258 replies to this topic

[cmopatrick]

Brrrup. Hmmm, maybe a little too much hot spice on that cheese bread. Unfortunately, it seems I am not going to limit it to one.
Bbbrrrrrpppp. I wonder: if a pilot burps in a sealed 'Mech, does he make a sound?
Bbuuuurrrhhppp! I think the seismometers must be registering this.
Brr...aaayybbeeesseeeeddd. Hmmm, I must be losing my touch; not even through “d” but back in the day I could go the whole alphabet. Ok, most of it. Almost most of it? Um... how about I try to stifle this stuff before I belch while trying to talk on comms?

Duncan appears to not have everything in his databanks of known situations to comment on or about. Bummer, I could almost use the tension release. We are moving out with all the swagger and bravado of a third grade pickup team taking the pitch against their local planetary champions. I hope we have one heck of an easy time of it... because otherwise, we almost look dazed before we realize what we are about.

The comms come alive for a few moments, “This is Shade, ready op.”

Shade is another of those folks I don't know very well. Heck, except for his time in the Shadow Hawk, how he spends the rest of his hours or days is about as clear as looking through old engine oil. I do get the feeling that there is something a bit different about him. Still, except for an occasional odd stare and serious doubts that he's quite as dim as he presents himself, there's nothing specific to explain this sense.

What will get Duncan talking back? For a moment, I draw a blank, then: music! “Duncan, how about some nice smooth Jazz for this battle?”
“I thought you were supposed to stay away from the militia's incinerator, Sean. Too much downwind time makes Sean a stoned boy.”
“Yeah, right. And when was the last time you saw me stoned? Like Never.”
“Well, if I had to go by your skill piloting this 'Mech, I could convict you every time.”
Ouch. “So where's my music, Duncan?”
“You call that music? Why I remember when saying 'smooth jazz' could get you challenged to a duel. What are you kids coming to these days?” he adds with mock horror at the concept.
“Kids? You weren't even in diapers when I got my first kill.”
“More likely stole it.”
“Bite m e, Duncan.”
On cue, he quiets.

Edited by cmopatrick, 08 March 2013 - 11:28 PM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Well at least we have some scout mechs...

Billy was trying to cheer himself up and the quick glance at his sensors reminded him that he wasn't going to die alone. He chastised himself for thinking like that, survivors didn't think like that. And if Billy Bones was anything it was a survivor. He smiled thinking about the accomplishments he had already achieved in just his short life, a Succession War, a major revolt, an apprenticeship to a Solaris 7 gladiator, scores of planetary raids and even a few bank robberies. And as he strolled along in his Wolverine he began to relax and smile.

Besides, he seriously doubted that anyone on this rock had a bullet with his name on it. But then again, that didn't mean that nobody had one with 'To whom it may concern' or 'A-hole' on them. He was going to play it cautious, let the other mercs do their thing. There were scouts. He'd let them scout, trigger the mines and rockslides. There was even an assault mech, even if it was just a laughable Charger. He'd give the bullet magnet a wide birth as the loyalist rained Long-Tom rounds down upon the eighty tonner. Yes, that's what he'd do. Play it cool, and keep a watchful eye out on what was going on around him.

He then checked out some of the other mechs, a Shadow-hawk, a quad, and a shiny looking Dervish. He wasn't sure about the Dervish. It looked too pretty, almost new. But almost everything did when compared to his Wolverine's rust streaked patched up armor. The Scorpion lumbered along in it's odd looking walk. It appeared to be a stable weapons platform. Four legs better than two? that was something that would have to be proven up the road aways. As for the S-Hawk he was indifferent. He knew it was a pretty nimble design but a little light in the weapon department usually, but Bones really doubted that it was 'stock.'

Frowning at his options he decided that despite it being one of the scouts, he'd stick close to the Mongoose. The pilot was old, and as a MechWarrior one didn't live to grow old without be damned good or lucky. If TOG was good he'd get out of whatever trap they were marching into, and if he was just lucky maybe some of that luck would rub off on him. Nodding grimly with him mind set he whispered the old saying that all MechWarriors knew:

"It's always better to be lucky, than good."

Edit: grammar

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 09 March 2013 - 12:29 AM.

