100 replies to this topic

[Sparks Murphey]

Bauxite Row
Saddleport, Sevren
19th November, 3051, 13:23 hours

Leftenant Adrianna Delfino feathered the jets on the PXH-3D Phoenix Hawk as she landed behind a pile of bauxite, the jet’s exhaust scattering reddish dust and pebbles across the processing plant’s concrete deck. She took a deep breath as she waited for the ‘Mech to shed the last of its heat from the jump jets, then popped up again. Behind a silent conveyor belt darted her quarry, a 30 ton Uller, smoke leaching from it’s left side where she’d already hit it. Adrianna triggered her ER large lasers, one blue beam bringing the conveyor belt crashing to the ground as it seared through a structural support. The Uller didn’t fair much better, it’s left side collapsing under it’s own weight as the laser tore through the OmniMech’s internal structure.

The Clan ‘Mech turned and retaliated, it’s LB-5-X peppering the side of Adrianna’s BattleMech with a raucous boom, accompanied by her AMS’s chatter as it opened fire on the Uller’s salvo of Streak SRMs. She twisted to the side, taking the brunt of the damage on the right shoulder, before firing back with her pulse lasers. Sirens sounded as the Phoenix Hawk’s heat spiked, but she hushed them as the ‘Mech landed behind another pile of bauxite. Again, she waited, then popped up again, scanning quickly for her target.

The Uller was crashed nose first into a building. A quick scan indicated that it had died to engine failure; presumably her last shots had taken their toll. Her third official kill, and her third this hour.

“Wednesday, this is Dove, last of that scout lance is down,” Adrianna called over the comms, mentally kicking herself. A star. The Clans called them stars. “Wednesday, are you receiving me?” she said again, trying to get through to her company hauptmann.

Nothing but static answered her.

“Kommandant? Orders?”

After a long moment came a reply, “Dove, this is Lighthouse, what’s your situation?”

Her mouth went dry. Lighthouse was regimental comms, not the battalion’s kommandant.

“I’ve just taken down the last of a Clan scout star. I’m at grid Hotel 06, 96.7, 35.2. Bauxite Row.”

Again, the long silence, then Lighthouse replied, “Dove, you are the last command unit active in that region. Be advised, you are cut off from support. King flight is en-route for this evening. Rally all remaining military and any additional civilians for evac at grid Lima 14. Good luck, Dove.”

And the radio fell silent again, as Adrianna took in what that meant. The 25th Arcturan Guard were pulling out. Harry Company was decimated.

Maybe not all gone, though, she thought, dialling the comm over to her lance channel. “Donny-Boy, are you reading me? We’re regrouping for evac at Lima 14, looks like a sports field. Gather up any friendlies you can and meet me there.”

Edited by Sparks Murphey, 25 August 2014 - 08:58 PM.

[roastpuff]

Bauxite Row
Saddleport, Sevren
19th November, 3051, 13:23 hours

Sergeant Donovan Tang was sweating in his cockpit as he slowly edged his Centurion around the corner of an ore crusher, aware that the enemy Clan Mech was somewhere to his left hand side. Being separated from his lance mates was not conducive to his comfort level. He was low on ammunition and the surface that they were fighting on was not conducive to accuracy; the loose bauxite rock that littered the ground played havoc with a Mech’s footing, especially during turning and acceleration maneuvers. He had already crashed into a building once, thankfully at fairly low speed, and his aim was being thrown off when on the move thanks to how unsteady the shifting surface made him. His entire left side was already orange, and he was down to one LRM salvo before the launcher ran dry. This being the first time he had seen combat, he was surprised at how easily the LRM salvos had been evaded by the invaders, even though his Centurion had the Artemis IV FCS upgrade.

Thankfully his opponent was not faring much better either. The Clan Puma was down one PPC thanks to the cluster rounds of his LBX-10 autocannon and quite a bit of armor had been stripped off thanks to the combined fire of the tank crews that first engaged the Clan Wolf Mechs when they first dropped on Sevren.

Deciding that it was high time that he moved on to the next piece of cover, Donovan pushed the throttle forward and his faithful steed accelerated to its top speed as Donny decided to go behind a pile of bauxite that would likely never see the inside of an ore crusher now. As he crossed the distance between the loading bay and pile of ore, a PPC shot washed over his left leg and his Mech warned him that the coverage there was now paper thin. Pivoting on that foot, Donny changed direction, moving towards the Puma and snapped a shot off with his cannon. The slug caught the lighter Mech on the left torso and rocked it back, allowing Donny to close the distance. Taking advantage of the momentary lapse of concentration from the Clan pilot, he triggered the twin medium lasers and concentrated on the left torso once more, hoping for a burn through or an opening to make use of his LBX-10's cluster ammunition.

