5 replies to this topic

[G is for Gamma]

Porthos Spaceport and Airfield,
Porthos, Gran
Free Worlds League
09:23, August 18th, 3028


The seasonal rain had given way to unseasonal snow at some point in the night, turning yesterday's puddles into slippery patches of ice. Coating the ground, a dusting of white turned the usually drab and utilitarian landing pads and runways of the Porthos Spaceport and Airfield into a rather charming landscape. Despite the unexpected cold snap, the series of last minute school and work cancellations that came with it allowed a sizable crowd to gather outside the spartan facade of the spaceport - picket signs in hand and rabble rousing chants on their lips. The news had “broken” only a week ago that Duke Johnathan Howard had, without consent from the Founder Council, hired a small mercenary unit called the New Musketeers to train and assist the planetary militia. Though the funds to hire them had come from his own personal fortunes, the opposition within the planet’s ruling body had made the most of the situation and had been quick to speak to the press to condemn the act as a violation of all that the Gran Articles of Founding stood for, all the while urging the normally complacent citizens of Gran's capital to take to the streets in protest. For almost a full week the nightly news had consisted of scene after scene of people hoisting signs reading “Go home Mercs”, “No Davions on Marik worlds!”, “Howard the Coward!” and the ever ubiquitous “Free Hugs!” high above their heads.

An official statement from the Duke had appeased the majority of the populace, and for the most part life had returned to normal following the Duke's “scandal”, but the hardcore opposition and militant conspiracy theorists had continued their protests. Marching and picketing their way across downtown Porthos, while calling for the abdication of the Duke as well as various other demands, they caused a weeklong head ache for Force Commander Arjan Singh. As information request form after information request form regarding the mercenary unit landed on his desk from both the media and the various political organizations on world, each hoped to feed the fire with even more details about the Musketeers. The thought of throttling whichever intern had leaked the unit dossier to the media for extra beer money had passed through his mind on a regular basis. Given enough time he could more than likely vet out the culprit but as he watched the final descent of the Anton's Mistake, the vaguely egg shaped Union-Class drop ship which carried the New Muskteers, he knew he was also watching his workload skyrocket. Standing alongside his staff car positioned well outside of the Dropship's “hot zone,” Singh was still forced to turn his head as the powerful engines kicked up a gale of lose pavement and melted snow. Looking over his right shoulder he could see that the protesters had began to press themselves against the distant chain link fence. As the deafening roar of the dropship’s engines gradually gave way to the mechanical whine of landing struts accepting the weight of their charge, he turned his head back around before knocking his fist against the top of the staff car.

“Apollo.” He said as a his aid de camp's head popped out of the driver side window, “Get on the horn with Spaceport security, and see if they can't convince the crowd to back up a little...” He turned his attention back to the dropship, noting the procession of support vehicles that slowly rolled towards the Dropship. “Oh, and Apollo. Ask them to be tactful.” With a quick 'Yes'sir' his aid's head was gone as quick as it had appeared and within minutes Arjan could feel tremors in his legs as one of the Spaceport's Security-team's Urbanmechs waddled its way towards the crowd. The sight of the thirty ton machine had the desired effect as the crowd adopted a more subdued position fifteen meters from the fence as the position for their picket line.

As he watched the Anton's Mistake being unloaded, the intricate dance of fueling trucks, cargo loaders, cranes, as well as septic and water tankers reminded him of a half rotten melon he'd once seen on the ground at an open air market on his home world of Regulus. The vehicles and support crews replacing the various ants and beetles he'd seen encircling and gorging themselves on the fruit's meat. Occasionally the movement would come to an abrupt halt as one of the Musketeer battlemechs would make its way down one of the union's four unloading ramps. An incident almost occurred when a towering Dragon nearly had its legs swept out from under it by one of the unloading cranes, only the quick reactions of the pilot managed to keep the mech upright, and even then it was a near thing. A seasoned mechwarrior in his own right, Arjan let out an impressed whistle as he watched the display of piloting skill. To the uninitiated the wobbling hips and the rapid flexing of the Dragon’s cannon arm would have appeared odd, maybe even comical, but he could easily picture the pilot using the movement of the mechs appendage and his nuerohelmets connection to the Dragon's gyroscope in the same fashion an off balance acrobat might hold out their arms out to their sides to lower their center of gravity and remain upright.


An hour passed as Arjan watched the rest of the drop ship unload, deciding it was best to allow the mercenaries a chance to stretch their legs before introducing himself. As the lions share of support vehicles began to make their way back to the various hangers, garages, and storage containers that clustered around the Space Port terminal he climbed into the back seat of the staff car.

