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[Thom Frankfurt]

Sick Bay/Infirmary
Dropship Achilles Pride
Coventry, Lyran Alliance
3 April, 3061 23:03

Kerchunk! The staple bit through the thin flesh, binding the laceration together. "Yeaouch." Thom could have sworn he felt the lightly ferrous metal bite into his skull then bend back on itself. It was an odd sensation and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

"Quit fidgeting." Doc Meade simply stated while moving on to the next staple.

"Yeah's but ita hurts." Thom offered the meek excuse, causing Doc to lean over far enough for Thom to see him with his good eye.

"Well, maybe you should have thought about this,"Kerchunk!"before picking a fight with a squad of marines... You got off easy, if you've haven't put on all that extra muscle the last few years, you ribcage would have been crunched up like a can of Zoom...Hold still just two more, try to think about something else."

Think of something else, yeah easy for him to say.

Thom's non swollen eye drifted over the rest of the sickbay, looking over the other occupants, techs and Terror's, all with a gleeful twinkle to their eyes, and smug satisfied smiles as the Terror's medical staff prodded bruises and washed out their scrapes. Thom added his smile to the bunch, the Terror's had got into their first scrape and they came out on top. He already heard of what happened after he blacked out. How the Terror's and technicians came together to fight off the marines, stories told with excited hyped up voices. Stories about how his XO charged out wielding a sabre and pistol like a sea captain of ancient Terra to repel boarders. Of how ole man Davos was there brandishing an archaic looking blunderbuss, of Li bashing in some grunts face with a neural helmet. And Juri? Deathly pale with bloodstained kimono and hand cannon auto-pistol. He had a good crew and he knew it.

Ole' man Davos suddenly barged into the infirmary like he owned the place and brought himself up short before the mercenary. "Thomas." There was an edge to the patriarch's voice, hinting at the man's displeasure. "The police are gone, finally. What happened?" Davos added.

"Papa, they rode down Thom and tried jumping him!" Vasco answered for Thom from where he sat getting his bumps looked at. "I saw the whole thing." The younger Molas added on as an afterthought as Davos fixed him with a glare warning him to stay out of it.

"Did they? Some of them looked bandaged up to me. Thomas, would you care to add your two cents to what my !diot son here has stated?" The old man turned to Thom and crossed two arms covered with wiry hair over his chest.

"I's amet dem at a bar. Dey wasa drunk ana picked a fight wit me." Davos arched a bushy eyebrow. "Dude, Davos I'sa swear I wasa literally sitting in da corner minding my's own business. Da big one came on up demanding dat I'sa buy him a drink... or's else. I.. ah, put em in der place." Thom offered a lopsided grin which caused Davos to roll his eyes and mutter something in Greek under his breath.

"Thomas, I treat you with respect and have always been up front with you. So you better not be lying to me." Again he muttered something in Greek. "Well like I said, the police are gone now. But they suggest that you remain here at the space port for the remainder of our stay on Coventry, and I agree with them. It seems that one was lenient because of something you did earlier today, something about a car accident and the statement from some girl named Alyssa" The older man arched his eyebrow again. "It seems that you were a busy boy today." The old man chuckled and patted Thom on the shoulder and still chuckling left sick bay.

"Well, I'm all done with you.I swear you have the Devil's own luck, T." Doc Meade shook his head sadly then turned to oversee one of the nurse's working on one of the techs. Not needing to be told twice, Thom hopped off of were he was sitting on the exam table. Making his way out of the infirmary, Thom happened to glance over to see one of the nurses finishing up bandaging a nasty scrape on the back on one of Li's hands.

"Hey yo's, Li, let'sa go an git a drink. You'sa like's tequila? I'sa got a bottle of Spica Brothers stashed away's fer a rainy day... "
***********************************
Thom's room
Dropship Achilles Pride
Coventry, Lyran Alliance
4 April, 3061 09:11hrs

With a stabbing in his side, Thom woke. Sitting up groggily, he cradled his head in both hands as he sat upon the edge of his bunk.

Sniff, sniff. Thom looked at his hands quizzically noticing them caked with a dried flakey substance. Daring, T stuck his tongue out and tasted the substance.

"Avocado?" That's when he looked over his room. From the light casted from a small portable vidplayer playing over loops from his final bout at this years Hardcore Open Invitational. An empty bottle of Spica Brothers sat sitting next to an empty bottle of Ouzo and serveral bottles of 'Blue Hole Lager.' A heavy mixing bowl lay toppled over with a puddle of salsa spreading out from it as well as several avocado rinds and pits strewn about the floor.

"Jesus..." Thom muttered under his breath and turned to look over his shoulder at the source of the sleepy sounds. With a hesitant hand T drew back the covers to look upon the sleeping form. Li lay there smacking her lips in her sleep, snuggled up entwined with a strange pillow that wasn't Thom's like a lover.

With a pervish grin Thom then pulled the blanket back far enough to reveal Li, but the grin fizzled out as Thom noticed that Li's body, while very pleasing to the eye, had an odd greenish hue from caked on guacamole and caused the mercenary to shake his head in a 'no' like fashion. He then gently covered her up and gathered up some clothes and creped out to find a shower. He'd worry about getting the avocado stains out of his bedding later.

As he silently made his way out of the door he could have sworn that he heard Li giggle and say the word 'Mangos.'
*************************************************

Dropship Achilles Pride
Coventry, Lyran Alliance
4 April, 3061 10:01hrs

"Alright Mac, we got that old icebox of yours removed. It took a bit longer than we thought, that thing wasn't willing to come out easy. We literally had to cut it out.." The Ceres Medal refrigeration tech hooked a thumb over his shoulder as his three of his co-workers struggled with loading the 40+ year old antique refrigeration unit upon the deck of their flatbed work truck. "The next crew should be out anytime now with the new one."

"Dat's good." Thom offered to the tech as he eyeballed the paperwork he was to sign. The sooner the unit got installed, cooled off, and loaded, the faster they'd be heading off to pluck some Falcon's.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 15 November 2013 - 02:07 AM.

[Spokes]

Thom's Room
Dropship Achilles Pride
Coventry, Lyran Alliance
4 April, 3061-- 09:35 Hrs

Consciousness rolled in slowly, borne on a careful tide of throbbing bruises and aching muscles. Other sensations gradually bubbled up through the fog of sleep-- the touch of sheets on bare skin, the creak of the bunk, the tang of guacamole, the whisper of the air sys. . .

Wait.

Li froze mid-stretch, one eyelid easing open to the sight of a pillow and her badly bruised shoulder. She inhaled through her nose, face scrunching up as her mind processed the odor. Why the hell do I smell like a taco stand?

"Mmmmmmmmpphh. . ." Both eyes opened now, a few quick, bleary blinks. Li started to roll over, realized she was half stuck to the bed covers, looked down at the crusted green mess she was lying in.

"Oh, Jesus. . ." She sat up, shifted around, feet easing off the side of the bunk and onto the floor. The rather damp floor? Li lifted her right foot back up, looked down at the pool of salsa she'd just stepped in. She screwed her eyes shut, rubbed at her face for a long moment. When she opened her eyes again, the salsa was still there.

"Uggghh, I hate mornings. . ." Her eyes wandered around the unfamiliar room, the empty bottles, the tri-vid player, the discarded pits and rinds, a slow smile spreading on her face as the events of the previous evening oozed back into her brain. She peeled herself out of the bunk, stood up, tried her best not to track salsa all over the place as she hunted around for her clothes.

_______________________________________________


Li snapped the last clasp on her coveralls, straightened the collar, winced at the pain in her shoulder as she tugged the left sleeve back down into place. She reached down towards the tri-vid player, hesitated, frowned as Thom's Banshee took a hit from an off screen opponent. She hit the off button with her thumb, straightened up, smoothed the front of her work uniform, her hand coming to rest on a circular object in one of the side pockets. Li pulled the disk free, held it up to the light, ran a finger along the writing stamped into the metal. The little piece of home.

Thom's cabin was an absolute pit, filled from one end to the other with a bizarre menagerie of baubles and trinkets that seemed like they had been culled from dozens of different worlds. Some of the items looked like they had been carefully arranged, others were piled seemingly at random. Few appeared to have any real value. Looking around the room, Li was reminded of a blurb she'd read in a textbook a long time ago, some technical aside about people who ordered their memories based on external objects. Maybe that's what was going on here-- to a casual observer, the room was full of junk, but for Thom, perhaps each curio was a physical reminder of somewhere or some when. Or, perhaps, someone.

Li reached out and layed the oversized jar lid on top of the tri-vid player, winked at it once, then turned and headed out of the room. First, a shower. Then she had a very important meeting scheduled with the coffee maker in the Pride's mess hall. . .

[RogueSpear]

Bridge of the RAIV The Drunkard’s Walk,
‘Pirate’ Jump Point,
Coventry, Lyran Alliance,
6th April, 3061, 08:00 Hours.