[cmopatrick]

I flick up the mission overlay on my Battlemap, leaving it up just long enough to mentally shift into combat mode. We have a narrow corridor we are supposed to operate in, but no recon. Heck, we don't even know much in the way of any other units operating on our flanks... can you say “fratricide” risk, especially when we have such a fun assortment of paint jobs on our cobbled together lances and long range spotters who don't always pick up IFF?
Actually, now that I think on it, I realize the Major is sitting this one out while his 'Mech has a booboo. Saw that poor abandoned machine when they brought it in, there wasn't much more than a bird strike on it... I really think he ejected because he got too much mud on it's legs and decided that was an unacceptable risk of getting a bad photo op.
Havok seems to have his head on better than most who have lead this... er... collection of 'Mechs. Maybe he has other ideas on how we run the mission. Or not. Either way, I hope the bigwigs have better things to do than listen to our comm sequence, at least before we get engaged; if not, I'm about to get myself into trouble.
“Ok, Havok, your show now. Major didn't exactly say anything except 'run out there and take one for the gipper.' You seem to have all your bulbs lighting up, got any adjustments to SOP or actual rules of engagement for this soiree?”

(edit: added the IFF comment, seemed too obvious, but I rather be certain)

Edited by cmopatrick, 09 March 2013 - 07:04 AM.

[cmopatrick]

Seconds tick away and the comms remain quiet... too quiet. Hmmm, maybe the operative word might properly be “dead” quiet. Poor Havok is probably getting an earful from one of the morons with more rank and less common sense; I suspect I’m about to get my last call-sign: Uriah. Yeah, I know he got a raw deal too, but at least he had a beautiful wife for a while. As I think about it, I bet it's that pencil richard from the hallway... more than happy to get up in my face instead of accept a little constructive feedback, bet he is all over my implying Havok should be smarter than that.
Kinda reminds me of something my drill sergeant said WAY back when; he said, “Sean, you ask too damn many questions.” I can almost remember the set of his jaw as he glared at me with that ugly face less than ten centimeters from mine.
I also... um... remember trying to explain myself and that what he said next is unprintable in at least half the Inner Sphere and too offensive to repeat elsewhere. But towards the end of his tirade he came to his point: I ask too many questions because I think too much. Bet that is about the line the pressed uniform types are beating our poor lead with right now: grunts (or mercs) don't analyze orders, they shut up and follow them.
I have to chuckle with the memory that when Liao's lackeys raided us, that drill sergeant and most of his “good” little soldiers bought the farm. I, on the other hand, recognized a problem and warned a 'Mech officer that I thought there was an ambush... where there actually was one... and had gotten moved off my feet and into a scout 'Mech before the Capellans did their worst to us. Heck, that lance is where I met Mei-Li...
I can't let that memory get going again. “Duncan, need me some Altan, Lunasa, or Paddy and the Shee... one of my walking playlists.”
“Why not some nice rock, all the good pilots use that.”
“Because I'm too old to be good, Duncan.”
“But you could be...”
“Give me what I want, Duncan.”
“Well, if that involves getting good in a 'Mech...”
“Bite m e, Duncan.”
He falls silent and the Glory Reel starts up... nothing like the classics to get my blood moving without burning me out too early. Altan, recorded a bit more than a thousand years ago when acoustic instruments still meant something... and twin Donegal fiddles could get the boots atappin'.
Come on, Havok... let's get out there and run the hind legs off'n somethin'!

(edit: added a link)(second edit: changed inches to centimeters... no I didn't do a straight conversion).

Edited by cmopatrick, 13 March 2013 - 05:43 PM.

[Janitor101]

{((OOC: Just to speed this up, the two new guys have heard the briefing already, gotten to their mechs, sounded off and are with the rest of the company. New players may post about what they did or said, but I need to get this ball rolling.))}

Antonio waited while the company sounded off, checking the call signs against the list he’d been given, the company was apparently going to be over-strength for this op. Which was something Antonio wasn’t about to complain about, or point out to the brass.

Antonio’s comms squawked as the elder of the company, who went by the moniker ‘TOG’ spoke up.

“Ok, Havok, your show now. Major didn't exactly say anything except 'run out there and take one for the gipper.' You seem to have all your bulbs lighting up, got any adjustments to SOP or actual rules of engagement for this soiree?”

Antonio took a moment to parse the words then clicked his comms button.
“I have some some ideas, lets get everyone formed up and out of the groundpounders way before we go in depth.”

He heard a grunted response over the comms, and Antonio took the chance to move the company out of the FOB so he could share his ‘modifications’ to Major Woolrich’s plans.

“Huntsmen, form on me.” Antonio ordered, starting his own mech into a slow walk out of the mechbay and out into the FOB’s courtyard.
The company passed a squadron of Scorpion LRM carriers idling while their crews swarmed around them, preparing for combat.

A pair of Sabre aerospace fighters scream overhead as the battlemech company exits the compound and makes their way east, toward the Loyalist forces, and Jarrund City.

Antonio waited until he had a kilometer between the company and the FOB before he started his operational orders check list.

