said to me a long time ago is that you don’t train young warriors to retire. It’s because, by then, I hadn’t reached the point where she had when she’d said enough. I’d been a MechWarrior my whole adult life and it was all I knew.

“Maybe I should have, I could have stayed on Outreach and tended a bar or gone to any other mercenary star to train the next generation. With your mother gone, with Gerhard gone, with you in the capable hands of the Wolves, I just didn’t know how to stop, I had nowhere to go home to. I put together a team and went back into the fray.”

Chapter 6: Gladius

Summary:

Onboard the Mercenary dropship Gladius, the protagonists start adapting to their new life. Far away on Sheratan, the insurgency stays on the offensive.

MechWarrior: Scions of War

06: Gladius

Outreach

Spaceport, Dropship Gladius

Federated Commonwealth

1 December, 3039

Liko

“Officer on deck!” The uniformed NCO called.

Liko and the others turned towards the approaching man and snapped to attention. After a full morning of moving mechs and cargo into the Union class ship, Liko wanted to get cleaned up and eat more than anything. His brother had bristled at the extra duty saying it was beneath a trained MechWarrior to have to spend hours in a loader exoskeleton moving crates.

Now they stood on one of the catwalks over the mech bays of the Gladius at attention watching the man they’d heard about approaching. Major Ellis Dubois stood tall and wore the brown and cream uniform of Pascal’s Rascals. Everything about him looked crisp and properly groomed, from the white leather gloves he wore to his impeccable short black hair. By the way he walked, his expertly shined uniform shoes made a distinct clank on the metal grate that somehow echoed over all the other noise of the mech bay. His very presence exuded the power that the company’s commanding officer commanded.

On one side of Liko, Gotfrid seemed to barely be holding himself at attention. On the other side the Hunt twins were better at maintaining decorum despite the exhausting work. Two other MechWarriors stood next to Rain. They weren’t from the Dragoons training program; they had been in the hiring hall looking for work. Liko had seen them in the hall and briefly met them while loading up.

Fred Keller, a man from the Federated Suns, looked like he was nearing fifty with short gray hair and a pot belly. By his collection of scars, Liko didn’t doubt he had experience but whether he was worn out or not was the question. Chris Trocha, the other merc from the hiring hall, was also a FedSuns man but hadn’t said much about where exactly he’d come from. By the way he talked, Liko guessed he was one of the self-taught Mech Jocks that could have been from a dubious criminal background.

Major Dubois stalked down the walk, eyeing each of them.

“Welcome to Pascal’s Rascals, Second Company. It doesn’t matter where you’re from or what you’ve done. Here you’re worthless until you prove yourself. That means you…” He pointed a knife-hand towards Keller. “Dispossessed old man… You should thank your lucky stars that we’re wasting a salary on you and putting you in a mech built from battlefield scrap. You…“ He pointed to Trocha. “Piracy stopped paying but the Wolves didn’t kick you out of the hiring hall? If you so much as breathe wrong I’ll toss you in the brig and turn you over to the nearest Fed Rats for a bounty.”

Without meaning to, Liko stiffened up and concentrated on staring at the bulkhead on the other side of the bay.

“And you all. Bunch of rich kids whose Merc daddy sent you to MechWarrior school. Yes, the Wolves told me all about you. I’m obliged to call you by the rank you earned, Lieutenants, but you are just as worthless as that pirate that I’m wasting a scraped together mech on until you prove yourself.” He stopped in front of Gotfrid. “Your one saving grace is that I look forward to salvaging your BattleMechs after you get killed. That’s some nice iron you have, and it’ll look great in our armory with someone else piloting it.”

“It’s a family mech… sir!” Gotfrid blurted out.

Liko’s blood rushed to his face seeing the Major snap to face his brother.

“Family? You signed on the dotted line kid. Next time read the fine print. If you die while on contract the company lays claim to any property left on the ship and your BattleMech remains. If your family wants to argue that, your lady boy looking brother can fight me… or your dead father can come haunt me!” Dubois dressed him down. “Nothing I despise more than Capellan scum like you!”

Major Dubois turned to the Hunt twins. “No snickers? No laughs? Did the Dragoons manage to beat some god damned discipline into you two?”

“Yes sir!” Rain replied confidently.

Lowering his voice, Dubois almost sounded like he was speaking to a colleague. “I heard your father’s reputation. He was a good pilot, a good merc… and if you live up to his reputation you’ll rise fast and die just as quick.”

“Sergeant Simon.” Dubois turned to the NCO.  “Get them squared away with coffins.”

Amira

Stacked three deep, separated by lockers, the sleeping alcoves were cramped for someone as tall as Gotfrid. Coffin is a good name for them. The elder Storesund brother had made his displeasure known loudly before going off to the showers to get one last real cleaning before the dropship left Outreach and was on water rationing. It seemed the previous occupants of the barracks hadn’t bothered to clean up after themselves before departing the Gladius.

What the attrition and turnover rate for the Rascals was unknown to Amira. She held no qualms about the danger of her new profession but at the same time didn’t want to take on a suicidal contract. One of the first things she had done in the women’s barracks was to clean out her alcove. The person who had slept there previously had been a horrible pack rat; leaving food wrappers, personal hygiene products, and all other manner of debris in the alcove and assigned locker.

So far it seemed the Gladius and all of the Rascals’ machinery looked like it had been used hard for years without a refit. The only thing that looked properly cared for were the mechs of the command lance and lance leaders. That lance also seemed to be owned and piloted by long term members of the Rascals while the lighter and medium lances were made of battlefield salvage mechs and the hirelings that brought their own iron, commanded by permanent members.

Amira found Liko in one of the small toilet and hygiene rooms attached to the dorm barracks. The younger Storesund was leaning against the sink looking in a mirror with an electric razor in hand.

“You don’t look like a lady boy.”

He didn’t turn back but look at her in the mirror. “Might be time for a change. I don’t know.”

Both brothers wore their hair long in ponytails with just the sides shaved for neurohelmet contact. Amira wore the sides of her head completely shaved with just the top long enough to pull back in a samurai top knot, the way her foster Mother Suzuka had worn her hair. By contrast, Rain wore his in a typical military cut with just enough on top to comb over. Putting her hand on his shoulder, Liko let go of the razor.

Amira tried to soothe his nerves. “Dad always said that the first thing a unit commander or first officer does is tear all the new guys down. Just what they do. While we’re under way they’ll keep us busy with bullshit work and probably hassle us about everything from uniform to personal grooming. Just to keep our minds off the tedium of travel and enforce discipline.”

“You’re lucky… At least I think so sometimes. Mom had a lot to teach us but none of it had anything to do with this… mercenary life. Dad just told us stories. I can’t remember most of it. Old mythology. Seems like a lifetime ago. I was so little he wouldn’t have tried to tell us anything else. Told us about living back in Rasalhague and the Combine rule. Told us about his family back home… Wonder if they’re still there or know about us. Your parents were both educated and seemed to be preparing you to be a merc. We just had two mothers, our own and Suzuka.” Liko lamented.

“I didn’t mean to make it sound like that…”

Liko carefully shaved his contact points then packed up his razor.

“How’s the women’s barracks?” Liko changed the subject.

With a grin, Amira leaned against the doorway. “Just like yours. Except smaller. There’s a few empty alcoves that are used for storage because there’s fewer women on board. Smells just as bad; except like women instead of men. Air handlers and filters on this ship are terrible.”

“Just wait until we’re a month underway between contracts. The smell of repairing mechs and people. It’ll be worse than the three weeks we spent in the field during infantry phase. Maybe I’ll volunteer to work on the HVAC…” Liko didn’t finish his thought before the klaxon sounded.

“Take off in thirty minutes. Begin sealing and cross checking. All personnel to orbiting positions.”

“Well…” Amira reached out her hand to Liko. “Too late to back out now.”

“We’re really in for it… aren’t we? At least we’re all together.” Liko replied.

…

Epsilon Eridani Recharge Point

Dropship Esquire

7 December, 3039

Gotfrid

“Whoa… That strap down is hella loose.” Gotfrid commented.

Turning back towards the ammunition stack they were inventorying; Rain saw it too. He put down his clipboard and squeezed behind the stack. “I’ll pull up some slack; you ratchet it down?” He called.

Aboard the Mule class dropship Esquire, the new Lieutenants were doing the busy work assigned. To a degree it was a relief to get off the Gladius even if just to go count ammunition boxes. It meant seeing a different set of walls, seeing the inside of the jumpship, and smelling a different foul odor. Everything aboard the Gladius was set to a schedule. Eating, sleeping, and daytime activities like training.

After two days they had started getting used to sleeping with earplugs in, then finally just tuning out the constant activity in the barracks as different shifts of people woke up for their days. While Gotfrid still complained, he complained less about the duty after a week of travel. Now in the cargo hold of the cargo hauler that accompanied the merc outfit, they were doing inventory that might have been done by another person already but was to keep them busy.

During “free” time, Gotfrid had discovered the large collection of holodiscs in the Gladius’ lounge while Rain had found the training deck with it’s gym. Both of them were on an opposite schedule from their siblings but still found time to run in to them. So far the details of the contract they were heading to were still vague, and every time one of them asked a higher officer about it, they seemed to end up with more busy work duty.

“Alright, give the ratchet a few cranks…” Rain called.

After a few pulls he heard the sound of something tearing above the din of the dropship machinery. “Stop!” Rain shouted. “Straps are damaged and pulling apart.”

“Great… Wonder if they’ll blame me. I think I loaded this stack back on Outreach. Think I might have even strapped it down…” Gotfrid lamented.

“You still think Captain Halles is out to get you?” Rain asked while wriggling free of the stack.

His new Lance leader seemed to be enforcing discipline unevenly. While his brother Liko and Rain’s sister Amira were in his lance, they were on a different schedule and didn’t complain as much about Captain Andrew Halles as he did.

“The nail that sticks up is the one that gets hammered. Isn’t that what Suzuka used to say? I’m the tallest, so I get hammered. Or because I talk the most.”

While rummaging through one of the storage containers for a fresh strap he heard a snapping sound as Rain pulled the old ones free.

“Maybe you should just… tape your mouth so you don’t say anything. Like our pleb year.” Rain jested.

“Screw off.” Gotfrid shot back while tossing a strap over the stack, heavy metal hook first.

It sounded like the toss had made Rain dodge it and Gotfrid smiled briefly. “Everything is so easy for you. Major Dubois yelled at you less. Still calls me rich boy when it’s your dad’s money that paid for us to get trained. I never asked to be the son of a dead MechWarrior, and this was only one notch better than staying on Kwamashu mud farming. Not like those robe wearing bald headed hypocrites at the commune ever treated me like I belonged there.”

“Hooked up… pull it and go!” Rain replied from behind the stack. “That what this is all about? You’re mad about… everything? Everything beyond our control? Not being accepted anywhere we go?”

“My mother was a Capellan servitor damnit! Nobody seems to be keen to let me forget that bit of heritage! Only reason father stole her off Mongolia was that he knocked her up and had some kind of leftover family principles from Rasalhague. Then he ditched us on Kwamashu to go fight someone else’s wars with your father and got killed. Those pricks at the commune always treated us like we were interlopers. Even the Wolf training company treated us like outsiders the whole time.”

Finding his way out of the stacks, Rain picked up his clipboard and leaned against a crate of autocannon shells but didn’t say anything.

“On K it was always like they knew we weren’t staying. Bunch of pacifist assholes who saw us for a little military company of siblings that went home to our retired MechWarrior foster mother on weekends so she could drill us on martial arts and wilderness survival.” Gotfrid kicked the crate nearest then tapped his head against it. “Mom hated the commune so much she lived in the city and we hardly saw her after the first year.”

“I guess there really was no question about what we were supposed to do with our lives…” Rain agreed. “Not like it’s easier for me. I just put in the work…” Rain’s eyes went to the deck then looked almost watery. “You think it was easy riding my bicycle two hours every day after classes to get to the hospital so I could hold my mother’s hand as she died? Both of us lost our fathers. At least they set us up with the tools of the trade instead of leaving us on K to dig in the mud. Least my dad included Liko and you in his will because Gerhard asked him to be your Godfather.”

“That makes me feel shitty.” Gotfrid admitted. “Like I didn’t earn or deserve any of it.”

Guilt about getting an equal share of the inheritance from Jan and Amina Hunt hurt his stomach and he walked down the crate stack towards the mechs in storage. Towering above them were the reserve mechs of Pascal’s Rascals second company. Each one was a salvage chassis rebuilt in the field and factory more times than memorable. Smaller mechs like a Flea and Locust, then bigger ones like a Blackjack and Quickdraw. Besides the reserve mechs on the cargo hauler, some of the officers in non-combat roles were retired MechWarriors who could still suit up and fight if the need arose.

“Don’t you think it’s weird how everyone in the company seems to be related somehow? Far too many officers too.” Gotfrid pondered. “Higher ranks than their jobs call for. Like they get rank but there’s nowhere to go. Captains leading lances…”

“Kinda? I mean… So many of the Wolf’s Dragoons were cousins or something. If the Iron Irregular were still around, we’d be going to work for our fathers and the other members of the company would be saying the same thing. Merc work seems to be a family business.” Rain pointed out.

“Just like politics and business. Except we’re doing their dirty work.” Gotfrid turned back. “Why are you here? With the Rascals. Why didn’t the Dragoons take you?”

Rain scoffed with an uncharacteristic nostalgic smirk. “Remember Marissa?”

“The blond Wolf girl in our training company? Your girlfriend.”

His compatriot took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “The interview lasted a while then they offered me a contract. I requested an assignment with the Black Widow Battalion when they asked where I wanted to go, because that’s where Marissa was going. Also… most prestigious.”

“Shiiiit.” Gotfrid seethed out the epitaph. “You guys did a good job of hiding that you were a couple but…”

“Most of the Dragoons are related in one way or another?” Rain asked rhetorically. “Turns out Walsh knew about us and had been content to let it ride since we were top five of the class. But when I tried to chase her, I found out he wasn’t content to let me. He pulled the offer.”

“Walsh… he’s blond too. Related?”

“Possible. She was one of the Wolves that didn’t use a last name, just an initial. Didn’t stop to consider that Marissa W. might be Marissa Walsh.” Rain finished. “Then by the time I talked to the Grenadiers and Roughriders, they weren’t interested. Same as their reply to Amira. When I walked into the office to meet with Captain Marceau, he already had a contract with my name on it like he was waiting for me. Like he’d already talked to the other units.”

…

Sheratan

Federated Commonwealth

Gellen’s Heights

8 December, 3039

Shen

Whoosh! A hovertruck nearly ran Shen down as he crossed the street without looking. Someone honked at him, and he rushed to get across as a taxi slid sideways trying to miss him. He was out of breath, not just from the excertion but from the sheer terror of being in the big city. It was like nothing else he’d experienced in his short life on the farms. So much noise, to many bright lights, and so many people. He tried to keep his mind on the task. Pavel said to take the package to someone named Timothy at a certain bar, then he could kick back and enjoy the city.

Maybe I’ll find a girl! The city girls were so much more beautiful than any out on the farms. They painted their faces and wore tight and revealing clothes. Down the sidewalk two of them in brightly colored shiny miniskirts and fishnet stockings eyed him while smoking. He spotted it then, the Windy Morrow bar. That’s where Pavel said to meet his friend Timothy. The two prostitutes made air kisses at him with wet looking red lips as he passed them and wandered into the bar.

Inside was dark and the strains of rock music came from the juke box in the corner. It smelled like stale beer and cigarettes. Being that it was early evening it was nearly full of people. To Shen they looked like off duty police or militia. Some of them even had on uniforms still. There was the green uniform of the local militia and some of them had on sweatshirts with the logo of a cartoon child holding a slingshot. Those are mercs!

There’s no way I’ll find Timothy in this bar! Shen pushed his way deeper looking for Pavel’s friend. Through all the noise he heard a cellular phone start ringing. Shen wondered why it sounded so close because he didn’t have a phone with him and Pavel had asked several times that he leave his at home for security reasons. He unslung the backpack and looked inside to see a phone with an active call coming in!

…

10 December, 3039

Pascal

Roadblock after roadblock. Gellen’s Heights was under lockdown but the police escorted car with the mercenary commander passed through the blocks with no problem. Lines of cars and trucks into the city were being searched. This is too little too late. A reactionary solution that is nothing more than security theater. Up front his bodyguards, two of his marines kept hands near their sub machineguns watching the crowds.

A protest was starting to form in front of the police headquarters but men in riot gear opened up the road for the car and escort to glide through.

…

“If your intelligence apparatus hadn’t failed then the bomber never would have gotten in!” One politician yelled.

“My apparatus? Mine? You good sir fail to understand that the chemicals used in the bomb were from the farms. This is obviously a military problem. They’ve let bomb makers exist under their noses in the bushes for too long!” The politician tried to pass on the blame.

Pascal sipped his coffee that had gone cold and pushed it away on the table in disgust. Most of the politicians in the meeting had never served in a military role. They were simply administrators and greedy ones that. More interested in securing increasing funding to buy things from their friends in the security and military industries than in using those things or prosecuting a war against an ever-growing foreign funded insurgent force.

If this is how the government here operates then it’s no wonder that Liao or whoever is pulling the strings can rile up the poor people to riot and plant bombs. Its easy pickings for them. The Fed Suns puppets and Liao loyalists in the government are at each other’s throats.

“Why are we even paying a mercenary company to be here if it is not getting results?” Another useless politician asked rhetorically. “Why is our own military insufficient?”

Enough was enough. Pascal keyed the microphone in front of him. “The simple fact is that we were hired to fill gaps in your military due to your nation’s adventurism pulling off the cream of your defensive crop to fight an ill-planned war against the Combine. Until they return and refit, we are what you have. If the good representative would bother looking at the contract we signed and compare that to the orders we have been so far given, we have fulfilled those orders to the letter. In fact, we have gone beyond that.”

Nobody interrupted him, so Pascal continued. “Furthermore, since none of you have the foggiest how a low intensity conflict operates, I’ll fill you in. What we’re hunting are rats. My company is built to hunt bears. We are a BattleMech company, not a special forces infantry one. My forces have taken losses. Two mechs lost to the insurgents firebombs, and several of my people were in the Windy Morrow bar yesterday. Now… If you want a solution, I will present you with one.”

“Oh, do go on. I would love to hear how you plan to hunt rats with your bear killing machines.” The politician mocked.

Pascal made a note in his field pad of the politicians he disliked the most before speaking. “As you don’t know because you speak without taking the time to know things… the other two companies of my Rascals will arrive in a week and two weeks. That brings me back up to a full battalion. Your insurgents are in possession of at least six mechs. Two of mine and the four that walked out of your unguarded armory seemingly of their own accord last month.”

On the other side of the room, the highest-ranking Legate General covered his face with his hand. His aides looked just as embarrassed, and the federal police head seemed to laugh.

“The harvest season is nearly complete. Your insurgents are based in the farming territories where they make bombs and rockets with impunity. When harvest is completed, almost all populations there move into the farm cities for the winter. If anyone stays on the farms to make HME they’ll be obvious. This is a perfect time to weed out the rats in that populace because they’ll be contained. Place me in charge of the operation. Give me a company of your mechanized infantry. Then do what you do best and look the other way. It’ll be quick, it’ll be quiet, and best of all none of your fingerprints will be on the operation.”

Murmurs went around the assembled chamber. “In all likelihood there will be a change of management on this world in the next year, and any actions taken before then can be blamed on previous administrations and swept under the rug.” Pascal finished his pitch.

…

Epsilon Eridani Recharge Point

Dropship Gladius

Liko

It seemed like he’d been standing at attention for hours. Like being back in the training center. Next to him, his brother was losing the fight to stay stiffly in the pose. Around them the operations area of the Gladius was mostly quiet except for the pilot and one of the flight engineers huddled over a computer terminal. Captain Marceau stood opposite them with his arms crossed.

Any time Liko’s eyes wavered or his sore body moved, it seemed the older man stiffened up and was about to rebuke him. Liko’s ribs and jaw ached but he persisted. A bolt of fear went up his spine when Major Dubois entered the room and eyed them both over. He wasn’t in dress uniform but wearing brown fatigues made him somehow more imposing. Like most of the men onboard he’d stopped shaving his face when they left Outreach and even in a week had started growing a fierce salt and pepper beard.

One more person entered the room, who looked even more unhappy than Liko felt. Chris Trocha, one of the other MechWarriors the company had hired on Outreach. A blond man with fair complexion, his right eye was already showing a bruise, and his split lip was oozing blood that he dabbed at with an already blood-stained paper towel. His eyes darted to the Storesund brothers then to Marceau and Dubois.

“Stand at attention MechWarrior Trocha!” Marceau barked.

The self-taught MechWarrior stiffened up in an approximation of the pose. Major Dubois stalked back and forth, eyeing each of the assembled MechWarriors.

“MechWarrior Trocha…” Dubois’ voice was surprisingly calm. “Would you care to tell me why these ponytail wearing wimps came to me and put themselves on report for assaulting you?”

A stifled laugh came from Gotfrid next to him that sounded more like a grunt than anything. Chris’ eyes darted to Liko and for a moment he wondered what the other man would admit to.

“Because…” It seemed the blond man was searching for a lie or a truth then puffed out his chest. “I asked the small one for a blow job because he looks like a woman. Then the big one asked me to repeat myself. He got in my face about it, I pushed him, he pushed me down. Then the little lady boy got involved and landed a few cheap shots on me while I was on the deck.”

A scoff came from Captain Marceau. “You let yourself get bested by these two skinny dickheads? Maybe you don’t belong in combat.”

Major Dubois shook his head and turned to Marceau. “Give them all extra duty, together. I think cleaning every toilet on this ship, the Esquire, and the jumpship might help them learn to get along.”

After the Major walked out, Captain Marceau spoke up. “Trocha, you lie worse than my ex-wife. The chow hall security camera caught it all on scroll. First off, the big one didn’t push you down. You hit the small one, then when you tried to push him, he pulled some judo shit and tossed you to the deck. The big one tried to help you up and you hit him, then he gave you that shiner and busted lip.”

Being caught in his lie, Chris relaxed from attention and adopted a lopsided grin then shrugged. “I’m better in a mech than hand to hand.”

“That remains to be seen.” Marceau commented. “Get out. Storesund, stay.”

With another shrug, the blond MechWarrior left the operations center while both Storesund brothers stayed at attention. What now?

“What kind of fucked up honor system did the Dragoons drill into you boys? Reporting yourself for fighting?” Marceau asked rhetorically. “I don’t give a shit if you wear ponytails. The next time anyone that doesn’t outrank you says anything about it you give them the business like you gave it to Trocha. But I don’t want to fucking hear about it. Solve you own problems like the fucking adults you are. Dismissed.”

Liko and Gotfrid held in their laughter until they were out of the operations center, and the door was closed.

Amira

With a tray of what the mess hall sign said was turkey loaf and green beans, Amira made her way to one of the tables with an open seat. Two men were already sitting there that she had learned were armored vehicle drivers. Both were already members of the Rascals and seemed to have served with the company for some time. When one of them noticed her approaching, his voice lowered pitch.

“May I join you?” She asked politely, already pulling the chair back.

“Sure… we were just leaving actually.” One of them responded.

As she sat down, they stood up and collected their trays of half-eaten meals. Amira furrowed her brow and dug into the meat. It wasn’t bad per se, just bland and processed feeling with a slight chemical preservative after taste. One person she wanted to see walked up to the chow line. Her brother waved to her then went about serving himself. Rain looked like he had just come from the simulators with messy hair and walking stiffly from sitting.

One thing the training center had taught her was how to eat quickly without tasting. Part of her wondered how anyone gained weight on dropships if the food was like this. Probably the inactivity if they aren’t doing busy work. She finished as much of the main course as she thought she needed then worked on the vegetables. Rain sat down opposite her and took a bite, then started eating just as quickly.

“Sims?”

“Mhm. Best part of the day and the worst.” He answered between bites. “You?”

“Sims in an hour with my lance. How’d it go?”

Rain took a sip of water and met his sister’s eyes. While shaking his head lightly he responded. “It’s like being back on Outreach. There’s no easy days. They start us on the highest difficulty. We failed a lot of missions. Captain Boutros berated us for being awful, then we do it again. No proper AAR or how to improve, just being berated. Chris and Fred are… not up to Outreach’s standards. I feel like an asshole for saying that I can’t carry the lance myself because cap seems like he’s holding back to make us take the brunt of it.”

“Team building huh?”

“Except that it doesn’t feel like it’s working.” Rain sat back in his chair and glanced around the small mess hall. “You know that feeling I had when we first started training with the Wolves? Like I’d made a horrible mistake by signing on? That first two weeks when I cried at night?”

“That bad?” She asked incredulously. “You haven’t come to me red faced yet.”

“It’s like that but different.” He said. “I’m sure if I’d gotten that Dragoons contract I’d be getting yelled at just the same but… My lancemates, my teammates… I feel like the decision that I made might get me killed because they won’t have my back. Its fear. Real fear. It’s the same kind of regret as realizing just how much of a pool of shit we’d stepped into on Outreach.”

Amira looked down, then her eyes quickly darted around them checking which officers and enlisted were in earshot.

<There’s something weird going on here.> She switched into the Japanese pidgin dialect from the commune on Kwamashu.

<There is.> Rain agreed while subtly nodding his head.

<Our brothers get hazed worse than us. Everyone seems to almost ignore me outside of strictly business. Even then it’s a strange plastic feeling interaction. When I walk by people some of the officers switch from English into Arabic or French even in banal conversation.>

<Just after sim time, cap Boutros was talking with Marceau, and they did it in French. Switching is odd. I’ve seen that too. For that matter there’s a lot of over-ranked officers for their jobs. Like the social officers I heard of, but they aren’t noble that I know of. What else have you seen?>

Behind Rain, Amira saw Ella Dubois walk into the dining room, collect covered plates from the chef, then retreat back the way she’d come.

<When I ask people who have been with the company for a while, where they’re from… They won’t answer specifically. They just say the Draconis Combine or the Combine Suns border region. Then there’s the book.>

With his food finished, Rain scratched at his face. The week’s worth of beard looked awful on him.

“Trying to grow a beard like everyone else?” Amira asked in English. “It’s terrible.”

With a chuckle, Rain responded. “When in Rome do as the Romans do? Except we’re not in the Hegemony. I remember dad came home one year with a full thick beard, so I might have his genetics for it. Not sure what Mom’s father’s beard genes are like. After a few weeks of awkward and scratchy supposedly it’ll come through proper!”

<What book?> Rain asked switching back to pidgin.

<Something Ella was showing me when we were interviewing. Like a scrapbook or something with photos. There was a photo of the company’s financier when he bought the ships and contracts. The financier was wearing a suit with a ghutra and looked familiar. Like someone from the photos mom showed us once.>

Her brother leaned across the table and raised an eyebrow. <You’re talking about him.>

<I always thought that if he had invested in one mercenary company, he probably invested in others. It was a long time ago, ten-year-old me didn’t understand it at the time. Mom didn’t talk about it much.>

<They never did talk about that piece of history except a few times and I was too young to understand. Heard more about it in dad’s recordings.> Rain agreed.

One of the Rascals officers sat down at an open chair at their table.

“Well, you know…” Rain switched to English as if they were talking about mech combat. “Its best to maintain an ambush as long as possible before springing it. Knowledge is power, right?”

“Right. Keep communication channels quiet in case someone is listening to itinerant frequencies for RF traffic. Same as keeping jammers off.”

“Then, when you know the targets are in the killzone you strike.” Rain said while standing up and gathering both trays.

“And if my lance is in the killzone?” She asked.

“You get out!” He answered with a laugh.