“Sir?” His aid asked, making eye contact through the hover sedans rear view mirror.

“Back to the office Corporal. Oh, and could you please contact Mrs. Blanc and have her pass on a request to meet with the unit commander at my office? At his earliest convenience of course.” Arjan asked as he wiped the fresh snowfall from his dark beard. Before reaching in his brief case for Mercenary Commander's dossier.

“Yes'sir....err, sir?”

“Yess, Corporal Tekeste?” He asked without looking up. His attention focused on the dossier papers scanning them for any detail he may have missed.

“Should we send a car?”

“Hmm? Oh, Yes.” Arjan stopped to think for a second before continuing. “Have Mrs. Blanc set up the arrangements for that as well, but please remind her that the Musketeer's are our guests and should be treated as such. Thank you, Apollo”

“Sir.” You could almost hear Apollo's smile in his voice, as he turned the engine over and started the drive back to the capital.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Porthos Spaceport and Airfield,
Porthos, Gran
Free Worlds League
09:57, August 18th, 3028

There was always a certain excitement in the air whenever one would behold a new planet, after setting foot upon over a score of worlds Zach was a firm believer in that belief. Everything was always different, from strange hued skies, unknown scents riding the breezes, even the gravitational pulls of the planets never seemed to be alike. From the seat of his Firestarter the merc look on the scene of of a small army of civilian vehicles milled about offloading the equipment from the 'Mistake.

And snow... the Andurian thought taking in the sights of of the various spaceport vehicles winding about grinding the white powder on the spaceport's tarmac into a brackish slush with their passing. Being from a tropical world, snow was still something new to Zachariah whom viewed the slush with a strange scientific detachment and a childish glee. For a split second he wondered how his so called 'peers' would judge him if he was caught scraping together enough of the muck to attempt making a snowman after stowing his mech and gear.

Any childhood thoughts of crafting his very own Frosty were dashed by the sight of an unloading crane practically sweeping the legs out from under Ibn's Dragon. The sight of the crane zipping off to wherever it came from while Ibn put some impressive piloting skills on display irked the former Leaguer.

"Stupid sh*t don't know that the bigger guy always has the right-of-way?" Zach growled into his mic while manipulating his controls with a knuckle whitening grip.

"Calm down, Smokey. No harm no foul, remember?" His lance leader's voice following the crinkling pops of his comms opening. Wincing Zach opened his jaw, keying his own communication system again. "Yeah I know... No blood no report." Humbolt replied finishing the ancient saying while falling in guiding his Firestarter in on the course that control was guiding him on.

Still... if I find out who that guy was and find him alone somewheres.... Zach let his train of thought wonder on as he manipulated his controls, proceeding to such and such bearing at 5 KpH with all childhood thoughts of snowmen falling from mind.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 04 May 2015 - 12:02 AM.

[Zedrei]

Porthos Spaceport and Airfield,
Porthos, Gran
Free Worlds League
10:12, August 18th, 3028

The hums and clicks of the cockpit should have been a comfort. A reminder of warmth, safety and the reassurance of fifty tonnes of metal and weaponry at his beck and call. And they still were, there was no place he'd rather be than here, snug behind the console and awaiting the next new world and dangerous mission to challenge him. If it was... well, challenging.

Volker sighed in annoyance, the frustration that had been building up over the last few weeks now nearly unbearable. The artificial twilight of the ship's mech-bay was beginning to vex his eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to leap from the ship and feel solid ground beneath his steel-shod feet. He ran another check, passing his fingers delicately over the multitude of familiar and delightful buttons, lights and switches that were part of his favorite, lovable war-machine. After the fifth neurotic, irritable confirmation, everything was functioning perfectly. For the past fifteen minutes he had heard nothing but the metallic booms and clanks of the first mechs disembarking and the occasional static-y, angry voice floating over the comms, but the mighty machines before him still hadn't moved up. He considered tilting his seat back and putting his boots up on the console, but decided against it on the grounds that it would look unprofessional if anyone saw. With a faint growl under his breath he reached into his breast pocket for the bag of Green Eyes his Father had sent him, flicking the acidic sour confection into his mouth and chewing moodily, contemplating his impatience.