Even on the bridge, so far away from the docking collars, the immense efforts to secure the Achille’s Pride could be heard. Distant rolling thunder echoed through the ship, the report of tremendously powerful mechanical arms, magnets and assorted other esoteric contrivance attempting to shackle an unwieldy thirty six hundred tonne football to a one hundred and fifty two thousand tonne flanged tube. And arrange a series of emitters, receivers, magnifiers and the gods and technicians alone knew what else sufficient enough to extend the Drunkard’s jump field around the dropship and travel between the stars.

If anyone could explain the actual difference between that and a magic ritual besides the lack of candles, then Vantas Strider would be damned.

“Docking complete Captain Strider.”
“Alert them to our imminent jump please, Joseph.” Vantas nodded politely to the young captain, so recently promoted and waited patiently as the bridge's crew went through their preparation for the imminent Jump. He had always found it the most interesting time to watch the crew of a Jumpship, even more than combat. Every role is scripted, practiced and experienced a thousand times...but no one ever broke character. As soon as the ten minute alarm went off, every crew member went to some other place, became some other person. Naval personnel put their game faces on for combat true, a Jump they seemed to deem more serious.
Curious.
Eventually the alarms finished their countdown, the crew having completed their task under Vantas' bemused gaze, and his stomach promptly attempted to fit through at least three times as many dimensions as they were actually passing through. He calmly undid his restraints, floating out of his seat and turning to face the ship’s captain, still clasped into place.
"Jump complete, Captain Strider."
"Thank you Captain Heaton. Would you be so kind as to send one of the buses for the Terrors and instruct the Pride to dock with the Valiant? I am afraid once again I shall have to go vomit."
The young man rolled his eyes. "Aye Captain Strider. I shall have a room cleared for your briefing and all required materials present. If nothing has changed, go void your stomach, Vantas."
"Indeed I shall my friend." Replied the dark skinned Mechwarrior, as he pulled himself one handed across the ceiling, "Fear not, I shall go back to using magboots and traversing in a more dignified manner when I can afford to slow down!"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


On the RAIV Myrmidon,
Deep Space,
30 Ly from Coventry,
6th April, 3061, 10:30 Hours.

Vantas was deep in conversation with Lt. Mason and the members of TOG lance when Thom's Terrors finally arrived. Waving the mechwarrior still known as 'Bacon' and her lance back to their seats, he beamed broadly at his old friend as he led his warriors into the room. "Welcome Thom, welcome. How do you like our Pintos? I don't think you were ever aboard them, even when Rear Admiral Cochra- You remember Captain Edward Cochrane? He used to command the Drunkard for us? We promoted him when we acquired Star Commodore Sukhanov here and put him in charge of Operation Can Town. Which we also finished by the way, so just to knock your socks off, Can Town was-"
Vantas' gleeful diatribe was cut off by Sukhanov clearing his throat loudly. "Captain, might I suggest you do not share secrets of both yo-" He cleared his throat loudly, "our unit to everyone here? Bad enough that you have revealed my origins to these str-arbitrary mercs without further needless slips."
Vantas coughed uncomfortably. "Ha ha, yes, of course. My apologies. The Commodore is a bondsman we took from Clan Snow Raven just before Thom left our service. He might remember the engagement."
"Damn Strider, you never were good at keeping secrets when you finally get a chance to talk about them." Jeered a moon faced mechwarrior, sending a ripple of laughter round the gathered Irregulars.

"I's was awondering wat evera happen to Ole' Ed. Good guy. As to da Pintos, dey's astill shiny an smell new, I'lls await till afta a couples of battles to ad my's two cents." Thom waved off the Clanners comments and Vantas' apologies. "Yo, we's all friends or at least playing on da same team anow right qui-aff?" Thom butchered the Clan-speak but tried none-the-less, if for no other reason than to relax the Vat-Brat. Thom really wouldn't mind Vantas spilling the beans on everything, which after a few drink he may very well do so... He then chuckled at the open looks of confusion and snickering from the assembled warriors at the confused people, his accent had a way of doing that.

"Quiet my Angels, quiet." Vantas did a 'shoosh' motion with both hands, "We should at least try to appear organized to our honoured guests. My apologies, we need not get into such matters. It would be wiser I think to simply proceed to your mission." He paused, grinning slightly, "My friends, you have joined us for a wonderful opportunity. We will be conducting a raid in strength against Clan Jade Falcon on the planet Waldorff, where we will destroy their reserve naval and ground forces from orbit, deploy to the planet where Angelus Company shall, with the aid of the First and Second companies of the Green Hearts and air cover from the aerospace fighters on the Valorous and Myrmidon, destroy their remaining combat effective ground forces while Thom's Terror's with the Green Hearts Third company raid a former Steel Viper and current Jade Falcon science and manufacturing facility we believe to be focussed on military assets, steal everything of use, and destroy what remains of it before returning to the dropships for pick up." He grinned at the shocked faces of the hired units and deadpan faces of his own Angels, who had known this had been coming for nearly a month. "Questions?"

Edited by RogueSpear, 28 November 2013 - 02:20 AM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

On the RAIV Myrmidon,
Deep Space,
30 Ly from Coventry,
6th April, 3061, 10:30 Hours.

It took every bit of Thom's willpower to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl at the expressions on every assembled warrior's face. While some bore it well, others were noticeably paler like the blood just drained from their face. Even the Irregulars whom no doubt knew about this, as Vantas informed Thom, looked shocked. He turned to regard the expressions his miscreants were wearing.

(I don't want to put any words in anyone's mouth, so for the most part I'll avoid going into details.)

His troops didn't disappoint. Whereas there was the now pale faced warrior gripping the table with a knuckle whitening grip, there were also the one whom looked indifferent like they were unconcerned about facing the Clans. Open shock and disbelief dominated more than one soldier of fortune, he was expecting that, but he focused on his XO's unusual face the most. Wearing a feral grin and with a murderous gleam in his eye, Cees looks unsettling. Thom imagined that his expression mirrored his XO's.

An awkward silence came from his troopers. Thom shrugged and slouched even deeper into his chair, even going so far as to put his magboots upon the table with a great 'thud.'

"Yo. Da man just'sa askeds if you'sa had any questions," Thom took a knife out of a pocket and began scrapping the dirt out from underneath his nails, "if you'sa have any you's should voice dem."

As his troops bombarded Vantas with questions Thom chuckled as he awaited for the Irregular officer to drop the bomb on his troops.

Oh yeah...

Thom took a few disk cases rubber banded together out of his pocket and tossed them Vantas' way like a Frisbee. The masking tape label upon the top diskette read 'Super-duper simulation program ala-Frankfurt.'

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 28 November 2013 - 09:01 AM.

[The Shepherd]

On the RAIV Myrmidon,
Deep Space,
30 Ly from Coventry,
6th April, 3063, 10:30 Hours.

Cees smoothed down the front of his jumpsuit as he observed the back and forth between their hosts, trying his best to appear as relaxed as his attire.
He would have worn his dress uniform minus parade trimmings to the briefing, however his overly zealous shoulder charge into the brawl three days ago had popped the seam below the epaulette. No taylor himself, he’d need to have it fixed before he’d be able to wear it again.

“”Not zealous enough apparently,” he mused quietly to himself, flexing his still sore shoulder. Lyran marine ribs were harder than they looked.

Thom and he had only exchanged the briefest of words over the last few days, accompanied by a thankful and respectful nod to the XO when Cees had finally swallowed his pride and presented himself to the infirmary to have his own minor, but persistent injuries examined. Thom had been there chuckling at Dr Meade’s surprise that the staples had remained in place despite the Warlockian’s vivacious partying the night before.

In fact, he’d spent said party-night nursing a cocktail, aptly named a PPC (which he had to admit, he quite liked), trying to decide if he was still angry at the man for the brawl.

Before visiting Coventry, he’d have chewed him out on the spot. Now though…

I need to sort this out. Removing this budding friendship’s influence from the operation of this unit needs to become a priority. It simply wont do to have any other feelings in combat apart from...

"Quiet my Angels, quiet."
The Rogues Captain waved down the bubbling conversation in the room.
Cees put aside his thoughts and sat forward in vivid attention.

"We should at least try to appear organized to our honoured guests. My apologies, we need not get into such matters. It would be wiser I think to simply proceed to your mission." He paused, grinning slightly, "My friends, you have joined us for a wonderful opportunity. We will be conducting a raid in strength against Clan Jade Falcon on the planet Waldorff, where we will destroy their reserve naval and ground forces from orbit, deploy to the planet where Angelus Company shall, with the aid of the First and Second companies of the Green Hearts and air cover from the aerospace fighters on the Valorous and Myrmidon, destroy their remaining combat effective ground forces while Thom's Terror's with the Green Hearts Third company raid a former Steel Viper and current Jade Falcon science and manufacturing facility we believe to be focussed on military assets, steal everything of use, and destroy what remains of it before returning to the dropships for pick up."
And there it was. The plan. It might have been concocted by someone else, for some other means or gain, but it suited him just fine.
Happy beyond measure, Cees simply sat and basked in the anticipation, letting it show clearly on his face.

We shall not only destroy their forces, but humiliate them and leave them with nothing. Perfect.

THUD

"Yo. Da man just'sa askeds if you'sa had any questions, if you'sa have any you's should voice dem."

Ah yes, details.