“Alright everyone, here’s how this is gonna roll. Havok, Bones, Praetorian, Mist and Fishy will comprise Havok Lance. TOG will lead....” Antonio paused, attempting to find a way to name a lance based on TOG’s call sign, and failed. “Lance Two, comprising of TOG himself, Shepherd, Spokes and Shade.”

Antonio continued.

“Inside Havok Lance, Fishy and Praetorian, you are the Fire Support team, I want you two to hang back and flatten targets. Bones, Mist and myself will comprise Havok Lance’s brawler or medium range combatants.
Lance Two, Shepard and Shade are the the taggers, you find nice, worthwhile targets for Fire Support and light ‘em up. TOG and Spokes, you’re the CQC and medium range fighters for Lance Two.”

Antonio took a moment to send the Lance assignments and internal assignments for the lances to the company.

“Save questions and complaints, I’ve got more for you.” Antonio said as he studied the Battlegrid and formulated his plan.

“Alright, we’re gonna mostly run this like Woolrich wanted, except without the stupid parts. I want Lance Two ahead to scout targets and to TAG them for Support, if you meet too much resistance, fall back and re-engage with the whole company, Lance Two, I need you six hundred to seven hundred meters ahead of Havok Lance, Fire Support will lead Havok lance while the rest of Havok Lance takes up the rear and guards Support.”

Antonio took a breath, studying the map again, it was the best he could come up with on short notice, time to put it to limited review.
“Now you may ask your questions or complain if you so choose.”

[Spokes]

The displays had dimmed when the group moved away from the lights of the field base. Li sat in the cold dark of the cockpit and listened to the electronically filtered voice of her new paymaster.

“Alright everyone, here’s how this is gonna roll. Havok, Bones, Praetorian, Mist and Fishy will comprise Havok Lance. TOG will lead....Lance Two, comprising of TOG himself, Shepherd, Spokes and Shade.”

So much for skulking behind the Charger.

"Lance Two, Shepard and Shade are the the taggers, you find nice, worthwhile targets for Fire Support and light ‘em up. TOG and Spokes, you’re the CQC and medium range fighters for Lance Two.”

Stepped in what? What the hell is a CQC?

Spokes lifted her eyes from the numerous screens and displays and glanced out of the compartment's small, heavily armored viewport. The few stars visible glittered and danced as her Mech's waste heat mixed with the cold mountain air. For the first time in five years, Li felt the empty longing of homesickness.

What the hell am I doing here? Blake's Blood I can't even remember the name of this world! Kharkand! Ha! Jackass recruiter, had he known the Duke was dead when he'd come walking into that bar on Thraxa?

Li's brain finished dropping back into gear. Close Quarter Combatants! But if Shepherd and Shiv were spotting. . .

"I want Lance Two ahead to scout targets and to TAG them for Support, if you meet too much resistance, fall back and re-engage with the whole company, Lance Two, I need you six hundred to seven hundred meters ahead of Havok Lance"

Li could see the fragile form of the Mongoose against the starlit sky.

Oh s*** biscuits, he wants me to go first!

Li-Hua Taishu was not a soldier by trade, but she had been around BattleMechs her entire life. One of the first things she'd had to do as part of her apprenticeship was to hand write copies of all of the Scorpion's operator manuals, most of which were handwritten copies her Father had made decades prior. She'd even had to copy out the factory warranty section, though the paper was expensive and the warranty had expired centuries ago. Li knew her Scorpion was a glass cannon, something that her Father had made sure to drill into her. "If you're close enough to use the missile rack girl, you've done something very wrong."

Li had started sweating, and a sensor somewhere monitored the increase in body heat and opened the flow valves to the cooling vest. The heavy garment squirmed momentarily as if suddenly filled with angry snakes.

"Thank you Virgil, for that stunning vote of confidence."

UNRECOGNIZED COMMAND.

"Yeah, no kidding. . ."

Li looked back through the viewport, and had the sudden impression of looking up from the bottom of a very deep hole. . .

[cmopatrick]

After what must be hours, or at least ten to fifteen seconds, I hear Havok announce, “I have some some ideas, lets get everyone formed up and out of the groundpounders way before we go in depth.”
I key up to acknowledge, but at the moment have another gaseous abdominal eruption. I do manage to keep my mouth shut, so maybe it just sounds like some kind of non-committal grunt instead of rebellious cheesebread... hmmm, I need something to settle that stuff, but not too much, I REALLY hate using the onboard... er... facilities.
Again, Havok keys live, “Huntsmen, form on me.”

