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[RogueSpear]

[The night before]
Spear hit the slide to shut the door to his cabin as he headed straight for the table.
"F*CKING DRAGOON B*ST*RD!" He roared, kicking the table hard. The top desk shot straight out and barely having to look he hooked the dark glass rum bottle out of it. Pulling the cork with his teeth he spat it hard across the cabin as he began to pace. "Two days! Two days! B*stard is already trying to get us all killed! No! Not even two days! HE GOT HERE FIRST!" He kicked his chair hard enough to send it flying into the wall. Taking a long pull on the rum, he continued to march and swear. "Not this time. We're here for training! TRAINING! This isn't even a war company! This is prototypes and recruits!" He tugged at the bottle again. "I'm going to talk to Will, and pull us both out of he-...F*CK!" Barcelona is his home, no way he'll leave...He slumped onto the bed took another drink. "Tomorrow I'll talk to Will." He said quietly. "If he knew about whatever this is, he's on his own. Him and that stupid Dragoon." He took another pull on the rum.
Then he took another pull.
He was quietly dozing off in bed, what was left of the bottle carefully balanced on his chest when the comm buzzed loudly. "Sir?"
Spear slowly pushed his face off the floor. "What is it?" He said in as cheerfully high pitched voice as he could muster.
"Sorry to wake you sir, but we noticed something on the radar we thought you should know."
Spear waited, then sighed. "And that was?"
"Ehm we picked up a live Rifleman blundering through the forest. IDed it as Subcommander Andor's sir. Seems like he might be drunk sir."
"Swell." He finished crawling up the desk to his feet. "I shall go and collect him directly." He hooked another bottle of rum out the desk. "Have the chief have Ironborn ready by the time I get there."

"Ummm...sir?"
"YES Mr. Chief Engineer?" Spear said as he thumped into his command couch.
"Are you sure you...are you drunk sir?"
"Absofragginlutely!"
"Sir I can't let you -"
"We are MY Armoured WHAT Mr. Chief Enginseer?"
"Irregulars sir but-"
"Then do not question me when I do irregular things!"
"But sir..." The techie sputtered, "Do you really need the extra bottle?"
Spear looked down at the bottle in his hand. "You have a good point. An excellent point! Run and get it then."
"Wh-what?"
"Well it would be rude to show up with drinks for meself but not me good friend! It probably is just Draco that got us into this you know, Will had nothing to do with it I should expect. He'll need a drink as much as I do."
"Ah...I see sir. I'll go and get you another."

A few minutes later Spear stomped out of the dropship bay, weaving only slightly as he did so. The Chief Tech rested his head against the cool metal of the dropship wall before reaching for the intercom. "Control? Chief Landry. You're going to want to get a call put through to RAIHQ...it's happening again..."
"The Dragoon?"
"Yep."
"F*ck sake."

Spear shaved half a foot out of a tree as the big Devastator stumbled out of the forest. He was getting close to radar range on Will's Rifleman...
"Mech detected."
"Identimify."
"Command not recognised."
Spear swore, but the targetting screen screen in front of him identified it as a Rifleman with Vulkaneers IFF codes. Spear turned on his radio. "Will! Wiiiiiiiiiillllll! You alive in der?"
"Spear? Whadder you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Wrong tunnel. Dey go under the city. So we can be sneaky like. But went inna wrong one, so have to walk to the range."
Spear sighed. "Why are you going to the range?"
"For a walk. Needed some air t'sober up."
"In your mech?"
"The lid's up!"
Spear thought for a moment. "This is not a bad plan, me old friend." He popped his own cockpit and immediately got hit in the face with a branch as his mech lumbered onwards. "OW! F*CKING SON OF A C*NTING WH*RE!" He shut the cockpit. "CLOSE THE ******* LID 'TIL WE'RE OUDDA THE FOREST! MY F*CKING NOSE!"
Will burst out laughing over the comm. "Fine, no rum for you. I even had a spare bottle. Real f*cking thoughtful like. Bein' a good friend. But now it's all mine." Spear pulled the bottle and the ice pack the chief tech had thoughtful wrapped round it and held it to his bleeding nose.
"That's not good enough!"
"It's what?"
"I love weddings!"
"What?
"Drinks all around!"
"WHATCHOO FRAGGING TALKING ABOUT WILLIS?"
"WH-WHY IS THE WHY IS THE WHY IS THE WH-WHY IS THE WHY IS WHY IS THE WHY IS WHY IS THE RUM GONE?"
"WILL! I WILL GIVE YOU THE RUM IF YOU STOP F*CKING SINGING!"
"OKAY!"
"Just...just be quiet until we get to the range can talk arright?" Spear gingerly pulled the cork from the chilled rum, winced as he poured some on his nose and took a swig. He was answered by silence over the radio.

Eventually they left the forest and entered the Vulkaneers hidden training facility.
"Nice place y'git hid here."
"No talk time! Rum now please!"
"Right right right." Spear trundled his Devastator close to Will's Rifleman and popped the lid. Will's cockpit was full of branches and leaves, the mechwarror miraculously unscathed - he'd clearly kept his cockpit open the entire time. "Here y'go ye b*stard!" He shouted as he tossed the second bottle of rum to Will. Will fumbled the bottle and it landed on the floor of his cockpit, luckily not smashing. He picked it up and started to down it, sucking on it like a baby's bottle.
"Sooo..." Spear took a long pull on his own bottle as Will coughed rum over his cockpit. "How's Draco getting us killed this time, d'ye know?"
"Draco? He's cool this time. Just bought a base for the Dragoons..." Will's voice trailed off and he frowned.
"Yeeeeaaahhh...and gave my company a berth of bays. On that base. No charge."
"No cha-Well we're all screwed."
"Dat is literally the exact wording of me very own thoughts on the matter."