“What quality of opposition can we expect? If we’re fighting garrison duty warriors and mechs then the operation should be as simple as you describe.”
He looked about, finally noticing that Thom was the only other person in the room grinning like he was.

Hmm… best the others not assume that both of their CO’s are mad.

“If there are line warriors guarding this important facility,” he tacked on, his face now a mask of concern, “ You couldn't take them out from orbit. We could be in for a serious fight.”

Edited by The Shepherd, 19 November 2013 - 09:41 PM.

[RogueSpear]

On the RAIV Myrmidon,
Deep Space,
30 Ly from Coventry,
6th April, 3061, 10:34 Hours,

Vantas snagged the set of simulator discs out of the air and let them roll long and slow over his knuckles before placing them in an inside breast pocket in his jacket with a wink at the gathered 'Angels.' Seated on his left, several of them still looked shocked that the mission was going ahead. His three lance leaders were more grim in their outlook, only dear Bacon showing any unease. She sat with her hands clasped in her lap, eyes flicking over the Terrors opposite her.
He did so wish she would stop chewing at her lip.
Nevertheless, he was somewhat perturbed by the awkward silence that had existed before Thom's little display prompted his XO to speak up. The albino sat with hands clasped and a carefully constructed look of concern rattling off a volley of questions. Vantas had not missed the vicious look of glee that had existed but a moment before.

Standing to deliver the briefing, he leaned on the conference table. "We're expecting a reserve cluster plus the planetary garrison. That's roughly forty to fifty Omnimechs, fifty to a hundred and twenty five elementals, ten omnifighters, with attendant dropships and support personnel to maintain and transport them. We also expect as much as a naval star may be present, but the commodore thinks it is unlikely that there will be more than a single destroyer in attendance." Nodding respectfully to the clanner, he continued, "Given the commodore's vastly superior expertise, we're inclined to continue regardless. The quality of the enemy troops will most likely be second line, but front line is possible. This cluster is tasked with defending the Falcon frontline. Their position on Waldorff is so they may react as a reaction force, defending any of the worlds on the border at a moment's notice. For that reason Mr. Anthonissen, we believe that regardless of their quality we will be quite able to destroy or disable them from orbit. They simply won't have taken any precautions to prevent it."
He grinned widely, pearly white teeth shining. "They're going to be sitting at the jump point. Depending on which of the known pirate points we can jump in at, they'll be between three and nine days travel behind us. As such, it is unlikely we shall need to contend with them. This leaves only the planetary garrison." He paused to enter several commands in a datapad hooked into the table by several cables. After a moment, the black glass table began to glow just in front of him. A dazzling display of light burst from the point for a few seconds before gaining coherency to form a hologram of a planet.

Vantas blinked back tears. "I am sorry, we really do need to get our technicians to fix that." Pointing, he continued. "This is the planet Waldorff. Our current intelligence indicates that the Falcons have converted the existing Viper facilities into an extensive refit and repair centre. Located here." A blinking red dot appeared on the hologram. "It's an open air facility for the most part. No roofs. What omnis they have, we expect about a binary, are kept there most of the time. They seem to mount constant trials and duels, with the mech undergoing refit to the pattern for the next day each evening. As it is a research facility, we believe they may be testing nonstandard patterns for viability. Their battlemechs and aerofighters are most likely to be in a hardened facility some distance away. In theory, the garrison amounts to another cluster, but we believe it to consist only of a few binaries with very little omni or elemental support."

Vantas leaned back, holding the pad in one arm and gestured at the assembled troops. "The R&R centre has been constructed on top of the Terrors objective. This will be your only big concern. We can't afford to use naval grade weaponry to hit the facility, but it is vulnerable to fighter sortie and artillery. The Rorke's Drift, a Fortress class dropship which will be deploying the Rex Duodecim Angelus will be able to provide artillery fire to both the Terrors and the Angels with it's Long Tom. Coupled with a fighter sortie, that should wipe out the majority of the garrison, leaving only a few mechs and some conventional infantry to face you. The good news is if the omnis are in their hardened bunkers, they'll be some distance to your north and the Angels will eliminate them for you on their way to pillage and destroy the Falcon barracks."

Edited by RogueSpear, 28 November 2013 - 02:19 AM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

On the RAIV Myrmidon,
Deep Space,
30 Ly from Coventry,
6th April, 3061, 10:34 Hours,

Thom listened in while Vantas went into a monologue about the Terror's mission specifics and objectives, and though he feigned not caring about the details he paid close attention to them while continuing to fiddle with the knife. Though it was well planned and thought out, there was always the possibility that something, somehow, would go wrong. Just as the ancient Terrain saying went 'Expect the worst, but hope for the best.'

That being said, it was an excellent question put forth by his XO. But he was slowly becoming annoyed with the silence coming from the rest of his miscreants, he was sure that they would be bombarding Vantas with questions about one thing or another. He was absolutely positive that Dove, Lt. Delfino would be asking about salvage rights on any advanced tech that the Terror's could drag away, or even the 'intellectual properties' of the Clanner egg-heads. Scientist...

"Oh yeahs. Hey Yo, V," Thom grinned wickedly as Vantas turned to him with a thoughtful expression. "when you'sa gonna tell dem dat we'sa goin to bea shacking up wit yer guys, or dat surprise fer dem in bay tree?" Thom arched a stapled eyebrow and put the knife away chuckling to himself.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 28 November 2013 - 09:01 AM.

[Spokes]

Pinto Class Corvette, RAIV Myrmidon
Deep Space
30 ly from Coventry
6 April, 3061 -- 10:34 Hrs

Li sat quietly as Captain Vantas stepped through the briefing. His easy confidence was disturbing, moreso because no one else in the room seemed to share it. The man was being flippant about WarShips for God's sake. The expressions of the other twelve RAI MechWarriors ran the gamut, but none of them appeared fully at ease with the situation. She found herself looking across the table at an RAI Lieutenant, the woman radiating discomfort as she scanned the Terrors on Li's side of the room.

Something was very wrong here.

Li leaned forward in her chair, taking the opportunity to turn back towards Thom as if to avoid the dazzle from the overzealous holoprojector. The man was largely unreadable, but if anything he seemed almost. . .annoyed? Not at Vantas-- if anything the two of them seemed to be sharing some sort of private joke. At her? Perhaps a little. It was hard to tell.

Looking past Thom, Cees was no real help. The Terrors' XO had asked a few perfunctory questions, but for the most part seemed satisfied with what he had already heard. Li was left with the impression that Cees would have been willing to launch into this no matter what the Irregulars had told them. She frowned, her brow furrowing slightly as she regarded the two men.

Something was very wrong there as well.

Li turned back towards the holoprojector as Vantas continued the briefing. Outwardly calm, her mind turned over on the inside where no one could see it. There was too much hand waving in this plan-- too many "shoulds", too much optimism, too much. . .Li felt around for the right word, her mind drawing up short as she found it, nostrils flaring slightly at the revelation.

Too much lazy.

Vantas finished, and Li felt out of place as she glanced over at Thom and Cees. She was just a subcontractor, a hired gun brought into the loop to help round out the Terrors' roster. It was not her place to stand up and cast doubt on the chosen strategy of her employer's employer. But someone had to. Li had seen so many new mercenary units form up on Outreach only to get wiped out on their first assignments because their founders were too focused on the idea of being mercenaries and not on the reality of it. As a contract officer for the Havoks, she'd passed over jobs that had looked too good to be true, only to find out later that some other unit had jumped at the "opportunity" and been annihilated for their trouble. Somewhere in the back of her mind, an alarm sounded.

She looked back across the table, at Vantas and his dozen 'Angels', suddenly had the impression of intruding on a private meeting. The decision to wear her Havoks dress uniform wasn't helping, the bright crimson of the tailored coat standing out against the informal garb of the others in the room. The black leather jackets of the RAI MechWarriors, Cees' jumpsuit, Wheeler's sweatshirt. . .

Li blinked, met Wheeler's eyes across the table, sweat heavy on his brow, the man almost squirming in his seat. He feels it too.

"Oh yeahs. Hey Yo, V, when you'sa gonna tell dem dat we'sa goin to bea shacking up wit yer guys, or dat surprise fer dem in bay tree?" Li held Wheeler's eyes a moment longer as Vantas turned to answer Thom's question.

Oh no you don't. . .

Li turned back towards Vantas, letting the Lieutenant's cuff links on her jacket rap on the table as she leaned forward. The smile that spread across her face was genuine enough, but her eyes were narrowed and hard. A fencer's smile.

"Before we move on, maybe we can step back through the salient parts of the operation. Just to make sure we're all on the same page. You intend to jump these two WarShips into the Waldorff system at a close jump point, strike the planetary garrison from orbit, deploy our ground team, and somehow keep a Jade Falcon rapid reaction cluster and at least one hostile WarShip off our backs long enough for us to escape the system. I'm not well versed on the capabilities of the Pinto class corvette Captain, but that sounds like a tall order for just two ships."

Li leaned back in her chair, her mind picking that moment to gently tug on her sleeve and remind her that "pinto" was a euphemism for "little p****".