 

Dramatis Personae

Fred Keller – MechWarrior. Fed Suns Native. near 50. Gray hair, scars. Fed Suns soldier turned merc

Chris Trocha – MechWarrior. Fed Suns Native. From a pirate/criminal background

 

Pascal’s Rascals 2^nd Company

Union Class Dropship: Gladius

Mule Class Dropship: Esquire

 

Chevalier Lance:

Grasshopper – Major Ellis Dubois

Catapult – Cpt Karim de Gaulle

Thunderbolt – Lt Charbel Maalouf

Warhammer – Lt Rami Nice

 

Pike Lance:

Black Knight – Cpt Pierre Boutros

Vindicator - MW Chris Trocha

Enforcer – MW Fred Keller

Phoenix Hawk – Lt. Rain Hunt

 

Levy Lance:

Cicada – Cpt. Andrew Halles

Valkyrie – Lt. Gotfrid Storesund

Assassin – Lt. Amira Hunt

Raven – Lt. Liko Storesund

 

Operations Staff and Reserve MechWarriors:

Captain David Marceau (operations officer, reserve MechWarrior)

Captain Ella Dubois (administrative affairs)

First Sergeant Eric Bourdain (infantry, armor, enlisted affairs)

Sergeant Simon (readiness, infantry logistics, quartermaster)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 7: Epistolary 3

Summary:

Jan talks about trust and politics

MechWarrior: Scions of War

07: Epistolary 3

Jan

Recorded 3037

“There’s only so many people you can trust in this ‘verse. Hopefully you can trust your family. I know I trusted Amina, Gerhard, and Xing. I trusted Tanesha Cross. There have been few I trusted in business. As a mercenary there is a good maxim you can follow: If someone has the money to hire you, then they probably don’t have your best interests or anyone else’s at heart. I’ve found that to be true over and over.

“Why do I dislike the Capellan Confederation? My first time out with the Lebanon Irregulars was on New Salem Prime where we were fighting them. It wasn’t the fighting necessarily that made me feel that way. It was other things. Gerhard was taken POW and was tortured. Took him a lot of years before he was willing to talk about it. It might seem hypocritical of me to hold that against an entire nation given how many people have died at my hand, and that I have in fact tortured some of them.

“On New Salem Prime, they gassed an entire city. Killed off twenty thousand people because they were in revolt. It was mostly an Andurien population and when they heard we were there, they revolted. The Capellans gassed them. Amina, Suzuka, and I went in to gather intel on the event as well as find a Star League vault. On the way out, your mother and I were shot out of our mechs and had to survive in the desert for a few days. You’ve heard that story.

“After I was running my own company, since we were bottom of the barrel, we worked for whoever had the money and was willing to hire nobodies like us. Often that turned out to be the Capellans. That’s how Gerhard and Xing met. They liked our work, so they often called us back. Or because we were one of the outfits who’d actually work for them. The thing is, they couldn’t be trusted. They always lied about the nature of the contracts. Often, but not always, the contracts for the Confederation turned out to involve direct action against civilians.

“Much as people I power like to toss around the ideas of the Ares Convention, those in power usually only bring it up when someone does something against them, not when they’re the perpetrators of crimes against civilians. Article V… Fuck. Everyone fights in cities. Some use them as human shields, others just don’t care. Everyone. Doesn’t matter how pious a unit with it’s campaign ribbons hanging from their guidon is, they’ll have a full-scale battle in a city of a hundred thousand.

“The more pious the faction the worse things they tend to outsource to mercs. You’ll experience it firsthand. I’m sorry. Whatever the Wolves teach you about combat and rules… that’ll last as long as your first counter-insurgency op. Someday there will be a group of civies walking towards your mech waving a white flag with a bright as arterial blood S on it, then when they get close someone will set off a bomb.

“Shiba was the only contract where the Confederation was honest with us. It’s not just the Capellans though. Any time we worked for the Free Worlds League, there was some kind of duplicity. But that’s because the FWL is always in a simmering state of civil war. I’m from Griffith and the reason I’m a merc is because my Duke tried to turn cloak and the rest of us paid for it. Working for the Anduriens, they were always setting up for what turned into their Secession. Lot of people died for that, even a lot of Canopians, just because some nobles wanted their own flag.

“The Magistracy of Canopus was one of the few governments that was honest with us most of the time. It was just tough working for them because they’re out on the periphery. Bandit hunting isn’t bad, it makes C-Bills, but not having access to proper repair facilities and the long travel times makes for longer years. MechWarriors rust on Dropships. The Iron Irregulars only worked for the Taurian Concordat once. It was a minor border skirmish with the Federated Suns. We worked the flanks and barely saw any action. It wasn’t worth the travel. If you get a long-term contract with them, they at least seem to be more oriented to protecting their borders than expanding them.

“Which brings me to the FedSuns. As noble as they pretend to be, and they usually are to a degree, they’re just like the others. Makes sense really they aligned themselves with the Commonwealth. Birds of a feather. They give their people a good amount of freedom and don’t treat them like slaves the way the Confederation does, but when they want a world, they’ll just take it and come up with an excuse later. They also hold grudges, so they don’t pay well if you’ve worked for pretty much anyone else.

“ComStar? Well… they have the money, but they don’t send a lot of contracts to small outfits. From the way I’ve seen them manipulating things through the MRB makes me think they aren’t to be trusted. Most of the periphery kingdoms won’t hire through the MRB anyways and even if they did, that’s a long way to travel unless you’re out there. Repercussions of working for one of them could be worse than passing up the money. To survive out there they have to be vicious and thus any work for them is vicious work that usually goes to bandits instead of bonded mercs. I’ve seen that from the other side of things, fighting factions like that.

“Throughout the human sphere there’s independent systems or at least systems that think they’re independent. Mostly they’re too unimportant for whichever major faction owns the space to put effort into extracting taxes from or defending. Sometimes they have the money, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they can be trusted, sometimes not. Trust your gut on them. Working for them can put you at odds with a larger employer.

“On Green Moore in FWL space we had that happen. It was an independent world that the League didn’t spend much thought on. They brought us in supposedly on an honor guard contract. Your mother was on Kwamashu and couldn’t tell me to avoid that contract. I took the Iron Irregulars there, we repainted our mechs to match the locals, and then mostly stood around. The idea was that the old ruler wanted to make his militia look like it had more numbers and thus make him look wealthier for when another independent noble visited with his entourage.

“It should have been just that, making the employer look good so that their children would marry. It didn’t work out that way because the suitor’s family showed up with their own honor guard that outnumbered our employer’s. During the wedding the suitor’s forces attacked and wiped out the locals. We barely made it to the spaceport and got the hell out. Cost us a lot of money and your mother was angry with me for taking a boneheaded contract like that.

“I never worked directly for the Draconis Combine. They don’t hire mercs directly much. Associating with DCMS veterans though doesn’t leave one with a high opinion of the Kuritans. You should know, Suzuka helped raise you. There’s good people there. Moral, hard working. But like anywhere the people in charge are greedy fucking psychopaths. Gerhard left his home because those psychopaths were trying to erase his people’s culture.

“Thing about the Combine is that they have their own fingermen for doing the dirty thing the other houses reserve for mercs. The Fifth Amphigean Light Assault Group. If they show up in system, start packing your bags and look for the exit clause in your contract.

“If you trust anyone, trust the man who repairs your mechs. Always treat them right. Being in war will show you who you can rely on. Hopefully it’s the man or woman with you. Your mother and I had to trust each other while we were evading the Capellans in the desert. Trust family. Build that trust every day. Because without a close circle, you’ll have to be a vicious lone wolf to survive which makes you more of a target than anything else.”

Chapter 8: Sheratan

Summary:

Pascal's Rascals 2nd Company arrives on Sheratan to a warm welcom

Notes:

We're still in canon space here but what happens is non-canon.

MechWarrior: Scions of War

08: Sheratan

Sheratan

Federated Commonwealth

Gellen’s Heights Spaceport

23 December, 3039

Local Time: 1230

Gotfrid

“I am the Lady of the Slain. Who are you?” A female computer voice asked.

God damn it’s good to be in the cockpit. Gotfrid adjusted the strap on his neurohelmet and gloves. Even though they weren’t going on mission yet, it was good to finally be doing something other than busy work.

“I am Gotfrid Patrick Storesund.”

“Voice print authenticated. Startup sequence initiated.”

Natural light spilled into the mech bay of the Gladius from the open doors. Waiting his turn, Gotfrid carefully descended the ramp onto the tarmac of the spaceport. Ahead of him he spotted the hunched over form of his lance leader’s mech. Captain Andrew Halles in a Cicada plodded slowly along the BattleMech sized reinforced concrete pathway leading out of the spaceport. Finally out of the metal cocoon he was able to see lines of civilian craft, launch gantries, and hangars that made up the capitol city’s spaceport.

“Levy two, I’m in line.” Gotfrid reported.

Amira and Liko also called their status and joined the procession of BattleMechs slowly walking out of the spaceport. The novelty of being in a real cockpit started to wear as the slow city pace bored him. To either side was buildings and infrastructure that would be damaged if he did anything other than follow exactly in his lance leader’s steps to stay on the BattleMech path.

Feeling real gravity, the real swaying of a mech, it all made Gotfrid want to kick the Valkyrie BattleMech into action. Running, jumping, firing his weapons instead of slowly walking to avoid damaging the client’s city. Its going to be a long day. Marching, checking into the barracks, more hurry up and wait. I wonder when the first mission will be? Is it really garrison duty or something else?

Pavel

From the top of the Cirrus Bank and Trust building, they had a commanding view of the spaceport sector of Gellen’s Heights. City sprawl, new and old, built during different eras. The early built sector around the spaceport from initial colonization, then the others. Newer buildings from the Capellen Confederation era, then towering cranes erecting even taller skyscrapers funded by a Federated Suns company.

Pavel and Alex stood at the parapet with binoculars. Each one scribbled notes on paper pads as the procession of mechs and equipment poured out of the newly arrived dropships.

“They’re closing up their cargo hauler but by my count it didn’t fully unload, or else it was flying light.” Alexi observed.

Still with his binoculars to his eyes, Pavel kept counting mechs before scribbling the count and type on his pad.

“They brought a Raven. Looks like an original configuration, not a Fed rat refit.” Pavel observed.

“Unless they know how to use it, it’s just another BattleMech.” Alexi replied.

In the distance the procession worked it’s way out of the city and onto the main highway heading east.

“They’re deploying an entire company to Corvallis. The other company that arrived recently went to Fredonia and the one that was here first is still at the main barracks.” Alexi said while scribbling.

Pavel lowered his binoculars finally. “A company of mechs, recon VTOLs, light armor and a platoon of infantry possibly. A battalion in whole. This is an army designed around fighting a large-scale war against a peer adversary. Not fighting us. I see opportunity.”

Already packing his things into a businessman’s briefcase, Alexi didn’t look up. He was attired in a nondescript gray pin-striped business suit like his comrade. “Our side has six BattleMechs and could mount some guns on Agro-Mechs if needed. We aren’t in a position to fight them as a peer. We plant bombs and attack with short range rockets, then spread leaflets.”

“Fighting them as a peer and winning was never our mission, comrade. We are here to win the hearts of the people and remind them why the Celestial Wisdom is their true leader. We can hand out leaflets and give children candy but to reinforce that, we need the other side to hurt the people.”

Both men started walking for the staircase down into the machinery room of the bank building.

“Christmas again?” Alexi asked.

“Indeed. We give these new mercenaries a warm welcome with those toys that I’ve been building while we break out the sundries provided by his Wisdom for the people. Then when the Federated Commonwealth masters let their dogs off the leash, it will serve to reinforce what our mouthpieces have been saying. We’ll even create martyrs to celebrate in the process.”

“Everyone loves a hero.” Alexi observed.

…

Gellen’s Heights

Knight’s Barracks

Local Time: 2020

Ellis

Although the mercenary Colonel’s quarters were in the main barracks, they had been re-arranged to his taste. First stepping in the door, Ellis could smell tobacco and the faint scent of tea. Most of the furniture was moved to the side with several plush pillows on an old ornate rug in the middle of the room. In the center of the pillows sat a hookah pipe and plates with snacks.

Without being bid, Ellis reclined on one of the pillows and waited. Pascal emerged from the kitchen and set down a tea kettle and cups then joined Ellis reclining on the pillows. Wordlessly he used a torch on the tobacco bowl then took a puff from the pipe before handing it to Ellis. Neither man spoke until the pipe had been passed back and forth and Pascal had poured tea.

“How was Outreach?” Colonel Pascal Karam asked.

“The Dragoons are arming up for a big fight. It’s as though they’ve opened their own factory in secret. They’re graduating their children and sending them out to front line battalions. They are quite skilled it seems. At the same time, they’re talking of opening up their program to any minor noble or mercenary that has the coin to pay. Their standards are high.” Ellis paused and took the pipe back then sipped the steaming tea.

“I would say that they are up to something… but they have always been quite good at logistics, training, and fighting. They have always been at the spear point of a fight. I ask about the reason you were there.” Pascal observed.

“Their mech refresh operation is top notch. Their marketplace also for ammunition and spares. I found six pilots, four of whom had their own BattleMechs and were fresh graduates of the Wolf training program. Children of dead mercenaries that had connections…. The two scions were there. Just where you said they would be. I didn’t even have to beg, borrow, or threaten the other units to make sure I hired them first.”

In the dim light, Pascal’s light brown almost olive-colored eyes twinkled. He seemed to be studying the ornate antique hookah, but Ellis knew that was the man thinking far ahead.

“I’ve completed the task. Are you going to tell me why I did it?”

From his smoking jacket, Pascal handed over a printout that Ellis scanned over. “It’s finally happening. The family is calling us in.”

“You are… sure… that you found the Abbas-Hunt twins?” Pascal asked slowly.

“As sure as I can be. The Dragoons keep good records. Son and daughter of Jan Hunt of the Iron Irregulars. They certainly look like they’re part of the family. They understand French and Arabic.” Ellis handed the printout back. “They pretend not to, but I can see that they’re listening to us when we speak it.”

Instead of pocketing it, Pascal used the tobacco torch to light it on fire then watched it burn down to the edge and tossed it to the tile floor beyond the rug. “The plan. Sheik Jaber’s plan. At least the part he’s willing to share with me. Is to bring us in and spread us out with the families that are not currently using their military allotment. His, the Abbas family, and the minor families that don’t have much in the way of holdings anymore. To keep this legal, that means that combat personnel are getting adopted. Not legitimized though. Of course, there’s no way that the Sultan isn’t going to take notice. Which means the rest of his plan is more complex.”

Ellis’ desire to drink tea and eat the dried fruit and nuts waned with the thoughts of the coming battles. “Filling in the gaps in what the Abbas and Jaber family guards are allowed isn’t enough numbers to overthrow the Sultan. If he wanted the Abbas Hunt twins, then he’s planning on more than just using them as mech jocks or planning some belated revenge action. Otherwise, why make a fuss about hiring them specifically? Which means he’s trying to finish the plan his grandfather started by uniting the families first, then starting a coup or legitimately challenging for the throne. Sounds like a good way to piss off the Combine and end up dead.”

For a while, Pascal was silent, just thoughtfully chewing on a date. “Thus far, the Combine has cared little for the goings on of our dusty world. As long as the Bentonite keeps getting mined and transported, they don’t care what little conflicts we fight amongst ourselves. Sheik Jaber, the new one, the one that’s paying us, the clever one… has few legitimate children, whom are all married. He does have many children from concubines, our cousins, that he has strategically placed in government offices and military posts. Since they don’t have his name, they’re ignored by the well-born but provide him a network of spies and agents. With the stroke of a pen, he could, the same as Sheik Abbas, adopt all those bastards. Like me, like you.”

“Ironic that our half-brother would adopt us. That would legalize the Rascals showing up on planet.” Ellis completed the thought. “Will it be worth it? If it succeeds? Can it succeed? Sultan Atassi has a battalion of BattleMechs at last count. At max, that’s what we have but we don’t have the ground troops and support.”

“Two things.” Pascal moved two nuts on a silver plate away from the rest. “One, that’s a battalion on paper. Due to Hanse Davion’s recent raiding, some of those numbers are depleted the same as the Abbas and Jaber forces which necessitates bringing in reinforcements from us.” He ate one of the nuts and picked up the second. “Two, his forces are relatively untried. Dilettantes. Rich boys who only see the parade grounds. Which is why they took substantial losses during the mercenary raids, if the rumors are true. My battalion, on the other hand, is regularly in combat and training every day. Fat, soft, rich boys who’ve never had to work a day in their life versus bastards who have had to fight tooth and nail for everything, knowing that if we succeed, we’ll be legitimized.”

Pascal lit the torch and put it to the tobacco bowl again then took a puff from the pipe. “By one interpretation of the allotment rules, only the numbers of mechs, tanks, and fighters matters. By another, the nationality of the people driving them matters which we’ll flimsily fix by having our extra people use the names of our dead. Our support staff can be whatever nationality, only MechWarriors fall under that rule.”

Thinking long and hard on the situation, Ellis put together the pieces of a plan. Returning home and being recognized as a family member, being in a legitimate military unit instead of a merc, all of that was the reward. The action now was the same as it always had been.

“That’s in the future. What about the present? What are we doing here on Sheratan?” Ellis asked.

In the dim light, Pascal’s grin looked feral and reminded Ellis why he’d named his unit the rascals.

…

Corvallis Barracks

25 December, 3039

Local Time: 2345

Liko

Boom! Window frames rattled, the bricks reverberated, and again Liko bolted upright. Just after the first impact the rocket attack siren started blaring again. Liko was on his feet before his roommate, bug out bag in hand, then bolted out the door and down the hallway towards the inner reinforced rooms as more impacts shook the building. For the third time in the night, he reached the dubious safety of the bomb shelter. This time, only a few others were there.

Some of the marines and support staff, sitting on the benches and smoking or drinking coffee. They barely looked up to see the MechWarrior who had come running each time with enthusiasm. In one corner, a pair of marines had brought their rucks and were sleeping on them, curled up with their rifle and helmet at the ready. He felt stupid and exhausted. After the march out to the Corvallis barracks and all the hurry up and wait, the company had finally been released and duty schedules announced.

Now just two days later the constant flurry of activity seemed like a never ending haze where going on patrol in his mech was the only relief.

“Fuck…” He seethed.

“Brother…” Liko turned to see Gotfrid walk in the shelter. “I’m thinking I might just wear ear plugs and resign myself to death if one of those hits my room. Fuck this nonsense.”

Ellis

“Nice of them to welcome us with a fresh round of rocket attacks.”

Ellis turned to see David walking into the command center. Both of them were in brown fatigues without name or rank patches, just the company’s cartoon logo on the shoulder. The captain handed a steaming cup of coffee to the major.

Motioning towards the screens on the wall, Ellis indicated one of the images. It was a live feed from the thermal camera onboard a recon VTOL.

“I have every bird in the air flying crisscross over the city, making as much noise as possible with search lights on. Except Raptor four is the one flying high and dark stalking these motherfuckers.”

On screen a line of men walked through the forested hills. By the angle, the VTOL was keeping it’s distance to not spook them.

“One group, they split up and ran from site to site and lit off rockets that were already in place under camo nets. Now the show’s over and they’re retreating to a vehicle here…”

Pointing to a spot on the map, Ellis continued. “No indication how long those rockets were hidden or how many other emplacements they have. IEDs on the main routes would not surprise me either.”

Tiredly he paused and drank coffee. “Talked with the local militia commander today. His men are being targeted while off duty. Stabbings, shootings, families getting attacked…”

David leaned against the map table and drank his own coffee. “Sounds like the other Capellan funded insurgency we fought. What are we going to do?”

Moving to the radio desk, Ellis accepted a handset from the technician and punched a key. “Raptor flight, form up on four. Execute strike mission.”

Both men turned to watch the monitors with their grainy black and white tones from the thermal cameras. All four VTOLs formed up on the one active recon unit then approached the moving insurgent vehicle at high speed. Just as the vehicle seemed to be taking evasive maneuvers the birds started firing. Lasers first then short-range missiles. The view from the thermals went white then when cleared the flaming debris of a truck was visible. One survivor crawled free of the wreckage then stopped moving a few moments later.

“Not a capture op.” David commented.

“We’re here to produce an insurgent body count not perform intelligence ops. Speaking of which. I’m issuing orders that nobody leaves the barracks or goes into the city for liberty without a sidearm. Have Eric start checking everyone’s pistol marksmanship and Simons issue sidearms. My wife included; she doesn’t practice enough.” Ellis went back to the map table and indicated areas outside the city where the forest started.

“I’m going to bed. You take over here. I want Levy lance out at first light searching these areas for IEDs, hidden rocket sites, and the kind of goat trails they use. Get the birds back and refueled, we’ll have them on standby for recon missions tomorrow night. At midday, I want my light armor and a squad of marines to set up a checkpoint on MSR delta just outside the city. Hold the checkpoint for five hours.”

“You want to draw attention.” David observed.

“Bingo. It’s a static presence patrol. Goodnight.” Ellis started walking for the door. “By the way, Merry Christmas.”

…

Lebanon

Draconis Combine

Countryside eighty kilometers outside Emir City

26 December, 3039

Local Time: 1120

Fouda

While the sun traced it’s path just past apex, the warm afternoon wind started turning to a hot breeze. Outside the white painted adobe of the mansion, a small army of servants hustled to erect a shade structure made of pine wood and loomed fabric, then placed padded chairs and serving tables. From inside, Fouda observed the procession of servants then turned his attention back to the other side of the mansion where a luxury car with a utility vehicle escorting was driving up the long snaking driveway through the evergreen wooded canyon up to the mansion.

He made his way down to the drive through and waited. For this meeting he had adopted a more European style of dress in white linen buttoned shirt and slacks but still wore his more desert suited sandals and a ghutra. Franco Palfrey stepped out of his car with the help of one of his bodyguards. The man was only sixty but had the red complexion to match his obvious health problems.

Despite it, he moved with purpose, albeit using a shiny lacquered hardwood cane. His choice of clothing was better suited for an air-conditioned office than the warm arid plateau and either that or his sickness contributed to him already looking sweaty as he walked to greet Fouda. The two men shook hands amicably.

“Franco, it’s been too long since I received you here!”

“Habits and ruts are easy to fall into. The city has a certain gravity to it. It seems like only yesterday, not a decade ago, that we shared a bottle of the good wine while watching a sunset. Speaking of which…” Franco responded, then snapped to one of his guards who produced an ornate wine bottle.

Fouda regarded the label, noting it was from off world, and nodded approvingly before one of his servants stepped forward to accept it and scurried off.

“Come… it is teatime, and I would love to hear about your worries of family, business, and ComStar rates!”

With the other man slower, Fouda made a conscious effort to shorten his stride and be patient.

“In return you can tell me how your extended family is making your heart sick!” Franco replied jovially.

…

Snap… Franco shut the lid to his cigar case after verifying the bug detector inside hadn’t found anything. With the hot afternoon, he had shed his suit jacket and opened his collar but still found it warmer than his liking.

“We’ve had tea, exchanged pleasantries… Tell me, Fouda, why did you invite me out here?” Franco asked while motioning around them.

The nearest servant or bodyguard was just out of earshot and the nearest door or window beyond that. While the shade shelter was large enough to block the sun, he still squinted at the bright desert beyond and below.

“I’m concerned for you, my friend. That is why.”

“Your concern is cryptic.” Franco countered.

Fouda leaned in the padded chair towards Franco but didn’t lower his voice.

“I’m concerned. Your family is shrinking, and you lack the military assets to protect it in the event of a prolonged conflict.”

With laughter, Franco cut a cigar and lit a match to hold to it. He puffed on it before responding. When he discarded the match onto the ground, none of the servants came running forward to clean it up.

“Ah, hah. You either suddenly found another son or daughter and want them to marry into my aging family to acquire the remaining wealth when I die, or you mean something else. Last I checked I do not need a company of BattleMechs to secure my limited properties.” Franco observed. “Besides the recent, not-prolonged conflicts, do you have a reason to believe that we will face something else? To a degree, a change in flag on this world may even benefit my interests. Combine rulership hasn’t exactly been kind of my business.”

“That talk is treasonous to the Coordinator.” Fouda teased in a deadpan voice. “I am speaking of more local matters.”

“The Sultan.” Franco let the word hang in the hot afternoon air. “You’re setting out to start that nonsense again. Your father, peace be upon him, failed quite miserably at starting a coup even though he had the means at his fingertips. I do believe the Abbas family still holds the loss of their army against your family. For that matter, I doubt you could count on any of the minor families, like mine, to declare for you if you decided to rebel. Not that any of us have kept up our allotted forces as you imply.”

In answer, Fouda waved to a servant who rushed forward and handed a lamb skin folio to him. He examined the pages to make sure they hadn’t changed, then handed the folio to Franco. While the other man skimmed the papers inside Fouda lit his own cigar and lazily rolled the smoke around his mouth.

“You’re insane. This would work on paper but there would be no hiding the intent from the Atassi family…” Franco objected. “As soon as they show up in orbit, the secret police and assassins will be working overtime to put knives in our backs.”

“Look at addendum two.” Fouda prompted and motioned with his cigar, tracing a line of smoke that the afternoon breeze quickly dispersed.

Dubiously the other man flipped to the later pages and stopped.

“My father did many things that were ill-advised. He was greatly focused on satisfying the pleasures of the flesh.” Fouda said. “He made far too many legitimate sons. Men that would have to be given cushy jobs in his businesses, men who would stand to inherit but not contribute to the family in any meaningful way. Unfortunately, that also means that they have his name and go noticed by society at large.”

“Bastards. Nobody notices noble born bastards…” Franco picked up his line of reasoning.

“He made many of those as well. Another mistake men like us make is treating those bastards like they aren’t part of the family and discarding them. My concubines are bastards of other noble families. Which makes any children I father upon them not so much diluted as born with hybrid vigor like you horse and dog breeders like to say. Those sons and daughters can go unnoticed in business and public positions, and if they are treated right all have something noble born don’t have. They have the drive to perform so they might get legitimized. Unlike my father, I have not ignored those children. Mine or his.”

Neither of them spoke while Franco skimmed the rest of the pages in the folio.

Finally, he pieced together the part of the plan that Fouda had shared. “You want me to adopt some of your family’s illegitimate sons. Then station a company of mercenaries at my factory, which you will then use for whatever purposes you didn’t describe in detail. What are you going to build there, Tanks? Munitions? This won’t go without notice, cousin. What happens when the Sultan dispatches those men with knives I spoke of? He’s gotten suspicious, even paranoid, in his old age. His sons circle like vultures looking to take the throne.”

Uncharacteristically Fouda laughed. “Do you know what the legal difference between assault and self-defense is?”

“Ah… you want him to make the first move. Dangerous. It’s putting our throats on the line.” Franco observed.

“Men like us, noblemen, gentlemen, rarely must witness the horrors that we incite. Be it the horrors of the Bentonite mines or warfare. It’s only fair that we have skin in the game so to speak. At least once. It makes for a better story in twenty years.”

While his cigar had snuffed itself, Franco re-lit it with another match that he threw to the ground alongside the other, took a puff, then another until the embers came back to life. “The minor families may go along with this because it’s a risky scheme that could bring new life to them. But Sheik Abbas won’t accept this. He’s the cornerstone that you need in your scheme and your father’s actions cast a dark shadow on that relationship.”

“How would you know that I haven’t already consulted with him and included him in this scheme?

“You can wave C-Bills in front of a man like me, Sheik Gaspard Abbas doesn’t respond to that.” Franco pointed out.

“You asked if I had suddenly found children to marry off. You could say that I found some of his children. Sign those documents to adopt some of my father’s concubines’ children and allow me use of your factory to rebuild my allotment. My family owns many mechs that are only in name as they lie in a salvage yard since the last raids. I will cover the costs of the adopted sons that will fill your allotment. Then by Founder’s Day you will see the rest of the plan in motion.”

When Fouda waved, another servant came forward and put down a fountain pen set on the table next to Franco’s ashtray. He glanced at Fouda then picked up the pen and signed the pages and set the folio down on the table. The same servant came forward, spread dust on the fresh ink, then shook off the excess and closed the folio before retreating. Awkwardly, Franco Palfrey pushed himself up with his cane.

“I must return to the city. There are urgent matters to attend to.” Franco excused himself.

One of his bodyguards rushed forward to flank him and make sure he didn’t trip.

“Until then, cousin.” Fouda said without looking back at the hobbling man. “Will you make it to the Mardi Gras ball?”

“Of course.  It’s the pleasure of the old to watch the young rejoice in the fruits of our labors. I doubt I will dance however.”

…

Sheratan

Federated Commonwealth

Route Delta Checkpoint outside Corvallis

27 December, 3039

Local Time: 1450

Liko

Traffic was backed up for several kilometers. Civilian passenger vehicles, all powered down and resting on skids, commercial trucks idling, people milling about their vehicles. At the checkpoint four different light armored vehicles were staggered forcing any other vehicle driving on the road to slalom through them once the Rascals marines had checked them. The marines weren’t in a hurry. Liko had started to think that this checkpoint was less about the searches and authenticating people’s identities than about something else.