Spear regained consciousness with the sun shining brightly into his eyes.
"OhgodsI'mgonnabesick." Spear lurched forwards, projectile vomiting into the air as the 'mech reared up with him.
"Ohhhh friiiig!"
He rolled the mech onto it's front and continued to spew for a few seconds. "Oh gods that was nasty..."
He pushed his 'mech to it's feet, nearly falling as the left leg buckled underneath him. "Woah...Ohohohokaaaayyy Gav. Get it together." He slowly got the 'mech standing, and remembered why the 'mech was limping. "Oh ****...Will..."
He wiped some vomit from the console and reached behind his seat for his survival bag. Carefully he sipped at the bottle of water he'd retrieved, held it gently against his now sunburnt forehead. "I cannot believe I passed out with the lid open, on my ***...Ironborn, location, nearest mech."
"Rifleman sixty metres distant at 170 degrees."
"Hokay..." Spear took a shuddering step forward as he took an oxypill and a swallow of water. "Gonna be fine." He rounded the building he'd collapsed next to and saw Will's Rifleman pointing it's remaining arm at him.
"Spear...No matter what, we DO NOT admit this to Draco."
"Or we just go with the kill him plan." Spear croaked. "How's the head?"
"Rough..."
"Jog closer. I'll toss you an oxypill. Man, I passed out on my *** with the lid open...I am dehydrated to f*ck. My head is killing me."
He popped the lid just enough to flip an oxypill and bottle of water to Will. "Sip it." He demonstrated. "If you gulp it...you'll chunder. As you can see from my new paintjob, I already did..."
"Heh...yeah buddy. Why were we fighting?"
"You were drunk and pissed."
"Pissed? Why?"
Spear paused. "Will...do you remember anything from last night?"

[[No one interrupt us by the way. Hopefully you've enjoyed our shenanigans, but we aren't done yet Will just had to crash and I still have work. And yes Draco, in the years to come, as far as Spear will become utterly convinced, the entire clan invasion is your fault.]]

[[EDIT: The reason for Will's singing is we were hammering out the conversation on Skype and he chose to reply with this:
]]

Edited by RogueSpear, 26 September 2012 - 04:26 PM.

[revanus]

Jack Berg raised the faceplate of his welding mask to wipe away some of the sweat. Like most days on Barcelona, it was hot outside, with a nice dash of humidity to keep things miserable.

Some days, I wish I never left Tharkad.

The crew chief shot a glance his way that could melt ferrocrete.

"Damn it, Berg! We don't have time for you to lounge around. This armor plating has to be up, and it has to be up now! Boss said he wants this base able to withstand a lance of angry assault mechs by 5:00 PM, and we are going to MAKE that deadline! Back to work!"

Behind his newly relowered faceplate, Jack allowed himself a small smile.

Something big is going on. I guess LIC isn't entirely wasting my time.

Jack was one of the few techs allowed to stay on when the 17th Skye Rangers transferred over to the garrison by Seville City--nearer to the planet's capital. His embedding with the Rangers was already a bit of a strange assignment--LOKI agents weren't usually tasked with dissident surveillance. In the six previous months, Jack had duly monitered the surreptitious surveillance systems--the hidden wall mikes, secondary security camera feeds, and data backdoors that the LIC occasionally installed in Skye unit garrisons. While Lyran Commonwealth was devoted to individual freedom and freedom of thought, the LIC didn't always respect the notion of privacy when it came to the innermost secrets of potential rebels. Still, filing intel reports were a far cry from Jack's refined skillset of improvised explosive construction, distance marksmanship, and strategic terror planning. The bleedover from bomb construction to actual construction meant that Jack could do a passable impression of a techie, though.

Jack hadn't always been a government terrorist. He had finished top of his class at the Nagelring, and he'd spent his first two years in a Griffin 1-N attached to the 3rd Lyran Guards. His stellar marksmanship with the Griffin's PPC, along with his naturally high intelligence, had caught the attention of the LIC, who thought his skills might serve an even higher calling than melting enemy mech tonnage. The fatalistic indiffence and cold ruthlessness that had made Jack such an excellent sniper proved especially attractive to LOKI, who pegged him as a natural. They were right. A good sniper realizes that it's never about the value of one man or one mech--even the best of leaders or materiel can be servicably replaced--but about the mass psychological effect of demonstrating that nothing is safe. It's about tearing down the cruel illusion of security, ripping away the unconcious crutches of willful ignorance that people rely on to deflate their awareness of their own fragile mortality. It's about the reminder that the universe is a dangerous place and death is coming. The target is irrelevant--it's always about the show.

When the Commonwealth sold the base, Jack was a bit surprised that his orders weren't to follow the Skye Rangers. In the past few days, however, it had become clearer that Loki had been playing the long game--a lot of the "disrepair" that the base techs were scrambling to fix masked a seriously boosted surveillance network, courtesy of Lyran Intelligence. Jack's six months with the Skye Rangers increasingly seemed more about getting familiar with the base and establishing a viable cover than actually monitering the elite "Boys of Summer." The Wolf Dragoons had caught LOKI's ever-scheming eye, and the hunch was paying off. This merc troop was off--they spoke their own language, made bizarre references to unknown words, and most importantly of all, they knew something was up. The wall mike in the C.O.'s quarters had picked up references to an invasion, the base was stockpiling for a siege, and even the lowliest tech could figure out that someone high up was a bit spooked given the breakneck speed of repairs and structural reinforcement going on. As Jack returned to welding, he flicked a switch on a hidden heat scanner behind the armor plate he was securing.