"What happens if the reaction force sitting at the jump point executes an intrasystem jump to the same pirate point we've just used? We could have Falcon reinforcements dropping on top of us inside of, what, twelve hours?"

[RogueSpear]

Briefing room, RAIV Myrmidon,
Deep Space,
30 Ly from Coventry,
6^th April, 3061, 10:34 Hours,

Vantas nodded politely to the smartly dressed woman. "You must be Lieutenant Taishu of Vega's Havoks. I've read your MRBC file, very impressive. To answer your questions in order Lieutenant, we do indeed intend to do all that with just these two ships and well, I never said it weren't a gamble."
The little quip brought a soft chuckle from a few of the gathered RAI mechwarriors, even dear Bacon cracking a smile. Smiling himself, he held up a hand to quiet the indignant Li. "Please, bear with me a moment." Pressing a single button on the pad, he appeared to activate a 'play' function. Two twin flashes appeared on screen, high above the planet. "I am glad someone is asking about our Naval strategy. Here, as you can see, we Jump in system. This is our first break point. If we believe the opposition to be insurmountable the mission will be scrubbed." He shrugged. "A long trek for nothing, but I'd rather waste a few months than die." He stepped back from the table and allowed Commodore Cochrane to take over.

Clearing his throat, the Snow Raven stood with hands clasped before the table. "At this point, assuming we do not retreat, we will initiate one of two strategies. It is probable that the reaction cluster has either a single heavy cruiser or a pair of destroyers in attendance. In an ideal case, this will be true and we will initiate the first stratagem. As these Pintos can outpace anything except a Fredasa class corvette, we will be able to arrive before the clans with little difficulty. It will take at least an hour for them to find a jump point in system and prepare to jump in. Even if they use the same one we use and manage to jump inside a single hour, they will be far behind us. From experience, I believe it will take the Falcons no less than three hours to make the jump."

Dotted lines sprang out from the hologram, marking the path of the Pintos. "We will release both dropships only when we reach atmosphere. This allows us to fall back immediately if the Falcons somehow find a closer jump point. Once on planet, your mission should take less than half a day to complete Captain Strider assures me."
Vantas interjected quickly, stepping forward. "This is a swift hit and run, not a campaign."
Frowning at the interruption, Cochrane continued. "At this point we will begin orbital bombardment for as long as possible. When necessary, we will break off to engage the clan Warships. You should not need to face the reserve cluster at this point. No clan naval commander would allow embarked ground forces to face Warships. Only once he has cleared us out the way will he allow his Jumpships carrying the reserves to jump forward. By the time they are prepared to land, you should be on your way to the rendezvous. You will either be collected by the Drunkard who will jump in after ten hours or when instructed to do so by pony express. One of the Pintos, should you be unable to be retrieved, will take advantage of it's Lithium-Fusion battery to Jump out and order in the Drunkard early."

As the hologram reset, he shrugged. "In the second event, we will deploy our fighter screen to cover you and proceed to lead the clan warships away from you. You may then face the reserve cluster, but by splitting our corvettes, we should be able to slow their descent by careful maneuvering so our threat radius overlaps their flight path. As the captain said, no one would claim it was not a gamble."

[Thom Frankfurt]

Briefing room, RAIV Myrmidon,
Deep Space,
30 Ly from Coventry,
6^th April, 3061, 10:34 Hours

Thom let out his breath in a heavy sigh. Li had some very good points regarding the possible tango the warships could end up dancing up in the black. And he was very grateful that he had went ahead and signed her on with the Terrors for this OP, for it was very apparent that she was knowledgeable when it came to space borne operations, something that he was totally ignorant to. As she shot her concerns back and forth with Vantas and Commodore SnowRaven-breath, Thom remained silent, for all this talk of a possible naval battles, intra system jump points, transit times, gravitational pulls and misc. Spacer jargon Thom just felt confused and...helplessly small.

He was a soldier. An elite MechWarrior known for his skill, (and ability to take full advantage of the situation.) throughout the Inner Sphere and even among the Clans. Hell, Clan Wolf even referred to him as a Bogeyman. But he couldn't do his job and terrorize the Falcon's if his dropship was shot to s**t with a splatter cannon while entering atmosphere. Even he understood that that much of the conversation.

Thom then busied himself with pulling out a pack of 'Black-Jack' black cherry gum out and stuffing a piece into his mouth, he then offered to the nearby folks while smacking away on the gum while listening in to the conversation.

POP! The bubble burst, coating the lower half of Thom's face with a dark red layering which he sucked in and began chomping away on while getting several looks ranging from humor, to shock, to outright annoyance casted his way. He took this chance to toss in his two cents.

"A-look. I'ms no mental giant when it'a comes to all dis," he pointed around at the surrounding walls and bulkheads, "space stuff. Wat I'sa know is dat der's a million tings dat acould go wrong." He clicked off on his fingers. "Misjump, broken seal on da helium tank, ripped solar sail, breaking's up during entry, jumping into's someting, drunk dude entering da wrong info into da jump-puter..." He trailed off suddenly.

"I'sa guess dat wat I'msa trying to say is dat, uh, we's maybe shouldn't bea worrying about couldda happen, but coming up with contingencies," he looked at a nearby RAI trooper, "I'ma saying dat right, 'contingencies?' I's am, good? Uh, where was I? Oh yeah's we's should be acoming up wit contingencies in case tings end up going to Hell ina hand basket."

He paused to let the point of his uncharacteristic seriousness to sink in, or for them to decipher his accent, before continuing on in a grim, serious tone.

"I'msa MechWarrior. Dat's wat I's do, an I'msa damned good at it. Now Vantas, Commodore Coch-ring, you'sa get me on dat rock an I'sa can promise you's dat I's can make life miserable for dem bas**rds, I guarantee dat, but I'sa can't do it if's I'msa splattered all over Waldorf. You's do yer job, get us der, an we'lla do our job, shoot up da place, bring Kerensky's children to heel, pee in der sacred genepool, whateva." He waved off the suddenly disgusted looks glaring from the Commodore.

"A Miss Li?" Thom looked back to regard the quad pilot in her splendid crimson uniform with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "You'sa seem's to be knowledgeable regarding all dis," again he motioned to the surrounding bulkheads, "I'sa trust dat you'lls be able to make sure dat da Irregulars are's akeeping da Terror's best interests close to der heart?" He then looked to gauge the Irregular's reaction to that statement. "I'msa sure dat our gracious host won't mind?"

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 29 November 2013 - 12:53 AM.

[Listless Nomad]

Briefing room LAAF Cherry Chariot,
Deep Space,
15 Ly from Tarazed,
1^st May, 3059, 14:24 Hours

“Leutnant, I understand your concerns, but this is a complex military operation, and you did volunteer. I recommend that you see to your mech, and ensure everything is in order. It is not your place, nor your job to understand the complexities that go into planning a major military operation. In one week’s time, the 3^rd will relieve you, and you’ll all be heroes. Remember….this is a gamble.”

Eksander’s Swamp
Southern Continent, Tarazed
17^th May, 3059, 23:24 Hours

Andrew took a deep breath and tried to control the shaking of his hand as he reached out to adjust the frequency on his command console. Closing his eyes for a moment, he flipped the switch to the OPEN setting, and keyed his mike.

“H..Hello? Is there anyone left out there? Is anyone still alive out there?” Wheeler listened for a moment, but only silence greeted him. Trying to suppress the panic rising within him, Andrew clenched and unclenched his fists a few times but now found himself completely unable to control the shaking. He keyed the mike again, the fear plainly evident in his voice. “Please someone answer me! Don’t leave me alone….”

His only response was a cruel and merciless laugh crackling from his speakers.

Briefing room, RAIV Myrmidon,
Deep Space,
30 Ly from Coventry,
6th April, 3061, 10:34 Hours

“…As the captain said, no one would claim it was not a gamble."

No! No! No!

The room was spinning, and it was all Wheeler could do to not throw up. He had heard this all before, and he knew exactly how it would end. Despite all he’d been through, despite all the dreams, and all of the oaths and promises he’d made to himself, Wheeler was once again staring down the barrel of “simple” mission against the Clans. With a quick shake of his head, he was able to regain some control over himself and took a deep breath.

For a moment he locked eyes with Li, and he could see the discomfort and distrust in her eyes as well.

At least I’m not the only one.

For a few more minutes, Andrew teetered on the fine line between anger and fear. The more the officers spoke, the closer Andrew came to losing his grip.

"I'sa guess dat wat I'msa trying to say is dat, uh, we's maybe shouldn't bea worrying about couldda happen, but coming up with contingencies"

Wheeler’s blood was boiling.

Don’t they ever listen?! Don’t they ever learn!?

Andrew’s commander continued speaking, but he could no longer hear him. The room around him began to spin once more, and soon the walls melted away to swamp. His nostrils were filled with the scent of burning flesh and decay. He glanced toward Li, but her face had been replaced with the blackened visage of Lola Scott, her skinless face turned inquisitively towards him. Wheeler tried to blink away the image, and looked instead towards Cees, but was met instead with the headless torso of Benny Brubacher. Everyone in the room had been replaced by his fallen comrades, all of them staring inquisitively at Wheeler. At last, the standing figure of the RAI leader was replaced with the skeletal grin of the fallen Jaguar pilot, his face locked in an eternal mocking grin.