Thmp, thmp, thmp, 'Goose tromps out into the courtyard, she feels like she wants to sprint off, but I hold my place.
“Duncan, kill the music for now.”
“Kill as in delete it?” He almost sounds hopeful... if I didn't know better, I would think the programmer was really on a roll that day. I mean faking emotions into the voice to make it all the more viable is a big step up from the average inflection limited ai.
“No, Duncan, kill as in not play it right now.”
“Oh.” Wow, again, if I didn't know better, that sounded disappointed.
But the music does die down just as we pass what look like LRM rolling stock; their techs are scurrying about those fragile self-propelled tubes servicing fuel and racking their ordinance.

For a moment there is a growing roar that seems inconsistent, then a pair of aerospace fighters fly over. Where the heck were they when we wanted high elevation recon? Five 'll get ya ten that them general types are playing glory rides while “reviewing their troops” and not letting the trained crews actually do anything worth the time of day.
We turn out of the battered compound and head towards our challenge of the day... east towards the glorious victory and Jarrund.

After a klick, Havok keys back up, “Alright everyone, here’s how this is gonna roll. Havok, Bones, Praetorian, Mist and Fishy will comprise Havok Lance. TOG will lead....”
There is a pregnant pause and I couple his naming me to lead the lance with a string of appropriate names: the Doomed Lance, Lost Lance, TOG's Miscreants, the TOGladites, TOGlance, the RUN AWAY!s, the...
Fortunately for all involved, Havok interrupts my siliness before I can find something to actually offer out loud, “Lance Two, comprising of TOG himself, Shepherd, Spokes and Shade.”
Lance Two, that works fine. Better than scarring the poor pilots for life by having TOG's anything on their resume.
After addressing his own lance assignments, Havok gives us ours, “Lance Two, Shepard and Shade are the the taggers, you find nice, worthwhile targets for Fire Support and light ‘em up. TOG and Spokes, you’re the CQC and medium range fighters for Lance Two.”
Damn, wingman again. Wait... if I’m lead, why again would I be the wing for a spotter? Maybe I misjudged the lad after all. Oh, well... it's the life of the merc: get the blame and watch the glory go elsewhere. I guess as long as I get paid fairly, it really shouldn't matter. Hopefully we don't need too much close quarters combat, 'Goose is a wee tiny 'Mech, after all.

Havok has been talking about things that don't seem to much matter to me, but he now adds more management, “I want Lance Two ahead to scout targets and to TAG them for Support, if you meet too much resistance, fall back and re-engage with the whole company, Lance Two, I need you six hundred to seven hundred meters ahead of Havok Lance...”
Shade and Shepherd, a clean running Shadow Hawk and an abused Raven, their main value to Havok seems to be using their TAG lasers for missile guidance. Hmmm...
The comms are quiet for a moment, then Havok offers, “Now you may ask your questions or complain if you so choose.”
For some odd reason, I feel like this isn't the time to bemoan my fate, or the fates of those in my lance... but I do think I need more info if I can get it. “Question: did I understand the Major correctly? Are we the left flank and the only thing north of us as we move east is an expected enemy push that we hope is moving the other way?”

While I wait, and maybe even before I finish asking the question, I recognize that I'll need to reinforce my left flank; Perhaps I should put units that can survive a first salvo out there, maybe Shade in front with Spokes as a dragging wing left covering him, and keep Shep and myself spread right and center to cover the most space.

Edited by cmopatrick, 16 March 2013 - 10:14 PM.

[The Shepherd]

James Campbell breathed perhaps the umpteenth sigh of relief of that day.
Not stepping on techs in the narrow mech bay, not stepping on ammo dollies and not stepping on LRM loading crews. Why couldn't people get out of the bloody way? He sighed again, swearing aloud this time. He'd gotten used to piloting his relatively new Raven out on open terrain, however not expecting footsloggers to move aside as he came through was a hard habit to break.
There were times when he missed his old Highlander. Everything left the immediate vicinity for that beast, including enemy's mech's limbs. He flexed a steady hand over his triggers. He missed the mech for sure, but he really missed his Gauss Rifle.

Once he was clear from the drop zone he throttled up, punched on his BAP recording software and glanced at his sensor readouts, getting everyone’s positions. It was a motley crew that’s for sure. He swore again as he formed up on this “TOG” character’s Mongoose. He had to remind himself sometimes that he’d chosen this life, to be just another one of those damn freelance Mercs. He’d looked down on this kind of outfit all too often, scoffing at their lack of discipline and loose morals.
Another hard habit to break.

He listened to the field briefing from Havok and the sardonic response from his new lance-leader, forcing himself to get into the spirit, rolling his eyes slightly as he opened the com.