From the cockpit of his Raven BattleMech he glanced from the line of traffic to the distance where his brother’s Valkyrie stood, watching the line, then where Amira’s Assassin was slowly walking down the line of vehicles off the road. Ground along the highway was all churned up where the mechs had walked already and why a lance of mechs needed to be at the checkpoint was beyond him.

Maybe it’s all for show? Just put us out here as a symbol of power? Piss off everyone that’s trying to get into the city? Is that how we operate? For all the training that he’d gone through, none of it had included the strategies of counter-insurgency beyond what takes places behind the BattleMech’s controls. Again, he looked over towards Amira who had stopped and was watching new traffic arriving in the long line.

“Levy three to one.” Amira’s voice crackled on the lance channel.

“Go ahead three.” Captain Halles called back.

“A hovertruck back here just fired up it’s lift fans and it’s pulling out of line.”

He flipped his view to mag-res and looked for the truck. One of the farm trucks was moving and pushing past other vehicles to a chorus of honks. When it broke free of the traffic jam it moved down the churned dirt to the side of the highway and started gaining speed directly towards the checkpoint. By the way it moved it was carrying a lot of weight.

“Ess-Vee-Bid!” Amira called.

His brother’s Valkyrie turned towards the road and fired off a snapshot from his arm mounted laser cannon. Instead of a direct hit the shot burned through the rear air cushion making the truck collapse and dig into the dirt. Thinking quickly, Liko flipped the lever to engage his jamming equipment in full broadcast mode. His radio picked up static from the jamming as several calls went out from the marines and one from Captain Halles.

With the truck grounded, the driver leapt out of the cab, seemed to look both ways at the approaching marines and at the towering BattleMechs then started to run before rifle fire cut him down. As an image of the truck’s cargo area clarified on mag-res, Liko started to move his mech, Liko flipped on the Raven’s external speakers.

“Stay back from the truck! He has barrels of HME in the back that’s enough to blow up a city block!” He ordered the men on the ground.

Terminology

“Ess-Vee-Bid” – SVBIED. Suicide, Vehicle Born, Improvised Explosive Device

HME – Homemade explosive. Often fertilizer or dual use chemical based.

MSR – Main Service Route. Typically highways and other main roads given designations instead of referring to them by local names.

Dramatis Personae

Franco Palfrey – The head of a dying minor noble house on Lebanon. Owns various industrial concerns on planet.

Technical Reference (Partial)

Phoenix Hawk – “Warhorse”. Although on the surface it appears to be a standard configuration, this BattleMech has had it’s medium arm mounted lasers replaced with LosTech* small pulse lasers for better close-range punch and some of it’s heat sinks improved.

Assassin – “Sand Cat”. This BatleMech is easily disregarded as a base model with anemic weapons although due to enhanced electronics and a communications system capable of intercepting enemy transmissions it increases the lethality of it’s team. The standard arm mounted laser has been replaced with a longer-range unit of unknown origin*.

Raven – “Muninn”. Named after one of Odin’s ravens (this one is the “will” of Odin), the Raven appears to be a post fourth succession war model with upgraded engine and armor. It sports a second generation of the Churchill electronic warfare suite.

Valkyrie – “Lady of the Slain”. A base model Valkyrie, although in factory new shape. Serial number on the chassis dates to a Federated Suns raiding unit lost in 2904. It’s history since is unknown.

*Unknown to the Mercenary Review Board where the former owner(s) acquired such technology. This should be investigated and potential sources of LosTech secured.

Chapter 9: Epistolary 4

Summary:

ComStar official record. Correspondence between Demi-Precentor Aaron DeMille and Lord Takamori Hoshizawa. Sent 2 December, 3039

MechWarrior: Scions of War

09: Epistolary 4

<ComStar official record. Correspondence between Demi-Precentor Aaron DeMille and Lord Takamori Hoshizawa. Sent 2 December, 3039>

Good day, Lord Takamori Hoshizawa,

It is my pleasure to serve and may I first offer congratulations on your appointment to the Draconis Combine’s Internal Security Force for the region. Regarding your questions about the local politics and culture of (New) Lebanon, I must preface by saying that the complicated mélange of language, culture, religion, and customs here still surprise me every day and are apart from any other world I have seen or read about.

I will start with the statistics then move into more interesting items to answer your specific questions.

ComStar Fact Sheet: Lebanon

Statistics:

HPG Class: B

HPG Representative: demi-Precentor Aaron DeMille

Spectral Class G5V

Recharge time: 180 hours

Recharge stations: None

Jump point distance: 4 days

Habitable planets: 1

Position in system: 3^rd

Equatorial temperature: 33 Degrees C (Temperate)

Surface water: 55%

Highest native life: Mammal

Religions: Neo-Islam, Roman Catholic, Traditional Islam

Noble Ruler: Sultan of Lebanon (acting Combine Chairman)

Ruling Family: Atassi

Government type: Feudal

Capitol: Emir City

Population: 100.6m (3025 ComStar census)

Local Currency: Denari

 

History:

First colonized in 2205, Lebanon rapidly expanded it’s initial population due to the temperate climate, prevailing cultural views, and ease of farming but has seen little population growth in the last hundred years. Farming is predominant across the verdant belt north of the equator while heavy industry and extraction of rare minerals round out the industry. Culturally there is a mix of Western European descended (primarily French language), Mediterranean, and Arab.

Socio-Economic Factors:

There is a split between the idle landowner class which largely belongs to the six noble families and the disenfranchised laborer class with next to no middle class. While the landowners mostly live in or around Emir city, most labor on farms, factory, and mines is performed by the predominantly old-style Muslim lower class. Occasional rebellion is noted by ComStar but generally not reported by the Sultan’s government.

Mining for the mineral Bentonite is the main source of materials for interstellar trade. It is mined on the inhabited planet and prospecting has discovered it on several moons and asteroids but it is not exploited there due to cost issues as it is cheaper to mine on planet.

Education isn’t a guaranteed right on Lebanon, and all schools are private or run by a religious organization. This results in a high illiteracy rate among the lower class.

Notable political events:

In 2808, a raid by the Federated Suns nearly took the capitol but was repulsed by a unit known as the Lebanon Lancers. The Lancers were mostly comprised of House Abbas forces. Subsequently, the Lancers were granted ships and license to become mercenary and forced off world. In 2809 the Sultan proclaimed that individual houses besides Atassi could only possess one company of military assets including BattleMechs, armor, and infantry. These were banned from entering the capitol zone and are used to protect holdings from piracy and insurgency.

This proclamation led other houses to send the bulk of their forces off planet as mercenaries; fighting wars elsewhere and sending the profits home. ComStar analysis believes the ruling family was afraid of rebellion but could not directly nationalize the house owned military assets without inciting that rebellion. House Atassi forces stand at a reinforced Battalion as of 3039 but due to attrition during recent raiding the actual number of active equipment is at sixty percent. This distribution of military assets sets it apart from most worlds in the Draconis Combine that favor a centralized approach.

Noble Houses of Lebanon:

Atassi - Ruling family. makes their money off all the others. Controls the military might of Lebanon but is something of a paper tiger. The Sultan is aging with his sons clamoring to succeed him, playing their own games while refusing to marry into the other families. For the last three generations they've imported wives or husbands from other worlds.

Jaber – Strongest of the non-ruling families. Owns mining and shipping businesses as well as many off-world interests. Through various holding companies they are the financiers behind several mercenary companies.

Abbas – Second strongest of the non-ruling families. Heavily invested in property off-world, on-world, the spaceport, refineries, and other industrial concerns. Their off-world mercenary company was destroyed during conflict between the Anduriens and Capellan Confederation.

Palfrey - They've mostly lost their political and business influence, maintain next to no military other than house guards and bodyguards, and live in the city. They own several heavy industrial sites.

Deslonde - They run a series of plantations that account for a large amount of the food production on Lebanon. They throw a yearly Mardi gras party on their plantation that is attended by many of the other noble families.

Ziad - Makes their money in shipping. Already inter married with the other families except for Atassi.

It is interesting to note that most of the families seem to feel slighted that the ruling family refuses to intermarry with them; instead bringing fresh blood in from off-world. Most of the families have historically intermarried to strengthen their traditional ties as well as seal business pacts. Although secularism doesn’t require it, they still honor traditional values in this way.

Upper class men are almost expected to have multiple wives. These are of course from other noble or semi-noble families. Beyond wives, it is commonplace for these men to take concubines in a “temporary marriage” contract. When children are produced by such a union, they are not considered family members and are often socially maligned. Some men choose to adopt these progenies and even legitimize them into the family. Often the concubines are lower status noble born bastards themselves.

It is a strange custom that apparently hails to feudal practices of old terra. Adopting an illegitimate child simply means giving them a new legal family name whereas legitimizing puts the child in line for inheritance of assets or titles. Legally, a man must pay a stipend for sixteen years to a woman if she births a child during a temporary marriage. Typically, the children of these unions are recorded as having no known father, so unless a man keeps track of his progeny, then they can be lost in society.

Notes on Culture and Religion:

In most of the major cities, religion is something of a situational thing. Much of the upper class do not practice in a traditional sense. Secularism is the main pursuit although everyday life is influenced by the old religions. In some of the lower social status areas, sometimes locally referred to as “religious” areas, traditional Islam is practiced and the social norms of such are expected to be upheld.

I hope this short synopsis helps with your new position. As I said at the start, it is a wonderfully complex mélange of cultures that always holds a new custom or tradition to learn. May the Peace of Blake by upon you.

Demi Precentor Aaron DeMille

Chapter 10: Asymmetrical Warfare

Summary:

On Sheratan, the conflict heats up and gives the Rascals a taste of BattleMech combat

MechWarrior: Scions of War

10: Asymmetrical Warfare

Wilderness, Jordan Training Center

Lebanon

Draconis Combine

28 December, 3039

Local Time: 1440

Carla

Sweating inside the cramped cockpit of her Stinger, Carla reached out and turned up the small fan that blew on her. Fortunately, her neurohelmet wasn’t as bulky as some given it’s beyond antique status. Even with the mech not moving and cooling vest active, the air just seemed extra stuffy waiting in ambush. Around her the rocky canyon provided concealment. One other mech was in sight, a forty-five-ton Blackjack. Like hers it was painted in desert pink, tan, with random blotches of brown.

Even in the cockpit she felt it just before seeing it. The rhythmic thumping of mech footsteps. Threads of sand fell into the canyon with the approaching sounds. With only passive sensors online, the mech hadn’t started warning her yet and her teammate wasn’t breaking concealment by using his radio. Through the mech, the sound and vibration of the passing enemies grew louder.

Gloved hands waited over the controls, she jiggled her legs in anticipation. As the vibrations moved away from them she kept waiting. Why aren’t we going? Her eyes darted to the nearby Blackjack. It’s torso moved back and forth as if the pilot could see beyond the rim of the canyon. It took a step the side. That’s it! Carla planted her feet into the controls and the twenty-ton Stinger leapt out of the canyon.

Two hundred meters away, a Locust and Javelin plodded along with their backs to her. Someone on the radio said something she didn’t catch as she was already charging perpendicular to the other mechs. She fired her laser canon, burning a perfect slash on the Locust’s weak rear armor. With the distance closed she opened fire with her dual machineguns.

Frangible training rounds burst into dust across the mech’s side as it turned towards her and fired. It’s pilot was hurried, surprised, panicked, and the lasers missed. Before the Javelin could join the fight she’d jumped again, moving outside their firing arc. Just before her mech hit the ground she spotted her lancemate in the Blackjack, now out of the canyon and firing his autocannons at the exposed rear of the other mechs as they tried to track Carla.

…

High up on the catwalk of the mech hangar, Carla smiled at the Stinger. Painted in red across the collar of the humanoid mech was the nickname “Gunslinger”. Who had originally christened the mech was beyond her, lost to history. Past her mech was the diminutive Locust of the training lance, the humanoid Javelin, and then the Blackjack. All of them looked somewhat worse for wear, having not had a proper refit or repaint in decades.

Being out of the cockpit in the warm afternoon felt good. To be out of the oppressive weight of the cooling vest and neurohelmet. Although there wasn’t much air movement in the hangar, feeling her sweat evaporating was a pleasant tingle compared to the morning’s exercise.

Two men in tan cooling suits that were worth as much as the Stinger and twice as rare as her prized helmet walked down the catwalk past her and glared before resuming their conversation. Both were young but looked soft. Their well-conditioned hair was shaggy from the neurohelmet but neither shaved the sides for better contact. Their beards were thin, still youthful looking and not thick like a mature man. Another man walked down the catwalk towards her carrying his survival sling bag.

Carla’s good feeling evaporated and she shouldered her own bag. Without a word she fell in line with the man. Like her, he wore short shorts and tank top. Also like her he looked just as sweaty. Unlike the other two soft-looking boys his hair was shaved on the sides, like Carla’s.

“Just spit it out Antoine.”

“You tripped the damned ambush before I gave the order. Like usual. Then you ran off on your own!” Antoine replied tersely. “Have you forgotten who’s in command?”

“You are, Captain. It doesn’t matter; you were about to call it anyways, you were slow at it like usual. I played out the scenario just like I’m supposed to. I jumped out of the canyon and drew their fire, then you shot them in the back just like you planned.” Carla said exasperated. “In a week those boys will rotate out and be replaced by others just like them. Then whichever of them are more favored by their family will get a mech instead of which of them actually gives a damn about training and which has the skills.”

Realistically there’s so few family mechs and they’ll only spend two years piloting them before taking a meaningless office job for the rest of their career that just doesn’t matter.

They approached the doorway into the set of offices attached to the hangar and Antoine stopped, then turned to face her. “Damnit Carla! Your attitude is why you’ll never make Captain or even find someone to marry you. Even a lonely Colonel or businessman who wants a second wife will keep looking once you open your mouth! Nobody besides someone lower than our mother will have you.”

“Nobody will touch either of us on account of who our mother is, and the man that put his seed in her.” Carla countered. “The only man I need in my life is Gunslinger. Everyone else is just for fun.”

“At least hold your tongue when we AAR with the Major.” Antoine opened the door and went through. “Don’t go saying that neither of those boys belong in the cockpit. None of them do and you know it. The Major knows it too, but they have more social clout than we ever will.”

To her surprise, the two trainees exited the Major’s office ahead of them and walked towards the elevators, ignoring them. Antoine knocked on the door then opened it. Inside was Major Yassir Jaber and a man in a business suit. Their pudgy Major returned their salute then wordlessly left the room. Once the door closed, Carla studied the man carefully. He was maybe forty with a well-kept thick beard and hair. His suit jacket was off and hanging off a chair instead of the coat rack, so she knew he hadn’t served.

“Captain Antoine Maalouf and Lieutenant Carla Maalouf?” He asked rhetorically but politely.

He sounds like he was educated off-world. His suit is real silk and linen. He wears his hair and beard in a non-Arab fashion but he’s not sweating, so he’s acclimated to the temperature here not an off-worlder.

“Yes sir, that’s us.” Antoine responded for them.

“I am Youssef Jaber.” He introduced himself but kept his hands clasped behind him. “How would you two like to be recognized as members of the family? The family head, my cousin, is in a position to do just that… as long as you are willing to prove your loyalty to him and the house."

…

Forests East of Corvallis

Sheratan

Federated Commonwealth

Local Time: 1830

Alexi

With their heads reaching above the treetops, the four mechs stood quietly while the MechWarriors below consulted a map on the hood of a hover truck. Indicated in wax pencil was an approach route towards the city of Corvallis and it’s barracks. With the autumn season, the trees were defoliating and with them the visual concealment was rapidly leaving.  As much as it was a rushed operation and the soldier in him didn’t like sending men and machines out on a mission with little chances of success; Alexi knew that outright success wasn’t what they needed in the long game.

“Barracks here, automated turrets here and here.” Alexi pointed. “Use the Arborville canyon to approach, then when you’re to the open make sure you march in a two by two staggered formation. Mercs only patrol two at a time and they’ve been ranging far out, so you might wait for them to pass before breaking forest cover. Go slow like you’re just another local unit. Don’t break cover and go weapons free until you’re engaged or you get close enough.”

All four men nodded like they were paying attention. It is a shame to waste literally the four brightest of the resistance. A bigger shame to waste their mechs. Their personal equipment was a hodgepodge of industrial safety equipment, not proper MechWarrior gear. In a prolonged fight, even the improvised cooling vests wouldn’t be enough. Each one had at least shaved their heads for better neurohelmet contact.

“Objective remains the alderman’s home but if they blow the alarm, destroy as much infrastructure as possible and retreat. We’ll ambush any followers with inferno rockets in the forest. Questions?”

The men looked at each other then shook heads. None of them are coming back. They know it. Will they succeed in any way? Alexi took one more look at the Sheratan mechs and the pilots.

“Get to it. Good luck. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Of all the lies I tell these people, that’s the one I second guess myself on. Whether or not they’ll really come back. He packed up the map and got into the truck. Without looking back at the lance, he drove away.

…

Corvallis

Pavel

With no direct communications to the attack lance, it was just a waiting and watching game. Next to him on the rooftop a radio played the itinerant frequencies and he listened to the occasional chatter from the local militia and the mercs. For the most part the mercenaries used encrypted channels and only used open ones when speaking to the locals.

The last he’d seen any of the merc BattleMechs on patrol, it had been a Phoenix Hawk and an Enforcer plodding along in the distance on the edge of the forest. Now, as far as he knew, both mechs were nearly on the other side of the city from the Arborville canyon and the approach the local mechs would take. Without causing undue damage to the city, the mercs couldn’t cross through it and going around would cost them time.

It was designed as a no-win scenario for the mercs and local militia. Either they caused damage to their own city to get to and neutralize his mechs, or else they let them rampage. Slowly Pavel stood up and walked to the other side of the flat rooftop and set up his binoculars tripod, then scanned for the mercenaries. Movement caught his eye as the setting sun glinted off a cockpit.

Both are on the other side. Good.  He went back to his original post and watched.

William

“Hey… Adam…”

“Mmm?” His spotter replied.

Carefully the sharpshooter pulled out on his scope’s magnification and counted streets. From his perch in a watchtower of the barracks, he had a decently commanding view of the side of the city that butted against the base.

“On top of the building next to the grocery. There’s someone with binoculars on a tripod. He’s observing… something.”

Next to him the spotter shifted his electrically stabilized spotting scope and dialed in the magnification. Neither man spoke. William estimated the range, referred to the city map next to him, then made a mental calculation about whether his rifle could reliably make the shot.

“Hm…” Adam hummed. “Either he’s a birdwatcher or… He has a radio with a long ass whip on it.”

“Call it in suspect. If it ain’t a cop or militia then that’s hostile. Too far for me to make a shot unless I break out the fifty.”

“Black four, control…” Adam radioed.

“Control… send traffic Black Four.”

“Suspicious tango. Cold storage building on Fourth street. Break…” Adam conferred with his map. “Single MAM. Break… Binoculars, tripod, radio… break…” He put his eye into the spotting scope again.

At the long range, reporting anything like appearance was a crap shoot.

“Tango is observing to the East. Over.” Adam finished the report.

Ellis

“Tell you what, snagging that kid with his Raven was good luck. His ECM blocked the detonator from going off. Saved some good marines. Saved some civies.” David commented as the two looked at pictures of the defused bomb.

When their sappers had destroyed it with a counter charge, the crater in an open field had been big enough to hide a Locust in.

“Hm…” Studying the pictures of the chemical drums he pointed at the label. “That’s a shipping label. Did we get a close up?”

Referring to the long form report, David answered. “Unity. It’s one of the farming centers east of here. Near White Fields.”

“Sir!”

He turned to the voice, it was one of the two radio operators that were on duty in the control center. “STA team just spotted someone on a rooftop with binoculars and a radio… and seismic alarms are going off in the forest! BattleMechs… four of them!”

His mind kicked into gear with the shot of adrenaline that a chance for real combat provided.

“Get the rest of Pike lance out there along with Levy lance. I want a bird in the air recording this.” Ellis consulted a clipboard with the scheduled on it. “Have Karim and Rami get to their mechs just in case. Go!”

Captain Marceau and the radio operator ran off to get the plan in motion while Ellis started jogging towards the locker room attached to the mech hangars.

Chantra

Stalking along with the other stolen militia mechs, Chantra struggled to keep the Vindicator in formation with the other three mechs. Stupid trying to trick them by walking like we’re just another militia unit. As the forest cleared, several kilometers of rolling plains before the city appeared. His radar unit started putting together an image of the area. Ahead of him there was a Vulcan, Locust, and the lance leader in a Javelin.

His radio crackled. “Corvallis militia control to approaching militia lance… identify yourself!”

They’re not going to fall for it. He flipped the master arm and listened for the missile tube doors over the LRM pack to open. It seemed the others were thinking the same thing and started loosening up their staggered marching order.

“This is Lieutenant Jackson, Ivy Lance. Returning from recon duty. Over.” Charlie radioed their cover story back.

At the top of a rise, Chantra’s radar picked up a mech in the distance but wouldn’t lock on. It was at least two kilometers away but his sharp eyes could make out the outline of a Phoenix Hawk in mercenary colors running towards them at full tilt. Much further back there was a humanoid mech still rounding the city.

“Control, Ivy lance. What’s the code phrase of the day?”

Oh fuck. No bluffing that. Chantra tried to get a lock on the approaching Phoenix Hawk but it was still outside the range of the mech’s sensors. He pounded on the left dash panel in frustration. The inside of the cockpit was a rat’s nest of unbound wire bundles from centuries of refits. His targeting computer finally locked on but he was out of range for the LRM pack.

“Free Sheratan!” Charlie radioed on the open frequency then switched to their private channel. “Jamie! Book it to the city and burn the target! Graves, go with him. Chantra, you and me… let’s take out that fuckin’ merc!”

Finally! Just as his targeting computer reported he was in range he fired the LRM pack then tried to get his PPC in line. Charlie was running ahead in his Javelin. The smaller humanoid mech was armed with twin short-range missile packs that would blast the other mech into scrap, but he needed to get close to use them. As his missiles completed the downward arc towards the Phoenix Hawk, the mercenary mech shot into the sky on gouts of nuclear fire letting the missiles pass harmlessly past him.

Just as the mercenary mech landed, Chantra triggered his particle cannon, but the hasty shot missed and burned dirt behind the mech. It seemed the merc was already tracking the sprinting Javelin and just when Chantra expected his lance leader to fire his missile packs, three spears of light burned across the short distance searing lines of black into the Javelin’s torso and hip.

Charlie tried to keep his mech upright from the assault and fired a panic shot, sending missiles into the sky above the Phoenix Hawk. Now at close range, the ‘Hawk fired again, a pair of ruby stuttering blasts that savaged the already damaged hip armor followed by a barrage of machinegun fire. No longer able to control his mech with a blown out hip, the Javelin tripped and fell into the dirt face first.

Still with a missile lock, Chantra fired again. This time from half a kilometer the missiles blasted armor off the Hawk’s right arm. He followed up with another PPC bolt that filled his cockpit with heat. His industrial cooling vest did nothing to dispel the weapon’s heat, and he suddenly felt like it was overwhelming him. The particle blast missed high. Panicking as the distance closed, Chantra tried to bring his lasers in line just before he saw the mercenary ‘Hawk’s main pistol like laser cannon aiming straight for his cockpit.

Jamie

Ahead the city streets had started emptying. No people were visible. Passenger vehicles were abandoned and hastily parked as people sought cover in the underground shelters once the raid sirens sounded. His autocannon barked out another round, smashing one of the myriad businesses marked by neon lights. Graves’ Locust ran ahead, adding it’s machineguns to the slaughter making glass and building debris rain.

Stalking down the street, he conferred with his paper map as to where the objective was, then looked up and triggered his flamethrower to set an apartment skyrise aflame. All of them are sell outs to the Fed Rats! Let them burn in their opulent towers among their dirty money!  He raked another building with machinegun fire then fired his autocannon again. A laugh of bloodthirsty joy escaped his lips just as his mech lurched forward.

Crashing into one of the high-rises, Jamie righted his mech and started turning it around towards his attacker. His targeting computer caught up and highlighted a diminutive bird-like mech with smoking missile tubes. Just before it provided a lock and identification on the mech his whole targeting and sensor display turned to nothing but red static. The bird shaped mech disappeared behind a building and Jamie spotted two humanoid mechs and a third hunched over insect like one on the edge of the city. Both humanoid mechs fired LRM packs at the same time. He tried to dodge but there was nowhere to go in the tight city confines.

When the missiles hit, his mech staggered back drunkenly. Finally with his balance recovered he aimed his autocannon, fired, then kicked his jump jets. The Vulcan took flight towards the two mercenary mechs. Both fired lasers but only one found his mech as it dropped from the sky. When he hit the ground, crushing a low to the ground office building, he fired his laser cannon at the larger of the mechs but missed.

In response the mech fired an SRM two pack then leapt backwards a hundred meters. The missiles barely phased his mech and just as he was about to fire his autocannon, his targeting computer fuzzed out again. Stepping out from one of the buildings the small bird mech appeared again and fired a SRM six-pack followed by a pair of lasers. Warnings went off in his cockpit and most of the instruments went dark.

While the mech still responded to his controls, it seemed slowed down and drunken compared to just a few minutes prior. The larger humanoid mech seemed to stand firm and carefully aim it’s laser cannon arm. Rage boiled in his belly along with what felt like betrayal as he pulled the levers to activate the ejection system.

Graves

“Oh shit.” He mumbled to himself.

Several blocks over he saw the Vulcan’s head split open and the ejection chair fly off into the sky. Still mostly undamaged, his Locust had the mercs on speed. Retreat to fight another day? This mission is a failure. I can’t get captured! I know too much! Graves turned the Locus towards the north and started sprinting. Cars crushed like cans under the mech’s feet and the stubby wings raked gashes in the sides of buildings.

With the edge of the city in view he glanced at his paper map, deciding how evade the mercenaries the best. His eyes came up in the cockpit in time to see a gigantic humanoid mech step out from behind a tall building. Graves couldn’t stop in time and ran into the larger mech. His mouth tasted like blood from biting his tongue. His only reflex was to squeeze the trigger and rake the larger mech with machinegun fire.

His Locust made two steps backwards before the Grasshopper fired it’s weapons.

…

29 December, 3039

Local Time: 0645

Pavel

Wearing press credentials, a hi-vis vest, and carrying a tri-vid camera, none of the rescue workers, police, or military paid any attention to him. Just like the other legitimate press scurrying around the scene of the skirmish, he collected the most lurid and bloody video and still pictures possible. A scene of rescue workers pulling a dead and bloody child from underneath rubble; another of the fallen Sheratan militia Vulcan and the damage it had caused.

Slowly he worked his way along the fire swept path the Vulcan had taken, gathered stills of where the Locust had raked office buildings and restaurants with machineguns and continued to where the mercenary Grasshopper had struck down the Locust. All the surrounding city was blackened from the violent kill of it. Absolutely perfect. With a little music, a little editing, this will make the believers’ blood hot, and it’ll make those in the cities angry at the mercs and at the failed government who can’t protect them.

Ellis

With the morning chill, Ellis had donned a brown jumpsuit over his shorts and tank top. Waiting in his office, reviewing his own battle recorder and the VTOL footage from the skirmish, his mind worked through the different possibilities. The enemy lance was made up of militia mechs that had been stolen two months prior. That pointed to a certain level of technical ability along with planning and being able to hide and store those mechs. It also meant moles in the local militia organization. That left the two mechs stolen from first company, still in the wild.

A knock came on his door and Ellis called for them to enter. In walked Captain David Marceau and Lieutenant Rain Hunt. The Lieutenant snapped to attention and Ellis looked up before returning the salute. After the short skirmish, the mechs with hands had participated in the rescue effort, pulling up heavy wreckage for hours before the pilots had finally been relieved.

Rain still kept his hair short, but it was a mess from his helmet. His beard had started growing in properly, brown around his mouth and black, and he still had the athletic look of someone that hadn’t given up on fitness as soon as he left the training center. Instead of the cream and brown shorts and tank top of the Rascals, Rain wore his red and black still with the logo of the Wolf’s Dragoons.

“Lieutenant, why the hell did you break away from your lancemate? Taking on an entire lance by yourself is stupid and unhinged.”

The young man seemed to chew on the question but had obviously already spent all night thinking about that.

“Sir… MechWarrior Keller’s Enforcer is slower than mine. Had I waited for him, then the entire enemy lance would have been in the city causing damage by the time we reached them.” Rain replied confidently.