“Is there a problem Mr…Wheeler? Was it?”

Aghast, reality snapped back into focus. Everything was as it should be, except that everyone was staring at him. And he was standing.
“YEAH I HAVE A-“ Wheeler’s raised voice and aggressive tone immediately set the room on edge, and Andrew could feel the RAI members stiffening for a fight. Luckily, he was able to arrest his actions before the situation got out of hand. While using his left hand to pin his shaking right arm against his body, Wheeler licked his lips and managed to speak again, this time with a more reasonable tone.

“I still have serious reservations regarding the naval aspects of this engagement.” Andrew could see the Snow Raven commander glowering at him for his perceived disrespect or disregard of the commander’s explanation not moments before. Andrew held up a hand to forestall the oncoming retort. “That being said, I’m a mechwarrior, and not a naval officer. What do I know right?” His nervous chuckle did nothing to lighten the mood of the room. “My reservations lie with the intel for the mission, and the specifics of the ground targets.“

Andrew paused to survey all of the faces in the room, to look each member briefly in the eyes. “Even if by some miracle we make it to the planet surface, and aren’t subsequently massacred from space, how exactly do we know what we are up against? For a planet behind clan lines, we SEEM to know an awful lot about troop distributions, placements, and strength. This isn’t my first tangle with the Clans, and last time, the words ‘should, hopefully, and will be’ got a lot of my friends killed.” Wheeler paused for a moment. “All of my friends killed.” His felt his voice catch briefly on the word ‘All’ and waited for a moment to gather himself before beginning to speak with a much firmer tone of voice. “I can think on my feet when the situation calls for it, but underestimating even second line units is a first class ticket to a pine box.”

As Wheeler sat down, all eyes on the room remained on him, and their owners did not have friendly expressions on their faces. Whereas Thom’s reservations had been bookended with cheerful optimism and bravado, Andrew had basically just called them incompetent, unprepared, and/or liars to their faces.

Well buddy boy…you always were good at making friends. It’s going to be a long trip…

[Thom Frankfurt]

Briefing room, RAIV Myrmidon,
Deep Space,
30 Ly from Coventry,
6th April, 3061, 10:34 Hours

He's right you know, we are being a bit too optimistic...

"Doc isa right, we's are beinga bit toos optimistic about dis..." Thom rolled his hand in the air searching for the right word, but in the end gave up. "Ting." The mercenary then held up a finger with a bruised knuckle to forestall any comments, "Dat being's said, let'sa not underestimate des Buzzards, but at da same time let'sa not forgets dat deys are not invincible, Sticky-Vicky-Davion an da Toaster Worshiping Comguards have proved dat. Now I'msa sure dat Davey-Vicky an 'Ole One-Eyed-Foucht did der homework and came ups wit a game plan on how to-a beat des test-tubed-babies. But are we's gonna sit her anda say dat a bratty midget an a fossil from a bygone age are any better den us? I'msa not." Thom took his boots down from the table to sit back in his seat with a thoughtful look.

Just because you doubt that anyone on that Rock has a bullet with your name on it didn't mean that some fool didn't have one with 'To whom it may concern' or A-Hole on it.

Thom muttered out his next words, absent mindedly, almost like he was thinking aloud.

"Fighting dem, da Clans, is probably da only ting dat I'msa truly good at. I's always mess up doin anyting else... school, my's championship, Revenak, Barcelona..." He suddenly became quiet when he realizes that he was in the middle of a monologue while rubbing his shoulder and fixes the anyone eyeing him with a steely glare.

"I'ms going in. Just because I'sa got an axe to grind wit des feathered-funks, don'ts amean dat I'sa gonna charge in der clad in nothing but blue paint. Nots too cautious either, Clanner's will be able to sniff out whateva stunt you'sa gonna try to pull if you'sa creep on in like dat. But no matta what we's gonna have to go in frosty, tink on ours feet, an keep an eye out for whatever surprises dey mighta have in store for us. But we'sa need to get dirtside before any of dat, so I'sa recommend dat we's let da flyboys do der job while we work on doing ours. We's got preperations to-a do, sim-time and the like." He looked up to skewer Vantas with a look at the end of that sentence. He then looked over his miscreants thoughtfully.

"Any more concerns, my lovely Terrors?"

[RogueSpear]

The Ballroom, RAIV Drunkard’s Walk,
Sigvald’s Light,
Lyran Space,
7th April, 3061, 13:04 Hours

“Welcome t’the Ballroom.” Staff Sergeant Conor Ivarrson growled the moment the doors hissed open. His bionic leg echoed loudly with each footfall as he strode forward to shake hands with Thom. “Good to see you again Thom, though I doubt you’d recognise me.”

Taken aback, Thom clasped the advanced prosthetic right hand and looked over the oddly bulked form. If he was to guess the man was roughly 85% bionic. From the state and makes of the prosthetics, it was hard to say whether if the enhancements/replacements were acquired over a length of time or all slapped on at the same time with what was handy. One thing was sure though, that right hand screamed out NIAS to Thom. Despite looking like he'd been tossed through a wood chipper or blat furnace and somehow survived, the man's fleshy bits looked well developed despite the scarring and burns. It was safe to say that at one time the man was quite developed, maybe even no-necked muscle bound. Clad in oddly fitting Winter camo cargo pants and a tight fitting black short sleeved shirt with a rank device pinned at the shoulder and displaying an insignia of a Hunkback brandishing a spanner and wrench in a mimicry of the God Zeus with his lightning bolts. The sudden hiss of steam from the leg prosthetic dragged Thom's gaze away from the reconstructed skull with it's hole for a nose and glowing ice blue circuitry surrounded eye that reminded Thom of a particle cannons charged field inhibitor. Thom held up his hand in a motion like hew as going to guess on the man's identity.

"I'sa... ah..um, I's ain't got an idea. Sorry man." He apologetically shrugged. "Though judgin' by yer Irish accent I'sa say dat you's from either Firgrove or Caledonia. Other dan dat, I'sa got nothing."

“Conor Ivarrson. Used to fight with the Four Horsemen in third.” Conor shook Thom’s hand briskly.

"Conor! Holy Shrimp! I'sa heard you'sa bought it on Hot Springs!" Thom clasped the hand again and pumped it heartedly.

“Almost. Got found by a Steiner salvage team and they got me to a MASH unit. Kept me alive, though I ended up not so pretty.” He gestured at the hall behind him. “Let’s show you around. Place has changed a lot since you were last on board.” Conor pointed at the high ceiling, beginning to guide the gaggle of bewildered mechwarriors onto the maze of gantries that made up the room. “We knocked out the two decks above and below, so we’ve less supply space now. Not that we usually need it with a dropship like the Drift attached, but it is a little less room for the luxuries.”

“Then we built up the sim pods. They’re raised off the ground now, which makes it easier to get in at the units themselves for programming and maintenance.” He said, leading them down a grill staircase running parallel to the nearest station. It held four pods in a cross, on a grill platform. Underneath could clearly be seen the guts and workings of the pods, the gyroscopes, server banks and hordes of cables. A short staircase ran up to each face of the square for ease of access. Surrounding them was a nest of gantries and catwalks bristling with benches, desks and armchairs. “Threw in the gantries when we started hiring the place out as a training center. Let’s us camp a mentor anywhere they want to be so they can see exactly what their student is seeing, watch their actions in the cockpit, whatever. Proved to be pretty popular.” He turned to grin back at the Terrors. “And all the seating lets the rest of us pop by to watch and bet. Watch careful lads, you’ll have an audience by the time yer match starts.”

“There’s three groups of three of these things, in lanes. We divide them up by company. Then all the way up there,” He pointed through the maze to a glass walled tower. “We’ve got another eight machines rigged up to monitor and interfere with the scenarios. So if we really want to surprise some poor b*stard, there’s no warning to be given. No gantries over the booth, so can’t see their screens and you can’t see another set of pods suddenly get occupied.”

He pivoted to walk backwards up a ramp, bridging onto a long sim deck. It’s three crosses were evenly spaced out a half dozen metres or so from each other in a long line. A few technicians tinkered with the guts of the pods and another couple lingered around on some of the benches hovering over the station. “Now these pods have just about every single mech configuration to roll out a factory anywhere in the ‘Sphere before 3058 and most of the ones after that. Even got a decent selection of clan mechs to choose from. They’ve also got every personal config we’ve ever put in, but I’ve locked those out so ye’re all on the same foot. Wouldn’t be fair to have the Angels roll up in their favourite toys at you, would it? Just choose what you want from the library and get used to the controls.”

His sole eyebrow raised over his left eye and he spread his hands wide. “Any questions on that? No? Good. Your mission briefing then. The first round will be pretty simple – standard deathmatch between yourselves to get used to the equipment. The second round...well you’ll need to talk to him,” Conor pointed at Thom. “About that. Pick your mechs, I’ll be in the booth if you need me.”

Edited by RogueSpear, 26 March 2015 - 08:44 AM.