He could've gotten a job anywhere with his experience, coming straight from the Periphery with a good reference to boot. The Musketeers had been kind to him when he first arrived, concealing nothing about the current state of the unit, and he'd enthusiastically pursued his engagement with them anyway, following a glowing image of a grand old company, archaic and sadly faded. Now he was here, limping planetside to teach some loutish militia how to keep their rabble in check. Even the bloody Elysian pirate-mercs had more stimulating aspirations, even though most of them involved burning and pillaging other pirates. In truth, he was nervous, anxious to do a good job and prove himself capable, and even more worried about the idea of working in this primarily civilian environment. Back in the 'Fields it was more a case of checking the colours of anything that moved and blasting away if it looked unfamiliar, here a misplaced shot could take out a housing block. He hated this assignment, and along with his existing doubts about the future of the unit his head spun with the shabbiness of it all. The sooner he could get on the field of battle the better.

Almost as soon as the thought entered his head the mech in front of him gave a rattling groan and started to move forward, a gathering crowd of service vehicles escorting their charge into the light. Volker hissed between his teeth in relief, laying his fingers softly over the controls and tapping his armour-plated boot impatiently.

"Come on darlin'" he murmured softly, giving the console an affectionate pat before nudging the joystick gently, lips curling back in a grin as the core far below gave an answering rumble. "Lets take a stroll. Apparently it's snowing today."

Edited by Zedrei, 09 May 2015 - 12:17 PM.

[Sparks Murphey]

Porthos Spaceport and Airfield,
Porthos, Gran
Free Worlds League
10:15, August 18th, 3028

From the warmth of his cockpit, Lord Gustave Carpeaux watched Stutterheim’s Crab walk gingerly down the slushy loading ramp. As unit commander, he had been the first to disembark, meaning his Black Knight had the advantage of a clean deck. Now that unloading had been underway for almost an hour, the ramp was caked with a mixed of snow and mud from the ‘Mechs, vehicles and people traversing it.

On hearing of the disgruntled crowd assembling outside the spaceport, Gustave’s initial order had been for an unpowered disembarkation. He was all too aware that a battalion of ‘Mechs marching onto a world could be just as easily seen as invaders as allies. The New Musketeers were scraping the bottom of the barrel now, and much of the contents at the bottom were so-called “urban pacification” missions. Pacification being key there - if the Musketeers sparked a riot as soon as they set foot on a world they had been hired to protect, they’d likely never work again.

Unfortunately, Porthos Spaceport “didn’t have the facilities” to offload the ‘Mechs while shut down, which Gustave could believe now that he saw the state of the field. Probably not a whole lot of ‘Mech traffic here. That meant he’d gone for plan B - a slow, casual disembarkation, rather than the quick combat-ready deployment that was usual. Not inept (barring the incident with the crane earlier) but uninterested, at ease because we’re all friends here, right? Nothing to see here, folks, move along. Indeed, though the crowd hadn’t dispersed, they had at least calmed down somewhat.

“Downtown, Grimaud here,” came the voice of Corporal Bill Rui, the radio operator on shift. ‘Grimaud’ was the callsign for the Musketeers’ offsite comms handler, named ironically after the mostly silent servant in Dumas’ original texts.

“Grimaud, Downtown receiving, go ahead.”

“Downtown, Porthos Ground reports that a ground car has arrived to take you to see Force Commander Arjan Singh. They want to know if they should expect to meet you at the Arrivals gate or if they should come out onto the tarmac.”

“Grimaud, tell them to come out here. I’ll need to put this thing into park. Send out a tech crew to look after my ‘Mech. Downtown out.”

The city’s name would take some getting used to. Abigail Leclerc had frequently made use of names and locations from Dumas’ work to designate targets, waypoints and other such things, Porthos included. The practice had fallen into decline under Reinhard’s command (the man having not being nearly as well read as his mother, Gustave suspected, rest his soul) and it was likely there were few left in the unit who remembered it. It fitted though; names like Porthos or D’Artagnan used for friendlies, Rochefort or de Winter for targets.

He could see the ground car pulling up as he stepped down the last few rope rungs of his ladder. It was a polished black hover stretch limo, an older model, judging by the styling, but meticulously cared for. Red and brown flags fluttered from small flagpoles at the front and for a moment Gustave was surprised at how similar the local dignitary’s coat-of-arm was to his own, before realising that it was his own.

The car pulled up neatly alongside him, the driver carefully flaring out the fans to minimise the amount of snow pelted at him. Two women alighted from the vehicle, one in her 30’s in the white and purple FWLM dress uniform, the other in her 70’s wearing a severe black dress. The soldier saluted, while the civilian dipped into a deep curtsey.