Exactly what I would have done. Ellis turned the computer monitor on his desk and played the recon VTOL’s footage. “What can you tell me about these mech pilots?”

While the question seemed to catch the younger MechWarrior off guard he focused on the playback until it was finished. “The Vindicator pilot was the greenest. Either his tech was way off or he didn’t have hours in the cockpit. He couldn’t land a hit that wasn’t guided and he was popping off his particle cannon faster than his mech could have cooled. The Javelin pilot was more experienced, but he charged straight at me instead of using terrain and zig-zagging.”

Rain took a breath. “The Locust pilot was the most fleet footed. I’d guess he had real training at some point. Except that he didn’t maintain situational awareness and ran right into your Grasshopper. The Vulcan staggers and trips a lot. He didn’t have hours in the cockpit, or his gyro was worn out, or his helmet wasn’t picking up his brainwaves. Honestly sir… all of them remind me of me and my siblings when we first got into BattleMechs.”

When Ellis didn’t respond, Rain expanded on the thought. “We grew up driving tractors and ag-mechs. I thought I was hot shit walking into the Wolf’s training center then they put me behind the controls of a Stinger and I barely kept it upright. That’s what these guys look like. Enthusiastic but inexperienced.” Rain finished with a shrug before catching himself and returning to parade rest.

“Well two of them we might get a chance to talk to. The Locust driver is atomized and spread out over the city while the local techs are going to have to scrape the roasted guts of the Vindicator driver out of the mech. Solid shooting there. Kill the meat, save the metal.”

From the couch, David gave Ellis a subtle nod.

“Your reward, Lieutenant, is a combat bonus for downing two mechs.”

Being a recent graduate of one of the toughest training programs in the inner sphere, the lieutenant kept a blank face knowing that there are no real rewards.

“Your punishment for acting without orders and leaving your lancemate behind… honestly I’d expect that from your godbrother Gotfrid, not you… your punishment is that you’re going to appear on the local tri-vid news station. I heard from the local commander that they’re requesting an interview with a merc that was involved.”

His calm blank face broke. “Sir… I’m a MechWarrior not a media personality!” Rain objected.

“Maintain decorum Hunt!” David barked.

Again, the young MechWarrior snapped back to parade rest and focused his eyes on the wall beyond Ellis.

“You’re doing this because I’m ordering you to and paying you to.” Ellis started. “I’d sooner send your sister because she’s beautiful and well spoken, she’d make a good face of the company, but the local tri-vid news anchors like to ambush interviewees. This’ll be an unfriendly interview. The locals do not like us and think we’re a waste of money. This skirmish in the city caused a lot of damage and will have swayed that opinion against us further.”

“Yes sir.”

“Right. At thirteen hundred go to Captain Dubois to be issued a dress uniform.” Ellis referred to his wife by rank. “She will also give you talking points and train you to deal with hostile interviewers. Dismissed.”

With another salute returned, the young MechWarrior turned about face and left his office.

“What do you think, David?”

“He’s one in a thousand. Took down two mechs in thirty seconds, one with a clean headshot from three hundred meters. As long as his ego doesn’t outgrow his neurohelmet he might even survive a fight against real MechWarriors. Keller… didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to follow Hunt. I didn’t think he’d be gung-ho when I hired him. What surprises me is that Hunt didn’t vilify him when you showed footage of the Enforcer walking instead of running. The other newbies in Levy lance all worked together well enough.”

“This is their first taste of urban combat. The next battle is going to be close and messy.”

…

30 December, 3039

White Plains

Local Time: 18:30

Alexi

While the tri-vid made noise in one corner of the stuffy apartment, in the other the automatic printing press turned out full gloss memorial prints. Alexi left the dull noise of the tri-vid to check on it. One batch was already done. In beautiful full color was a portrait of Chantra Ling against a backdrop of the Capellan Confederation flag and old Sheratan flag. It listed his full name and birthplace and labeled him as a “Hero of Free Sheratan”.

A slight smile came across his face at the ridiculousness of it all. Chantra hadn’t been a hero, just a lamb sent to the slaughter to achieve a goal. Another batch with Graves Inaya was in process already. Alexi turned back to the TV set showing an interview with a mercenary. While the volume was too low to catch all of it, the anchor was obviously grilling the poor lad about things that were far about his pay grade.

Images and video showing the destruction in the city played before the interview continued. Remarkable that this kid who barely looks old enough to drink can keep his cool. The channel played more footage showing a Phoenix Hawk BattleMech quickly dispatching two of the rebel mechs then the anchor flipped the tone and asked about the pilot’s training and where they were from.

Alexi turned up the volume and listened, then quickly grabbed a screen capture of the MechWarrior. The printer next to the tri-vid slowly spat out the picture. Besides a lieutenant’s rank, there wasn’t other adornment to the uniform. Someone had carefully trimmed his beard and hair, and he held himself stiffly like an academy graduate. Moving back to his computer, he opened the image manipulation program and fed the image into a template.

On screen, Alexi drafted his next piece of propaganda.

<Wanted:

Lt. Rain Hunt

Mercenary

Reward 40,000 Marks>

He leaned back in his chair, changed some of the colors and contrast to give the poster a more villainous shade, hit the backspace key and retyped it.

<Wanted: Dead

Lt. Rain Hunt

War Criminal

Reward 40,000 Marks>

 

Terminology

MAM – Military Aged Male. Generally, this is mid/late teens up to fifties.

STA team – Surveillance and Target Acquisition. Specialized teams that gather intelligence and support battlefield operations. Often associated with sniper teams.

SALUTE report – A standard reporting format used to quickly and accurately relay information about an enemy or suspicious activity. The acronym stands for size (how many people), activity (what they’re doing), location (where they are), unit (if they’re part of a military unit, what is is), time, and equipment (special equipment like mortars, crew served weapons, etc).

Dramatis Personae:

Captain Antoine Maalouf – MechWarrior, cadre at a training lance. Illegitimate son of Fouda Jaber and a concubine.

Lieutenant Carla Maalouf – MechWarrior, cadre at a training lance. Illegitimate daughter of Fouda Jaber and a concubine.

Major Yassir Jaber – Legitimate Son of Bashar Jaber by his sixth wife. A desk worker not a MechWarrior. In charge of the training cadre.

Charlie – A Sheratan rebel MechWarrior.

Graves Inaya - A Sheratan rebel MechWarrior. (deceased)

Chantra Ling - A Sheratan rebel MechWarrior. (deceased)

Jamie - A Sheratan rebel MechWarrior.

Sergeant William Kenner – A Sharpshooter hired on with the Rascals

Sergeant Adam Rose – A Sharpshooter hired on with the Rascals

 

Chapter 11: Epistolary 5

Summary:

Jan's recordings to his children

MechWarrior: Scions of War

11: Epistolary 5

Jan

Recorded 3037

“When you were small, before we sent you to foster with Suzuka on Kwamashu, the four of you kids running around the ship were more chaotic at times than the wars we were fighting. Our lead tech at the time, an old man named Roberto, he was always swearing at you and threatening to throw a wrench at you. Face it, you never wanted to sit still. I doubt you ever will want to. Especially Gotfrid. He grew fast and like his father was a knot head.

“One time, he decided to climb up the side of Gerhard’s Trebuchet. He made it halfway up before he looked down and realized how high he was and that he didn’t know how to get down! He must have called for help for an hour before your nanny realized he was late for tutoring and went looking. Roberto had to rescue him with the maintenance lift. The more I laughed, the more Xing and Gerhard gave me the stink eye.

“You know what happened next? Gotfrid did it again. This time he took a bundle of rope because that’s what he’d seen climbers do on the tri-vids. Made it to the top, tied off his rope, then sort of rappelled down until he ran out of rope and got stuck. Liko was watching and came to get Amina because she was always nicer. I’d have laughed, Gerhard would have yelled, Xing would have yelled, and Roberto would have threatened to throw a wrench!

“Your mother got him down then took both Storesund kids by the hand to our gym where she sat them down and taught them proper climbing knots. Liko was always more studious while Gotfrid was energetic and headstrong. They made a good pair, when they worked together. Gotfrid wouldn’t pay attention to class and Liko would help him with it later. That’s how they worked with the climbing knots.

“Soon the two of them were belaying off of any surface they could find and tie off to. Xing was chasing them down and yelling about how they were going to get themselves killed. Ah… those were good times. Too bad I was so busy then that I only caught part of it.

“When you twins were… about four I think… that’s one of the first times you really fought. I wasn’t ready for that, as a father. With adults, MechWarriors, I know how to deal with men fighting. But kids? Kids aren’t logical, they don’t have fully formed brains and experiences. It was all emotion and reaction. Gotfrid was big, he was a natural bully. He started bullying his brother, then said something that made Amira cry.

“That’s when you, Rain, stepped up and told him to apologize. I only got this secondhand from Ramona your tutor. Gotfrid called you names, in Chinese, Swedish, and English. He pushed you, that’s when you punched him. Gave him a bloody nose and a split lip. He ran off to find Xing and Ramona sat both of you down in the little classroom to wait until Amina or I was around. I remember when I came back from a patrol and all I wanted was some alone time with your mother, and I had to deal with that.

“My best friend was angry at me because his kid was accusing my kid of attacking him. Ramona filled in the details, Gerhard and I went off to have a chat, then came back. All of you kids knew you were in deep shit. Even little Liko knew it because he’d lied to Xing and Gerhard to cover his brother. Each of you got a spanking. Gotfrid for being a bully, Rain for hitting him, Liko for lying, and even Amira got a small swat for letting her brother hit Gotfrid.

“Afterwards we tried to expound how important family was. I think that at least made a difference when you got to Kwamashu. There, the children all stayed at the schoolhouse during the week and only went home on the weekends to see their parents. Going home was to Suzuka who put you to work! She sent me long letters telling me all about whipping you into shape, about taking you on weekend long survival training hikes, how sometimes you even talked about the Storesund boys as your brothers.

“With Amina, Xing, and Ramona gone to Kwamashu, that left just us boys all alone. Making our own business decisions again like teenagers sitting on top of thousands of tons of weaponry. That was good and bad. Good that I wasn’t worrying about my kids and wife getting caught in the crossfire and bad because I wasn’t there for you except once a year. Someday you’ll understand, I hope. We raised you to be fighters so I shouldn’t begrudge that you fought back from the first day you knew you could.”

 

 

Chapter 12: Festival of Janus

Summary:

While Sheratan celebrates the new year, the insurgency has other plans.

MechWarrior: Scions of War

12: Festival of Janus

Corvallis

Sheratan

Federated Commonwealth

31 December, 3039

Local Time: 2240

Amira

Laughter and loud conversation filled the bar. Smoke from dozens of different cigarette brands. A scratchy sound system played pop music from before she was born and Amira tried to dance to it on the crowded dance floor. There were simply too many people to move much as the bar was over capacity. A couple that was far beyond drunk bumped into her and spilled her drink.

Looking over to her table, Amira saw Liko watching her with a faint smile on his face. She pushed through the crowd and sat down opposite him. He still wore the clothes that he had purchased on Outreach years before during their first leave from training. Gray trousers and a now faded red polo shirt that was badly in need of ironing with a rumpled collar. None of it really fit since he’d grown up since then. It made Amira self-conscious for just a moment thinking about how unstylish and out of place her clothes were. With a laugh she held up her cup which was empty mostly from dance floor spills. She reached across the table and took one of his hands.

“Come on, let’s dance!”

“I don’t know how!” Liko objected.

“There’s no knowing how! I never took lessons! You just move with the music!”

Before he could say something else, she pulled him out of his chair and was already moving back towards the packed dance floor.

David

In the command center only a handful of militia staff were there and Major Dubois. David walked in and stood next to the Major watching the thermal camera outputs on the tri-vid screens mounted to the wall.

“It’s New Year’s Eve. Pretty sure I gave you the night off, David.” Ellis commented.

“Yes, sir. You did.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Ellis glanced at him with awake eyes.

“My date uh… didn’t pan out. I’m relieving you. You’re the one who has someone to kiss at midnight. Nobody wants this…” David grabbed his pot belly and shook it then slapped Ellis’ firm abdomen.

His no-nonsense commanding officer chuckled. “Ella already went into the city with one of the militia officer’s wives. I’ll have more to celebrate with her once we all go home.”

“Boss don’t make me do this officially. I know you make her take a tracker in her purse. Go put on something nice and surprise her.”

On the wall, the infrared images all seemed quiet even though both of them expected something to happen since it was a holiday.

“Fuck it.” Ellis turned and walked to the map table where other papers were taped down. “We have half of the marines on duty. Trocha, Storesund the bigger, Nice, and Maalouf are on duty in the ready room. The other MechWarriors are off for the night but are supposed to have their pagers. Oh, and Eric is holding down the fort on local security. Good night.”

With that Ellis sauntered towards the door while David donned a radio headset and performed a check-in.

Gotfrid

“How’d you get so lucky?”  Rami asked.

The Warhammer pilot passed his hand rolled cigarette to Gotfrid who took a drag, then started coughing and passed it back. They stood wrapped in heavy parkas on the catwalk around one of the mech bays. Both of them were already in shorts and tank tops with their cooling vests, ready to run at a moment’s notice towards their BattleMechs. Lieutenant Rami Nice laughed at Gotfrid coughing and held in smoke from the unfiltered cigarette.

“Oh… you know. Story of my life. I just manage to piss everyone off. When Captain Halles was briefing us about the situation over the holiday I said… uh… I asked where the best brothel in the city was. He decided to volunteer me for duty. At least my brother is out with his girl…” Gotfrid laughed. “Our godsister.”

Gotfrid laughed at himself. Maybe I should find a contract in Canopus. No shortage of brothels out there! Rami laughed at him too and offered the cigarette. With a wave, Gotfrid declined and tapped one of his own out of his pack and lit it. “What about you?”

In the cold night air, Rami blew a smoke ring towards Gotfrid’s Valkyrie. The light mech was diminutive compared to his Warhammer. “Volunteered. See, I have this rare and mysterious condition called being a violent drunk. Just don’t know when to stop. Extra pay if I volunteer for holiday duty so I raised my hand. Since you got assigned, you don’t get it. It means I’ll have a few extra marks to spend next weekend I have off. Oh, and there aren’t any.”

“Huh?”

“Brothels. No legal ones anyways. I already looked. There’s street walkers but they’re not legal. Might be too sketchy for my taste.” Rami responded. “If you’re cool, I might tell you where the underground joints are. A guy in first company told me. Just haven’t… reconned them yet. Heh. Your brother is really dating your sister?”

Clouds of steam from Gotfrid laughing were lit up by the harsh blue-white lights of the mech hangar.

“Not our sister. We just grew up with her. Kinda only natural, I guess. Her father was our Godfather. Sort of looked after us now and then after our father snuffed it.”

Amira

Just a few minutes before midnight, the pace of music slowed and she held Liko close. They both shuffled awkwardly among the mass of people. Her eyes found Rain, seated at one of the tables. His fashion sense was just as awkward and out of date as Liko’s and hers. At least his black polo shirt was ironed, and his khaki cargo pants were clean. Rain’s hair and beard were still neatly trimmed from his tri-vid interview.

As they shuffled around in a circle she lost sight of her brother and rested her face against Liko’s. He said something that was lost in the bar noise. When she caught sight of her brother again, there was a woman at the table with him. They had full drinks in front of them and were leaning across the small table with their faces just inches apart. She realized she hadn’t seen her brother smile like that in years as he spoke and listened to her.

“What is it?” Liko asked.

Their slow dance moved them out of sight of Rain.

“Seems Rain found a friend.”

Liko without subtlety looked around and caught sight of her brother. He grinned and was about to wave to him before Amira stopped him.

“Knock it off. He doesn’t need us distracting him.”

“Wonder what will happen if they get attached and we move on to another contract?” Liko asked.

When they came into her sight again, Amira studied the woman. Because of the busy bar she hadn’t gotten another drink and her buzz was wearing off, leaving her critical mind to take over. The woman looked young, barely drinking age, with bottle blond hair and tan skin with delicate Asian features. She was dressed like the locals wearing slim fit denim pants and a baggy green tank top advertising a local brewery with a tighter white tank top underneath.

Something caught Amira’s eye just before she lost sight of the woman again. Her conscious mind didn’t know why she had suddenly tensed up but Liko realized it too.

“What is it?” He asked while stopping their slow circular shuffle.

Amira turned and focused on the woman. She had a strange mandala tattoo emblazoned on her left hand and another on her forehead. While focusing on her she spotted another tattoo just barely visible on her sternum under her tank top. Liko looked too, then looked at Amira.

“What is it?” He repeated.

Something about those tattoos… Where have I seen those before? Amira didn’t answer. To her the bar had quieted down. Her brother looked drunker than she’d ever seen him as he stood up and took the blond woman’s hand. Both of them seemed to stumble towards the door. Without really thinking about it, Amira started off the dance floor with her right hand patting her belt to verify her pistol was still holstered there.

Stepping out into the cold night, Amira looked both ways, not seeing her brother and the woman on the sidewalk. Something like an electrical shorting sound came from the alley to one side. Amira drew her pistol and walked with quick long strides. Clearing the corner into the alley she spotted the blond woman, an electric stun gun in one hand and a long dagger in the other. At the woman’s feet groaning and holding his midsection was Rain.

The woman spotted Amira and just then tried to bring the dagger down towards Rain as she pulled the trigger. Without thinking anything logical, just operating on training, Amira pulled the trigger until the slide locked back putting rounds into the other woman from the abdomen to her upper chest. Only then did the blond woman collapse backwards and lay still. Liko rushed past Amira, his own pistol in hand. He kicked the stun gun and dagger away from the woman then kneeled next to Rain to check him.

Recovering mentally, Amira fed a fresh magazine into her pistol and let the slide forward. Some people had scattered, others were watching from the bar entrance.

“Call the ambulance and police!” She shouted towards some of them then rushed to her brother.

Rain was acting far beyond drunk and barely conscious but there were no obvious injuries. Amira turned her attention to the dead blond woman. Her green tank top was already mostly black with blood. Tentatively she drew back her inner shirt and examined the sternum tattoo, which was partly obliterated by the bullets, then looked at the arm tattoo. Liko looked up from Rain and repeated his question from earlier.

“It’s a thuggee cult tattoo!” Amira announced.

“Capellan assassins?” Liko put it together.

She turned the body part way and checked the pockets. “No ID. Just this…”

From one of the dead woman’s pockets she pulled a folded-up leaflet. It showed her brother’s image, labeled him as a war criminal and offered a reward. In the distance she heard approaching sirens and holstered her sidearm.

…

1 January, 3040

Local Time: 00:05

Ellis

On stage the local band was playing a slow dance number while couples new and old who had just shared their New Years’ kiss danced. Ellis had his hands on Ella’s lower back as they moved with the rhythm. When the song started to reach a climax he moved one hand to her side then pushed her outward, sliding the other down her arm to catch her hand then let her around in a slow spin before bringing her back into a close embrace.

Ella smiled up at him and he grinned back at her, just the way he had when he’d seen her the first time. Both of them stood out in fashions that were out of date and from another world entirely but they’d stopped being self-conscious about it years and many star systems ago. Above them the colored lights flashed and the mirrored ball cast dots of light across the club.

“I’m glad you came out.” Ella looked past him briefly at the militia officer’s wife she had come out with. “Although Melissa is a little disappointed that I’m not paying attention to her!”

“She’ll forgive you. I hope. It’s really David’s doing.”

“Oh?”

“He relieved me. Said his date didn’t work out…” Ellis trailed off thinking about his subordinate. “I think he might have just been trying to get me out of the office.”

“You work too much!” Ella said with a smile that crunched her face.

He pushed her out in another slow spin that he turned into a promenade. On stage the band finished the tune and was talking up the crowd, getting ready to increase the tempo.

“Those drinks are running through me.”

“Hah. Go take care of it. I’ll be at the bar.” Ella replied.

They kissed then Ellis headed towards the restroom.

Liko

At the barracks clinic, Rain lay uncomfortably in a hospital bed with an IV in his arm. His head lulled around lazily as one of the local nurses checked his vitals again then excused herself. Liko jiggled his leg nervously. Amira was with the local police after the shooting. While it seemed like an open and shut case, he still worried about the anti-mercenary sentiment growing on the world.

They’d seen their first action on Sheratan, both inside a BattleMech cockpit and now in person. His worrying took second stage when the local doctor entered the partitioned off space. He carried a clipboard with papers. Everything at the clinic was lower tech than at Outreach. The doctor wordlessly listened to Rain’s heart again then glanced at Liko.

“You’re the medical contact for Lieutenant Hunt?”

“Yes sir. I’m his godbrother. Liko Storesund.”

“You don’t have to sir me, I’m a civilian.” The doctor turned back to Rain and shone a pen light in his eyes one at a time. “Rain… I’m Doctor Anise Lopez. Do you remember how you got here?”

Rain looked confused and sleepy, like he might nod off at any point. “Uh. I remember…” He furrowed his brow then closed his eyes. “It’s a blur. All blurry. Just want to sleep.”

Doctor Lopez put a hand on his blanketed leg and squeezed. “Go ahead. You’re safe here.”

It was like that’s all Rain needed to hear. His head relaxed and he seemed to pass out immediately. The doctor turned to Liko. “I’ll tell you since you’re here, also sending the report to your commander. Your friend here nearly overdosed with enough anti-anxiety drugs to knock out three people. It’ll black out his memory, but the good news is that in twenty-four hours he’ll be back on his feet. He might have a headache but besides missing a day of memory he’ll be just fine.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“How did he ingest that much? Is he… Okay? Does he have a history of mental illness? That much drug in the system usually only happens during suicide attempts.” The doctor asked.

How much am I allowed to say? Liko struggled with it then blurted out the truth. “Someone at a bar gave it to him, then tried to stab him to death. An insurgent agent.”

A look of incredulousness crossed the doctor’s face then he shook his head. “Sure. You can stay if you want but Lieutenant Hunt here is just going to sleep it off. We’ll release him in a day.”

Ellis

While the main part of the club seemed spacious and well maintained, the restrooms were almost cramped. Ellis laughed at how much it reminded him of the toilets on a dropship while washing his hands. Just like the Gladius except the walls are plaster and covered in ads for rock shows long past instead of bare metal. He dried his hands and reached for the door knob.

Boom!

The plaster turned to dust and the door blew in, throwing Ellis against the sink and toilet. Blinded and deafened by the concussion wave he tried to get his bearings. His lungs burned while he struggled to breathe in. His eyes were full of dust and his ears only rang. Get up! You’re still alive! You have to find Ella! He couldn’t seem to stand and started crawling. Out of the door, the formerly well-lit club was dark with it’s air thick with smoke and debris.

Where well-dressed people had been dancing and enjoying the night, there were body shapes on the ground. The floor was wet in places, sticky other places. Besides the dust and smoke there was an overpowering smell of ammonium. Coughing, he felt like he was about to pass out as he crawled to where he’d last seen Ella. The ringing got louder and eventually he collapsed in the darkness next to the other vague human shapes.

Amira

As cramped as the police interview room was, Amira was thankful she wasn’t in handcuffs. Besides her sidearm, the police hadn’t confiscated anything of hers. It seemed she had told the story to at least three people. They’re seeing if I’ll change my story. It’s farfetched. They want to believe I’m just another psycho merc that decided to kill a random bar goer that just happened to have a dagger.

Across from her, the overweight and bald police detective that was probably angry for having to be on duty on a holiday tapped out a cigarette then offered the pack to Amira. She declined and watched him flick his lighter several times before a flame appeared. The man took a long drag then blew it out to the side as if it mattered in the small badly ventilated room. “Alright… Lieutenant Hunt. Let’s start from the beginning. Why did you suspect foul play between…” He looked at a paper in front of him. “Jane Doe and your brother?”

Amira took a deep breath of the foul-smelling air and calmly repeated the short version again. “My brother went from looking normal to looking drugged in the matter of a few minutes. Then I noticed the woman’s tattoos. They’re consistent with mehndi tattoos that Capellan agents had on them. I read a case study about an incident, in thirty-thirty-six.  When I followed them outside, she had a dagger and stun gun in hand, my brother was on the deck, and she was about to stab him.”

In her pocket, her company issued pager started beeping. She ignored it and watched the cop smoke while looking at her hand in her jacket pocket.

“You going to answer that?” He asked.

Amira pulled the pager out. It had the code number for “return to base ASAP” as if they were deploying for battle. Her heartrate went up, and she pocketed the device.

“Got somewhere to be?” The detective asked.

“Not until I’ve formally satisfied your questions.”

Slowly he let out another cloud of smoke without breaking his eye contact. “Tattoos… that’s pretty fucking flimsy.  See… I have another idea about that… your brother was downing stolen script drugs and you got mad at his new girlfriend. Hell she might have been defending herself against a violent merc like him. I saw him on the tri-vid. He’s a killer.”

Grinding her teeth, Amira didn’t respond. One of the uniformed policemen opened the door and whispered something urgent in the detective’s ear. His eyes went from the cop to Amira then he quickly stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. “Get out of here merc. Someone just blew up a fucking nightclub and that’s more important than your shit.”

“Give me back my sidearm!”

…

Local time: 1345

Pascal

At least ten police and security guards were outside the lobby of the hospital and just inside. Most of them were too busy searching people without credentials and looking in every handbag to notice Pascal in uniform walking past them. His polished uniform shoes echoed down the hallway just noticeable over the myriad voices as nurses, doctors, and orderlies rushed around.

On the tri-vid the sensationalist anchors had put on a stern face and said words like “mass casualty event”.  Of all the things they’d said, they hadn’t straight out vilified the growing insurgent movement. Half of them are probably complicit with the movement. Capellan loyalists who want a green flag instead of a red one. Pascal reminded himself the contract was for the Federated Commonwealth and not the planetary government of Sheratan.

This is going to get a hell of a lot messier before we leave. He found his way into the recovery wing and to one of the private rooms. Nobody stopped him or asked him for credentials. Most of the staff was down in the surgery and emergency rooms still dealing with triage and treatment. Inside the recovery room, lying covered in a white blanket was Ellis Dubois.

His hair was disarrayed along with his beard but his eyes were open and alert staring at the ceiling. In the corner of the room a tri-vid set played non-stop coverage of the bombing. One of the reporters stood in front of the Aquamarine club speaking. Pascal shut off the volume and went to the bedside. Ellis didn’t turn to look at him. While he looked mostly whole, what Pascal could see of him included what looked like dozens of frag wounds.

“Nobody has told me shit, Colonel.” Ellis said, still staring at the ceiling. “Just tell me two things… is she alive? Is my wife alive? And when are we hunting down those bastards and burning the cities down around them!?”

“Your part in this… is over. For now. You took one hell of a knock. At the least a concussion. Doctors have to clear you for duty. You’re not thinking straight. You’re not thinking cold and clear.” Pascal started delivering the bad news. “We’ve all lost someone we loved. I understand your pain. But we do it my way. No argument.”

Lying in bed, Ellis ground his teeth and coughed with a wheezing sound. “Ella?”

“Peace be upon her.” Pascal closed his eyes momentarily and touched his chest. “I am taking over second company until I appoint a replacement or you show me you’re ready to fight. There’s been too much random violence. Too much. We do it my way. They are controlling the people through fear. Fear will be our ally. We will separate the wheat from the chaff and burn it. Then my brother, we will go home.”

…

2 January, 3040

Local Time 1255

Gotfrid

Gotfrid slouched in the metal folding chair with one arm draped across the chairs on either side of him. One by one the MechWarriors and officers of second company filed into the multipurpose room on base. The only people missing by his reckoning were Rain and Major Dubois. The older mech driver Fred sat down next to him and swatted his arm off the chair. Losing one of his arm rests, Gotfrid sat up straight.

“What do you think it is?” Gotfrid asked.

“I’ve been doing this a long damn time. You probably heard the rumors, right? And then all the officers in charge trying to deny those rumors and get us to shut up by assigning lots of extra duty so we’re distracted? What is it? Exactly what the fuck you think it is.” Fred Keller responded bitterly.

Insurgents bomb a nightclub where several officers are, some chick tries to kill Rain, and a police officer and his family get murdered in their home. Yeah… Exactly what I think is happening is happening. The stream of people in the door stopped and someone Gotfrid only recognized from photos and organization charts took the front of the room. Without any kind of amplification his voice boomed.