[Listless Nomad]

The Ballroom, RAIV Drunkard’s Walk,
Sigvald’s Light,
Lyran Space,
7th April, 3061, 13:04 Hours

“Please select chassis.”

The voice was persistent, insistent even. The voice, programmed to goad scatterbrained cadets to stop socializing, was quickly becoming intolerable to Andrew. His hand hovered above the execute button, his brain unwilling finish what he had started nearly two minutes earlier. He simply could not bring himself to select “Mad Cat” on the screen in front of him. Finally, Wheeler slapped the button forcefully, bruising his palm and flinging him out of his comfort zone. Taking a deep breath, Wheeler closed his eyes and waited for the piped in sounds that would normally occur during a simulated start up sequence.

“Please select variant.”

The computerized voice made him groan and open his eyes, the tedium of the task beginning to overcome his initial trepidation. Rolling his eyes at the choices presented to him on the screen, Andrew suddenly became more exasperated than afraid. It was a welcome change for him. Unfortunately, none of the variants available to him matched the loadout he’d created for his personal mech.

Well that’s to be expected. Can’t expect them to allow a bastardized version into their precious sims. Hmmm….what to pick…

Wheeler decided to forego some of the more heavy hitting variants for the simple “Prime” variant, which was what he’d fought against, and what he was most familiar with. After he’d made his selecation, the cockpit darkened, and Andrew could hear the fans of the computers whirring as they began to feed the immense amounts of simulator information into his sim pod. The moment gave Andrew time to think.

During their tour through the sim area, and in the time leading up to their scheduled simulation battle, Wheeler had slowly felt his anxiety increasing. He’d done his best to hide it from the others, trying to keep a smile on his face, and even cracking a joke or two with the other Terrors, but the tension was getting to him. His experience in the briefing had left Wheeler a little shaken, and was doing his best to overcome it and get his mind right. He’d been to speak with Zoé few times, and she’d managed to calm him down, but she wasn’t here now.

For a moment, Andrew sat in the darkened simulator, waiting for the computer to run the necessary calculations and begin the start up sequence for the unfamiliar mech. The cockpit reeked of sweat and mildew. It gave it an earthy smell, entirely different from the cold, sterile smell of the rest of the jumpship. Looking up for a moment from the control panel, Andrew caught sight of a reflection out of the corner of his eye, causing Andrew’s whole body to stiffen. The corpse face of the Jaguar pilot laughed silently for a moment, before being replaced with Andrew’s own blanched image. Wheeler shook his head and rubbed his eyes for a moment before letting out a sigh of relief as the “mech” finally completed its start up sequence. The high fidelity screens in front of him snapped to life, showing him the battlefield for the first time.

“Here we go…”

With a sense of dread, but also mounting excitement, Wheeler pushed down on the foot pedals and took a tentative step forward.

Edited by Listless Nomad, 18 June 2014 - 07:02 PM.

[The Shepherd]

The Ballroom, RAIV Drunkard’s Walk,
Sigvald’s Light,
Lyran Space,
7th April, 3061, 13:04 Hours

"Any more concerns, my lovely Terrors?"

Cees had shaken his head stoically at the end of the briefing. Watching this mechanical chimera of a man guide them around the impressive Sim Pod network temporarily gave him second thoughts.

Lets hope all of Thom’s comrades don’t end up like him. I’m rather attached to my arm…

He berated himself mentally for allowing the lame “or perhaps, it’s rather attached to me,” to pass through his mind.
Thom’s influence again. It needed reigning in if he was going to be able to concentrate.

Once the others had moved off to their respective pods, he stood before his own for a moment and examined it. The Rogues’ setup was very impressive indeed. Hydraulic pitch and roll controls, radiators and miniaturised heat sinks to simulate heat buildup and dissipation, the Sim Pods had everything needed for an immersive experience. In fact, he noted climbing to the entry hatch, they seemed to be better kitted out than the Pods in Port St Williams Academy.
Short of being Old Star League originals, they were close to the best you could get.

Excellent. Nobody can blame the pods for a poor showing.

Clambering in, he chuffed at the fortuity of having to wear coveralls instead of his dress uniform onto the Walk. Stripping down to his underwear and donning the suspiciously smelling standard cooling vest was made much easier in the confined space.
Spending a minute to adjust the command couch and slide the sticks and throttle controls to his prefered distances, he scanned the rest of the control and screen layouts. Very similar to his old Academy Pod indeed. Most of the control boards were where he expected and those that weren’t, were intuitively placed.

He put on the slightly greasy neurohelmet and adjusted the straps to give a good sensor contact, biting back a slight grimace of distaste. As the HUD visor settled in from of his vision, His mind’s eye was flashed back to the compressed images of weeks upon weeks of leave time honing his skills in simulators just like this one.

As glad as I am for doing it, I do -not- miss communal equipment.

He found the system configuration for a stock Uziel UZL -2S in the library almost immediately and spent the rest of the brain signature calibration time seeing just how extensive it was.

Again. He was very impressed.

Once all was loaded up and the gyro engaged beneath him, he walked his virtual mech around the pre-launch calibration area. Everything checked out well.
His weapon systems were disabled for the moment. A pity, as he wanted to get a feel for how he’d have to cope with the heat simulation system.
In his own Phoenix Hawk, and then Uziel, he’d had a customised cooling suit made and new coolant system installed. For his albinism, it was almost essential to have a premier personal cooling set-up. He’d learned all too quickly from jumping straight into his gifted Uziel during the mid-stages of the Battle of Coventry that standard issue would cause him serious problems at the beginning of the red-zone, let alone its upper limits.

He could ask Conor to dial it back, but the damage to his steely image would be irreparable. He’d just have to pick his shots and run cooler than usual.

“Like riding a Monocycle…” he mused under his breath and pressed the “READY” button on his secondary screen.

[Thom Frankfurt]

The Ballroom, RAIV Drunkard’s Walk,
Sigvald’s Light,
Lyran Space,
7th April, 3061, 13:04 Hours

His sole eyebrow raised over his left eye and he spread his hands wide. “Any questions on that? No? Good. Your mission briefing then. The first round will be pretty simple – standard deathmatch between yourselves to get used to the equipment. The second round...well you’ll need to talk to him,” Conor pointed at Thom. “About that. Pick your mechs, I’ll be in the booth if you need me.”

Thom blinked in surprise upon hearing the man's words. Sim time already? Vantas must have instructed his Irregular lackeys to light a fire under the Terror's asses for eating up so much time with the side trip to Coventry. Thom prided himself with being unpredictable, but this odd turn of the tables totally caught him off guard and vexed him greatly. Atop of that all his gear was still on the 'Pride tucked away in his Marauder, the Widow's Bounty. He felt his blood rush to his face as he realized that he was grinding his teeth in frustration, he wasn't too thrilled of the thought of wearing some nasty moth eaten coolant vest.

Turning to his cut-throats/minions he regarded them with a cool level look. Some, like Adrianna and his XO, Cees, had thoughtful faces as they appraised the high tech sim-pods. Other's gave doubtful gazes or blank dumb looks to the control booth while Azman busied himself with yanking a worn coolant vest out of one of his brown coat's pockets with a murderous gleam in his eye.

"Well's you'sa herd da man, git yer gear's an pick a pod. Let's show dese funks what Terror's we's really are!" With that he whirled about stomping off towards what seemed a randomly picked out pod, stopping long enough to pop one more bubble from his 'Black Jack' black cherry gum before pulling the wad out of his mouth and stamping his simulator with it. "Fer later." he offered after a nearby spanner wielding technician gasped in indignantion.

Walking about the pod, ignoring the murderous glances being shot his way by the Irregular techs, Thom sized up the sim unit and he had to admit it was an impressive machine. Coolant vents mixing with heating coils with a nice sprinkle of gizmo's and gadgets who's uses totally baffled him, all somehow cradled within a network of hydraulic struts to offer pitches and plenty of shake, rattles, and rolls. Not to mention changes to angles as the simulated battlemech trotted up the simulated terrain. Very high-tech and on par with the sim pods he trained in at NAMA so long ago.

With a confident grunt the Warlockian mercenary deftly squeezed through the sim's hatch and climbed into the cramped confines within. Looking about it was a neigh on exact copy of the machines used at the academy. There were slight differences though, one being that this pod smelt newer, missing the decades worth of cadet's stench seeping out of the rumble seat, and here there was a small storage locker affixed to the command couch. Peeking in, Thom found himself staring at a worn wadded up coolant vest giving off a funky frequently used stench.

With renewed irritation, Thom stripped out of his clothing. Down to his OD skivvies, T tossed his clothing into the musky locker and busied himself with tugging on the grimy feeling coolant vest quickly followed with a disgruntled sigh the mercenary tugged the 'loaner' neural helmet down from it's cradle above the chair. Half toying with the idea of yanking his clothing out of the locker and tossing them into the helmet's former place, Thom plopped down into the rumble seat and flicked a few toggles bringing the sim's systems up. Strapping the helmet on a sudden thought popped into his head; an echo of Conor's words:

“We’ve got another eight machines rigged up to monitor and interfere with the scenarios. So if we really want to surprise some poor b*stard, there’s no warning to be given. No gantries over the booth, so can’t see their screens and you can’t see another set of pods suddenly get occupied.”

