FedCom Planet Slocum, 3049.

With an exasperated grunt, Captain Roger Murtaugh leaned back in his chair, and threw in his cards. Lady Luck had been treating him bad all night, and it didn't look like she planned to stop. It would have been depressing, but the stakes weren't that high. Just a friendly game between members of Murtaugh's Maulers, and the Maulers don't do high stakes any more.

"Looks like things are getting too hot for the old man." Tech Sergeant Gets was the only one to comment, and that was because Tech Sergeant Gets ALWAYS had a comment. If the Mauler's Mechs worked as well as Gets' mouth, they could give the Dragoons a run for their money.

"Call me old again and I'll have you pulling double shifts until my Wolverine is factory fresh again." Murtaugh's Wolverine hadn't been at 100% for a long time. Not since the Maulers saw heavy action during the 4th Succession War. The Maulers had been a reinforced company back then, and they had played for high stakes. The higher the better. Battle after Battle had seen the Maulers in the thick of it, with Murtaugh leading the way. Damage to the unit had been heavy, Mech after Mech pounded into scrap by stubborn Capellan defenders. Salvage, however, had been even better. For every mech lost there had been another salvaged from the enemy, sometimes more than one.

Funny how even when Murtaugh won, he ended up losing. Most of the units younger pilots, with their confidence boosted by victory, had wanted to pick up some more heavy action contracts. Murtaugh and a few of the others, however, had wanted a break from the fighting. So the unit split up, and in the end Murtaugh was left with only a single Lance of tired old Mechs with tired old pilots, and only old Motor- Mouth-Midget Gets to keep them running.

So now, instead of heavy action, the Maulers pulled garrison duty on useless dirt balls like Slocum. Still it wasn't all that bad, in seven days when this contract ended, Murtaugh planned to retire. He had found a buyer for his old Wolverine. One of the local nobles was willing to pay in a combination of cash and land in order to get his darling boy into the cockpit of a Mech so he could win some glory for his family. There were certainly worse places to retire than Slocum. Sure, large parts of the planet were irradiated wastes, and the planets population still below a million, but it was quite. The capellan front was a good five jumps away, and there was simply nothing on the planet worth raiding.

Murtaugh would be able to live out his golden years playing cards and fishing off his boat, as soon as he got it running again.

"I think we'd best pack it in men. We've got an early day tomorrow. Gotta start getting ready to..."

"RED ALERT! RED ALERT! ALL UNITS TO BATTLE STATIONS! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! I REPEAT! THIS IS NOT A DRILL" Murtaugh hadn't even know the base HAD a PA system, but there it was, blaring out an alert.

"Tell me that's a joke Cap'n" Despite the comment Lieutenant Riggs was already on his feet, and heading out the door to the Mech bays, where his Hatchetman stood waiting for him.

"You know what I know, we'll figure it out when we get comms up. Lets move people!" The order wasn't really required, the Maulers may have gotten long in the tooth, but they were still professional. Every member was running to their station.

Murtaugh was actually the last man out of the barracks, as he ran along at what he liked to think of as a more "stately" pace. Half way between the barracks and the Mech bay he stopped to catch his breath, with his back and knees complaining about every ounce he had put on during his easy garrison duty. His attention was quickly drawn to the south, where the unmistakeable "whoosh" and flash of light of missile fire highlighted the location of the only Mauler on duty. The Trebuchet was moving fast, it's twin LRM-15's belching out missiles as fast as the launchers could cycle.

"What in the world is he shooting at? Those missiles aren't free!" As if to answer his question the night sky erupted in fire, hundreds of missiles from dozens of sources flew down from the clouds. All thought of getting to his Mech was lost, as Murtaugh watched missile after missile explode on or around the Trebuchet, quickly blinding him with their deadly radiance.

When the spots cleared from his eyes, Murtaugh looked back, only to see... Nothing... Were one of his men had stood moments ago, proudly shooting defiance from the twin launchers of a 50 ton death machine, there was now only a crater, with little bits of metal spinning away like drunken tasmanian devils.

Grief and fury flooded into Murtaugh as he looked up to try to identify the assailants who had so casually obliterated his long time friend, only to be washed away by shock and bewilderment.

"Those can't be...." There, in the sky, was something resembling things that Murtaugh had only ever seen on Vids. Large swept back wings over a pair of legs, like one of the old Pheonix Hawk Land-Air Mechs, but some how looking more fierce, more ******* in design, and with the reverse jointed "bird-legs" seen on some
Mechs.

Wonder at this new and alien design of lostech was cut short, however, buy a loud, feathery flap, and a sharp blow to the back of the shoulder that sent Murtaugh spinning to the ground. From his spot on the tarmac, Murtaugh looked up and saw what could only be described as some sort of large bird-like creature, descending on a black parachute, with some sort of rifle clutched in it's talon like hands.

"For Kaetetôã! And The Mittani! SQUUUAAACK!"

"I'm getting too old for this ..."

PS: No need to comment on spelling and grammar, if i didn't care enough to proof read it, why should you?

FedCom Planet Slocum, 3049.

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