“Second Company. For those of you new to the Rascals, I’m Colonel Pascal Karam.” He let that sink in for a second. “At the bombing of the Aquamarine club, we lost Captain Ella Dubois. Major Dubois was injured and is resting for the time being. In the interim, I am commanding second company while my XO is running first.”

Fred and Gotfrid traded glances. The older MechWarrior seemed to be in a contest to slouch more than Gotfrid making his belly almost stick out from under his fatigues. Gotfrid heard the door open and glanced back to see Rain walk in and stand against the back wall.

“Captain Dubois absence will not go unnoticed. You will each sign a condolences message that will be delivered to her husband. Go to the admin office for that. A proper funeral will be announced shortly. Now, I will address certain rumors that have started to spread.”

Ah here we go. Is he straight up going to lie to us or…?

Colonel Karam seemed to work his jaw back and forth. “It is true that our contract here has not been renewed. Another contract is already signed and on the book, which you will be briefed on once we are underway. Which means we are here until mid-February. It is also true that the planetary defense forces are returning from their expeditionary duties to the Commonwealth. Normally this would mean squeezing in with them as they arrive or living in tents but not this time.”

It seemed like other members of the company knew what that implied while the statement confused Gotfrid.

“You’ll all receive orders shortly. We are going on the offensive. We’ll be moving out from Corvallis barracks and will be in the field. Most likely we will perform operations then move directly to the spaceport and off planet.” Pascal continued.

We just got here. Now what? I haven’t even taken leave in the city yet!

“Rumors about where we go next abound. I will not answer or even hint to that. Our next contract is already signed and dusted. Get your things packed and ready to go. You will receive orders shortly through your next level up. Dismissed.”

While the other MechWarriors got up and left, Fred stayed a moment. “See? No news. Just words. Always just words.” The older man stood up and walked out.

On the way out, Gotfrid spotted Captain Halles. He grinned for just a moment. “Hey, Captain. Any chance I could get leave? I’d love to explore the city before we delta.”

A flash of anger passed over his lance leader’s face…

Amira

It wasn’t a surprise that she was called into the command center. Amira had been waiting to have to speak to someone in charge since returning from the police station. Since the announcement that Colonel Karam was taking over second company, she even thought she would see him at some point. But what surprised her was being summoned by the Colonel himself.

She walked into one of the offices off the command center labeled “Mjr. Dubois” and saluted to the Colonel. While she expected Captain Marceau to be present, there was another Captain she didn’t recognize sitting in one of the chairs. The Colonel returned her salute then pointed to the free chair opposite Major Dubois’ desk. Now, will I get questioned, punished, or rewarded?

“Lieutenant… Hunt.” The Colonel seemed to be unsure of her name or else just drew it out. “This is Captain Faisal. He works as a tactical analyst for me.”

Surprisingly Faisal offered his hand and shook hers. He looked about thirty with a closely groomed beard and hair but with the same black hair and tan complexion as many of the Rascals.

“Good to meet you, Captain.” Amira said politely.

Colonel Karam steepled his fingers and stared at her with fierce brown eyes. “Right… This nonsense at the bar. The police report is utter garbage and the doctor here on base makes it seem like your brother is using anti-anxiety drugs recreationally or tried to suicide himself. I don’t believe any of it. Straight to the point. You recognized tattoos on Jane Doe. What were they?”

“Mehndi tattoos or henna markings. The kind Thuggee cultists wear when they go on suicide missions. I read a case report once that had photos of the markings on suspected Capellan agents that infiltrated a Fed Suns base and assassinated some officers before getting gunned down.”

He raised an eyebrow and seemed to exchange looks with Faisal who asked the next question. “Would you recognize these markings if you saw them again?”

“Possibly. They are different every time, but the bases are the same along with the placements on the body.” Amira showed the back of her right hand, pointed to her sternum, and her forehead. “To the casual observer they are just religious markings.”

Colonel Karam nodded to Faisal who handed her a folio. Amira opened it and found half a dozen photos. All of them looked post mortem as if they were taken by medical examiners or police at a crime scene. Four of the photos were nearly identical to the woman who had drugged and attacked Rain. She picked those out then examined the other two.

“These four. They’re from the cult of Kali. The mandala on the hand takes the appearance of the arms of Kali. The markings on the chest are meant to depict the heart being removed and the one on the forehead is the triangular yantra of Kali.”

Captain Faisal took the photos back and stuffed the folio into his briefcase. “Something the government here doesn’t like to publicly talk about is how most of them are leftovers from when this world was a Capellan vassal. The police establishment as well as even some of the militia. Those photos are the ones we know about.  There’s been plenty of killings that didn’t end with the assassin dead. The bombings and rocket attacks are probably being carried out by a different actor.”

“Jane Doe had a leaflet in her pocket advertising a reward for my brother, dead.” Amira offered.

“Activation orders?” Faisal looked to Karam.

“A reasonable assumption but perhaps out of our purview.” Pascal responded. “My question to you, Lieutenant Hunt, is, do you know who this contract is for?”

What a strange question. “The planetary government of Sheratan isn’t the client?”

“They are the client. They are also footing part of the bill. The contract, however, is with the Federated Suns. As such they are willing to pay out a bonus for any evidence obtained of foreign involvement in the insurgency here.” Pascal let that hang in the air. “Your mech has signal intercept equipment. How good are you at using it?”

“Fair. I haven’t had an opportunity to use it with a good sampling of potential enemy comms.” Amira answered honestly.

“You’ll get your chance when we go into the field. I want you keeping your ears open, and if you can produce any evidence to help us get that bonus, then there’ll be a bonus in it for you. Just don’t talk about it. Dismissed.”

…

5 January, 3040

Local Time: 0550

Rain

“Hey dopey!”

Rain turned and spotted Chris approaching on the mech hangar catwalk. The early morning chill was barely kept at bay by the parka over his cooling vest and shorts. Chris had a lop-sided grin on his face.

“Next time you score some downers let me know. I need a chance to chill out.” Chis continued.

“I don’t like being teased about this. Shitcan it.”

Feigning apology, the shaggy blond-haired MechWarrior put up his hands. “Whoa. Just teasing. Maybe you can call your sister in to fight for you again. Sounds like you do need some downers to take the edge off.”

Lightning quick, Rain took a step, feinted with his left hand then planted a jab to Chris’ left belly just below his cooling vest. While he was bent over and coughing, Rain grabbed his hair and spoke quietly into his ear. “Want downers? I know how to put you to sleep, but then you wouldn’t be able to march and that’d be bad for the lance.”

He let go of the other MechWarrior who straightened up but still coughed to catch his breath.

“Everything good?” Captain Boutros’ voice called over the din of hangar activity.

Ten meters down the catwalk, their lance leader Pierre Boutros walked towards them. The pilot of a Black Knight heavy mech, Pierre was one of the lucky men to possess an antique cooling suit that although faded still had the color of one of the Star League royal regiments.

“Just fine, Captain. Practicing our combative techniques.” Rain called back.

“Sure… Mount up. We have a long fucking day ahead of us.” Boutros ordered.

With a slap on Chris’ back, Rain walked to the gantry and climbed the final steps up to the cockpit of his mech. Stripping off the parka and stowing it, the morning chill hit him. It’s going to be plenty hot soon. Going through the process of attaching medical leads, hooking up his cooling vest, and finally donning his neurohelmet was a calming ritual. All the other worries and stress from the New Years incident and the clinic cleared away.

For just a moment he closed his eyes and enjoyed the silence, then flipped the activation switch.

“Warhorse… online. Provide voice print authentication.” The BattleMech’s computer voice spoke in his ear.

“I am Rain Abbas Hunt.”

“Authentication… successful. Startup sequence initiated. Reactor, online, cooling, online, communications, online, weapons, online. All systems nominal.”

Chapter 13: Epistolary 6

Summary:

Amina's recording to her children

MechWarrior: Scions of War

13: Epistolary 6

Amina, 3030:

“As I lie here knowing my time is coming, suddenly I have the urge to try to pass on every bit of knowledge that I never thought necessary to give you. Knowledge about where you come from. Maybe it’s just the rantings of a dying woman and doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s to clear my own conscience that I’ve done right by you. It feels so unnatural to know that I’m dying before even seeing my children reach adulthood.

“For all the times I faced death on the battlefield, this scares me in a different way. This is definite whereas in war there’s the feeling that if you fight harder, you’ll triumph against adversity. The doctors say that if they’d caught it earlier maybe they could have given me another ten years. That’s just something they say to make themselves feel better. For years I knew something was wrong but the doctor out on the commune didn’t have the tech and neither did the one I visited in the city. It wasn’t until I was near stage four that someone put the pieces together. It’s an insidious killer, cancer.

“We raised you as warriors. Not just you, Rain and Amira; Gotfrid and Liko too. Because we were warriors and because we knew there was no place in this galaxy for homeless, nationless, people like us. Not just that, but because of who I am, and who you are, you will know no peace in your lives. The sins of my parents and grandparents and their parents’ generation will pass on to you eventually and in that I tried to prepare you.

“You know I come from New Lebanon. You know the story of the Lebanon Lancers and how they won a great battle then became the Lebanon Irregulars Mercenary company. You may even recall, although young minds might miss certain unexciting details, that this was to force the Abbas and associated families to relocate their military might off Lebanon because they were a threat to the ruling family.

“In thirty fifteen when I came to know your father, my family bargained a deal with another wealthy man named Bashar Jaber for quite a bit of military hardware and ships. Behind the deal was the intent that when the Lebanon Irregulars were ready, they would move against the ruling Atassi family. After serving with the Irregulars and experiencing freedom, and with what my mother had said about being a wife to a rich man, I decided that I wasn’t going to participate. My heart wanted Jan and adventure, not to serve as a baby-maker to a rich man with dreams of owning a planet.

“My rebellion put a rift between my family and Jaber’s that isn’t sealed yet. There may come a time when the children of Jaber or the Abbas family decide that the failure of the family’s plan to challenge for the ruling seat of New Lebanon, is the fault of me and thus you. That’s how nobility works. That’s one of the reasons mercenaries like us make money on minor conflicts. However as much as Jaber’s men and Abbas’ men have pursued your father and I, never underestimate how much a scorned rich man will spend on petty revenge. They may even see you as a threat to the ruling seat even though you lack a full noble pedigree.

“Nothing that’s happened in the last years would have done a thing to cool down an angry man’s fire. Whatever state the Lebanon Irregulars are at when you become adults, be wary of them. The Atassi family is paranoid; by now they may know you exist. Whether it’s Sheik Jaber’s men, Abbas men, or Atassi men; at some point they will come for you. It may not be overt, it may be with hidden intentions disguised in something else.

“Suzuka had a saying that ‘it’s better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war’. I see the warrior spirit in both of you. I know that will mean no peace for you and that makes me cry sometimes. Lying in bed here, waiting for the cancer to end me, I’m out of tears. Your father spoke of sending you to train with the Wolf’s Dragoons. I know you’ll be twice the MechWarrior your father is and twice as adept at business as I was.

“Whatever you do, be true to yourself and your family. In that you will have made me proud.”

 

Chapter 14: Threshing Floor

Summary:

Pascal's Rascals moves to isolate the city of White Plains for a counter insurgency operation.

MechWarrior: Scions of War

14: Threshing Floor

Eastern Farms

Sheratan

Federated Commonwealth

5 January, 3040

Local Time: 1030

Lukas

Over the sound of a nearby grinder, Lukas heard something faint but growing louder. At first he thought it might be the sound of his own heart thumping but then the sound multiplied. Footsteps? He put down the arc welder and looked around the workshop. His friend Matteo was still working the grinder, removing the imperfections on rocket assemblies that Lukas had just welded the fins to. That’s mechs! Lukas got up from his workbench and rushed outside.

In the cold foggy morning, he could barely make out shadows moving towards them. The mechs were stomping across the fields instead of sticking to the main roads like usual. A sound like a scream came along with a flash that lit up the fog bank when a spear of light reached out from one of the shapes and struck the ground near the roadway. It took five seconds before the sound of the planted roadside IED to reach him.

Lukas turned and ran back inside the workshop then grabbed a backpack with a radio from where it had been charging. Over the sound of the grinder, Matteo had finally heard the mechs and looked up, raising his safety visor.

“What’s that?” He asked.

“A shit load of mechs!” Lukas yelled, running past him back out of the shop.

After looking at the coded frequency card, Lukas dialed the right channel and raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes. In a panic he tried to count the shapes. Some were like giant insects, other birds, some humanoid.

“Farmhand to Ditch Digger. Farmhand to Ditch Digger…” He called.

It seemed like he made the call five times before someone in the distance responded.

“What’s the day code, Farmhand?”

His mind went blank with all the excitement then Matteo patted his shoulder, showing him some scribbles in a small notebook.

“Day code is… blue forty-two!”

“I’m listening. Send report Farmhand then scramble.”

Just as the group of mechs seemed to be mostly past, another wave appeared in the fog along with the low rumble of trucks and tanks.

“There’s uh… a shitload of mechs and tanks moving through the farms! Heading uh, northeast! Uh… at least twenty, no, I don’t know. A lot! They’re just stomping everything! Uh… it’s just me and Matteo here.”

Only static answered while the two men watched the mechs lumbering in the distance. One of them, a humanoid mech, seemed to break away from the formation and slow down. It was like the mech was watching them.

“I think we need to get out of here. There’s no hiding that the workshop is full of missiles…” Matteo said, just as enraptured as Lukas.

“Yeah… I’m thinking so.”

Amira

“They’re just stomping everything! Uh… it’s just me and Matteo here.”

With one part of her attention, Amira kept her mech moving but had broken formation to avoid running into anyone. Her conscious mind though was operating the signal intercept equipment and saving the recording. When nothing new was broadcast she sprinted to catch up with her lance and keyed her radio.

“Levy three, Rascal actual…”

To her right the farm village lay. In the cold morning, she saw on thermal imaging just a tiny bit of heat from a workshop as if someone had a space heater or was welding. Everything else was cold. Behind the shop a heat bloom showed like someone starting up a truck.

“Rascal, Levy three. Go ahead.”

“Levy three, Actual, just intercepted a short conversation. Someone in the village over there, likely those workshops, just reported our movement. Over.”

They were just about a kilometer away when a farm truck broke the cover of the village and started off towards the north.

“Rascal Actual, Levy Lance. That’s hostile intent. Scorch the workshops and destroy that truck.” The call came back.

As if already planning on it, Gotfrid’s Valkyrie immediately let fly a swarm of long-range-missiles. They soared through the mist then arched downwards and impacted the largest workshop. While the detonation of the LRMs blasted the corrugated steel structure into fragments, secondary explosions lit up the whole village as stored rockets exploded or ignited.  Like a fireworks display, rocket trails and burning material flew in all directions.

Amira let her targeting computer report a lock on the fleeing truck and fired her own LRM pack. The five rounds traced a path then hit the truck and ground around it. Without armor, the civilian vehicle broke apart with it’s fuel tank rupturing and igniting. On thermal she spotted a human shape crawling away. She triggered her laser cannon, the whole scene went white then when it cleared there was nothing left but wreckage.

“Good shooting Levy lance.” Colonel Karam’s voice came over the radio.

It wasn’t a Jane Doe like at the bar. One of those people was named Matteo.

…

White Plains

Local Time: 1740

Traig

“Brothers!” Traig shouted, trying to get the attention of the assembled throng in the school gymnasium.

Some of the men turned but the worried conversations continued. Traig raised his bullhorn.

“Brothers! The fight for a free Sheratan is here!” More of the men started listening. “Mercenary forces are moving against us. They are moving to attack this very city. This refuge from the winter, where the true heart and soul of this great nation lives and breathes. They move to attack our families, our homes, and most importantly, they seek to supplant the lawful rule by the people of Sheratan with a distant bastard prince!”

As the crowd started paying attention, side conversations turned into cheers of assent.

“Nobody wishes to live in dark times. Dark times though bring out a people’s strength! That strength creates a better tomorrow for our children and our children’s children!”

Most of these men don’t have kids or even wives. That’s why they’re especially willing to die for a cause.

“The men that come here to kill and rape are only motivated by money. They are worse than the distant bastard prince and his warmongering father. They come with BattleMechs and tanks. We are outgunned!” He let that statement have it’s effect. “But we have something even greater than any force of mechs… Brothers… we have a moral imperative to defend our home from these invaders!”

Glancing to the exits, Traig saw that his compatriot had locked all but one of the doors and had crates of weapons to hand out to everyone leaving.

“Brothers… we will stand firm. Help your neighbors to stand firm and not flee in the face of this great evil!”

Keep your neighbors from fleeing. More human shields makes the mercs look even worse when they raze this city.

“Let them bleed for every meter of Sheratan soil they step on! Burn them in their BattleMechs! Attack them in their tents on the siege line!”

Now the crowd was getting riled up. Time to seal the deal.

“My brothers! We are not alone in this fight!”

Enough of the crowd was listening to quiet down.

“The Celestial Wisdom has opened her hand and provided us the very means of our defense!” Traig pointed towards the one open exit.

“Now go! Slay the invaders! Do not let them take even a meter of our city!”

While the cheering was infectious, the agent knew the truth. None of these men will survive. Now is my time to disappear into the shadows.

…

Local Time: 1630

Turner

Black smoke billowed out of the exhaust ports on the back of the LoaderMech as it added another junked car to the pile blocking the main highway out of White Plains. It turned and plodded back towards the junkyard to get more. There was already a sizeable mound of construction debris at the base of the roadblock, but Turner shook his head at it.

“Don’t think that is gonna slow anything down.”

He shivered and jammed his hands in his jacket pockets then stamped his feet. The day had never warmed up and the fog had never burned off. While the city was a better place to spend the winter than on the farms, he missed the warm summers and festivals. In the distance at the edge of the fog, they’d spotted the mercenaries, but the giant war machines had help position. From his perspective he watched as they spread out, encircling the city. Now they waited.

“Don’t think it’ll matter much anyways. They’ll just march in an’ knock over every building then we’ll be burning our own home’s wreckage to stay warm.” His friend Alan responded.

“The Confederation will come. They always do. My grandfather talked about it. They’ll come. They’ll help rebuild. Maybe tomorrow, maybe ten years from now.” One of the teenagers assigned to the roadblock offered cheerfully.

“Hm.”

Mech feet on pavement reverberated around them, knocking up dust from the rubble pile. When he looked for the sound, he caught sight of four mechs turning the corner onto the main highway. Not full-fledged BattleMechs, these were industrial and agricultural machines with their implements of trades work removed, armor tacked on and crudely attached heavy weapons.

First the teenager, then Alan, then Turner raised their fists in the air and cheered on the lance of improvised war machines as it passed them and went around the roadblock.

“Hah! See? Didn’t even slow them down.” Turner said as the machines stomped towards the mercenary line.

Liko

“What the hell is this?” Gotfrid radioed.

They’d all been awake and in their mechs for so many hours that Liko felt the same exhaustion and even their lance leader didn’t bother chiding his brother. Stepping out of the city, four mechs spread out. His targeting computer didn’t know what to make of any of them. In the foggy end of day gloom, they started advancing. Industrial mechs? Down the line, the mechs of second company all seemed to be waiting.

One of the mechs, a humanoid Harvester with a crude recoilless rifle attached where an arm should be, fired it’s weapon. The tracer on the back of the shell showed it’s trajectory, badly aimed and falling short of the siege line. From where Chevalier lance stood, a Catapult stepped forward, it’s missile pod doors opening, then disgorged double flights of missiles.

In the distance the four industrial mechs were still advancing, when they fired their crudely attached weapons, none of the shells came anywhere near the mercenary line. When the clouds of missiles impacted the Harvester, it’s rifle and crude armor blasted off in all directions. Fragmentation dug up dirt all around it and the mech faltered for a moment before a blast from a particle cannon reached out from Rami’s Warhammer and struck it down.

Melted armor, structure, and myomer fiber gave way to the energy burst and what was left of it fell forward; it’s fossil fuel spreading out on fire. Down the line, any mechs with long enough ranged weapons started firing at the remaining rebel industrial mechs. Lasers, particle cannons, and missiles converged on the charging machines reducing them to similar piles of flaming scrap.

“Levy lance, start your patrol of our area of responsibility. Pike lance, pull back and secure the baggage train as it sets up. Chevalier lance, spread out and watch for anyone else setting out the welcome mat.” Colonel Karam ordered.

…

Local Time: 1940

Turner

Darkness was taking hold. An odd darkness that he wasn’t used to seeing in the city. Streetlamps were turned off and even most apartments were observing the blackout. It gave him a chance to really observe where their crude mechs burned in the field outside the city. Besides the distant stomping of BattleMechs, the city got quiet too. Above them a new sound started.

Buzzing of helicopter blades approached. Normally he’d be able to spot them by their lights but they were blacked out as well. Then in the dim backscatter of the fires he spotted them. A rain of papers fell from the sky. He caught himself swearing in confusion, realization, then in disdain. When the first of the leaflets got to him he picked one up.

“Attention citizens… blah, blah, blah… insurgents… blah, blah, any non-combatants are advised to leave the city to the south. You will be fed and housed for the duration of the counter-insurgency sweep.” Turner started laughing.

When he looked to the others, they all held a leaflet in hand.

“Hey kid, gather as many as these as possible. I’m cold and want to start a fire.”

…

6 January, 3040

Local Time: 0745

Ellis

Each company of the Rascals brought an armored truck for command duty. Inside the cramped interior, Captain Marceau and Major Dubois watched a pair of monitors. On a thermal camera on one of the VTOLs, the southern highway towards the militia infantry checkpoint showed. So far, the militia had erected tents for civilians leaving the city. The thing that was missing were the civilians.

“Raptor two, pull out your view. Take a pass over the city.” Marceau ordered.

As the view shifted, they got a view of the almost triangular siege lines with each company making up a side. Each side had it’s own supply train, tent barracks, and other facets of a mobile FOB. During the night, lances from all three companies had swept the open terrain around the city for IEDs, rocket emplacements, and ambush points finding nothing but dirt and bushes.

Now the waiting game started. The government of Sheratan had requested they give the civilians twenty-four hours to leave before any operations began in the city.

“There, there, and there.” David pointed at the monitor. “They’ve been busy. Barricades all over. Not that they’d slow down mechs much but the mechanized infantry will have problems.”

“We’ll have the mechs knock over the barricades. Nothing quite like firing off a few shots to make the amateurs panic and shoot back, reveal their positions. Looks like good fighting positions. Elevated areas to launch rockets from, underground transit system for exfil.”

David pondered the image. “Huh…” He keyed the radio. “Raptor two, circle back past that set of structures. Looks like a sports stadium with a roof.”

When the bird circled around Ellis saw it too. “That football stadium is big enough to hide a mech or two.”

“Raptor two. Make your altitude one thousand and take a pass with magnetic resonance.” David ordered.

When the VTOL lowered it’s altitude, the visible light camera showed tracers from small arms reaching up impotently at it. On the screen showing it’s mag-res output, beneath the fiberglass roof of the stadium showed a lot of iron.

“Bet that’s being used as a mech hangar. Priority target there.” David made notes. “Raptor two, get back to three thousand in case one of those idiots has something bigger than a rifle.”

…

Local Time: 1245

William

By mid-day a long thin line of civilians stretched out of the city reaching south to the checkpoint. Beyond the checkpoint an orderly tent city had been erected during the night, most importantly it was fenced in. Bill returned his eyes to the rifle scope and examined each civilian. Most of them were old or young or women. Few military aged males in the group. They carried as much of their belongings as possible.

Against the cold weather they all wore heavy clothes and Bill was thankful not to be one of the militiamen having to search and verify identities at the checkpoint.

“Hey… Bill. Scope the retard coming up on kilomarker five.” Adam commented from his position behind a large spotting scope.

Bill shifted his rifle and started studying people.

“Buddy, I don’t think retard is the preferred nomenclature…”

“What do you call it then? Look for the tall boy, looks fat, pale face, short hair, looks like he has an s-vest under his jacket.” Adam replied.

Spotting the target was easy. The boy was easily more than a few centimeters taller than everyone around him. Just like Adam had said, even with a heavy coat the boy looked chunky.

“Developmentally delayed? Or developmentally different? Fuck I dunno. My second wife made a big deal about all that shit. Old habit… found your tango.”

From their perch on top of one of the scout trucks, they kept observing for another minute.

“Was that the brunette? The fat one with big tits?” Adam asked.

“Uh huh.”

Bill took in details around them and mentally calculated taking a shot.

“Call it in.”

“Black four, control.” Adam keyed the radio.

“Control, black team. Send traffic.”

Next to him, Adam scribbled notes, referred to them, then keyed the radio again.

“Black four, control. Possible tango spotted, break, kilomarker five, male, blue jacket, taller than everyone else. Possible s-vest. Over.”

The line of people was starting to back up. Even then, many of the others avoided their possible mark.

“Control, black four. Identifying marks?”

“Black four, control. Tall, pale skin, shaved head, fat, looks developmentally disabled.”

“You mean a retard?” Control radioed back.

Below them, the marines in the cab of the truck laughed at the radio with them.

“Affirmative control.” Adam radioed after regaining his composure.

Slowly people shuffled along but still kept more distance to the man in the blue jacket than the others. Nearly fifteen minutes later, two militia trucks moved up the road, then a squad dismounted and started approaching. While they couldn’t hear what was happening, they could see the hapless local troops trying to do crowd control while ordering the tango to stay put.

“That boy looks freaked the hell out.” Bill commented.

Most of the crowd was following the militiamen’s orders and backing off while two of them approached the boy. With the crowd cleared away, the chunky shape underneath his jacket was more evident. Following the orders, the boy had his hands out and got down on his knees.

“Shit… That’s gotta be a remote det. If they’re not jamming it…” Adam trailed off when it happened.

A bright flash followed by black smoke and debris. Human shapes were flattened by the explosion. Closest to the epicenter was just blackened inhuman shapes. Bill pulled his eye from the riflescope and massaged his face as the radio net erupted in a cacophony of voices.

“Well, that sucked.”

“They should have called in a jammer.” Adam commented, putting his eye back to the spotting scope.

Pascal

Inside the command truck of second company, Pascal found Ellis hunched over a computer terminal next to David. The cramped working space felt warm and stuffy even with the door to the outside open.

“Hey Boss…” Ellis commented without looking up.

“That’s Colonel to you.”

“Sure… but I’m off duty.” Ellis joked.

Captain David Marceau gave him a shrug when he turned around in his bolted to the floor chair.

“Is he always like this?”

“Yes, Colonel. You wouldn’t believe how much off duty hanging around the command center he’s done since the clinic kicked him out.” David answered.

Playfully Pascal punched Ellis on the shoulder until he turned around as well.

“I put your second in command in charge so you could rest, not so you could spend your whole-time lifting weights and looking over his shoulder while he does your job.”

Ellis’ normally stern expression broke and he cracked a smile for a moment. Behind Pascal, the radio operator tried to ignore the officers and their banter.

“Nothing else to do. Did you expect I’d let myself rot in bed and jerk off while you all did the hard work?” Ellis quipped.

“No. I didn’t.” Pascal pulled a folded plastifilm sheet from his fatigues and passed it to Ellis.

First Ellis read it then showed it to David before passing it back.

“Anyways I’m sure David needs a break now and you look strong enough to rip someone’s arms off so you’re back in charge of second company.” Pascal looked at the sheet, studying the MIIO markings and the short message.

“I received this by ComStar courier just an hour ago.” Pascal started. “While there’s nothing there that we didn’t know already, if the FedCom boys are restless enough to bother breaking cover and sending this, then they are playing a game here we aren’t privy to.”

Stretching out in his chair, Ellis clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. “The twenty-four-hour period for civilians to get out of White Plains expires in seven hours. At last count less than a thousand are in the camp. Any foreign agents that were in White Plains probably evacuated long before we arrived. It was no accident the local government who is half legacy Capellan Confederation stooges chose to let us conduct this operation just a month before we were to leave. It’s also no coincidence the MIIO chose to inform us of this local homegrown hero, a doctor named Kerry Bechtel, that they want to disappear during that operation.”

“What’s the plan?” David asked. “Why a doctor?”

Pascal tapped the radio operator on the shoulder. When the man took off his headset, Pascal motioned towards the door. In response, he left the command truck and closed the door behind him.

“Earlier today the first dropships carrying the local military back from the war arrived. What I’ve heard is that they were in the shit hunting down non-conventional forces. Our FedCom contract manager made it clear they want a big show from this Op and aren’t expecting the insurgency to go away. We blow up the bomb making capabilities, shoot anyone that raises a weapon, and most of all recover or destroy those mechs they stole from us. Then we leave and hand over security to an already tried and ready local military.”