And the other bit.

"“Now these pods have just about every single mech configuration to roll out a factory anywhere in the ‘Sphere before 3058 and most of the ones after that. Even got a decent selection of clan mechs to choose from. They’ve also got every personal config we’ve ever put in, but I’ve locked those out so ye’re all on the same foot. Wouldn’t be fair to have the Angels roll up in their favorite toys at you, would it? Just choose what you want from the library and get used to the controls.”

A bruised knuckled hand stopped halfway to the syncretize switch for the neural helm, pausing hovering over the switch. As he reflected Thom's eyes became two grey slivers. It was a very shrewd look, calculating, and more than a bit sinister; very Liao.

"Mothertruckers..." It came out in an evil hiss.

They weren't going to catch him off balance twice in one day. Thom quickly tossed out what the predictable thing would be for him to do, use the mech that he'd be taking with him when he went to flay the Falcons. He toyed with the idea of stomping around in an Assault mech, but Thom was notorious for using a 95 ton Banshee during his reign of terror on Solaris, so that could possibly be expected of him as well as his familiarly with the Blackjack.

With a grunt Thom stabbed down the synch button with a boney finger, prompted the machine to neurally bond itself with his brain. With a chuckle, T brought up the list of mech programs racked into the Irregular's library. Something unexpected. Something that'd throw everyone off, even his beloved Terror's which at this moment could be plotting to gain up on him, trying to one up 'Da Boss.' Scrolling down the list Thom spied a designation that he'd recently became familiar with while doing his test runs on the battlefields still raging along the St. Ives/CapCon border in his Marauder. The TR1-Wraith. Freakishly fast for it's size and with a maneuverability that would make any light pilot green with envy.

Right under the TR1 was the TR2 program. Looking it over Thom noticed that the difference between the 1 and 2 was that the large pulse laser had been swapped out for an extended ranged particle cannon. And Thom loved the big lightning gun...

Thom selected the mech and shrugged despite being by himself in the sim-pod. The Terror's were painfully short on scouts, and if he ever managed to live out his plans of expanding the Terrors to battalion size he'd have to include something fast. Even if this monkey wrench that he was tossing into whomevers plans right now somehow blew up in his face, he'd at least walk away with some idea of the TR series capabilities. If nothing else it might be fun. Thom mashed down the 'ready' button and began waiting for the techies to do their job.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 15 June 2014 - 08:05 AM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

[Taking some of the layout of Crimson Straight and adding my own observations and flavor to make it seem something like a real city. Also a shout out to the Rolling Stones.]

With his Wraith perched atop of a six story parking structure Thom looked over this particular expanse of the Irregular simulator program with a critical eye. Wide avenues snaked through this part of the... city, divided with strips of green grass and odd looking palm trees and hemmed in by funky looking apartment buildings that seemed to appear both large yet squat at the same time. The city sat upon the Southern peninsula of some fairly sized bay, across the reddish looking waters sat a dock area with a massive cargo ship who's containers were being offloaded by numerous cranes.

Red water? Thom thought about what conditions would affect the water to be that color, dredging up memories of some of the science courses that he attended back at University. But as soon as the answers began bubbling up to the surface of what could possibly cause such phenomena Thom forced himself to think about something-anything else. Thoughts of his time on New Avalon brought up bitter memories.

"Okaies, we'sa got some docks, goofy a$$-hat looking buildings, red waters..." He trailed off looking over the skyline. An array of satellite dishes and antenna stabbed up into the sky just beyond some of the buildings across the bay, one of the antenna snapped in half as a couple from a score of high arching missiles clipped into it on their flight toward some unseen opponent.

"Dat'd be a's HPG complex and'a Juri or'a Wheeler." Feathering his petals, Thom stood the Wraith up and gently 'hopped' it off the top of the parking garage to crush the ferrocrete down bellow. Throttling the Wraith up, Thom led it down what he was starting to refer to 'Red Shore Boulevard' at a casual pace stomping on cars and kicking off the occasional fire hydrant.

"Oopsies, my's bad." The merc muttered absentmindedly while increasing speed as the moved the Wraith up a rather steep hill. Cresting the rise the sim pod suddenly jerked as Thom's damage display lit up with slight damage as light autocannon fire danced across the Wraith's rear torso armor. "Funking Azman!" T shouted while stomping down on the petal controls for the Wraith's jump jets, instantly a short ion flame shot out of the back of the 55 ton mech and sent it skimming along the ferrocrete a mere meter off the ground. Zipping along the road way, the Warlockian moved the medium mech behind cover.

Looking over this area, Thom found himself greeted by sheet metal paneled or cinder blocked buildings, yards containing construction materials, forklifts, and other misc. industrial looking stuff.

Magscan won't work here, good luck tracking me old man!

Spurring his mount forward, Thom cut across a gravelly dirt yard behind some three story siloed building kicking over pallets of sheetrock before doubling back towards the North. Hooking around a hill, Thom became aware that he was humming a tune. Cautiously the mercenary moved his mech down the slanting slope continuing to hum while the sim program threw hitches into the program to simulate the difficulty of traversing the bluff's face.

Suddenly missing the 'One-Eye Program,' the program containing several terabytes of compressed music that was imbedded in the memory files of the first mech that his father bought when he began his Solaris career, the Commando known as 'One Eye,' Thom continued humming as he moved his simulated mech back into the coastal city.

What is this song? Thom thought as he darted the TR2 through an intersection stabbing out his mechs left arm suddenly and unleashing a flurry of gem colored laser darts at nothing but the façade of an apartment building, a dry cleaners, and a taco shack. But as he raced down the street, his external mics picked up the canned sounds of close by autocannon retorts and words suddenly began to form in his head.

Tracers lit up a intersection ahead racing both ways along a cross street ahead. Multiple mechs. If he had to guess it was probably Azman and the lovely Dove, Adrianna, exchanging fire with one another. With a roguish grin Thom slowed his Wraith down some and took the next cross street as the cannon continued booming at one another. And then he began to sing.

"I'sa stuck around St. Peters'burg when I'sa saw it was'a time fer a change. Killed da Czar and'a his ministers, Anastasia a'screamed in vain..."

Thom took the next right, clipping the corner of an old red brick building as he raced towards his opponent even as the sim threw a slip into his step. Up ahead the tracers were only shooting one way...

"Is'a rode a tank! Held'a General's rank! When da Blitzkrieg raged an da bodies stank!" As the mercenary approached the next intersection he slowed the Wraith down a fraction and keyed his mic so it'd play over all the comlines.

"PLEASED TO MEET YOU'S!! HOPE YOU'SA GUESS MY'S NAME!!" Thom shouted over the comline at the top of his lungs while mashing down on the triggers for all his weapons

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 17 June 2014 - 07:52 PM.

[Sparks Murphey]

The Ballroom, RAIV Drunkard’s Walk,
Sigvald’s Light,
Lyran Space,
7th April, 3061, 13:04 Hours

It was a lovely sim pod. The multi-function displays arrayed in the user’s field of vision were new Mendham f504s, slimmer than the chunky boxes still adorning most merc pods. The noise cancellation was beautiful, leaving no discernable noise from the humming, clunking DropShip around her to infiltrate the pod. Even the seat upholstery seemed lovingly cared for, it’s soft leather free of the splits and cracks that would inevitably set in.

Despite all that, maybe because of all that, Adrianna still couldn’t quite convince herself that she was in a real ‘Mech. It was like looking at a very convincing trid portrait: you could admire the effort, but something still felt off. It felt… generic, she decided. There weren’t the extra coolant pipes you’d find on a Firestarter, or the bundled cables coming in from the sensor arrays of a Clint, or the reinforced sidewall or a Shadow Hawk or Grasshopper. It could be any ‘Mech, and at the same time, no ‘Mech, since any real machine’s construction would affect the cockpit. The only real distinctive mark was the word “Tenacious” scrawled in cursive above the hatch.

Her instinct when she’d climbed into the pod had been to select the Centurion CN9-D5, being so close to the machine she was testing already. Whoever had compiled the sim’s library of chassis must have done so before specs on the -D5 had come out. Her next choice, the Argus AGS-4G which she’d tested the year before, was likewise missing from the library.

With a sigh, she decided she’d just have to content herself with ‘Mechs that had actually been released to the battlefield rather than prototypes and experimentals. She briefly considered going back to her roots with a Phoenix Hawk -3D or -3S, but those days were past, and besides, she wanted some form of autocannon on there…

Finally, the Dragon -5N caught her eye. Sure, it was almost fifteen years old now, and still used single heat sinks, but there was a ruggedness to the Dragon that a lot of the newer designs didn’t have. Plus, she’d never got to try one.


***


Nor Azman was a survivor, Adrianna had to give him that. He’d weaved his scarecrow-like Vulcan through the buildings with ease, making the most of his ‘Mech’s superior maneuverability. Windows exploded as her autocannon shells failed to find their mark, while his own slammed into her front armour. He topped it off with a close pass and a burst of machine gun rounds and a gout of flame around the Dragon’s cockpit, shaking the rig and driving up the heat.