“Aye, tha soonds ‘bout the half of et. Donna worry ye daft ol’ *******. Shade an I’ll make sure we see ‘em coomin ‘afore thay see us. Won’ we lad?”

“This’ll be fun,” he said aloud, coms closed, before swearing again.

Edited by The Shepherd, 16 March 2013 - 11:54 PM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Billy listened in silently as Havok gave out the walking order of the day. Regrettably, his plans of following TOG around was dash upon the rocks as TOG was placed in command of the scout lance and ordered a ways up to 'flush out the bad guys.' Billy then found himself left behind in a reinforced lance wishing the scouts luck. From experience the pirate turned merc knew that a 600-700 meter gap between you and the guys that were to pull your fat out of the fire could seem like an impossible distance for your back up to cover. Especially when you had some j3rk doing his best to inflict misery and death upon you.

Well it looks like we're getting some recon after all.

Will found himself thinking as the lance moved off. Still, he wondered why those flyboys he saw tearing across the sky weren't providing any help in the lack of intelligence dept. With a hesitant hand he found himself reaching out to sync a laser direct relay with Havok, but was cut off by the thick accent of the Raven pilot cutting across the com.

“Aye, tha soonds ‘bout the half of et. Donna worry ye daft ol’ *******. Shade an I’ll make sure we see ‘em coomin ‘afore thay see us. Won’ we lad?”

Billy then found himself shaking his head and lightly chuckling. The Highlander's speech transported him back in time to another place and a simpler time to when a much younger Bones was first learning to pilot a mech. He stopped reaching out to activate the mic and instead sat there wondering about how ole' Jack was. Still chuckling he sat there silently asking himself, 'What would Jack do?'

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 17 March 2013 - 03:18 AM.

[cmopatrick]

Interrupting my musing, that thick Scot accent cuts through the air as Shepherd says, “Aye, tha soonds ‘bout the half of et. Donna worry ye daft ol’ *******. Shade an I’ll make sure we see ‘em coomin ‘afore thay see us. Won’ we lad?”

That tone takes me back to memories I hadn't dredged up in decades... at least; usually focused on da and Danny Gormlie tryin' to out drink and out yell each other, da in mostly green and Mr. Gormlie in at least one garment of an ugly orange. I must have been about five at the time. But it was good natured, and whether it was “Éirinn go Brách!” or “Alba go Brách!” that won in the end, they were usually still friends at the end of the night. Well, except the time New Avalon Celtic walloped the Solaris Rangers eight nil and Danny tried to hit da with a chair... as I remember, that did take a while and a few bottles of penance to make better.
I reply to his offer with, "fair enough, lad, Sláinte Mhaithe!"

Hmmmm, back to the business at hand.
“Duncan, please set up a lance sub with...” I glance down and see the board lit green (well, mostly) and continue with, “Green and the overlay with... hmmm... One Seven. Se...”
In his finest smart-acre tone, Duncan interrupts with, “I don't have overlay 'Hmmm One Seven.'”
I admit it, I am rolling my eyes at my ai, but I’m also smiling, “overlay One Seven. Sequence on my mark.”
"Well, Ok. Done as requested."
“Alright, you three,” I key up, ignoring the impulse to call them victims, “let's set a lance sub-channel with sequence 'Green' and overlay One Seven. Initiate sequence on my mark. Questions?

(edit for spelling and to add a word or two for clarity... (sigh))

Edited by cmopatrick, 17 March 2013 - 08:27 AM.

[dal10]

hmmm... andrei thought. i am in havok lance... ok then.

with a shrug, he formed on the little wolfhound in front of him.

(yeah, i gots nothin)

[Alan Wagner]

Military Base Outside Jarrund City, Kharkand
October, 3055

Within minutes of the briefing coming to an end, Alan was scrambling up the ladder to his cockpit. He settled himself inside and took a deep breath as he swung his command chair around and heard the hatch on the back of his Centurion slide shut with a hum and a click. He closed his eyes and began flipping switches and pushing buttons prepping his machine for duty. He opened his eyes and looked solemnly at the last button before depressing it. The fusion engine beneath hi thrummed as it came to life and the 'mech rose to it's full height the gyro kicking in. The vocal alert sounded off as he brought the 'mech to life: "Reactor online". Alan's heart was pounding in his chest at the thought that he might finally be in combat, not just some simulation. He would finally see real action, and gritted his teeth and willed his heart to settle down as he walked his 'mech out of the hangar.