Both men nodded as they put the pieces together, but it was Ellis that spoke. “MIIO wants the other side to see a weakened target so that the Confederation commits resources that’ll be wasted against a practiced counter-insurgency military. Also wants to identify moles in the local militia organization. Doctor Bechtel is a figurehead in the community that the other side took advantage of. What I’ve read on the man doesn’t inspire me to put a bullet in him, but this is MIIO’s wish. They have their own games.”

“They want a show so that the channels the Confederation is using can be traced.” David completed the thought. “Who better than a merc crew to provide the fireworks.”

Outside, the distant sound of an autocannon firing boomed. David turned back to the computer terminal and put his headset back on then scoffed. “Hover truck tried to run the blockade. Keyword tried.”

“Right…” Pascal shook his head. “The plan hasn’t changed much. We’re stepping off in the early morning. What’s changed however, is that I’m borrowing one of your people, Lieutenant Amira Hunt. She’ll be working intel and comms intercept for me. I’m sending over Giora Lyon in his Firestarter. That’ll be more useful for urban warfare anyways. We’ll also insert a sniper team under the cover of the initial chaos to the likely area we’ll find Kerry Bechtel. I’d sooner drop him with a single bullet, it’s easier to confirm the kill that way. Less collateral damage.”

…

Local Time 1645

Turner

Exhaustion had long taken hold. The small fire they stood next to had nearly burned itself out and they were out of debris that would readily burn. Slowly the clouds of the gloomy day were coming down and resting on the city of White Plains. Turner hugged himself and looked around. Their feeble checkpoint hadn’t stopped anything other than people from the city trying to get out before whatever fight happened.

He looked in his empty pack of cigarettes and let out a long sigh. Mostly that’s all they did now. The small group hadn’t said a word in hours.

“Think someone will bring food out to us again?” The kid asked.

Nobody answered. Everything was quieter than a farm city should be during the winter. Winter was supposed to be a time of rejoicing after a hard summer’s work. Turner sighed again.

“Fuck this. I’m going home.” He started walking away from the checkpoint.

“Don’t leave! We don’t know when the attack will come!” The kid objected.

Turner noticed Alan was behind him walking away from the checkpoint.

“Just call us or shoot a flare if you need us.” Alan called back.

…

7 January, 3040

Local Time: 0330

Gotfrid

“God damn this sucks.” Gotfrid let out a sigh and blew steamy breath up at his Valkyrie.

“Would you rather be sitting at a desk?” Liko asked.

After the briefing, they had gone to their mechs to wait. It was turning into a hurry up and wait situation due to feet dragging from the local militia. More than once one of the other Rascals had theorized that it was the militia trying to sabotage the operation and that they were in collusion with the insurgents. That seemed just as likely to Gotfrid as that the weekend warriors didn’t want to be awake out in the cold and would rather be home, in bed, going to their day jobs instead of laying siege to a city full of their countrymen.

“Fuck no. Just… all of this sucks. We coulda just stepped off without the local idiots. Command could have let us sleep a little bit before calling us in… just fuck this in general.” He stuffed his fists into his parka’s pockets. “Not that I want to be a civy. Wouldn’t have made it through the Wolf’s training program without you dragging me… don’t think an office job would suit me any better.”

In the distance the city was a dark edifice barely visible from the lights of their FOB behind the siege line.

“Fucking plan sucks. Sounds like they’re just sending us in to see who shoots at us.” Gotfrid continued. “My mech has just a laser. My missile pack won’t be any use in city fighting.”

He turned to see Liko acting like he was about to say something then held back. “What?”

“Well, you always interrupt me or tell me to shut up.” Liko answered looking at the grass.

“What were you going to say?”

Liko took a breath, almost spoke, then let it out in a misty cloud.

“What? Were you going to make some apologist remark about the plan or the militia or… the fucking cold weather?”

Again, his younger brother took a deep breath and looked down. “I was going to say that our mission is a presence patrol. Walking around to see who shoots at us is literally the point. That’s why Amira got replaced by Giora and that Firestarter. The enemy might have two BattleMechs. Most of them are farmers with autorifles, IEDS, and homemade inferno missile tubes. We aren’t going to find them from eight hundred meters away! Making them stay up waiting for our attack so we can hit them while they’re disorganized and tired might suck but it’s smart!”

“Oh.” Gotfrid acknowledged. “I guess that makes sense. Probably something the Wolves taught us that I didn’t pay attention to?”

Liko answered with a smile. “Uh huh. You slept through that class a lot.”

“Still sucks waiting. Once we’re in the mechs its not so bad. Kinda fun. Thrilling. Feels like that’s the only time any of this stupid universe makes sense. Not that I’ve gotten to shoot much.”

After another silence he saw that his brother was chewing on something to say.

“What? What else did I miss?”

“Your missiles aren’t useless.” Liko stated.

“Huh? Can’t lock on to some farmer with a rifle and I can’t fire them in close quarters!”

“Lock on? No. Fire yes. You see…” Liko started then stopped himself.

“Yeah, spit it out. Give me the technobabble.”

Motioning with his hands like he was holding control sticks in the cockpit, Liko started describing his idea. “Your system has two main safeties. The one that won’t fire inside of two hundred meters on a locked target and the safeties in the missiles themselves that don’t arm until they’re past two hundred meters. Right?”

“Right… I’m following.”

“Well, the safeties in the missile warheads you can’t do anything about but the other one you can. I can show you how to disable your fire control system’s lock on mechanism and put it into dumb fire mode, the missiles will go wherever you’re aiming and not seek. You’ll have to remember to switch it back if you have any distance to shoot over, but it’ll allow you to fire a salvo of missiles without guidance. The warheads won’t go off at close range, but the missiles themselves carry enough kinetic energy to mess up a building, kill unarmored troops, and probably disable a civilian unarmored vehicle. The other option would be to hot-load the missiles but you’d need to unload all your rounds then have the techs do it. Then you’d have live missiles sitting in your mech where one hit could blow you up.”

“Oh… Oh!” Gotfrid experienced a small Eureka event. “Show me how to do that!”

Amira

“There it is again…” Amira mumbled to herself.

She pressed the keys on her BattleMech’s ComInt panel to output the recently captured transmission to a data tape cartridge. Just before springing out of the cockpit, she remembered to take off her headset. A cherry picker waited next to her Assassin at the Battalion headquarters. The whole ride down she rehearsed here findings and put together a logical explanation then jumped from the picker and ran towards the command truck.

The pair of marines guarding it stopped her until Captain Faisal poked his head out and motioned her in. Inside, all the monitors were on with views from cameras and raw data. Colonel Karam looked up from a monitor and pulled his headset off. Amira held up the tape cartridge.

“I got it. The burst transmissions that are originating from the Militia company headquarters and the burst transmissions from the city that follow.” Amira announced.

Pascal Karam grinned and took the tape. “Good work, Lieutenant. Take a seat there, it’s time to begin.” He indicated the one free chair next to a workstation.

After donning his headset, Pascal spoke to the whole company. “All units, commence Operation Threshing Floor.”

With her headset on, Amira heard the air wing, BattleMech company commanders, and Rascal mechanized infantry report back. After a short pause the Militia commander responded as well. Once she reviewed the video channels, Amira tuned the workstation monitor to show the view from a thermal camera on board a VTOL that was orbiting the city at fifteen hundred meters.

Dramatis Personae:

Traig – An undercover agent fomenting rebellion on Sheratan

Kerry Bechtel – Rebel leader on Sheratan

Turner – A farmhand, rebel, on Sheratan

Alan - A farmhand, rebel, on Sheratan

Lt. Giora Lyon – Pascal’s Rascals First Company MechWarrior. Firestarter pilot.

Chapter 15: Ares Convention Article Five

Summary:

Operation Threshing Floor commences in White Plains.

MechWarrior: Scions of War

15: Article Five

“Perhaps one of the greatest war crimes of our predecessors was in fact the writing of, signing of, and eventual rescinding of the Ares Convention. On the surface it had the same noble intentions of any mass war treaty, but in the carry-through and legacy, it merely legitimized warfare as a tool of inter-nation discourse. Instead of calling a meeting of leaders, they simply toss small units at each other and let the diplomats apply a legal label later.

“I call attention specifically to Article Five. While by it’s language it is simple; banning war in cities, its effect was more described as an exercise in unintended consequences. Take for instance Appendix A, which defines combat forces. In Appendix B, a valid military target was defined. By these two, it should have been the result that cities would be left out of the fighting with belligerents meeting on open terrain in something of a ritualistic combat paralleling ancient Terran knights on horseback.

“That brings us to Appendix C and D which defined civilians and civilian assets. By rigid language and perhaps intended omission, it should define an acceptable safe zone during combat but does exactly the opposite. As far back as the late Crusade wars on ancient Terra, armies utilized embedded forces that were not in uniform. These forces, Zealots, would attack a legitimate army and then retreat into the cities. The concept of a ‘Fifth Column’ applies as well.

“Even millennia ago, the story worked out the same. A commanding general would look upon a city into which zealots had fled and give the same order a modern commander might: raze that city. By poor language and omissions, the conventions seemingly legitimized a new brand of proxy warfare where state funded and directed non-conventional forces taking the monicker of pirate, bandit, or insurgent fought on one side and conventional state backed forces or more commonly mercenaries on the other, with civilians caught in the middle.

“Often the loose definitions have led to the wholesale destruction of cities under this non-uniformed combat personnel omission. With the precept of the non-uniformed warfighter as a vestigial organ in the colossus of modern warfare; the successor states having renounced the Ares convention kept perhaps it’s worst loophole as an excuse to prosecute urban combat. The same cities that should have been made off-limits by that document were now legitimate targets because a few dozen insurgents were present in a city of a hundred thousand or more.”

--Excerpt from Doctor Douglas Lambert’s lecture series “Lasting Sins of the Star League and Successor States”. Jefferson University, New Syrtis, Federated Suns 3012

…

White Plains

Sheratan

Federated Commonwealth

7 January, 3040

Local Time: 0400

Rain

Plodding along in a loose formation, Rain studied the edge of the city under thermal imagery. Behind him, his lance leader’s Black Knight followed by an Enforcer and Vindicator were spaced out as if they were likely to engage other BattleMechs, not infantry. Blotches of heat came from the buildings where people were congregated. There was no way a city of nearly a hundred thousand people could all hide in the dubious safety of underground raid shelters, if the city of White Plains even had them.

This isn’t the kind of combat the Wolves trained us for. Rain kept the torso of the Phoenix Hawk pointed towards the city while walking the outskirts. On his battlegrid, Levy lance was plodding along the opposite side of the city. Their objective marked was the football stadium where command suspected the insurgents were keeping captured BattleMechs. It would be too easy if the intel was right.

“Raptor one, Pike Lance. Be advised, there’s a civilian vehicle hauling ass parallel to your path. Looks like they have a mounted recoilless rifle. Over.”

His lance leader acknowledged the transmission while Rain searched for the vehicle. Unlike the rest of the city it wasn’t blacked out, running with bright offroad lights while swerving through insurgent roadblocks. The truck had gotten ahead of the lance when it stopped behind one of the tall buildings out of his line of sight. Just as the truck came into view, Rain spotted two men on the flatbed of the truck loading and aiming the recoilless rifle.

Rain’s first shot with the large laser cannon was hurried and cut a slash out of the building they were using as cover, burning pavement ahead of the insurgent truck. The men in the truck, stunned or blinded by the near miss, triggered the rifle sending it’s shell far past Rain’s mech. His follow up shots were better aimed, stitching his pulse lasers across the flatbed truck.

What had been a darkened city just a moment earlier was lit up briefly as stored ammunition erupted, sending burning material in a hundred directions.

“Good shooting, Hunt.” Captain Boutros radioed.

Liko

Strobe like flashes from the far side of the city reflected off the glass of the buildings with no streetlights to overpower it. Last in line with Levy lance, Liko kept his eyes moving between the thermal readout and his other instruments. On point position was Giora in a Firestarter, then Captain Halles in his Cicada, Gotfrid’s Valkyrie, then finally the Raven. Being last in line gave him a different line of sight.

“Lead! Got movement from that twenty story near the top!” Liko radioed.

Right after he made the call, flashes from the rooftop then streaks of light thrust downward towards Halles’ mech as the men on the roof fired single shot rocket launchers. Two of the rockets missed, lighting the ground and brush aflame while the third hit the Cicada spreading burning fuel across it’s flat top. Halles reacted quickly, turning and running to try to extinguish the flames.

Rising on jets of fusion fire, the Firestarter pirouetted and let loose a burst from it’s flamers then another with it’s machineguns as it dropped back towards the ground. Liko broke away from the city edge to try for a shooting angle but couldn’t find one. A flurry of missiles passed by him, arched through the sky then plunged down onto the rooftop as Gotfrid joined the fight.

Flashes from missile detonations scattered flaming debris from the building that pummeled the nearby structures. All the mechs of Levy lance backed up from the city edge and observed for a moment. No one was shooting at them.

“Are you good, Captain?” Gotfrid radioed.

“Uh huh. Going to take more than one of those inferno rockets to do me in. But lets not test that theory. Anyone else hit?”

A chorus of status calls returned. The fire on top of the building was starting to spread and at least one other was now burning on it’s own.

“How many people live in White Plains?” Gotfrid radioed.

“Just shy of a hundred thousand, I think.”  Liko answered.

“Knock a few off that number.” Gotfrid quipped.

Turner

Explosions woke him from an exhausted sleep. For a moment he questioned where he even was before reality crashed down on him.  He bolted off the couch to grab his autorifle and bandoleer. Near the door of the tiny apartment he stopped dead in his tracks. Standing in front of the door, her arms crossed over her night dress, his mother’s stern expression hadn’t changed since he’d been a child.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” She asked rhetorically.

“You know where I’m going. Get yourself to the basement. Only place in the city that might be safe.”

“Safe? Safe?! The only reason those bastards are here is you and your damned revolutionary friends! We used to be safe! Back before every do-nothing child picked up a gun or a bomb vest! It’s your fault they’re here!” She screeched at him.

Turner lashed out and backhanded his mother. Wordlessly she lay on the floor moaning. He tried to form words and only pointed at her. “Get to the basement…”

He pulled open the door and dashed out.

Amira

“Control, Raptor one, circle back and swing your thermal camera south of the stadium.” Amira ordered the VTOL.

On her monitor, the grainy black and white thermal image raced across the city then onto the stadium and south. Where the main parking structure for the stadium stood, clear as day under a thermal camera, heat blooms had started up. Too small to be mech reactors, that’s internal combustion engines. The recon bird zoomed it’s camera out to catch the parking lot outside of the structure again. Half an hour ago, there had been fewer cars and trucks, now there were easily a dozen with enough residual heat to show.

“Colonel!” Amira shouted.

Pascal raised his headset and edged into the confines behind her workstation.

“The stadium has fresh activity. Possibly being used as a rally point, or crews are going there to prep the mechs, if they’re there.”

“Hm.” He grunted. “Pike lance is enroute to route Baker then they’ll be hitting the stadium. Work with Raptor one to keep them informed.”

At the next workstation, Captain Faisal nodded to her then kept working with the other recon bird. Pike lance is where Rain is. They’ll be the ones to make contact with whatever is there. A feeling of dread materialized in her throat, something she hadn’t felt in years; not since her mother’s diagnosis. Swallowing past that, she keyed the radio.

“Control, Pike Lance.”

“Pike actual, go ahead Control.” Pierre’s voice came back.

“Pike lance, be advised increased activity in the stadium district. A dozen new vehicles there and the parking structure has heat blooms. No definite BattleMech activity.”

“Copy control.”

Rain

“Pike lance, multiple civilian vehicles just exited the parking structure onto route Baker.” Amira’s voice came over the radio.

Marching on point, Rain saw them. Hover taxis with no lights on idling on the highway. They were just over a kilometer away.

“We see em control.” Pierre radioed back then switched to the lance channel. “Rain, lead us in. If they advance on us, consider them hostile.”

Remote control bomb vehicles? Cautiously Rain advanced, his fingers resting on the triggers of the control sticks. At eight hundred meters, two of the taxis started charging. On thermal, neither of them appeared to have a driver. At five hundred meters he fired his large laser, skewering one of the taxis. Instead of a small explosion of petrochemicals in the fuel tank, the taxi erupted in a fireball that bathed the other hover car and nearby buildings in flaming jellied fuel.

“Holy shit!” He said to the cockpit then aimed at the second taxi.

It was already flaming and still charging towards him. His pulse lasers lacked the range of the Phoenix Hawk’s large main weapon, and he waited until two hundred meters to fire. Intersecting stitches of ruby converged on the taxi then a similar firestorm erupted that wreathed the scene in flames. With his thermal and night vision completely blind, Rain reflexively pushed his feet into the jump jet controls and leapt backwards as his lance leader yelled over the radio for him to get out.

Amira

Fear choked her as she watched the scene unfold. Already two napalm vehicles had been destroyed, leaving a swath of flaming destruction that pushed the BattleMech lance backwards. Now the remaining four taxis took to the street and charged towards them. With the flames and heat there was no way the mech pilots would be able to see them coming.

“Control, Pike Lance. Split onto side streets! Four more bomb taxis heading your way!” She breathed in and spotted something else.

On one of the rooftops, two men were rushing with what looked like improvised rocket tubes.

“Break! Pike actual! Rooftop to your left, infantry with rocket tubes!”

As the recon VTOL made a turn, she momentarily lost sight of the skirmish. When the thermal camera re-acquired them, the Black Knight was retreating, partially engulfed in burning napalm. Down on route Baker, the Enforcer was in full retreat while the Vindicator fired it’s weapons down the route into the flames, not hitting anything. The lead taxi broke through the flames and just a hundred meters short of hitting the Vindicator, machinegun fire from the side detonated it early.

Amira spotted Rain’s Phoenix Hawk on one of those side streets as it stepped back onto the main road firing its machineguns and pulse lasers down the highway.

“Pike lance, the infantry on the rooftop of the domed building has more rockets aimed at you!” Amira radioed.

In the excitement, she hadn’t noticed Pascal standing over her shoulder until she heard his voice which echoed on the comms.

“Rascal actual, Pike Lance. Pull back and return to base. Levy lance, hold at the exit of route Baker and cover. Over.”

On screen the rockets raced down into the city canyon. One hit the ground spreading a new pool of fire while the other detonated on the back of the fleeing Enforcer.

Rain

Another one of the bomb taxis detonated spreading the conflagration further down route Baker and splashing onto Trocha’s Vindicator. He heard screaming on the radio and glanced at his tactical computer showing the other three members of the lance already retreating. With the main road in front of him in flames, Rain turned to the next side street and started jogging.

“Rain!” His sister’s voice crackled on the radio. “Two blocks down, on your right towards route Baker, the dome top building. There’s infantry with inferno rockets.”

His walking turned into a full run. Firelight danced off the glass sided buildings like the scene of an ancient rite. Pausing at the last block, he checked the map. Continuing on the side street would take longer and he spotted at least one hasty checkpoint further down with warm bodies. What would the Black Widow do?

“Control…” He radioed, knowing his sister would respond. “Spot me.”

Carefully he reached the laser cannon around the building, guessed at where to aim, then fired.

“Pike four. Add ten degrees up, five degrees left.”

Silently thanking his father for having the mech refit properly so that fine shooting was possible, Rain squeezed the trigger again. His already roasting cockpit became more stifling and even with the cold vest on him, his head rushed with the heat.

“Pike four, you got them, get the hell out of there!”

Turning on the road he looked at the dome topped building which had a slash cut from his first shot cut in it, then a flaming rooftop where the enemy’s rockets had been detonated by his laser’s caress.

…

Local Time: 0715

Gotfrid

“If they set off any more firebombs, they’re just going to burn their whole city down.” Liko commented.

The brothers stood at the edge of the second company camp with paper coffee cups in hand. Through the fog, the city of White Plains was obscured by the plumes of black smoke from incendiary munitions, building fires, and the piles of tires on fire the insurgents had lit to create smoke cover.

“Fuck em. If they want to burn their own shit down. I get paid the same.”

“Sucks for all the normal people caught up in it, ya know?” His brother asked rhetorically.

Gotfrid tapped ashes off his cigarette and sipped the Lukewarm coffee.

“Tell that to Papa Hanse or the Celestial Shithead. If it’s a choice between firing missiles into an apartment building or having some asshole on the roof kill me with an inferno rocket, then sorry to all the normal people.” Gotfrid said bitterly.

Liko gulped down the last of his coffee then crushed the cup and tossed it into the weeds. “I guess the monks back on the commune are starting to make sense. That’s all. Except if there’s anyone in there that’s trying to live by the principle of ‘do no harm’, then its likely they might have harm done to them anyways. Those monks would say that accepting that is part of the universal suffering in this life. Unless everyone in the galaxy started doing no harm at exactly the same time, it’d just mean a quicker conquest for those still doing harm.”

While they were silent, the technicians were already making a racket repairing minor battle damage to their mechs. Booming from an autocannon and missile detonations echoed across the plain as elements of third company conducted their own small incursions into the city.

“Think… uh… I think dad is starting to make more sense.” Gotfrid broke the silence.

Gotfrid passed his cigarette to his younger brother who took a drag then coughed and passed it back.

“How so?” Liko asked.

“Like… What I always heard from Suzuka. He left home rather than become an insurgent and fighting the Kuritans. Maybe he made the right choice to be a wandering warrior, make some money, and die in someone else’s war, rather than be like these shitheads…” Gotfrid pointed at the city. “and die for a cause. At least he had some adventure, saw the galaxy, got a wife, had some friends.”

His brother shifted uncomfortably and jammed his hands into his parka pockets. “The cause… I mean the Free Rasalhague Republic was eventually successful. I thought about trying to visit it… You know, eventually. Try and find our family there.”

“Sure, but how many people like Gerhard Storesund died completely meaningless deaths for it to happen?” Gotfrid pointed at the black smoke wreathed city. “Just like how many of them are going to die just for them to have a different flag. Just so some other asshole can sit at a fancy desk and call the shots. The difference between Rasalhague and Sheratan is that if these insurgents win, they’ll be back to being treated like slaves by the Celestial Wisdom, just like our mother was.”

More booming of missile detonations punctuated their silence.

“I guess it doesn’t matter. Dead is dead.”

“It matters if you leave something good for your children.” Liko answered his statement.

Amira

Covering her mouth while she yawned, Amira made her way through the second company bivouac, looking for the barracks tent. Having been up for more than a day was taking its toll, even with the company issued stims. Parked in an orderly row near the other mechs, she spotted her brother’s lance. While they all looked whole with little armor damage, all of them sported burns to varying degrees.

The brown and cream of the lance leader’s Black Knight was too badly charred as to have it’s unit insignia illegible. Perched high on a cherry picker, Pierre was doing the work of cleaning and inspecting the thermal sensor and it’s armored housing. By contrast, her Assassin was nearly perfect besides the grazing hits from the skirmish at Corvallis. Footsteps behind her stopped and when she turned around, her brother offered her a paper cup with steaming coffee.

“Thanks.” She accepted it.

“We got a little scorched out there.” Rain observed.

“I saw…” Amira said while blowing on the coffee then taking a sip. “I think we need a few more Firestarters. Second company is outfitted for a conventional fight with a peer.”

“Hm.” Rain agreed. “Have you seen Liko or Gotfrid yet?”

Amira shook her head. “Not sure where they are. Probably sleeping, which is where I should be. I watched them make contact. Similar to what happened on Route Baker but smaller. It was… scary, watching that from the recon bird’s viewpoint.”

Her brother started walking towards his own mech and she followed. The technicians had hastily erected temporary gantries for the pilots to use for ingress. Rain still had on his cooling vest under his parka like he planned to be able to run for the Phoenix Hawk at a moment's notice.

“Even fighting with powered down weapons back on Outreach… it doesn’t prepare one for how it really feels. Like… after I scorched the technical, I just rejoined formation and kept marching, same as fighting those mechs near Corvallis. Didn’t really think about it, was just going on training. Then on Baker when the whole street around me was on fire it was like, for a split second before I hit my jets, it was like I was seeing the end. Like for that moment, seeing the entire street and buildings nearby on fire, everything came crashing down in my reality.”

Rain stood looking up at the mildly burned Phoenix Hawk.

“But I wouldn’t say it was like fear. Not like the fear I felt back on Outreach when I thought I might wash out, or the fear knowing that some of us might actually die during infantry phase training. It was fear of leaving everything undone. Leaving you and our brothers. Then… on the walk back I got to thinking… like ‘why the hell am I doing this?’.”

Amira sipped at her own coffee and shivered in her jumpsuit. Even though he wasn’t watching her, Rain took off his parka and draped it over her shoulders. “You know…” She started. “All the way here, in the dropship, I wrestled with that. All I could come to was that it was better than the alternative I had at a certain time. Then talking with one of the sharpshooters, Bill, about why he does it, something he said kind of resonates.”

With the warmth of the parka, she wanted to go lie down and catch whatever sleep she could.

“He said that after all the training, all the deployments when he was in the AFFS, when he used to go home people would ask him why he did it. Ask him if he was some kind of war junky. What he said is that most people wouldn’t get it. That after a while its not about the C-Bills or a cause, it’s about the man next to you. That’s all it is. Last night when I was working comms, surveillance, and intel… I kind of understood. What I was doing was about the men on the ground, giving them everything to have a better chance of getting out alive.”

Visibly, Rain shivered in the early morning chill but kept looking up at the burned Phoenix Hawk.

“We don’t have a home to go to or normal people to ask us if we’re war junkies.” Rain pondered. “We live in a place and time when the people in power make decisions that the nobodies out there reap the consequences of.”

“Like father and his home world.”

“Right. If war is the only choice, then I’d rather be a warrior in that war than a civilian waiting to find out who will kill them first; insurgents or government forces. At least that seems like it’s exercising a choice rather than being passive. That’s something I never could come to terms with on Kwamashu; but maybe that was because dad was always running off to war and Suzuka was training us.” Rain answered. “I was born to be a MechWarrior. I know I’m still young and inexperienced, but as I’ve been struggling with it, that’s what I keep coming back to.”

“Our family is our lance, and our home is the BattleMech cockpit.” Amira quoted her father.

“I nearly bought it at the bar on New Years. Thanks to you I didn’t. But that isn’t something I even remember. I should feel some kind of desire for revenge but its not there. Being on that street, surrounded by fire, that’s something I feel. Right now, I dread it.”

…

Local Time: 1320

Turner

A lance of mechs in the mercenary colors of brown and cream strode down the thoroughfare.  As if not even trying to minimize damage they stepped on parked and abandoned vehicles, crushed the sides of buildings, and fired at nearly any movement. Granted most of the movement was hostile, like Turner and Alan. Alan gave the signal and Turner fired a flaregun at the lead BattleMech.

The humanoid war machine turned towards the ground level café and searched for Turner but he was already retreated far enough inside to not appear on thermal. From across the street, a pair of rockets raced out from the corner where a bank’s drive through provided concealment. Both rockets missed and sailed several blocks away but the second mech in line, a strange hunched over bird with a giant shoulder-mounted gun spotted the rocket team.

It fired the cannon, nearly deafening Turner, and obliterating the side of the bank. Afraid to peek out too much, Tuner glanced around the industrial freezer he was hiding behind and looked at the damage. In any other context, seeing a bank being blown apart by mercenaries would have been amusing. Papers from the bank flittered about in the breeze as the mechs continued onward, each of them scanning back and forth for another rocket team.

Once they were good and past, Turner rushed across the street and started surveying the wreckage. Of the only thing truly intact about the bank, it’s vault was still sealed. Too bad, I could have used a few Marks for when this is over. A coughing sound caught his attention and he rushed to where the bank’s sheet metal and plastic sign lay in pieces. Pulling the pieces back he found his friend Alan.

Besides being dirty and confused looking, the other man looked intact.

“Holy hell you’re alive!”

Alan’s eyes moved back and forth then he coughed again. “I can hear the bells ringing…”

Pulling the rest of the debris off his friend, Turner grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet.

“You okay? Need help getting home or something?”

Still dazed looking, Alan leaned against Turner’s shoulder. “Nah… man. I’m good. Got lucky. Let’s go to the cache and get more rockets. The trick with the flare worked once but probably not again.”

For a moment, Alan searched the ground before he scooped up his rifle. “Lets go.”