Jack smiled again. He might not be the best welder in the world, but post-invasion planetary insurgency was just his cup of tea.

If LOKI had placed him here, Barcelona was already lost.

[PhaseIn]

[[Character: Major Callum MacKinnon, XO of the Rogue's Armoured Irregulars
Callsign 'Phase'
Appearance: 5' 10”, look to be late 30 early 40. Mid length, unkempt dark brown hair and beard, will slick it back into some kind of order if its called for but unless ordered to doesn’t care much. He most often wears a vest with a lose fitting shirt over it witch semi conceals a revolver in a shoulder holster and a pair of camo bottoms that’s pockets are filled with a combination of data slates, spare ammo and a random assortment of things he’s picked up and forgotten to put back, also has a knife tucked in back of his belt covered by the shirt as well as a smaller one is the right boot. He has a light flack jacket but unless he planning to start something or knows there are likely to be bullets flying trough that air dumps in the cockpit of him mech and leaves it there. He has green eyes that will wander round the room even when he relaxed more out of habit than for any reason.
Born and raised on New Caledonia and baring the occasional trip off plant was content to say there, till he signed up with the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces for a few tours and got landed in the same lance as some lunatic going by “RogueSpear” who after a night of heavy drinking and a few lost bets convinced me to go private with him, decided “Fu*k it there worse guys I could sing up with” and been following him around doing me best to stop him getting himself killed ever since.

Mech: WHM-7M variant of the Warhammer has the Small lasers and one of the Machine guns striped out replaces them with an Anti-Missile System. Additionally, upgrades the heat sinks to double heat sinks and replaces the PPCs with ER PPCs.]]

Callum has spent most of the night in his mech, not because he didn't have a bunk in the ship but because he was always more confertable in his control pit, he had spent a fair bit of the night getting all the Irregulars gear, or most of it at any rate, shifed around a bit so that it waound be quicker to get it moved out when they had a palce to store it and had and beside the rest of the guys were better at stowing it anyway, if it was up to him he would just put in all in a heap and dig out what was needed out as it was needed he just told them where to put it.

After a few hour of rest, he was woken by a call in to one of the mech screens.
“What is it Chief? It’s far too early for anything to have broken yet.”
“Sir, the Colonel is not back yet.”
“So, he probably sleeping off his hangover somewere, he was at one of the locals last night, Kerensky’s something or other”he replied as he sat up straight and stretched
“Return Sir, yea well he did make it back, then went out for a night time stroll…”
“What’s you point? If that’s all I gona go back to sleep wake me when he gets ba…”
“Sir he took his mech”
“WHAT!? Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”
“I tried sir you shut you comm off and went back to sleep”
“Fine, I better go find the lunatic and make sure hes not in too much trouble. I'll head out and follow his tracks from there shouldn’t be too hard to follow”

He made out of the drop ship and veered towards the direction rogue took, a quick glance confirmed that follow the tracks would not be hard, after following them for bit and getting a ping of a pair of mechs on his radar he opened his comm to one of the Irregulars common channels

“yo Rogue good night then?”

Edited by PhaseIn, 13 June 2012 - 03:16 PM.

[MacabreDerek]

Rick nodded, though he was reluctant to get in his rack with so much work to be done, Draco was the superior officer. It pained him to salute the man then about-face to start heading towards the cafeteria. He had to admit though, a few hours of rack time sounded good.

=================

Carrying the steel food tray to the table, he sat down. Looking over the oatmeal they had for breakfast, it looked more like the gruel they would slop to some POW camp. Taking his PDA, he set the timer for an hour and a half. His eyes fought with him for the promise of sleep, and he tried to keep them open for as long as he could as he tried to eat the first bite of oatmeal. And for some reason the bowl was getting closer, and closer, and closer...

So there Rick slept, face first in a bowl of oatmeal.

[Sparks Murphey]

The Furnace crested the rise, right arm raised to shoulder height to provide the fastest possible shot in the unlikely event of a contact. Heather twisted the torso full lock to the right, then to the left.

“This is Blacksmith. Visual confirms radar and magnetometer. Nav Epsilon is clear,” she radioed.

“Copy that, Blacksmith. Proceed at speed six zero to Nav Zeta,” crackled the reply.

Heather sighed and spun the ‘Mech around to face Nav Zeta, pushing the throttle forward almost to full speed. A hundred metres behind her, her patrol-mate, Leutnant “Mantis” Parks of the 17th Skye Rangers, did likewise in his Shadow Hawk. Heather rested her head against the back of the command couch and shut her eyes for a moment, blinking away the weariness. Zeta was a good fifty clicks away and would take the better part of an hour to reach. She’d figured that garrison duty would be simple and easy, but hadn’t expected it to be this ****ed boring.

“Blacksmith, this is Mantis. You okay? You’re heading off course.”

Heather glanced back at her compass ring and cursed under her breath. She’d turned the ‘Mech so the torso was facing towards Nav Zeta, but left it twisted full to the left after her visual scan. A rookie mistake, but her mind was blanking from several hours of patrolling through empty countryside.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Mantis. Just a brief slip.”

Edited by Sparks Murphey, 06 August 2012 - 02:01 AM.

[Sloth901]

Will put his hand on his head and groaned, moving forward to get the pill from Spear, heavens knew he needed it. He caught the pill and took it with a sip of water, he looked down and saw the empty bottles on the floor, and memories came flooding back of the night before.