He heard Havok go over the combat assignments and considered his placement a mixed blessing. His Centurion was well armored an could handle a variety of roles, he knew he was ready for close combat and wished he had the chance to prove himself. On the other hand, he was glad he could hang back, especially since the mission parameters laid out by the major were a bit less than ideal. Getting to stay back a bit would give him more options if the company had to pull out. He sighed and cleared the thoughts from his mind and returned his focus to the combat assignments. When he heard the pause in Havok's assignments and the statement that the other lance would be simply "Lance Two" he couldn't help but laugh to himself. It was obvious that Havok couldn't think of a single thing to call the other lance.

"Rodger that, Praetorian ready to go." He fell into line next to the Dervish and noticed how untouched it looked. He felt somewhat nervous as to how he was standing next to someone with a seemingly flawlessly clean 'mech. His own 'mech was in oddly good condition in no small part to the relative peace he had left behind, but it still had pockmarks and scars from the War of '39. The fact that he could no longer count on the training of his comrades finally hit home to him, perhaps his partner had also never been in battle before... Alan winced slightly. The two of them were being counted on to provide a large amount of the team's long range fire. He would have to do his best to make sure his fire counted. With that he flipped the last switch activating his weapons guidance system "Weapons Activated"

Edited by Alan Wagner, 18 March 2013 - 03:35 PM.

[cmopatrick]

It is quiet again... no aks on either the company channel or my new sub... this is not good. Maybe the better part of valor is to cut bait, “Or not. Lance Two, please stay on Havok's main comm channel for now.”
I rather suddenly shiver. It is unexpected, but I have an odd sense that maybe I need to wonder if I should be careful stepping out in front of this lot... no sense inviting a frag in the dark from trying to herd cats.

“Duncan, maybe I should cancel the sub-channel.”
“Ah, they are smarter than you gave them credit for?”
“Yeah, something like that. Duncan, combat diagnostics, please.”
“You mean you actually plan on fighting someone in this thing? You're braver than I thought... or more of an id-iot.”
“Run the diagnostic.”
“Yeah, sure. Your funeral.”
I'm about to issue the “Bite m e” but he gets the systems going through their final checks and I hear that familiar hum as capacitors warm with their first charge. They will recharge in seconds after the lasers fire for the first time, but I always slow charge the first.
“Yeah, the lasers are charged and ready.”
I shiver for a moment as the cooling suit increases to maximum, then backs down to normal.
“Enviro is working well enough.”
There is a surge in the gyro connections and they are spun up as if we are banking hard.
“At least the gyros in this bucket work. I guess you can take the 'Mech to your death in a battle knowing it isn't your weak link.”
“Thanks, Duncan. Please clear all safeties.”
“You do know you only have three, right? You say 'all' like you are in a real big 'Mech with a lot...”
“Bite m e, Duncan. Clear the safeties.”
“Safeties cleared, weapons ready to fire.”

Edited by cmopatrick, 18 March 2013 - 08:23 PM.

[guardian wolf]

Moving his mech along with the others, Shade followed them to the new meeting location. He also listened in as the orders were given, and he was assigned to... Lance 2. Seriously, that was the best the commander could come up with? Shade sighed in disappointment, and his second half for once made a comment that he agreed with.

This is a bad sign, either a we're dead, or we really got stuck with replacements

At least we got another spotter

Not a total loss...

Shade worked well alone, in the closest sense he could achieve to that. But he also liked knowing that if he got into trouble that he could call on someone. He responded to the apparent Highlander next to him, stuck in a smaller Raven.

"Just make sure you paint the enemy, and not me," He spoke coldly.

He wasn't here to make friends, as that meant giving someone trust, and trust was a rare commodity around here. He noted TOG's command to set up a lower channel, and did so. When no one else answered though, he kept it open, as a clear way to deliver a critical message instantly, was going to be more vital than most knew. He checked the systems on his TAG laser, and all systems lit up green. The Scorpion he noticed was a fast mech, and should have been better equipped to utilize its speed. Then his second half reminded him, that not everyone had either the time, money, or vision to see flaws such as that, and some, a combination of all three. Shade hoped that the pilot knew at least how to use such speed, as if used correctly, that mech was deadly. If not, it was an accident waiting to happen. The other half believed in the pilot, so Shade decided to as well. Not that it would affect the pilot's capacity to work, but as long as Shade didn't have to worry about it every second, he'd be fine. Shade activated his weapons targeting as the thought shot through his mind. So much to worry about, so little time...

[Spokes]

“Or not. Lance Two, please stay on Havok's main comm channel for now.”

Li stared hard at the green light on the comm panel and felt her checks burn against the neurohelm's padding.

What the hell does he want me to say? "Hi! I don't really feel like dying today, mind if I beg off? I'm sure someone else will volunteer!"