In a real fight, it would have been serious. The flames could cook her alive if they got in, and the machine gun bullets had a very real chance of doing that - if they were real, that was. Instead, Adrianna merely wondered how many points the sim had deducted from her simulated health level as she reached out and grabbed one of the skinny Vulcan’s arms. The two ‘Mechs pirouetted for a moment as their momentum equalised, then Adrianna finished it up with a charge that sandwiched the smaller ‘Mech between her Dragon and a building.

Before she could properly right her machine, Azman was already off, skittering back down the street he’d come from. She let the sensors finish “scanning” his ‘Mech (an almost meaningless activity since the sim already knew exactly how damaged the enemy machine was, but necessary to create the illusion), then let off a double burst from her ultra autocannon into its leg. The Vulcan stumbled, but before she could take a finishing shot, a loud burst of noise came from behind her.

“PLEASED TO MEET YOU'S!! HOPE YOU'SA GUESS MY'S NAME!!”

With that accent, it’s not a huge challenge, she thought to herself as Thom’s opening barrage tore into the back of her machine. She danced the heavy Dragon around in time to fire a burst of shells into his ‘Mech before it darted back out of sight.

Her computer hadn’t had time to properly identify Thom’s machine in the split second. Was that a Wraith? Odd, she hadn’t expected that from him. Everything she’d read about him had spoken of a preference for power over speed - though, come to think of it, it had also noted his ability to surprise above all. At close range, though, a Wraith would butcher her. She needed to get out of these alleys and find somewhere more open, where her missiles and autocannon had the advantage over the Wraith’s pulse lasers. Driving the Dragon up to its maximum speed, she started zigzagging to the more open terrain at the base of the nearby mountain.

[Spokes]

"The Ballroom", RAIV Drunkard’s Walk
Sigvald’s Light
Lyran Space
7 April, 3061-- 13:04 Hrs

Unfamilar controls, poor terrain handling, altered timing on the weapons. Li stared hard at the virtual shoreline on the viewscreen, inhaled slowly.

Of all the problems she'd expected to encounter in the RAI sim pod, this certainly took top prize for being weird and unanticipated.

The SCP-1N Scorpion was not a small machine, despite being classed as a medium weight BattleMech. And it was virtually unique in that most of its bulk ran horizontally front to back instead of top to bottom. This had the effect of presenting a relatively narrow target to the enemy. It also meant that the Scorpion's hull displaced enough water to where under the right conditions, it would actually try to float. Most Scorpions had venting at strategic locations that allowed some of the armor baffles to flood, generating enough ballast to force the machine to sink to the bottom. Rebalancing those baffles had been a time consuming part of Virgil's refit.

This simulated SCP-1N didn't have those baffles, and the physics model the system was using was making things that much worse. Li had tried twice now to walk her 'Mech into the odd colored water, only to have the thing start bobbing like a cork. Shortly thereafter, the feet lost purchase and the very slight current pushed her back to where she'd started. As it was, Li had been the last one of the group to ready up, owing as much to the dress uniform as to the strange control layout. With the sounds of simulated battle building on the other side of the water, this latest hold up was just too much.

After much button pressing, arm waving and no small amount of shouting, Li had finally managed to get one of the sim operators on the line.

"This certainly isn't a problem we've run into before. I don't think there's anything we can do right now to correct it."

"Well, you can try lowering the density of the water a touch?"

"We can't make any adjustments to the physics system while it's running. Just stay out of the water until the sim is complete."

"That's going to be a neat trick scragger."

The pause on the line held a little too long. Li had spent enough time talking to disembodied voices on a radio to be able to visualize the man's expression as it went from exasperated to blank stare to a slow, dawning realization.

"Wait. You're on the island aren't you?"

"Yep. And I'd rather not be." Autocannon thundered in the distance.

"I'm sorry, but as I said, we can't adjust anything right now. Just sit tight and we'll rig up a fix afterwards." The line clicked dead. More autocannon fire.

Li blew air through clenched teeth. One finger tapped at the control stick.

“PLEASED TO MEET YOU'S!! HOPE YOU'SA GUESS MY'S NAME!!” The crack of a particle cannon sounded across the waves.

"Okay, Thom. Your new callsign is "Avocado". Li took a moment to remember that the throttle controls were down on the foot pedals, backed her 'Mech up a hill as far as it would go, then slammed her right foot down and half ran, half slid the machine into the water. It started bobbing wildly after a dozen meters or so, but Li kept the throttle up, worked the Scorpion's legs into a water churning frenzy that slowly propelled it towards the far shore. Li allowed herself a smile, secure at least in the knowledge that if she succumbed to the building seasickness someone else would be stuck cleaning it up. The 'Mech doggie paddled along, and Li found herself humming quietly as the shore inched closer.

"The mate was mighty sailing man, the skipper brave and sure. Five passengers set sail that day, for a three hour tour. . ."

Edited by Spokes, 17 June 2014 - 09:12 PM.

[The Shepherd]

The Ballroom, RAIV Drunkard’s Walk,
Sigvald’s Light,
Lyran Space,
7th April, 3061, 13:04 Hours

I feel better about this op already…

Stalking his Uziel through the simulated city streets, Cees marvelled at the detail projected onto the mocked up cockpit glass before him. Training in such high fidelity environments on the way to the raid would definitely give the Terrors an edge.
For now though, he needed to put aside such long term stratagems, and focus on re-acquiring Azman’s Vulcan.

The scarecrow of a mech had used its maneuverability to full advantage and eluded him since he’d first sighted it, striding towards the city. He knew Adrianna would have to be here somewhere too. It made sense to drop the thre similarly profiled medium pilots close together.
He mused while carefully rounding corners that she wouldn't have been able to take her modified machine’s load out into the sim, and would likely have elected to use a CN9-D to match the speed profile and similar weapons setup. It wasn’t a given though. As a test pilot, she could be proficient with any number of battlemech chassis.

Momentarily lost in thought, he overshot a turn and was greeted by a sudden hail of Autocannon fire.
The first burst glanced across his right shoulder hump, taking minimal armor with it. Quickly zeroing its target in, the Vulcan double tapped the Armstrong U/AC-5 to in its torso to bury a full burst into his other leading side torso a split second thereafter. The duo of hits rocked Cee’s simpod and he instinctively kicked his jump jets. His Uziel may not have the weapons payload for a close in city fight, but his 50 tons of impeccably designed firing platform could move with the same agility as his anciently crafted opponent. Dropping down to the pavement after kissing the rooftop edge of the building he just hopped, he tracked sideways and kicked his jets again.

Approaching the apex of his jump, he lined his crosshairs up with Azman’s last location, itching to send a twin PPC blast in return.
Instead, he saw the Vulcan weaving away from and tangling with a hotly pursuing Dragon, too far off centre to correct his shot.

An interesting choice Adrianna… you seem to have an affinity for fast mechs and fast-cycle Autocannons. Noted.

Jump jets exhausted on the feathered landing, he sprinted the mech two blocks down and slowed to take another corner, hopefully cutting the two mechs off. His speakers instead assailed him with the sound of shrieking metal and a ground shaking crunch.

They seemed to be another block over and likely at the intersection just to the right of the one in front of him. Running straight down the road and twisting to squeeze off his shots in a strafing run, he was thrown as his comm system roared to life is his ear as a Thom’s half sung "PLEASED TO MEET YOU'S!! HOPE YOU'SA GUESS MY'S NAME!!" heralded a pair of pulse lasers and a PPC blast streaking down his projected firing line before he could get there.

Snapping his stick hard over, he swung his torso 180 degrees back around to face the newcomer. Maintaining his speed, he barely had time to glance down the gap between buildings and fire his six pack of SRMs blindly. He recognised the sinister silhouette of a Wraith for the fraction of a second it was in view, forcing his eyebrows to tilt his neurohelmet back.

Well well... We’re full of surprises today it seems…

Subconsciously, he confirmed that some, but not all of his missile spread impacted on the mech, two separate explosions giving away the detail.
Jump Jets now refreshed, he leapt and swivelled in mid air, firing a one-two PPC punch back towards a hopefully cautious Thom.
He could count on one hand the number of hard hitting mechs capable of keep up with him in this urban setting, and two of them were uncomfortably close. The spiked heat in his cockpit was well worth the effect of the suppressing shots, landing the mech and bailing from the dense city without sighting a pursuer.

Circling the urban jungle and looking to climb the nearby mountain, he wasn't surprised to see the Dragon’s scorched rear torso retreating in that direction already. His simulated Beagle Active Probe quickly popped brackets up to frame it, and indicated a distance of 750m.
Beyond effective firing range, he fought the urge to chase after such an obvious target and worked his way towards the tunnels that appeared to run beneath the mountain.

Adrianna will turn soon to fire on pursuers from a very good position with her LRMs and Autocannon. Best to sneak up on her…

With one eye out the side of his cockpit for Thom and Azman, he strode towards the railway lined tunnels and hopefully, an effective ambush point.

Edited by The Shepherd, 17 June 2014 - 08:03 PM.