“Greetings, Lord Lensemahy,” the elderly woman said, using a title Gustave had rarely heard, “The Howard family extend their warmest welcome to Gran. My name is Mrs. Blanc and should you find it agreeable, I shall be your concierge for the duration of your stay.”

She paused, as if her part of the script had come to a close and it was now Gustave’s line.

“That… seems agreeable, I suppose,” Gustave managed.

Mrs. Blanc nodded, a nod that was entirely respectful, yet Gustave couldn’t help feel like he was a child who had just managed to play his first scale on the piano for his teacher.

“Force Commander Arjan Singh has requested the pleasure of your company at his office. At your earliest convenience, of course. Sergeant Nasir and I are at your disposal should you require our vehicle.”

“Alright,” Gustave said, “Take me to him.”

[Sloth901]

Porthos Spaceport and Airfield,
Porthos, Gran
Free Worlds League
10:19, August 18th, 3028

The snow parted as the staff car departed. Howlett felt a mix of emotions as he sat in the embrace of his command chair watching as Gustave left, no doubt to talk to our newest employer. He was worried, worried for the future of the unit, worried about his new Commander, worried if he made the right decision to stay. This contract would form the reputation of the 'New Musketeers'. But he also felt glad, glad to be back in his mech, glad to be planet side again and glad to still have the unit, regardless of how little of it remained.

Unloading at so far been uneventful, minus a minor near miss. Seeing as they'd likely be there a while Howlett decided to take stock of his surroundings from his vantage point in his 50 tonne steel behemoth, snow had coated most of the spaceport making the unloading slow progress, there'd be no worse a first impression than have a mech face plant on the loading ramp. In the distance he could see the crowds gathered at the edge of the spaceport. An optimistic part of him thought they where here to greet them, that is at least until he saw the Urban Mechs keeping the crowd's at bay.

Quickly trying to distract himself from the obvious animosity towards the unit, Howlett found himself looking at the Crab that had disembarked a few minutes earlier. Their new ally hailing from the Oberon Confederation, being from the Concordat Howlett had a rather strong opinion on pirates and Volker's ties with the ex-pirate state just didn't sit right with him. Then again the Concordat aren't particularly fond of the Davions but look at him now. Only time would tell if he could trust the newcomer. Only time would tell.

[Thom Frankfurt]

[OOC: slight collaboration between Rogue and myself. His PC crashed and I'm posting for him. Enjoy.]

Porthos Spaceport and Airfield,
Porthos, Gran, Free Worlds League,
10:26, August 18th, 3028,


Arianhrod nudged Rasputin into a slow walk, it's long legs mincing across the deck of the dropship into the sun. Reflecting off the thin coating of snow, the Merlin's cockpit glass darkened immediately to protect her eyes from the blinding light and gave the world an orange cast. Aware that she was now in the public eye, the Gwyneddian mechwarrior frowned in concentration and altered the stocky mech's stride to a parade march, arms out to the sides and elbows locked forward with the torso mounts. Her frown deepened at the sight of Urbanmechs openly overlooking civilians protesting the New Musketeer's arrival.

"Well this is fantastic. Just what I like to see, civilians being threatened by mechs. That always works so well." Arianhrod grumbled, shook her head and sighed. Keying her mike, she spoke again, "Lock weapon mounts and torsos forward people and do not point your mechs at the civilians. Lets make sure we don't cause any police brutality. All smiling faces when we dismount - and that means you Zach!"

"Lock weapon mounts and torsos forward people and do not point your mechs at the civilians. Lets make sure we don't cause any police brutality. All smiling faces when we dismount - and that means you Zach!"

Zach winced at the playful banter coming over the comline. Arianhrod meant well despite her remarks always striking a bit too close to home. He quickly opened his jaw to shoot back a retort, but lost his train of thought reading one of the protesters signs stating 'Merc's go Home.'

The League is my home. The crinkle of his comline accompanying his jaw's opening snapped him back to the here and now. "Aw, shut it ya Masked Mook, you know I only barbeque civies on Sunday.

Eyeballing the Urbanmechs towering over the assembled protesters, Zach frowned. He had a bad feeling that the situation was grimmer than he previously thought, and imagined that the Musketeers would be spending quite a bit of time buttoned up on the base. Focusing his comline to a secure laser communique he shot another mention directly to Arianhrod. "All kidding aside, these folks don't look too thrilled to see us. So much for taking in the local night life, eh?"

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 08 July 2015 - 04:01 PM.