Or how about, "Thanks so much for this wonderful opportunity to die for the glorious revolution! Do you want me to go up like a flare so everyone gets an early warning, or would you like me to leave Dingo some choice bits?"

She pulled in a sharp breath through gritted teeth.

"Roger Two lead, sub channel synced."

Li brought her thumb down hard on the "off" toggle for her microphone.

"Great, just wonderful. First time out of the 'locks and I'm going to end up as a footnote on some scragger's casualty report." She drummed her fingers against the throttle, felt the depressions worn into the padding by hands much larger than hers. "Glass it all Dad, you were right."

"Virgil, find Sirius." They want a show, fine. Maybe I'll get lucky and trip over a mine before I draw every rocket from here to Jarrund.

ERROR. INITIALIZATION FEED DOES NOT MATCH LOADED STAR CHART.

Li closed her eyes and pressed her forehead into the neurohelmet's padding. No, no it doesn't. Steady up Li, or you're going to get yourself killed right and proper.

"Virgil, load NAVPROG 'Breadcrumbs' Five Two and sync with inertial nav system."

PROCESS COMPLETE.

Okay Shiv, I get lit up like a stellar flare, you'd better know how to actually use that pig sticker of yours.

"Virgil, set combat state one."

All of the displays cut out, and for a moment the darkness is complete. Dim blue lighting fills the compartment, and the displays snap back on in a green-monochrome. The viewport partially polarizes and the stars disappear. There is a low vibration in the deck floor as the particle cannon's cyclotron engages.

The large center display comes up last, showing an electronically enhanced view from the sensor pickups mounted directly under the cannon. The crosshair winks on, a simple circle surrounded by much larger hexagon. There is a high pitched whirring sound accompanied by a series of unevenly spaced thumps, and the pips at each corner of the hexagon go from gray to green.

Li takes a few deep, slow breaths, her eyes adjusting to the new lighting. Please don't let me glass this up. . .

She thumbs the toggle for the new sub channel. "Two Lead, Spokes. Combat systems set. How far out front do you want me?"

[The Shepherd]

Flick, flick, flick, whirr...green light.
James’ TAG unit was now online and tied to his sensor relays.
He could have set the system up to a voice command, but he liked the tactile sensation. Not to mention when he was in the thick of it, he liked knowing for certain that bloody switch was in the damn “on” position.

For a former assault-mech piloting highlander, he’d quickly gotten used to the concept of a laser system on a mech that didn’t melt solid steel. Routinely watching Thumper barrages annihilate the building he was pointing at made him feel a lot better about the fact.

He did a habitual glance around the cockpit for other systems that needed engaging for imminent contact. There wasn’t much.
He ran weapons hot and charged from power-up. A fact that most commanding officers disliked intensely. If they found out at all. Fighting pirates and bandit scum over the past year and a bit had taught him that being ready to fire back at any time was worth the chewing out.

He had a feeling that he wasn’t going to get such a chewing out from this outfit however. H3ll, he’d be surprised if the crotchety old ******* of a lance-lead hadn’t done the same.
Speaking of, a reply to his transmission came back over the comms, “"fair enough, lad, Sláinte Mhaithe!"
He chuffed at that, the familiar words almost cheering him up. he opened a voice note for the recording on his BAP console.
“Note to m’yon bloody self. Buy th’ old bastad a drink iffen we get oot of this alive.”

Hearing the following order to open a secondary comm channel, he looked down at his comms board. Perhaps the last feature on the Raven’s advanced internals he’d yet to completely figure out. This was due mostly to the fact that he hadn’t been able to find a replacement board with settings in English. Instead Chinese characters sat beneath each button. He’d be damned though, if he was going to learn any more Chinese. Having to figure out and re-program the start-up sequence on the Capellan mech was painful enough. Besides, the computer had a hard enough time de-cyphering the mandarin around his accent. He didn’t want to inflict that on anyone else.

“Or not. Lance Two, please stay on Havok's main comm channel for now.” Ah well, it seemed he’d taken too long anyway.

"Just make sure you paint the enemy, and not me," the emotionless voice cut across his musings. The highlander caught himself from rolling his eyes again. Just great, a hard-*** in a fast medium. And he was on designation duty with him. Allowing himself a sigh instead, he opened his comms to reply, “O’ cheer oop lad, not like ye’re ev’n fast enough t’ geet ‘nfront o’me ‘n the first bloody place.”

He cut transmission for an instant while he got a good look out of his canopy through his light amplified HUD. Taking it all in, he flicked back on, “Lance-lead, where’n ye wanting us?”