…

“Whoa… this place is cleaned out.”

In the basement of an old apartment building, luggage cases and even military cases that had been full of rockets and other arms were laying open, empty.

“Guess a day of hurling all this shit at them will do that.” Alan said, kicking one of the cases out of the way. “Too bad we’ve gotten fuck all done with it. Dunno about the other teams.”

Alan moved some of the luggage pieces aside and found a long green military case with yellow Chinese markings. To Turner it looked old enough to be from the Star League. Alan wiped away dust on some of the markings and tried to decipher the locking mechanism. Both men looked it over. By the weight of it, it still contained something. Finally, Turner noticed some of the markings next to the locks with arrows, turned the locking cams correctly and with a pop of equalizing air opened up the case.

Inside was a long green tube with an optical sighting system and dual pistol grips. In foam inserts next to the tube were two meter and a half long rockets, each with a glass hemispherical head covered in a rubber safety cap. Underneath the rocket launcher, two small cannister with wire leads completed the set. Carefully, Turner picked one of them up and rotated it in hand.

“This is a Red Eye. A heat seeker! Or whatever they’re called in the Confederation!” He announced. “Know anyone that can read this?” Turner held up the instructions, printed in Chinese.

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Alan took the manual and sat down on an overturned piece of hard luggage that had contained an incendiary rocket.

“Well?” Turner asked impatiently.

“Chill. I haven’t read these squiggles since school.” Alan replied.

Turner picked up one of the gas cannisters and examined it, then found a port in the forward grip to plug it in. While Alan read the manual, Turner started screwing the cannister in and working the controls on the grip. A gas hissing sound came from the grip and he yelped when it got freezing cold. The green hard plastic was covered with frost suddenly and Turner unscrewed the cannister.

“You dumbass.” Alan lamented. “Don’t touch the other. Those are batteries and gas coolant to run the whole thing and cool the seeker head. Since you just wasted one of them, then you better hope the other is good. One charge of coolant, if the other one is even viable because it looks old as hell, is good for forty-five seconds optimally. Not sure if I can even use it on two rockets.”

“Huh?”

“Meaning let me work the technical crap. Might have to wire up a fresh battery to this thing. You’re going to carry the rockets and be my loader. I plug in the coolant, we choose our target, you load one rocket, I cool the seeker head, I fire, you load the next rocket, I fire, I ditch the whole thing, and we run like hell in case it doesn’t bring down the helo!”

…

Local Time: 1745

Michael

Daytime fog and dreary conditions started giving way to nighttime then the fog gave way to the first spatters of a rainstorm. Behind the controls of an H-7 VTOL, Michael deftly kept the craft under control and followed his assigned orbit. Down below, the BattleMechs of third company were performing a presence patrol but since midday, the amount of insurgent activity had dropped off.

With the coming rain, the sporadic fires around White Plains would go out and clear the air, making lower level flying easier. But for now, the rain would mean returning to the base.

“Raptor three, control…” He radioed.

“Control, Raptor three. Send traffic.”

“Three, control. Cloud ceiling is getting low and rain is picking up. Request return to the nest. Over.”

It was taking longer to get replies as everyone involved with the operation was wearing out. Even the weather was likely to encourage the insurgents to go inside until the rain cleared. There would be nobody to track from the air and the BattleMechs wouldn’t be able to root out the insurgents.

“Control, Raptor three. Your thermal camera isn’t picking up much. RTB.”

Not wanting to fly through the thick rainclouds, Michael lowered his altitude to just over building height and aimed the VTOL towards the improvised airfield. Most of his mind was focused on flying and avoiding the tops of darkened buildings then he spotted two warm bodies on the edge of the city. For a moment his eyes darted to the thermal camera and realized one of them was holding a rocket tube aimed skyward.

Chapter 16: Initiative

Summary:

Insurgents rush to capture a downed pilot while mercenaries close in on them. The White Plains insurgents still have some surprises for Pascal's Rascals.

MechWarrior: Scions of War

16: Initiative

White Plains

Sheratan

Federated Commonwealth

7 January, 3040

Local Time: 1750

Turner

Feeling excitement gave way to exhaustion as Turner and Alan stopped running to duck under the cover of a bus station. Bent over, catching his breath, Alan kept swearing an epitaph in Chinese over and over. Turner spat and pulled out his cigarette pack. There were only two left. He lit one and offered the other to Alan who took it with shaking hands. Light from his cheap one mark lighter highlighted the dirt and grime on the other man’s face.

“Fuck…” Alan said, leaning against the structure and looking up into the ceiling.

“No shit. Fired off dozens of those inferno rockets and the first thing we actually hit is a VTOL. Took that fucker down!”

His excitement wasn’t matched by Alan who stopped looking upward to take a drag and stare at the concrete.

“Yeah… We took something down. If they weren’t pissed off before, they fuckin’ are now.” Alan lamented.

Above the sound of the rain came a rhythmic thumping that could be only one thing; BattleMechs! As Turner was about to run, Alan reached out and stopped him. “Don’t got our guns. Only the guilty run…”

Coming around the corner, one, then another, then two more mechs. Unlike the mercenaries, these were painted flat green in tractor paint with a hastily applied Capellan Confederation device on the chest.

“Where the fuck did those come from?” Turner asked rhetorically.

Gotfrid

“Listen up!” Captain Halles yelled.

Like the others, he wore a parka that was already looking sodden in the increasing rain. The MechWarriors of Levy lance stood around him in the mud near their mechs.

“We have a bird down in the city! Torrent lance is heading there now but we’re mounting up and going in as well as Pike lance. This could attract all sorts of attention. The colonel grounded all air assets since apparently these assholes have shoulder fired SAMs! We set up a perimeter for our combat vehicles and marines to get in and extract the pilot, or his remains. Nobody gets left behind.”

Before he could blurt it out, Giora beat him to it. “Sir, which pilot?”

“Michael Durango. Mount up, men. At least with the rain the risk from infernos is less. Not gone, just less.” Andrew didn’t wait for anything further before jogging towards the scaffolding and gantry next to his mech.

“Shit. Mike is a good guy. That fucking sucks.” Gotfrid complained.

“You said it. I’m going to burn alive anyone who gets near him.” Giora agreed.

Omar

On the edge of the city, half lodged in the side of a glass sided building, was the remains of the H-7 Warrior. A small fire marked it’s position on thermal, and besides missing most of the rear half, the fuselage looked somewhat intact. From over a kilometer away, Omar held out a glimmer of hope that the pilot might still be alive. That hope started turning to worry when on thermal he spotted human bodies moving into the area.

“Torrent one, control. Have eyes on crash site. Uh break…” He took a breath. “Lot of people moving into the area. Over.”

“Control, Torrent. Continue on mission. Wait for the crowd to show hostile intent before engaging.”

Moving his Crab as quickly as possible, Omar kept his attention focused on the crash, looking for any signs of life. His attention was so focused he didn’t see it until it hit him. A bolt of manmade lightning slammed into his mech; melting armor and fusing one of his shoulder joints.  Warnings went off in the cockpit and he nearly lost his footing. After tripping he kept trying to run and spotted where the enemy fire was coming from.

Two blocks from the crash site the hulking form of a mech with broad shoulders and a crested head stepped out and let loose a cloud of missiles.

“Torrent lance, troops in contact! BatteMechs!” Omar managed to radio before the missiles struck him.

As the rest of his lance spread out to avoid the enemy fire, his battle computer recognized a full lance of enemy mechs. A Centurion, Vindicator, Clint, and Blackjack stepped out of the city. His mouth ran dry as all four mechs’ weapons flashed.

Gotfrid

Flashes of weapons fire were visible before his sensors started to register the skirmish. Something’s off, those are mech weapons, not insurgents with rocket tubes. On thermal, signatures like mechs appeared on the edge of the city as three of the mechs from Torrent lance started pulling back. Their leader, a Crab, suffered a critical hit and the ejection system was visible as the pilot rode a rocket clear of the disabled mech.

“Control, Levy lance, be advised. Torrent is pulling back. Torrent one is down. An enemy lance has appeared with more long-range firepower than Torrent has. Stay out of the enemy’s range. Reinforcements are being deployed.”

Over the open plane, his radar worked on getting a lock. Three of the enemy mechs had decently long range weapons.

“Two to one…” Gotfrid radioed before stopping himself.

“Go ahead two.”

“Let me draw fire with my LRM pack. Keep them busy.”

While he expected his lance leader to chide him, the answer wasn’t a rebuke. “Levy two, break west and attack with missiles, promiscuous fire. Keep your distance. Everyone else, on me, we’re going to try to circle wide out of their range to the crash site. Execute!”

Elation hit him and threatened to overwhelm his battle logic. The cool sensation of his heavy vest and helmet returned him to the here and now as he started jogging to the west. As the largest mech, the Centurion was the first to give him a target lock. He fired as soon as the lock note sounded in his helmet then switched targeting to the Vindicator and waited for the same musical note, aware that the Centurion had it’s own LRM pack to answer with.

Rain

With his cockpit hatch still open, Rain was already plugging in his gear and starting the Warhorse from standby. Before strapping in, he closed the hatch and hit the last few keys, listening to the hum of the reactor while tightening down his restraints.

“Pike four, online!”

He waited. Next to him the Enforcer, Vindicator, and Black Knight of his lance stood still. It looked like Fred hadn’t even made it to the gantry yet, but Chris and Pierre were getting strapped in.

“Fucking shit. My sensors are still jacked up from those damned infernos, I’m blind. Chris, are you online?” Pierre radioed.

“Getting there!” Came the response from the former pirate.

“Damnit… Chris, Rain. Get out there and engage. I’m going to unfuck this if I can and join you…”

“Roger, lead.” Rain answered, already backing his mech away from the gantry.

Carefully he made his way out of the company tech area then started jogging. On his rear camera he caught his lancemate jogging along as well but slower.

“Chris… you’re slower than me so I’ll get in contact first and flank to the side. Hit them with that PPC of yours from the side if they try to track me!” Rain ordered.

“Fuck you Sleepy! You aren’t in charge.”

“Stow the fucking attitude MechWarrior! Keep your distance and use your PPC! If you get in close, you’ll get overwhelmed!”

Rain didn’t listen for a reply. On his battle grid he saw three mechs of Torrent lance following three from Levy as they made a wide arc towards the city while the icon of Gotfrid’s Valkyrie ran a figure eight pattern trading LRM fire with the enemy lance.  The four mechs the insurgents had seemingly produced out of nowhere were staying in the buildings and taking pot shots at the Valkyrie, using the city as cover.

Liko

With all the weapons flashes to the west, Liko concentrated on the crash site. For just a moment he thought he saw movement where the cockpit would be in the wreckage, then a light blinked on his comms board.

“Levy four, a rescue beacon just came on!”

“Could be a trap. I see bodies all over the crash site now.” Giora answered.

“Stick to the plan. Get in there and figure it out. Giora, you take point.” Andrew ordered.

With the Firestarter in the lead, a pair of rockets zipped out from behind the crashed VTOL. One skipped off the mech’s shoulder, detonating into a fireball that blew past it while the other soared past and lit a fire in the distance. Liko watched as the shooters ducked back behind the VTOL wreckage. Giora responded with a burst of machinegun fire aimed over the wreckage then kept running for it.

Liko made some space then caught sight of a man in the open. To his credit, the insurgent stood his ground and fired his autorifle at the mech. Faint rattling noises were just barely audible then Liko responded by firing one of his lasers to cut a slash across the pavement and turn the insurgent into ash. Captain Halles cut across the street, firing his lasers one at a time at targets Liko couldn’t see.

Rain

From four hundred meters, the Clint fired its lasers and autocannon at Rain. The whole distance across open terrain he’d run a zig zag while the insurgent mechs took pot shots at him and Gotfrid from behind buildings. Now close enough, the Clint pilot stepped out and fired. The round fell just short of Rain’s mech while he straightened his run for just a moment to aim.

The holographic dot blinked, and he unleashed the large Harmon laser. Blue light reached out and burned a slash from the navel to the neck of the Clint, leaving armor red hot in the darkness. Barely shaken by the assault, the medium mech moved to the side to track the running Phoenix Hawk, leaving it’s flank open. Blue lightning coursed past Rain and skimmed the back of the Clint, mostly wasting the energy of the shot.

Cursing in his helmet at Chris’ lousy marksmanship, Rain hit his jumpjets to evade the Centurion as it stepped out and fired at him. When he hit the ground, he dug a foot into the mud to make a quick turn and fired again at the Centurion, burning armor off the giant shield plate covering it’s left arm. Again a small flurry of missiles from Gotfrid’s Valkyrie pummeled it and the ground nearby doing minimal damage.

Seeing an opportunity, Rain kept his turn and ran for the city, putting a medium squat shaped windowless building between him and the Clint. Continuing on down a boulevard of abandoned cars, he made another turn and was rewarded with a full view of the backside of the Clint at just under two hundred meters. Slowing down, he took a breath and settled all three laser crosshairs on the mech then squeezed the triggers.

Gotfrid

Azure light turned the city from dreary nighttime darkness into brighter than summer midday as the reactor of a BattleMech lost containment. The captive star let go in a cataclysmic fireball that reached up above the tallest buildings, shattering every window within five blocks. Appreciating the pure destructive beauty of it, Gotfrid didn’t stop to consider one of the mechs stepping out of the city and that he’d strayed too close.

Blue lightning flashed out and struck his mech in the midsection. The powerful PPC burst had come from a Vindicator. Ignoring the damage readout he moved his targeting onto the enemy mech. To his East, a friendly Vindicator fired it’s own PPC but somehow missed the nearly motionless insurgent mech. Just before he fired, a small burst of LRMs dropped out of the sky and hit it. Gotfrid fired then started moving an evasive pattern.

His attention moved to track where the LRMs had come from, and he spotted Amira’s Assassin entering the fight.

Amira

Nimble and fast like a light mech, Amira’s mech made a quick turn as the Vindicator turned to return fire. Her sudden change in direction let a PPC bolt fly harmlessly past then she retuned fire with another small burst of LRMs. The friendly Vindicator was closing distance with the enemy mechs and fired it’s own PPC, finally scoring a hit against it’s counterpart. The other mech stumbled backwards as if something critical had been hit, right before a flash of light behind it and the blue jets of her brother’s Phoenix Hawk heralded the mech leaping over a low apartment building to enter the fight.

Rain had the other mech from the flank and opened up with it’s machineguns then stitched already damaged armor with it’s pulse lasers. One arm damaged beyond use fell limp at the side then the insurgent pilot desperately tried to turn his mech to face the new antagonist, leaving his flank open. Amira fired LRMs at the same time as Gotfrid and watched the myriad missile trails arc through the rainstorm and pummel the mech and buildings near it.

The insurgent Vindicator took two more steps then it’s head burst open, but the ejection system malfunctioned due to the damaged head mounted laser and no command chair came popping out.

“Second tango down.” Rain’s voice on the company channel sounded.

<Shit! They got us outnumbered. Pull back to uh… pull back to the subway station.>

<Hell. It’s over man. We should just run.>

<No! Our guys captured that VTOL pilot. Good bargaining there! Pull back, we’ll pull them into the maze!>

Amira listened to the other side’s radio transmissions and keyed her own. “Levy three, all units. Insurgent mechs are pulling back to a subway station. One of them reports that they’ve captured our VTOL pilot. They intend to set up a hasty ambush. Over.”

Liko

With word that the pilot wasn’t in the area, Giora, Andrew, and Liko stopped being careful. Any human object that appeared armed on thermal was fair game. For a mad minute the three mechs fired their weapons until no sign of life was left near the crash site.

“Levy actual, Control. Durango isn’t here. The insurgents must have pulled him out. Orders?”

Wordlessly Liko surveyed the destruction left behind from the short skirmish.

“Control, all units in the field. Captain Halles, you’re ranking officer. Take Levy, and Pike and follow the retreating BattleMechs. Eliminate them. Torrent, return to company holding. Reinforcements are delayed but will be available shortly. Over.”

The idea of running into a possible ambush made his stomach hurt even if they outnumbered the insurgent mechs.

“Levy three, all units. I’m broadcasting map markers for known subway stations that have access to the underground main line. Those are likely places for heavy equipment or even moving mechs.”

Ellis

“We just lost the initiative…” David commented.

Instead of grainy aerial footage, the monitors in the command truck displayed even worse footage broadcasting from some of the BattleMechs. Ellis turned to the map table where one of his aides was marking the locations of subway stations sent by Amira Hunt.

“It was going to happen. At least they revealed their hand with those mechs. That Centurion and Vindicator are the ones they captured from first company.”

“Clint and Vindicator are down. That leaves the Centurion and Blackjack. In close fighting, even eight mechs doesn’t mean much against two because they can’t all get into the fight.” David commented. “Unless we want to cause more damage to White Plains than we already have.”

Leaning on the table, Ellis looked at the map and nearby subway locations, trying to decide where he would plan an ambush. “What’s the weather forecast?”

“Rainstorm is supposed to get worse then clear out by dawn.” The aide replied.

Tapping on one of the wax pencil Xs, Ellis looked up. “What do you think, David? Good ambush point? Only one way in, really. Open enough that two or three mechs could get in. All too tight to send in our heavies.”

“Sounds reasonable.” David agreed.

“Sir?” His aide looked up, holding one finger to his headset. “First and third have their urban fighting lances ready. Colonel Karam is ordering Second company to track and contain.”

Ellis moved his headset back onto his ears. “Control, second company task force. New orders. Track enemy movement, then contain. First and third are moving in. Over.”

The aide, watching the blue force tracker screen, placed colored plastic BattleMech figurines on the map to show the locations of each company’s hardware.

…

Local Time: 1910

Kerry

In the dimly lit veterinarian office, bright emergency lights lit the bloody table. On the table was most of a man. Blood bags hung, dripping life into him and a respirator covered his mouth. Part of his face was covered in bloody gauze, an injury that wasn’t immediately life threatening. One leg and the same arm on the left side had been amputated at the joint but what Doctor Kerry Bechtel was working on to save the man was where a piece of fragmentation had pierced his liver.

After removing the fragment and surrounding damaged tissue, the doctor worked on performing the rest of the liver resection procedure. If the White Plains Hospital was accessible in the future, the man might have a chance at surviving long enough to possibly see proper after care for complications.  Over the other sounds of the improvised field hospital, Kerry heard new voices. Shouts, some elated, some subdued, and commotion.

“Doctor?” The voice of one of his nurses called from the doorway.

“Kind of busy. Are they more critical than Johnny here?”

More voices in the hallway then one he didn’t recognize sounded like he’d pushed his way partway in. “We have a POW! Some fuckin’ merc. But he’s in bad shape!”

The constant adrenaline rush of the last two days left him spent. Kerry didn’t say anything or turn around until the last suture was in place.

“Finish packing and closing.” He ordered the other doctor assisting then turned around.

Lying in the hallway was a man less than half alive. Kerry stripped off his latex gloves and pulled on a new set and knelt down, shooing away the fighting men. He’d obviously been a pilot, wearing a flight suit with the insignia of a cartoon boy with a slingshot on his shoulder. Beyond that was obvious trauma from being beaten and dragged. Kerry put a stethoscope to his chest and listened but there was no rise and fall to the man’s chest.

“What did you animals do to him?” Kerry asked rhetorically.

“Uh. Shot him down. I don’t even know who shot him down. When my men arrived, like a dozen people were beating this guy. I had to shoot at the ground to get them away and claim him. Figure we can trade him.” The fighting man answered.

“Not if he’s dead. You idiots.”

Kerry straightened up and hung his stethoscope around his neck. He eyed the armed men gathered in the hallway.

“All of you get out of my clinic. You’ve done enough damage to our fight for independence by taking up arms and acting like terrorists. Now… You’re right. We can trade him. But not for what you think.”

Amira

<Who is it? The pilot?>

<Dog tags say Michael Durango. Men brought him to my clinic, already dead. Maybe we can stop this nonsense. Negotiate a ceasefire or something.>

<Those damned mercs are livid…>

<Don’t you think I know? There’s a dozen mechs out there stomping around! Every idiot with hot blood is running around shooting at them and they’re destroying the city! I have more injured and nearly dead people coming to me than I could possibly treat because someone saw fit to blow up half of the hospital!>

<I’ll see what I can do but… I hold about zero clout with the mercs and one of them is officially in charge!>

<James… This is well beyond ‘see what I can do’. Your cousins and your grandmother live here. Do what you have to. We’ll turn over the body. I’ll try to calm some tempers. Get a ceasefire so the wounded can at least be transported to a hospital that’s still standing!>

<End Call>

Amira kept part of her attention on the city around her. Most of the shooting was further up but second company was holding a cordon, not pushing the line further in to where the insurgent BattleMechs had fled. She packed up the intercepted call and tight beamed it to headquarters using Colonel Karam’s encryption key. Just on the block to her right, Gerhard’s Valkyrie stood, it’s torso moving back and forth as he scanned for threats.

Just a few minutes after sending the intercept, the Colonel radioed on an encrypted channel.

“Rascal Actual, Levy Three. Good intercept. Did you triangulate the caller’s location? Over.”

“Levy Three, Rascal Actual. Location within a block or two. It’s the Sunnyside mall by my map. Over.”

“Rascal, three. Copy. Good work. Rascal out.”

Recovering a body is a symbolic gesture. Will Pascal trade anything for that or use it? A bigger question is why an insurgent leader is in contact with the Captain of the Sheratan militia infantry company.

…

Local time: 1945

Pascal

It took just as long as he expected before Colonel Pascal Karam received a call from Captain James Morbidelli. With an inward laugh he accepted the field telephone handset from an aide and sat back in his chair.

“This is Colonel Karam.”

“Sir… Captain Morbidelli here.”

Silence followed.

“Yes, Captain?” Pascal prompted.

“Sir… not long ago, uh, a source of mine reported that Michael Durango… uh, his body… was brought to an improvised clinic in the city.”

“Did this… source… of yours leave a way to be contacted or any demands for the return of the body?”

“They want a ceasefire. To evacuate the wounded to another city where there’s a hospital.”

“Are you to be the go-between or how am I to contact them?”

“I… could be. Hell. The city is full of innocents. Let them evacuate wounded.”

“Innocents that your government consented to being put into a warzone. Innocents that didn’t evacuate to the camp that your company has set up. Yes. I realize that. Tell your source that we’ll trade the body of Michael Durango for a ceasefire on the condition they turn over the Centurion and Blackjack BattleMechs they have. In the meantime, the operation continues.”

Pascal didn’t wait for a response; he ended the call and handed the field telephone back.

“Faisal! Is one of the STA teams in position near the Sunnyside mall?”

Looking up from his terminal, the tactical officer grinned.

Turner

“Why are they just standing there?” Turner asked the sudden silence.

In the distance, the mercenary BattleMechs had pulled back and stood silently, observing like stone sentinels. Cold rain kept pelting them and he took the opportunity to hide underneath an overhang at a café on the edge of the mall. Alan looked up from the inferno rocket tube he was preparing.

“Shit, I dunno. Must be something to do with those two mechs they were chasing.” Alan went back to checking the rocket tubes. “Far as I can tell we’ve launched just about every rocket we had, but I dunno. Could be more caches around the city we don’t know about. Pretty much leaves us with rifles and those don’t do much against a hundred tons of iron.”

Looking over towards the other side of the mall he spotted a man in bloody blue scrubs and apron walk out of the vets office.

“Hey, Alan. Isn’t that… what’s his name?”

Alan looked up from fusing the rockets. “Oh… yeah. That peace guy. Doctor Kerry or whatever. Fuckin’ sell out. But gotta respect him for what he’s doing.”

Kerry

Stepping out of the improvised clinic, Kerry took a deep breath then answered the ringing cellular phone.

“James? Did you get a ceasefire? The mechs pulled back!”

“Not quite.”

Massaging his temples with one hand, Kerry looked downward and furrowed his brow.

“What does ‘not quite’ mean?”

“It means I talked to the Colonel, and he wants the body and the two mechs that you have. Then he’ll commit to a ceasefire and allow wounded to be evacuated. I know it’s a tall…”

“Tall order?! You think I have any sort of command here?”

Nearby the other people hanging out front of the clinic smoking or just there looked over at him.

“I haven’t ever had command over the militarized elements of the Free Sheratan movement!” Kerry yelled into the phone. “I made a lot of flowery speeches and petitioned our government! I visited schools, hospitals, and orphanages! I was never the one telling people to strap bombs to their backs and blow-up nightclubs or murder policemen in their sleep! I was never the one to smuggle in weapons or steal BattleMechs! I don’t even know where the mechs are or who has them!”

My one sin is even talking to those Capellan agents once and helping them. Could all this have been avoided if I had seen the calamity and hidden from it?

“Listen…” Kerry tried to be calm. “Just go to the colonel. I can give him the body and plead with the men, but I don’t have any kind of command. I don’t know if anyone is calling shots or if the movement just has a mind of it’s own now and it’s reached critical mass.”

William

“Black four, Rascal actual…” Bill clicked his radio.

Both men were nearly completely still, on top of a table with a mattress piled on it in an abandoned apartment a block diagonal to the Sunnyside mall. Bill’s rifle was aimed through a small keyhole in the brick that gave enough field of view at six hundred meters for him to have the area around the veterinary clinic in view.

“Rascal actual, Black four. Send traffic.”

“Black four, Rascal… Have the King of Hearts in sight. He’s on the phone outside the clinic. Over.”

Next to him, Adam with the spotting scope sniffed his runny nose. “Looking forward to being somewhere warm.”

“Yeah well, if it was nice they wouldn’t have to pay us to be there.” Bill replied.

“Rascal, Black four. Is anyone with the tango? Over.”

“Black four, Rascal. Nobody with him but there’s people around. Nobody that I have a card for.”

“Rascal, Black four. Take the shot then extract. Armor will give you a ride at point gamma. Things will get spicy. Good luck. Over.”

For a moment he spared his eye to glance at his spotter who gave him a subtle nod then put his eye back into the scope.

“Six hundred and… a quarter meters. Negligible wind. Light rain.” Adam mechanically called off the shot parameters.

“On tango.”

“Fire, fire, fire.” Adam rhythmically said.

Even with a suppressor the seven-millimeter magnum rifle stirred up dust and was nearly deafening in the confines of the apartment. Bill got his eyes back on the target before cycling the action. Six hundred and twenty-five meters away, the man in bloody blue scrubs was on the ground. Nearby, half a dozen onlookers were just realizing what had transpired.

Bill rolled off the mattress and started packing up his gear. He strapped the long rifle to his pack and shouldered it then picked up his carbine. Adam was just behind him in packing up his gear.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Turner

“What… the fuck?”

Before he knew what he was doing, Turner was running towards the clinic. Around the body of Kerry Bechtel people were gathered. One of the nurses pushed through the crowd and ripped open the man’s clothing to examine the wound. It was a through and through wound right through the sternum. The nurse, already long past anger or shock in his exhaustion just shook his head.

“Help me get the body inside.”  The nurse ordered the nearest men.

Standing dumbly, Turner realized there was a cell phone on the ground next to the blood puddle, still in a call. He reached down and picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Who is this? What the hell was that?” A military sounding man on the other end demanded.

“Uh. Name’s Turner. Uh. The doctor just got shot.”

“Oh… no. God no. God damnit!”

…

Local Time: 2010

Leonardo

Sweating in the cockpit of the Blackjack BattleMech, Leonardo heard the chatter on the local radio net.

“Fuck. Guess they aren’t bargaining” Raul in the Centurion radioed.

“For men with power, killing is negotiations.” Leonardo quoted something he’d heard from the orator named Traig.

“Whatever. Guess that’s that. The noose is going to get tighter.”

Reaching out, Leonardo moved the lever to increase the reactor power to combat level.

“Not without a fight. They’re going to get us whether we run and hide or stand and fight. Are you with me brother?” Leonardo asked.

Across the cargo terminal of the underground train station the Centurion that had been half squatting came up to full height. It was difficult to move in the tight confines until he reached the ramp up into the night. Rain poured through the opening but he imagined it made something of a difference to his stuffy cockpit to step into the rain. Immediately his battle computer registered enemy mechs but wouldn’t give him a lock.

Turning in a half circle, he spotted movement down one of the streets, he lined up his autocannon crosshairs and fired. The shells seemed to have impacted something producing a shower of sparks then his computer registered a Vindicator. In response the mech fired a particle canon that missed wide over his shoulder. Chunk-chunk, his cannons reloaded and he squeezed off another shot at the Vindicator.