[[5 hours earlier]]
“I don’t like it, That B*stard Draco’s keeping something from us. Buying an entire base on a planet I doubt he’s set foot on before, and I doubt he’s planning on staying” Spear was seething, even drunk Will could tell that he’d been waiting to get this off his chest.
Will took another swig of the bottle Spear had thrown him and nodded as Spear continued his rant.

Will looked at the empty bottle of rum in front of him. He muttered to himself “But why is the rum gone?” and turned his attention to what Spear had been saying. “Well this is my new home and immah gonna stop em!” he pushed his throttle forward, the 60 tonne monster lurched forwards and began to fall. Will was in no condition to pilot, it was miraculous that he’d gotten this far. The Rifleman stopped its fall as it hit a building obliterating the wall. The Rifleman slid a little and then stopped, delicately balanced on the corner of the building.
Will Grunted as he was caught by his seat restraints. A couple of empty bottles fell out of his cockpit smashing on the ground. “What the frig ya do that fer???”
“Do what?” Spear sounded confused
“Ya tripped me.” The Rifleman self righted. Sparks were coming from the right arm were it had impacted the building
“No I didn’t, you just can’t pilot for **** when you’re pissed.” Spear sounded amused at the accusation
“Yea, ya did!” The Rifleman accelerated and hit into the Devastator with a crash, the horrid sound of grinding metal filled the urban training ground.
Spear stepped to the side and the Rifleman fell to the floor. Once again the Rifleman stood up, this time the weapons aimed on the assault mech
“WIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLL DON’T EVEN-” Spear yelled down the radio as he closed his cockpit...

[RogueSpear]

[5 Hours earlier]

Spear cut off as the autocannon rounds sparked off his armour, glancing away into the darkness as he swiftly twisted his mech around in a sidestep. The change in balance as armour sheared off from the big round's impact kept him from controlling the twist, the alcohol fast burning out of his system, but not enough. Will's laughter echoed over the radio.
"Ha! Let that be a lesson to you Spear!"
Lesson my ***. Recovering his balance he stabbed his two medium lasers into the Rifleman's torso. "The f*ck Will?"
"HEY! You shot me!" Twin ruby beams seared out at him as Will opened up again, burning through the building to his rear.
"You shot me first! Calm yer t*ts lad! OI!" The Devastator reeled again as another AC10 round spalled armour plating in sheafs from his right shoulder. "That's it!"
Angrily he barreled Ironborn straight into the Rifleman, knocking it to the ground and running straight over it, tumbling into the faux-tenement block behind. He shook his head blearily as more autocannon rounds crashed around him. "The f*ck did he stand up so fa..." He trailed off as he saw the Rifleman lying almost comically on it's back, rocking slightly as Will tried to stand up while still pointing both arms straight up to shoot at him.
I am never letting him drink again. Ever. Not even a - His inner diatribe was cut off by both lasers and another pair of autocannon rounds blasting apart the rubble around him. Snorting angrily, he rolled the big mech out the rubble as another pair of AC shots whipped into the night. Will began righting his own mech as Spear brought his mech to a halt, firing a PPC into the casemate surrounding Will's cockpit.
"Eat static you *****!"
Will's response was to tear chunks out of his legs with both ACs and the lasers, sending Ironborn crunching to one knee.

In Will's cockpit he abruptly began to sober up. Uh oh.

Spear swung the Devastator to it's feet as he blew canister shot from the twin LBX-AC10s mounted in his side torsos into the Rifleman. Flaming sparks sprayed out from the mech, obliterating the dark red paintjob in an instant. Twin PPCs lanced out either side of the suddenly back-peddling Rifleman and emerald beams from the medium lasers slashed across it's left flank to complete the alpha strike. Suddenly on the defensive Will struggled to shake the fog from his head as he tried to seek cover in the streets of the practice grounds. More laser strikes chased him behind the tenements, more canister shot blowing out the windows on both sides of the block. The two drunken warriors chased through the streets until finally Spear speared a PPC shot through Will's right arm, taking it clean off. Spinning, the Rifleman was easily knocked to the ground by a solid slug from Spear's right LBX. Stamping hard on the Rifleman's chest, Spear loomed down at Will's cockpit. His fellow mechwarrior was holding his hands up in surrender with a look of fear and shame on his face. He stepped off the Rifleman and clicked his mic. "Sober up. And just...don't talk to me for a while. I'm going for air." With that he left the Rifleman on it's back, popped his cockpit and limped into the night.

[Present time]

"Yeah...sorry..." Muttered Will into the comm.
"Rough night. Forget about it." Spear said, a little embarassed. Suddenly his radio buzzed. "Oh ****, that's my XO."
"Ahhh...what are you gonna tell him?"
"Well I'm bloody well not going to tell the truth. Hold on, patching you in...Something like that Phase, Chief up yet? We need some reps. Will's IFF wasn't set up and he thought I was a Drac. Had to shoot him up a bit before we could get to the rum."
Will held his face in hand. That's your idea of lying Spear?
"Yeah...sorry my bad. Shoulda been paying more attention. Don't think I've ever met you Phase?"

Edited by RogueSpear, 26 June 2012 - 10:00 PM.

[PhaseIn]

"MORNING SUB-COMANDER ANDOR, GOOD TO FIANLY MEET YOU FACE TO FACE" Callum said more loudly that was reqired, mostly beause he reconed Gavin probubly still had a hangover and it would anoy him
"well mech to mech anyway" he mutterd returning to a normal volume
"Yea the chiefs up, he woke me, for some reason he is under the imprseion that the rum happend before you two decide to use each other as targets..." he trailed off.