[cmopatrick]

I'm about to key up when the most exasperated voice imaginable beats me to it, “Two Lead, Spokes. Combat systems set. How far out front do you want me?”
What? I'm about to make some dense inappropriate remark when I realize I've heard that tone before... can't place it, but it was someone who... oh, yeah... back in '38 I was on a Terrors lance where we had an Admiral or some such space pilot type who hadn't sat in a 'Mech since his academy days. While I don't think Spokes is the naval type, something about that gives me pause and I mentally reconfigure the lance just in case.

The Scot goes live and queries, “Lance-lead, where’n ye wanting us?”
I have to chuckle, he does NOT sound exasperated at all. Impatient, maybe.

Anyway, 'bout time to get this party started, eh? On the main, I start, “Lance Two, let's remember that we are the far left of the Rebel line. With that in mind, I want a loose line formed on me, Shade left and Shepherd right, 150 to 200 meter separation, watch for mines and the occasional loyalist, please. Spokes, unless you just want to run out in front and play missile magnet, how about...” I'm about to say dragging wing right on Shade, but it occurs to me that the naval type didn't know acronyms and terms, maybe she doesn't either, “... near Shade on the left, behind him about a hundred meters and to his right maybe fifty to a hundred. I want you to support him so he isn't all alone on the flank.”

I try to think if I have missed anything, but nothing comes to mind and I, too, am eager to get moving.
“If you have questions, ask as we move to position and I'll make sure we point the right way.”
Well, I'm not in much mood to banter right now, so i go right to the silence command, “Duncan, Bite m e. Solid walking music, 110 bpm, old Trance or 'Lectroid, volume 2.”
Back to live comms, “Lance Two, move out.”
I push the throttle up a bit and it's not hard to imagine fighting to keep 'Goose from sprinting joyfully ahead.

(edit: deleted reference to "skirmish line")

Edited by cmopatrick, 20 March 2013 - 06:45 PM.

[Sparks Murphey]

“Copy that, Havok,” Nathan called, glancing sideways out the domed head of the Dervish to the lean Centurion. His new wingman. With any luck, Praetorian would be an experienced pilot and Nathan could follow his lead. Wait, was the Centurion falling behind? Wasn’t it a medium too?

Nathan pulled the throttle back, and the Dervish dropped back to an easy 30 km/h. The Centurion gained on him, slightly overtaking him before he pushed the throttle back up. Finally, he found a somewhat neutral point around 40km/h, a surprising slow cruising speed for the slimmer-looking ‘Mech.

As lance two pulled ahead to their forward position, Nathan glanced over the control panels again, surprised to find the two status light representing the medium lasers glowing a yellowish-green colour. Was that significantly different to green? Were they broken? The Dervish’s manual sprung to mind, but there was a simpler way of testing them. Grasping the targeting yoke, Nathan floated the crosshairs over an unassuming patch of ground and pulled the trigger. The emerald beams stabbed through the night, casting the terrain and their ‘Mechs in a brief eery light.

“Fehler im tertiären Ladespule gefunden,” the AI said. It made no sense to Nathan, but he wasn’t too concerned. The lasers were still functional, whatever the yellow light meant.

[The Shepherd]

James chuffed again, the old ******* knew what he was doing. He noted the pause though. Not using jargon with the Scorpion pilot was interesting too. Either TOG had presumptions regarding the level of quad pilots' IQ's, or he could think that the pilot wouldn't understand him. A rookie on the op?

The Shepherd marked Spokes' sensor blip a different shade from the usual sapphire blue of a friendly IFF.
"I'll be keepin an eye on ye lass, donna ye worry..." he mumbled before opening comms to reply.
"Aye lead, throttlin oop and takin' position. 'll call targets as I see em."

Maxing his throttle, James passed close in front of the Mongoose, watching for a reaction from TOG in his vision strip as he swept off to the right to take his position as potentially the first contact for the lance.

Another chuff and a hint of a grin, " 'ere we goo again,"

Edited by The Shepherd, 19 March 2013 - 05:12 AM.

[guardian wolf]

Shade noted the new position of the lighter mech. Something was off about the pause, and the mech's position. He would have placed it up front, using its speed and maneuverability to outmaneuver any fire that could be coming towards it. That was a bad sign. He then noted the position of the mech, and set his throttle to match the rest of the lance. His second half spoke up in a reminding tone.

That could be a quick flanker if the need arises.

The question is, will the pilot pull a move off like that?

Shade switched his weapon systems online, and his radar to passive. He didn't want to give his position away immediately. He'd spot mines sight by eye as normal, and if he got pinged he could find and silence the offender quickly. His eyes scanned the ground, and horizon for anything that looked suspicious. His gaze especially hovered over the area that he figured the enemy fire would come from.