Without enough room in the streets to dodge, the mercenary mech shuddered backwards with the impact. With the computer now recognizing his target, he took aim, trying to make a critical hit against the other mech’s main weapon. Before he could fire, all his computer displays and his HUD turned to red static. In anger he fired a quick shot which missed, then pounded on the circuit breaker panel next to him in the cockpit.

Even his radio was playing a constant static note. Leonardo moved his mech to the side while trying to diagnose it, letting Raul in the Centurion have the firing line. The larger mech fired a volley of LRMs that only made it a block down the street before tracking in a dozen different directions rather than towards the mercenary mech. It fired it’s own autocannon, then Raul seemed to be trying to back up.

From one of the side streets, Leonardo spotted the nose of a hunched over bird shaped mech. It stepped out and let a six pack of missiles fly at him then was gone before the missiles hit. Only half of them hit his mech but still made it creak and shake. From the same street a humanoid mech with a large pistol type laser in one hand appeared and fired. It’s blue spear slashed across the Blackjack burning armor but not cutting through.

Leonardo answered with his own lasers, mostly hitting buildings but burning some armor off the mercenary mech. In the darkness without a functioning computer, he couldn’t tell what kind of mech it was other than that it made a jump to close the distance, then just after hitting the ground raked his mech with ruby pulse lasers followed by twin machineguns. Metal rending sounds were louder than the cacophony of warning sounds to report one of the Blackjack’s arms being destroyed.

He tried to turn to bring the other arm into the fight just to have his mech rocked again by SRMs as the bird mech poked out from the side street. In a panic he fired his weapons, missing the more human one that was dancing just outside of his firing arc.

Liko

Peeking out again, Liko lined up his laser gunsights and fired into the already damaged side of the Blackjack. Melting armor dripped off the shoulder then when he fired another volley of rockets, the remaining joint and arm shattered, falling to the ground. Everything in training taught him to expect a pilot to eject from a disarmed mech, but the Blackjack pilot hit his jump jets, unsteadily leaping forward then crashing into an apartment building.

Liko adjusted his position to shield himself from returning fire as the Blackjack turned around to bring it’s torso mounted lasers into the fight. Before the other mech could fire, Liko released another volley of rockets. This time they didn’t spread as much and all converged on the center torso of the barrel-chested mech. It staggered for a moment, then what started as a spark behind broken armor plating turned into a brighter than day nova that forced the glass of Liko’s Raven to go completely black.

“Levy four! Tango down!”

Cautiously stepping out from his side street, Liko caught sight of the Centurion as it fell forward with a smoking cockpit. Standing just two hundred meters away was Rain’s Phoenix Hawk, it’s right hand clutching a laser cannon that steamed in the rainstorm.

 

 

Dramatis Personae

Kerry Bechtel – A doctor, educated, philanthropist, a champion of peaceful resistance and the Free Sheratan movement. (Deceased)

Leonardo – An insurgent MechWarrior (Deceased)

Raul – An insurgent MechWarrior (Deceased)

Captain James Morbidelli – Sheratan Militia Infantry. In charge of a company of mechanized infantry.

Chapter 17: Loose Ends

Summary:

The Rascals finish up their job on Sheratan and prepare to leave.

MechWarrior: Scions of War

17: Loose Ends

White Plains

Sheratan

Federated Commonwealth

10 January, 3040

Local Time: 1230

Ellis

“I’m not saying it’s too quiet, I’m saying that since we stopped presence patrols, whatever insurgents left in White Plains simply didn’t have anyone to shoot at.”

Pascal and Almaric chuckled.

Major Almaric Lusignan, Pascal’s Rascals Third Company commander pointed through the wall of the command tent at where the Sheratan militia’s encampment stood. “I’m okay with a break in the shooting. Fighting irregular infantry forces in a city isn’t interesting and doesn’t make for good bonuses. Leave that to the locals.”

In the days since the peak of fighting, the mercenaries had pulled their mechs from the city and sent the local militia in, waving truce flags and giving bandages instead of bullets. A near constant stream of aid vehicles had been going in to the city with supplies and coming out with wounded or sick to be taken to other cities for treatment. Ellis had no question that a certain number of the people leaving White Plains were insurgents and would spread their ideology wherever they went.

Sitting back in his folding camp chair, Pascal rubbed at his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping. “Soon enough we’ll have a peer adversary. Probably one that may outnumber and out tech us even. The tables will have turned. Then we’ll find out just how good our mettle is.”

“Boss…” Almaric leaned forward. “Are you going to tell us where we’re going next?”

Ellis and Pascal exchanged glances then Pascal answered. “Ellis already knows. We’re going home.”

Silence took the small tent as each man contemplated the sentence. Almaric was the one to speak first. “Then it won’t be a peer we’re facing…”

“Indeed.” Pascal observed. “We don’t have anything bigger than heavy class while the Royal Guard company has at least six Assault class BattleMechs. Whether they remember how to use them is suspect, but I don’t take chances.”

Instead of a scoff, Almaric let out a healthy laugh. “We’re a strike unit made mostly of light and medium hardware. If we go against the Royal Guard, we’ll just have to put them down with death by a thousand cuts!”

“Your Biblical Plague?” Ellis observed with a grin.

“Nobody expects a horde of Locusts. But in all seriousness, I hope you have a plan for it, if it comes down to a conventional fight.”

“I have a plan.” Pascal answered Almaric. “But that doesn’t take into account our employer and his plans.”

“Who is our employer?” Almaric asked. “Which family?”

When Pascal didn’t answer immediately, Almaric made a guess. “Our half-brother.”

Both Ellis and Pascal nodded. “But the goings on there are not our concern yet. We have some loose ends to tie up here then a long walk back to the spaceport.”

…

Qloussia Highlands, Abbas Estate

Lebanon

Draconis Combine

Local Time: 1120

Fouda

High up on a prominent butte, the estate’s view encompassed valleys, plains, and was ringed by mountains. Clean desert air with the scent of pine and juniper was warm but not stifling hot like the lowlands and Fouda detected the smells of bread and other food being prepared. Compared to his own family’s estate, the Abbas estate might have been considered small.

It's main buildings had been constructed of local stone and mortar not long after the founding of the world and updated through the years. Each new house had been built by a different Sheik by different specifications. One made of pine, another of sandstone quarried hundreds of kilometers away, and others with modern steel and stone. Like his own estate, the defenses weren’t hidden.

Guard towers were posted evenly around the perimeter along with roving militiamen. A man in green fatigues led a beagle to sniff the undercarriage of Fouda’s limousine as he walked towards the receiving line. Further out, other men led attack dogs on patrol through the pine forest beyond the estate. Just like his own house guards, the dogs were from the Palfrey family’s breeding center near Emir City.

Ahead was a small receiving line of young men aged ten to about twenty. The youngest fidgeted at having to perform social duties while the oldest barely had a beard.

…

Warm afternoon wind blew the smell of tea and fresh bread. Fouda reclined on a cushion laid out on a rug next to Gaspard Abbas, under the shade of a tent set out with a view of one of the escalades up the butte. The old man’s eyes were clouded over, his face lined with years and the sun, and his long hair and beard had the look of being unkempt. Fouda knew by reputation that the old Sheik rarely left the estate grounds and had taken to living outside, even with the help of his many sons and servants.

“We’ve broken bread. My sons have washed your feet. Every tradition has been observed. Tell me, Fouda, after all these years, why have you chosen now to seek me out? I recall that you have not spoken to me since your father, peace be upon him, fell ill.” Gaspard asked.

“Is it not right to visit with one’s peers? To renew community relations between families?”

The bony finger that Gaspard pointed in the air at Fouda looked dirty and had a long nail. “Do not assume that because I am old and blind that I do not see the world for what it is. I have men in places the same as you do. I hear the whispers in the dark. I knew your father when he was younger than you are now, when his world was counting Denari and spending C-Bills on expensive whores.”

Fouda knew the old man wasn’t done with his tirade, so he kept quiet.

“I know that you have visited all the other families. I know that you are rebuilding your army at Franco’s factories. Do not take me for a fool, even an old fool. I know that for the past thirty years you have invested in mercenary armies all over the sphere, the same as your father did. Tell me why you are here. Don’t make euphemisms. If I know these things then the Atassi know them. Hurry because I am old and may die, then you would have to deal with my sons who would quarrel over my estate.”

Sipping at tea that had gone cold, Fouda glanced around for any of the servants that might have been within ear shot. The old man used a bell to summon them and for the most part they had kept their distance.

“In thirty sixteen my father married one of your daughters. Some say she was the best of your daughters. The most beautiful, the most intelligent, and the one with a real skillset apart from opening her legs. Naturally she absconded because my father, peace be upon him, was just as much of a waste of flesh as many sons of wealth are.”

“Amina…” Gaspard almost whispered.

“The one thing my father did correctly was to invest in your army, one that had the potential to allow us to challenge for the ruling seat. Bringing in foreign armies, like the ones I own, simply would not have sufficed given the Combine’s rules. Then he did the worst thing and lost sight of that goal.”

With a laugh, the old man reached for the kettle and poured himself more tea, then filled Fouda’s cup, somehow not spilling it. “A scheme that is long past it’s maturity and better forgotten lest we pay for it in blood. I still wonder if the Sultan knew and simply didn’t act because his son wanted us to take the first shot. We did not strike when we could have and instead lost that army in war. There is no unity in the families. You are the only Sheik to have visited me in a decade. Even last I attended Mardi Gras or Founder’s Day, it was all plastic. The noble families will go into obscurity and Atassi will continue to rule with an iron fist until the Coordinator sees fit to remove him and place a vassal of his own family.”

“How many of your sons are MechWarriors?”

His face screwed into a question; Gaspard stared at him with cloudy eyes. “None of them. I own no BattleMechs. Since my company was destroyed there was no point in continuing to send them to be trained.”

“Yours and my father’s scheme failed for many reasons. You are right that it should be forgotten. My scheme however is to rearm, within the limits of the law, and let the paranoid nature of the Sultan take it’s course. When the ashes settle, it will be anyone but an Atassi on the sandstone throne.”

Gaspard’s laughter turned to coughing then he spoke. “Why are you telling me?”

“Tradition. Like my father I wish the families to be united. The only family that mine hasn’t married into in the last generation is yours and Atassi. Atassi won’t accept a proposal of course.”

The old man’s cloudy eyes narrowed on Fouda. “Who? Your three children are adults and married. Your grandchildren still shit in diapers. My grandchildren are either too young or are already betrothed.”

“Your daughter Amina had two children, twins, before dying of cancer. A boy and a girl. My sources found them on Kwamashu, then kept them in sight when they went to Outreach. Both are adults, both are trained MechWarriors, and they serve with a battalion of mercenaries that is also made up of noble born bastards mostly from my family. If you will adopt them and some of the others, then I will give you a company to defend you and your holdings from the Atassi forces when my scheme comes to fruition. On paper, at least, they will be married to two of mine thus uniting our families.”

Silence took the old man as he gazed out over the lowlands. “My existing heirs might slit my throat in the night for an afront like that. I have no desire to participate in your scheme. You understand that family means much to me, then you will understand my desire for things to go smoothly for the last of my days. The fewer sins I pass to my sons, the better.”

Shifting himself on the pillow, Fouda moved to look directly at Gaspard.

“Like it or not, a civil war here is inevitable. Assuming we do nothing, then the Atassi family will choose to purge our families within the next generation and nationalize the assets, when the old Sultan dies. If you care about your house’s future, then you’ll take steps to reinvigorate it. It’s time to make some of your many heirs work for what they stand to inherit.” Fouda said cryptically. “Perhaps these scions from off-world would even be more worthy of your name than the trueborn.”

…

White Plains

Sheratan

Federated Commonwealth

January 15, 3040

Local Time: 0850

Turner

Standing on a pile of rubble that had been a fast-food restaurant, Turner zipped up his jacket and shivered. Even with the fog he could see where the mercenary line was and the activity. For ten days the city had been surrounded on three sides by mercenaries and the Sheratan Militia with it’s tent city. Now the three sides of mercs were gathering up presumably to leave.

On the other side, the local Militia was still running it’s tent city, which now had a steady stream of people out of White Plains as they were distributing food and medical aid. It was all so beyond his imagination that he laughed cynically at it. Crunching of rubble made him turn to see his friend Alan climbing up the broken concrete. Neither man were carrying their rifles anymore. Instead of BattleMechs on the streets, now the Sheratan Militia patrolled in armored vehicles handing out ration packs.

“We did it. We won. They’re pulling out.”

“You think we won?” Alan asked, kicking a loose piece of concrete.

“At least the battle. We won the battle.”

“We won shit. Half our city is wrecked. Power’s out. There’s no running water. My grandmother is sick, and the hospital is mostly crushed and burned down from the rockets we fired. Had to take her to the militia tent city and stand in line most of a day to get her seen by a doctor.”

“Well, I guess…”

Alan picked up a chunk of concrete and threw it at a metal street sign.

“That’s what I thought. Went looking for Traig and the other guys. Haven’t seen any of them since the first night. We got used. Blew apart our own city. I bet you that there’ll be a permanent military presence here now. They’ll say it’s to secure things while we rebuild but you know it’ll stay.” Alan pondered. “Look… I heard there’s a demolition company that needs warm bodies to start digging out the rubble. I’m going to sign up. You should too. Beats just hanging around waiting for a handout from the people we were fighting a few days ago. Look at the bright side. If we somehow kicked out the FedRats and ended up back part of the Confederation, guys like us would be stuck as servitors, which is slightly worse than what we are.”

…

Forests near Unity

January 16, 3040

Local Time: 1640

Amira

Instead of taking the direct route back towards Gellen’s Heights, the battalion of Pascal’s Rascals had left White Planes and followed the natural line of a mountain range. After the first night in the mountains, they had split up by company, each taking a different route back towards the Capitol and it’s spaceport. Most of the MechWarriors of second company hadn’t said anything about it or questioned it while her godbrother Gotfrid had complained about the circuitous route and not being able to see the capital and get leave.

Amira herself had her own theory. Whatever counter insurgency game that command was playing was still going on. That theory was backed up when the company stopped for the day in the dense forests at the base of a mountain range. The support staff started setting up the tents and other temporary housing for the evening, then Major Dubois called all the MechWarriors together at the foot of his Grasshopper. Captain Marceau appeared with a rolled-up paper map as the gathered mech jocks were talking amongst themselves.

“What do you think is going on?” Liko asked.

“I know as much as you do.” Amira lied. “But its looking like we are going on a mission tonight.”

She nodded towards where the captain was using magnets to secure the map to the BattleMech’s foot.

“By my estimate we’re near some of the farming areas. Guessing recon.”

Briefly Liko slid his arm around her lower back. Amira returned his hug then they pulled apart.

“Wonder how many mechs the insurgency is hiding?” Liko asked rhetorically.

“Not many, but they had two more in White Plains than our intel accounted for.”

“Listen up!” Major Dubois bellowed from the foot of his mech.

All the conversations stopped.

“Intel that the MIIO and us have gathered for the last year have pointed to the location of stockpiles of dual use chemicals.” Ellis started the brief. “Farming centers scattered around this area have been ordering far more fertilizers and other chemicals than their acreage can possibly need. We’ve seen what they’ve been making with those chemicals.”

I was right. Now what are we doing besides blowing up chemical stockpiles?

“While we were on Operation Threshing Floor, MIIO reported that between fifty and a hundred people had left Olive Valley and returned to the farming centers of Unity, which is usually abandoned during the winter. Our mission is twofold. One, a presence patrol to attract insurgent attention. Two, to detect chemical stockpiles and bomb making facilities and destroy them. No intel on BattleMechs in the area, probably none. Small arms and technicals are more likely.”

Ellis paused and looked over the crowd. Amira felt like his gaze locked on her.

“We’re stepping off in an hour, everyone get chow. Lance leaders, pick up specific maps and orders from Captain Marceau. Dismissed.”

Talking resumed and the MechWarriors of second company turned to go towards the mess truck and it’s still being erected tent.

“Hunt!” Major Dubois called out.

Amira turned around and saw that her brother was also called out.

“Amira… not Rain.” Ellis clarified.

Her brother nodded towards her then jogged towards the mess tent. Amira approached the Captain and Major, still at the foot of the Grasshopper.

“Yes, sir?”

Both officers traded glances then Ellis spoke. “You’re working comms intercept during the mission. Your lance leader knows this but not the details.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right. Specifically, you’re going to be monitoring frequencies and codes used by the Sheratan Militia.” Ellis dropped his voice and handed her a small plastifilm code card with the Militia’s logo on it.

“To clear things up. We are expecting that multiple people in the area are Militia members and will be using their radios once we are in the AO.” David briefed. “Furthermore, those people will be considered HVTs once we have their identities sorted as they are likely collaborators. Once you receive transmissions, get those to us ASAP.”

“Yes, sir.” Amira nodded.

“Obviously…” Ellis voice returned to normal. “Keep this quiet. The rest of the company will know about it to an extent if we have any loose ends to tie up for the MIIO. Dismissed.”

…

Unity Farming Center

Local Time: 1820

Rain

“Hunt, take point. My sensors are still jacked up.” Pierre radioed.

Moving his Phoenix Hawk past the Black Knight, Rain observed the larger mech and it’s collection of burns and small arms impacts from city fighting.

“I’m vis-light only. Keep your eyes and thermals out there.” He added to the lance.

Ahead, rows of fields interspersed with roads, drainage canals, and chemical feed lines turns the otherwise wild terrain into something human created instead of natural. Thermals showed nothing and mag-res picked up all the farming equipment. Just a few kilometers away the first of the collections of warehouses and chemical silos appeared. Banks of cylinders, then blocky corrugated steel buildings. Rain kept on at a pace slow enough for the others, his eyes moving in a loop between sensor outputs.

At a kilometer away, his radar inspected the silos.

“Hunt, Boutros. Those are mostly full. Same as the warehouse. Lot of stuff there.”

“Ah… fuck. Fine. Trocha. Light it up, everyone hold here, don’t need you getting trashed by secondaries.”

“Watch this!” Chris radioed then fired his particle cannon.

The manmade lightning soared over and past the chemical silos, lighting up the plain momentarily.

“God damnit, MechWarrior! Can’t you ever hit a fucking thing you aim at?” Pierre radioed.

Rain grimaced and keyed his own radio. “Sir, it is not his fault. He always misses high and right. His mech’s targeting system is consistently off a few degrees.”

Put a guy in a mech built from a battlefield salvaged chassis and wonder why he can’t hit anything past two hundred meters? He’s an asshole but hasn’t gotten a fair shake.

“Fuck you Sleepy!” Chris radioed back using his nickname for Rain. “Know it all!”

The Vindicator fired again, this time obviously compensating and dug up dirt in front of the silos.

“Fuck it. Rain and Fred. Take your shots.” Pierre ordered.

Beyond the effective range for the Harmon Large Laser the Phoenix Hawk sported, Rain aimed and fired anyways. Enough concentrated laser energy reached the unarmored silos to cut through the thin metal and touch off the ammonium nitrate. Like setting off tons of conventional explosives the nitrate detonated in a dirty fireball that resembled a small nuclear blast

Damaged and in flames, the warehouse beyond started lighting up with secondary explosions as stored rockets started igniting and either detonating in place or flying off in all directions.

“Well damn. Better than the New Years fireworks this year.” Fred commented.

Gotfrid

Ten kilometers away the horizon lit up with a bright flash then smaller staccato flashes followed. Damn, Pike lance is doing business! His attention went back to scanning the clusters of prefab worker housing units. They were all cold, and the only vehicles looked like worker vans that hadn’t run in months since the harvest season. Ahead of him by half a kilometer, Andrew’s Cicada plodded along slowly avoiding causing major damage to any of the infrastructure.

“Rascal actual, Levy lance…”

That’s the battalion commander’s voice.

“Levy one, Rascal. Send traffic.”

“Levy, priority tasking. Move to intersection of Route Taylor and Route Cooper. Civilian vehicle leaving Eastern Unity with high value target. Break. Levy three will identify target. Destroy target. Over.”

Gotfrid referred to the paper map taped to his console then to the battlegrid and was already turning his Valkyrie when Andrew’s Cicada and Amira’s Assassin started sprinting to the east.

“You heard him! Two and four, catch up when you can! Three, spot the target for us!” Andrew radioed.

His Valkyrie was slower than the Cicada and Assassin but faster than his brother’s Raven. Gotfrid’s heart started beating hard in anticipation. Now his eyes moved from screen to screen hoping to catch a glimmer of heat or bit of metal on mag-res that wasn’t a prefab or irrigation piping. It wasn’t long until he lost sight of the faster mechs. Farmland gave way along the road to more clusters of farm worker prefabs and he caught sight of it.

A civilian hovercar coming from a side road towards the main route at high speed, kicking up a dust cloud in it’s wake. Knowing a target when he saw one, Gotfrid moved his crosshair onto it and waited for a lock.

“Two to one. Got a hover car here, it’s hauling!”

Silence. The car turned onto the main road and raced in the direction of the two faster mechs and their hasty ambush. Damnit, he’s almost out of range!

“That’s it Gotfrid! Take the shot!” Amira’s voice came back on the radio.

His finger grazed the missile trigger and the Lady of the Slain fired it’s ten pack of LRMs. On thermal the white-hot missiles arced over the farmlands then plunged down onto the road, impacting all around the car launching dirt and pavement into the air. The warheads that hit the car itself blasted apart the unarmored skin and chassis. Spinning fan blades and hot engine components ejected themselves leaving just the rough shape of the vehicle to tumbled apart across the roadway.

As he caught up to the scattered remains, he scanned for survivors. What might have been two bodies weren’t moving, trapped and twisted with the other remains of the car.

“Good shooting, two.” Andrew radioed.

…

Spaceport District

Gellen’s Heights

January 20, 3040

Local time: 1530

Pavel

“This is it, comrade…” Pavel extended his hand.

Alexi took it and they shook. Around them other people went about their lives in the spaceport terminal. People leaving Sheratan, people arriving. There was no doubt in Pavel’s mind that his replacement was already on planet but due to security measures he had no idea who that was.

“Indeed. I hope we satisfied the Celestial Wisdom. Or should I say that quieter?” He replied with a grin.

It was noisy enough in the terminal that likely nobody heard his joke.

“I would assume we did enough. It is the long game. It always has been. No planet has ever been won in a single day. We leave, the mercenaries leave. We all go to a new battlefield.”

“Good luck.”

“You too, friend.”

With that the Capellan agents walked towards different ticketing lines.

…

Dropship Gladius

Ellis

While it hadn’t been that long, it seemed longer than just two months that he’d been in his quarters and office onboard the Gladius. It seemed emptier without his wife. His eyes moved around the space cataloging her things and wondering what to do with it all. A knock came at his door, and he turned to see Captain David Marceau with several folders under his arm.

“Bad time, Major?” David asked.

“No… there’ll never be a good time. Uh, suppose I need to get Tess or Larissa to help me sort through… her things.”

“I’ll find one of them next.” David set down one of the folders.

“Here’s the list of personnel that we’re receiving from the Blue Moon. The Colonel wants you to make a list of which ones and by priority you want. Also, we need to close the loops with some of the non-performers.”

Ellis sat at his desk and skimmed the documents as David laid them out. “I think it’s time to test Lieutenant Hunt’s leadership capabilities. Rain, not Amira.”

“How so?”

“He had the most dealings with some of the… non-performers. I’ll give him the job of dealing with them. See if he keeps his cool.” Ellis said while looking at the paperwork.

Liko

For the better part of two days all three companies of the Rascals had been busy sorting out salvage, their own mechs, equipment, and even people. The spaceport had been a buzz of activity as they prepared to leave. As evening approached, most of the Rascals had been released to go into the city for one more night of liberty before leaving Sheratan. Liko and Amira found their way to one of the many motels serving the spaceport to take advantage of the last bit of privacy they’d have for some time.

“Almost feels strange to have a real bed.” Amira commented, pulling the fluffy duvet up.

His arm around her shoulders, Liko hugged her to him.

“Can probably count on one hand how many times I’ve slept in a nice bed.” Liko agreed. “My memory of it is pretty hazy, I was young… but didn’t your father’s Leopard have two private staterooms?”

Her laughter into his chest felt good. There hadn’t been much laughter since they came to Sheratan.

“I’m barely older than you. Uh. Yeah? Think so. One of the many reconfigurations. They weren’t big, but yeah. Your parents had their own space and didn’t have to get cozy in the bunkroom. Haven’t thought about that in forever.”

“I wonder what’ll happen next. Kinda felt like we were the bad guys even though our antagonists were not the good guys.”

“Stop thinking about that. We still have twelve hours before we have to be back at the Gladius…” Amira admonished.

“Maybe you could distract me again?”

She giggled in a way that only came out in private as she traced one of her hands down his chest.

Rain

“Let’s be honest, you don’t belong in the cockpit anymore.”

Once Rain said it, he instantly regretted it. Across the desk from him, Fred Keller’s face was unreadably sad. In the few months Rain had known him, the older man hadn’t ever appeared happy, but he’d never appeared specifically unhappy. Now his expression skipped anger and went to resignation. Rain slid an envelope across the desk.

“Your final pay statement. I uh… made sure that we paid you a severance. It’s more than enough to get back to Outreach if that’s where you want to go.”

Fred cursed under his breath and took the envelope. From the doorway he looked back. “Good luck, kid. I mean it. Hope you live long enough that someone else has to tell you the same thing.” With that he stepped out of the Major Dubois’ office. Outside, Sergeant Simon peeked in and locked eyes with Rain, who nodded back to him. The last folder and envelope on the desk were for his other lancemate.

Instead of leaving for liberty, Rain had been given the task of giving walking papers to staff, combat personnel, and MechWarriors that command felt were nonperforming. Several marines, techs, vehicle crew, and now Fred and Chris. Chris walked through the door with his normal swagger, took one look at Rain and rolled his head.

“That’s it huh?” He asked. “Well fuck you!”

The blond-haired MechWarrior flipped him off and started to turn towards the door.

“Hold on!”

“What? Going to drag this out? I need to get the hell off this rock as quick as possible if I’m not employed. You know that. Fuck you and your pretty face and that shiny mech of yours. All this shit we did here was no better than the stuff I did that earned me a warrant.”

Holding up the envelope, Rain locked eyes with him.

“Which is what I argued with Major Dubois about. Everyone gets severance, enough to buy passage somewhere else. I argued for you, that you needed credentials too.”

Stepping back towards the desk, Chris planted his hands on his hips and eyed the envelope like it was a bomb. “The hell are you talking about?”

“Meaning as long as you’re under our employ, the Feds here at the port won’t touch you. I argued that since we brought you out here that we owe it to you not to maroon you someplace where you’ll end up in a jail cell. Technically your employment date is stretched out another month. Long enough for you to get back to Outreach or into a different nation.”

The other MechWarrior snatched the envelope out of his hand and looked inside. “Why? Why’d you do that?”

“Call it the sense of honor that was trained into me. By my parents and the wolves.” Rain answered. “I don’t like you. I wouldn’t have hired you unless I was desperate. But they also put you in a shitty mech that couldn’t shoot straight and expected more from you than the mech could deliver.”

“I’ll remember this.” Chris said.

“Good luck.”

Not wasting any time, Chris walked out of the office and Rain sunk into the chair and let out a sigh. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his plain brown uniform jacket and looked at the ceiling, wondering how his father dealt with people issues. Clanking on the deck brought him back to the present and he stood to salute Major Dubois. The Major wasn’t in uniform, having just come from the gym.

“Any complications?” Ellis asked.

“No, sir. Everyone acted professionally.” Rain half lied as some of the enlisted had needed to be escorted out by the marines.

Instead of taking his own seat, Ellis sat down facing Rain in one of the metal chairs in front of his desk.

“Being in charge is never fun. Its not something anyone sane should want. If you meet a person who wants to command, wants to win medals on the backs of other people, with other people’s sweat and blood, that’s a person you can’t trust. That’s plenty of our employers, clients, and even other mercs I’ve met. I wanted to see what your mettle was like because I want to know who I can trust to lead in my company.” Ellis mopped his face with a sweat towel. “Get out of here. It might be the last taste of civilization you get for a while.”

Dramatis Personae

Major Almaric Lusignan – Pascal’s Rascals Third Company commander

Sheik Gaspard Abbas – Head of the Abbas family. Quite old and mostly blind

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Irregular Warfare