Sighing he rely did wonder why he was still working for this luntic but it was never boring and beside more that half the time he was invloved in the s*ite like this.

"Want me to give him a call to send out a repair crew while you two think up a better stroy for telling to someone who is achaly important? or you going the move this back to the dropship to fix up"

Edited by PhaseIn, 13 June 2012 - 04:43 PM.

[RogueSpear]

Spear rubbed his face wearily and took another gulp of water. "Ach, we'll just tell the Chief I fell down some stairs. If he asks, mutter about the Dragoon. I think I remember telling him something about how we are all going to die because of him anyway...might as well brush it under the rug until we know how he's going to try and do it."

"I better get back to base as well, dont know how I'm gonna explain this to the techs." Will groaned.
"Just blame Draco Will, you're going to be doing it inside of a week anyway. Two at the outside. Bet you an assault." Spear replied sourly.
"I suppose. Just don't like seing her like this though." Will sighed. "Oh well, maybe an excuse to try than new loadout the techs have been nagging me to try."
Spear grunted. "Not taking the bet then. Fine. Ruin what little fun there was in this. Aight Phase, let's move it out. Will can tell us about this new build on the way."
"Right you are, I'll send word for him to round up the repair monkeys." Phase chuckled.

[MacabreDerek]

The controls were feeling more than familiar. It was beginning to feel like the Mech was a suit he would wear. The artifical hums of the engine going online, the start-up sequence, the pixel-painted landscape became all too familiar.

The pods had been pulled out from the debree shedding, old sim pods that were left over from the facilities 'training days', and after a long evening the techs managed to get two of them working. In Rick's off hours since his talk with Draco, he had been spending any amount of free time in them, trying to get as much practice as he could. The second pod was sometimes empty, and Rick would be forced to hone his lackluster skills against the A.I. simulated lances. Some days though another tech would jump in the pod, drooling at the chance to play 'Mechwarrior' and live out a dream of glory. Sometimes, Rick would be honoured to have one of the Mechwarriors run against him.

The real crowd-draw though was the gambling. Techs, Janitors, Soldiers, they all came to place their bets. When it was against someone without the real-life experience, it was bet on who would win, the A.I. not always being the most reliable of lance-mates, but others would simply be on how long Rick would last against some of the more combat-tested fighters among the base team.

Today, he was going up against Sindy, a tech who reminded him alot of another tech he knew from his days in Solaris. Only real difference was Sindy's mouth, and that she logged on just as many sim-hours as he did in her days as a Cadet for the Light Horse merc group. Today, she would be using a Thunderbolt.

Rick on the other hand was using his re-made Archer. After they were done with S.C.R.A.P. Maker, it's rear lasers were retrofitted to it's arms, giving it a mean close-up punch that was prone to overheat problems, but at least it felt better since Rick's aiming rear-mounted weapons was as likely as the rain falling upward into the clouds.

The reason Sindy was taking her night off in a Sim Pod and not going out with the crew was simple. Everyone knew today Draco would have Rick inside his actual Archer, showing if he was compident for this upcoming 'big conflict'. It was a lot like what Rick mentioned earlier, on how the lies of parents to tell their children that he was a real Mechwarrior, a damned home-world-hero. He didn't want them to be lies anymore. The crew tried to uplift his spirts with this simulated combat with incompident pilots to give him some false satisfaction that he was better pilot than most of the grease jocks in the bay, but it felt like another lie.

He came to the conclusion though it didn't have to be a lie. He could change it, he could become better. Maybe he was getting better. Looking out the side panel of the pod, he saw the chalk board. "Rick, Kills 329, Deaths 172". One hundred and seventy two mistakes, one hundred and seventy two deaths. In the real thing, it's the first death that counts, and not the kills. It meant betting on him was nearly two to one, in this little corner of the bay with the sim pods the staff started calling 'Solaris Zero'.

And now it was one last practice bout, a one on one situation against Sindy.

"Rick, you alive? Ya havent moved yet and I am not gonna take it easy on ya just because you got your drunkass head in the clouds!" Sindy snapped over the intercom.

"Oh girlie, you're gonna get a spanking!"

"Yea right Mop-Boy." She said using his call-sign as a stab.

"That's right, I'm the Mop-Boy, and I came to clean your clock!"

[guardian wolf]

Draco had been watching intently as Rick, had been practicing. These sim pods helped, but were not as close to the real thing as one could wish. There was only one way to expierence the the actual tinkerings of mech to mech combat, to live them. Draco still remembered one of his first ops, in the FRR, where he had earned his callsign Guardian. *flashback

Draco checked his radar, the advancing Atlas lance was still coming. The Hell Jumpers had decided to pull back, and lure them out into a better firing position, and the KungseArme units had yet to arrive. Draco was about to turn back when Connors, a Jenner pilot, limped into view. His right leg was mauled and he could tell it was taking all the skill Connors could muster to keep it together. The Atlases would kill Connors if they got the chance, Draco was not about to let that happen. He pushed his throttle to full and then stopped in between the Atlases and the Jenner.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
"GO CONNORS, NOW, I'LL HOLD!!"
There was no reply. Draco sighted in the first Atlas as in came into view, and fired his Warhammer's, Wolf Fang's, PPCs. The lightning struck out, and turned armor into slag as the Atlas, with a wicked grin painted on its face continued to advance. He heard the cackle of the enemy pilot as he broadcasted over an open frequency.
"Pitiful mercenary, circle around and kill the Jenner, this one is mine,"
Draco shouted his reply, and challenge.
"NO, I'LL KILL YOU ALL,"
The Atlas seemed to accept the challenge and returned fire with a large laser. Draco's virgin armor absorbed the impact, as he once again, fired his PPCs.The streaks of lightning struck, and found the laser that had fired, and also, managed to melt the barrel of the AC20. He still advanced. Draco stood his ground, and began to fire his machine guns in anger, but also, to get rid of the ammo. He then added his SRM rack to the salvo, and watched as the missiles fall short, but the smoke generated gave him a small respite. The Atlas continued to march forward, and appeared as a towering phantom through the smoke. Draco fired his PPCs one last time, and watched as the hit the central torso armor, but didn't punch through. Connors was well away now, and Draco decided to start to backpedal. He heard the response from the Atlas.
"Leaving so soon? I haven't even started yet Dragoon,"
The Atlas fired it's medium lasers into his knees. The actuator locked up, frozen by the now cooled liquid metal around it. Draco couldn't move, but defiantly returned fire. Finally the Atlas stood before him, towering above Draco's Warhammer, and raised its arms.
"Prepare to die, fool,"
Draco struck first, he turned off the limiters on his PPCs, and stabbed the barrells through the center torso. The weakened armor gave, and Draco watched as his PPC barrels ran through the Atlas, he fired and ejected. He could hear the cackling of the PPCs as it surged through the Atlas's armor, and caused the criticals inside to pop like fireworks. From his chute, now high above the scene, he watched as a gout of flame exitted the back of the Atlas. He then saw the return fire as a KungseArme Dragon topped a hill. The cavalry had arrived.
*/flashback*
Draco watched as Rick went through the fight, and at the end, he waved over at Rick, and yelled.
"Hey Mop Boy, report to your mech in the next ten minutes, time to get you into the real deal,"

[MacabreDerek]

Draco's orders came as a shot, and Rick's chest tightened. He nodded, then moved over to the chalk board, adding in one more death to the tally. It was the time he had been trying to get ready for all this time, the reason for all the humiliating deaths in the Sim Pod and all the money he lost in the side-betting. He turned towards B1 in the Bay, housing what they guys were calling the "ARC-R1 Archer" to make it sound like the modifications made to the rig sound official.

After sitting in the cockpit, Rick took up his neural helm. It felt lighter, or maybe just more familiar. The lug of steel and wire was placed over his head. Aside from a stress test run and weapon calibration, it had never left the hanger since it's over-haul.

"This is beginning to feel, like the bolt busted loose from the lever."

Upon uttering the words, the voice recognition software confirmed it's pilot was at the controls, and the low hum of the engine began rise, and that soft vibration in the steel of his chair that filled his body with that horrible tingling sensation. It was uncomfortable, but it was to be expected after what the old girl had been through.

Her first step forward pulled loose the quick-release clamps and coolant hoses. Aside from the engine warming and the shock of the mech's foot hitting ferrocrete, it was exactly as he had been training. He walked towards the bay doors.

The bay doors opened to let in the beams of light, revealing the new ARC-R1 Archer. It's body had been painted with half of it's body in complete black with red trim, the other half was white primer, and along the side of it's extended center torso was stenciled "S.C.R.A.P. M.A.K.E.R.", ended with a small insignia of a comical wrench crossed with a mop.

Rick was never that good with paint, but he had to say the surprise he got when he woke up from that bowl of oatmeal in the mess was a shock. His PDA was turned off and he had missed his sleep rotation by six hours. When he came back, the guys and gals had finished putting on the armour plating and had it painted. The half-black with red trim was a bold statement, where before he was afraid if he would be able to earn those colours, now he was in a position where he felt these were his own.

He began to run weapons check. It was refreshing to have missiles loaded into the LRM pods after so many years. Rick couldn't help but grin as he positioned it just along side the bay doors, like a proper solider, awaiting Draco to exit the compound to deliver orders.

[guardian wolf]

Draco picked his neurohelmet up, and fired up the main reactor.
"To hell and back again eh?"
"Voice pattern matched welcome back Guardian,"
Draco marched Wolf Fang out of her hold bay, and met up with Rick. It was time to put him to a real test. Draco found Rick's practically new Archer at the hangar opening.
"Alright since you can walk fine, let's put her through her paces. Stay close,"
Draco then lead Rick out to the firing range, full of bombed out vehicles great for target pratice. He pointed towards a cluster of vehicles he would start with gunnery, shift through piloting, spreading damage, and then tactical maneuvering and sensors.
"Hit those targets with a single shot from each weapon,"
It would be a long afternoon.
(Mac currently posting from cell phone feel free to post entire training session)

[MacabreDerek]

Rick had been at it in Scrapmaker for over an hour. He had been maintaining top speed in a typical dueling pattern at just outside a thousand meters, trying to get the LRMs to lock upon the husk of a Mermadon tank. The lock wouldn't take, his aim just wasn't in step with his mech, and his targeting would keep overshooting it's mark before he could get a lock.

While he was doing better than expected in the close-in brawling with the four medium lasers in Scrapmaker's arms, the heat was proving more problematic. In the Sim Pods, he would simply get a warning about his heat, but now in a live-fire exercise, the heat was spiking high enough for him to feel his skin sweat and itch like a sunburn. The LRM practice though was becoming a problem twice over, being that he was still having trouble with locking on target while getting the arc right for the missiles to crash from overhead, but what was worse is the LRMs were an Archer's primary weapon.

He knew his aim wasn't that great to begin with, but this was beginning to be an issue that could not be ignored. In the sims he would simply hold still for a moment to gain the lock he needed, or find a perch with cover such as trees or hill ridges. In this training drill though, he had to lock on a still target while moving. Rick tried to force out of his mind the idea of how hard it was going to be to when it was mech on mech combat, when the target was not holding still and he would be getting shot at.

"Firing LRMs" he announced as he pulled the trigger on the stick, and he could feel the temperature rise inside the battlemech. The smoke and fire that blazed along both sides of his cockpit as the missile pods unleashed their payload into the air was almost blinding. Keeping the thoddle high, he tried to keep an eye on the Mermadon, and spat curses on the com as he saw the explosions scatter all around. While a single missile did strike the intended target, the grouping was sloppy, the result of firing too soon while the LRMs were in a status of 'half-lock', when it developed a firing solution before they compensated for movement of the shooter and the target.

Rick kept kicking himself in his mind on how this should be simple, but out of the fourty LRMs launched in the salvo, only one struck it's target, an insufficant trade-off. Looking at the data quickly on his consoles side display, his stats were tracked.

Medium Lasers under 200 meters: 43%
Medium Lasers over 200 meters: 22%
LRMs under 500 meters: 33% (Avg. 6/40 Hits per Launch)
LRMs under 700 meters: 17% (Avg. 2/40 Hits per Launch)
LRMs over 1000 meters: 04% (Avg. 1/40 Hits per Launch)

Rick turned off the com. Looking at his mech, he had exactly 40 missiles left in his payload. He continued to go at full throddle, but began to murmer under his breath.

"Common Rick. You been working at this every night. Are you going to tell me that you cant hit the broad side of a barn with enough missiles to cast an eclipse?! What the hell is going to happen when it's the real deal? You think the lance is going to rely on a damned 04% chance of you actually hitting something at what's suppose to be your best range? You're in a support mech. By the Archon, you're useless! Get it together. Draco said you had to earn those colours, and now you're just embarrassing him for showing some faith in you. Breathe, watch the target, lead by the step. It's exactly like the Sim Pod. Sure you can only hit 12% at over One-Kay, but it's a hell of a lot better than you're doing here!"

He tried to narrow his eyes, he tried to envision the shot. Rick was putting everything he could do to putting that one last shot. He went deaf to the world around him, he could no longer hear the hum of the engine, or feel the steps of the mech as it continued to circle the Mirmadon husk. There was only his hand around the flight stick, the trigger under his finger, and the mockingly intact tank which became the embodiment of his frustration.

He didn't even realize his body went on it's own to turn on the com, nor realized he had announced he was firing. He couldn't even hear the launch of those firey spears that left Scrapmaker's shoulders, nor feel the warming of his cockpit as the heat rose once again. It was like time slowed, and he could see the future. He could envision the entire swarm of high-yield explosive rounds thundering across the sky, crashing into fourty blast charges to reduce that mocking shell into a crater.

Then the missiles crashed down, blasting a trail of smaller craters fifty yards shy of the Mermadon, leaving a trail between him and his hated target. Rick's knuckles went white as he gripped the controls, turning Scrapmaker into the tank to close the distance.

"Closing distance to resume mid-range firing drill, circling target ETA twenty five seconds." It may have only been closing the distance to continue the practice, but for Rick it felt like a walk of shame, having to admit he could not use his Mech as it was intended in it's long-range support fire role, that he was barely able to maintain a 40% firing rate at medium range on a still target, that if this were any kind of academy, he would have been washed out fourty five minutes ago. Yet Draco just let him continue, not saying a word. He didn't have to, Rick could already envision his hand over his face in embarrassment.

Encircling the target at three hundred and sixty meters, Rick switched Scrapmaker's lasers into a two-pronged firing setup, keeping the pairs on each arm as a single group, staggering firing to give his heat sinks time to flush the warmth that was quickly building up. An Archer was never intended to get this close, and with the modification of moving the medium lasers from the rear where they would do Rick no good to the arms where they would do some, the doubling of firepower meant the doubling of heat. Without an increase in heat-sinks, the mech was quickly becoming hot. It was becoming painful to stay in the cockpit, but every time he fired, he just wanted to reduce that laughing wreck to slag.

Scrapmaker implored Rick with warnings about heat levels becoming critical to stop, as Rick watched his mid-range statistic go lower and lower with every shot fired. Rick stopped the exercise when she threatened to shut down even after the override had been punched in. Bringing the mech to a stand-still, he looked at his target, shot up but still holding it's shape.

That's when the reality of his situation came crashing down. Draco couldn't afford not to use Rick, he was at least another body on the field and the need for more manpower and mechs was critical. With his abilities, Rick was also a liability. There was only two ways this could play out, the first was Rick being a sacrifical lamb. However, it was the second one that really made his stomach turn and a chill run down his spine.

...He was going to get everyone killed.

Edited by MacabreDerek, 27 June 2012 - 10:50 PM.

[guardian wolf]

Draco watched Rick through the entire excerise, and then thought back to his own sibko training. He was the head of the class, but then he realized that he was raised around battlemechs, and fighting was in his blood. He proved himself a natural leader in his training, but his drill instructor had told him that the hardest part of training was teaching others to be as good as yourself, to build up their confidence. Draco had heard of some being a "sacrifice" of sorts, but he never, ever put one of his lance mates in that position. He proved his mettle against the Steiner Assualt forces on Tharkad, he had held the line alone, against the oncoming Atlases, in one of the remaining Annihilators that were on board. He looked at the scores, and then at Rick's mech, it was overheated, and flushing heat as he watched. The scores show'd that while his skills weren't that of a regular jocky, he wasn't hopeless. Draco marched his Warhammer toward the slightly cooled down hulk. The last salvo from the missiles, had actually shown something, the thing that Draco was looking for, the moment when Rick became a part of his Archer. Draco raised his PPC mid stride, fired, and hit the tank dead center. He needed to take baby steps, and Draco realized he was pushing him too hard, too fast. He came to a stop next to Rick's mech, and looked into the tinted cockpit, he was pretty sure that tears were streaming down Rick's face right now as his realization came over him. Draco openned the comm, and spoke.
"We're not done yet. Set your weapons to fire one medium laser and stand at optimum range. Fire on my command,"
He would have to start with the basics, you had to crawl before you walked, and walk before you danced. Draco just hoped that he had enough time to get that far.

Edited by guardian wolf, 03 July 2012 - 03:54 PM.

[MacabreDerek]

Rick waited for a moment too cool down with his mech. His eyes never left the Mermadon tank, that horrible laughing shell of a weapon. His Archer, Scrapmaker, was overheated, and perhaps the same could be said of him. Brushing his hand across his eyes, he tried to settle down, be calm, the embarrassment was over. Maybe if they were lucky, there might be some talented Mechwarrior who would use Scrapmaker in the coming days, give the mechanical beast a rider worthy of it's abilities.

The blackened Warhammer strode slowly, it was that same walk a drill instructor would give to a cadet that screwed up big time, giving Rick enough time to start stressing about the tongue-lashing he was about to receive. The massive Dornal Particle Projection Cannon raised upwards, and without breaking strike, shot out a bright bolt of lightning and fire that grazed over the landscape, crashing through the Mermadon with horrifying accuracy.

"Great.... Now he wants to show me how easy it is." Rick said under his breath, that bitter taste in his mouth that let him know that embarasment was becoming channeled into rage. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply, feeling the stagnant air that had just been broiled by the heat-output of his mech.

Step after step of the Warhammer coming closer, it was an appropriate mech for it's pilot, a battlemech Rick often respected, the pilots often needing to compensate for the weak leg armour to be successful, and some of the greats he heard legends of would pilot it, such as the famed Black Widow, Natasha Kerensky. It may as well have been Natasha coming for Rick in that Warhammer right now, ready to put both barrels to his cockpit's windshield and pull the trigger for all the good he could do.

It stopped right beside Rick's Archer, and for a moment the quiet was deafening. Then the static on the com jarred Rick before hearing Draco's voice.

"We're not done yet. Set your weapons to fire one medium laser and stand at optimum range. Fire on my command."

There was no anger in his voice... Or any emotion for that matter, it was a simple commend, nothing more. Rick hoped Draco was just really good at remaining calm, though he was sure he would receive an ear full once they got on the ground in closed doors. If he wasn't going to hear about it from Draco, he sure as hell was going to hear it from every tech and mechwarrior in the bay.

Rick pushed that thought out of his mind, trying to focus in on the moment. Reaching to his console, he turned his firing controls to only fire the original laser in Scrapmaker's right arm. His mech walked clumbsily towards the now burning wreck of the Mermadon until he was only a few hundred meters away from it.

Hand gripping the stick, Rick pressed his index finger along the plastic trigger of the controls. Turning on the coms, he spoke in a soft calm voice.

"Mop-Boy ready to commence."

[guardian wolf]

"Fire,"
Draco waited, and thought through his mind of the next steps, he would have Rick fire into the tank until he could hit it consistently. Then he would have Rick walk slowly. He would do this the same way his instructor on Outreach taught him. The words came back as though his instructor, the famed Natasha Kerensky, were right there with him.
"Concentrate on your target, feel the mechs arms as they were your own. Do not let your emotions determine what you do, but rather, control them, and use them as weapons, honing your senses to a razors edge. Space your lasers so you may fire continuously,"
"Do not think about your target, but feel, react. Empty your mind, so that you will not clutter your movements with hesitation, but rather, become one with your mech,"
"When you move, do not focus on your target, but beyond it, see beyond it with more than your eyes, feel the terrain,"
"Now walk, and fire onto your target, when you are comfortable with that speed go faster, and so on, until you are moving at a full sprint, not running, but dancing, weaving around your target, in a deadly movement of speed, firepower, and determination. This will be the culmination of your mental readiness, and your first step towards become a true mechwarrior,"

[Sparks Murphey]

“This is Blacksmith. Nav Zeta, clear.”

The gentle hills had rolled into thicker scrub torn through with gorges and gullies. It was marginally more interesting than some of the earlier terrain, but still dead boring. Heather wondered if she could find a decent commercial radio station out here. Probably all country music out on this hick world anyway. She locked in Nav Eta on her navigation computer.

“Hold on a sec, Blacksmith.” Mantis’ voice came over the comms. He’d stopped his Shadow Hawk about two hundred metres off to the right and was staring at the ground.

“Command, this is Mantis, I’ve got what look like fresh ‘Mech footprints here, on a heading of two-one-six. Looks like a Marauder, or possibly a Catapult, from the shape. Advise?”

The comms were silent for a while, as Heather felt a small stirring of excitement. Could this be it? Some actual combat?

“Roger that, Mantis,” came the eventual reply, “We’ve marked your location and will send a VTOL to investigate. Proceed on your patrol.”

The excitement died as Heather set off towards Nav Eta.

Edited by Sparks Murphey, 06 August 2012 - 02:00 AM.

[guardian wolf]

[[Dammit Sparks found 'em sound the alarm. Will wait for Mac to post before Draco spots the Warship.]]

[Sparks Murphey]

[[Deliberately left it vague as to whether it's actually the Falcons, so if you don't want it to be them, it can just be a farmer in an AgriMech...]]