He was rewarded for his good gunnery by his battle comp telling him that the opposing Mech now had zero armor at that location, and that his autocannon had finished reloading with the cluster ammunition. Laying his crosshairs on the gaping wound of the enemy Mech, he let loose with both his last salvo of LRMs and the cluster shot from his LBX-10, watching in satisfaction as the heat signature of the Puma spiked sharply and the enemy Mech staggered at having its internals damaged. His lasers having recharged by then, he triggered them again as the Clan pilot landed a PPC shot right on the center torso of his Centurion, fuzzing his HUD momentarily. One of Donny's lasers proved to be the final straw that broke the Clan Mech's back as it fell to the ground as its engine went into emergency shutdown, having taken too much damage.

Slowing down as he approached the downed Mech, Donny let the laboring cooling system drain the residual heat from the engagement as he considered whether to take prisoners or not when the Clan pilot emerged from the cockpit. A transmission from his lance leader broke into his thoughts however, and a wave of relief washed over him that at least someone else from his lance had survived the day.

“Donny-Boy, are you reading me? We’re regrouping for evac at Lima 14, looks like a sports field. Gather up any friendlies you can and meet me there.”

"I read you loud and clear, Leutnant. Moving to Lima 14 and picking up any friendlies that I can find on the way. Advise that I am low on ammunition and yellow status," he replied over the lance channel. Deciding that the enemy pilot could fend for him or herself when they managed to get out of their cockpit, Donny turned his Centurion westward towards grid Lima 14 and moved towards the outskirts of Saddleport to see if he could find any survivors.

[TheFlyingScotsman]

Entering Planetary Orbit
Sevren
19th November, 3051
13:27 Hours

Asfrid Malgalm reached into her toolbag and pulled out another spool of soldering wire, angling the end of it into a mostly straight dowel. She leaned into the open structure of her TBT-7M and powered on the soldering gun, applying its ceramic tip to the wire and congealing a hot glob. She pressed it to the last of the new cables' contacts on her sensor system. Below, the commander of her two-lance mercenary squadron entered the bay, eyes on his wrist-comm.

Gral Margo's gritty voice called up to her “Hurry up with that rewiring. We're running final checks and landing within twenty minutes. I heard a rumor on the comms the drop zone will be hot, though we will be avoiding contact with the enemy.” She nodded down to him, setting the soldering gun aside to cool and reaching for the arc welder. She pulled down her goggles and got to work. After a few minutes and one nearly complete edge, the supply dropship fell in mid air for a stomach-turning moment, and the PA turned on. She listened to the subtle hum until Gral Margo's static-confused voice found its way to his wrist comm, “All pilots, we have broken atmosphere and are touching down in fifteen minutes. Please head to the bay and run a final check on your equipment.”

With renewed urgency, she began to weld the side opposite of the complete one. The remaining six pilots slowly worked their way in and began to run system diagnostics and strap themselves in. As they completed their work, they piloted carefully into the deployment rack facing the bay door. The forward group of an Atlas D, a Jaegermech A and a pair of Centurion Ds was already in place, and the pair of Commando 3As and TBT-5J who made up the rest of the scouting lance were just waiting on her. Gral commed over from his leading position in the Jager. “Asfrid, get your skinny arse into formation, we're landing in five minutes.”

No sooner had he spoken than the PA turned on once more. “This is the Captain, I have just been informed that Wolf has landed prematurely in Saddleport, our destination. We are making our drop for the 25th and leaving as soon as possible, assuming we can find a clear landing zone.” Asfrid secured her tools and scurried down the shoulder to her cockpit. After strapping herself in, she secured the tools in nearby netting and slapped the close/lock hood switches on her maintenance console. Closing her cockpit door, she pulled her helmet down over her head, turned on her radar and communications systems and crossed her fingers. After a moment, the radar display snapped into view, and her systems blinked clear across the board. She nodded approvingly. She might just get the hang of repairs after all.

She aligned the Trenchbucket to the rack, and throttled to a meager speed. Suddenly, the ship jumped again, off-balancing her slightly. Again and again, the dropship began to buck and roll. The PA snapped on, “We are tak...” The ship then rocked like it had slammed into a wall, throwing the TBT off its feet and onto its face. Asfrid watched as the floor began to slowly drop from underneath her, as gravity ceased to exist.

The ship was in free fall. The waiting was dreadful as the seconds passed. Slowly, she rose higher and higher above the deck, her heart slamming against her chest. Without warning, the ship hit something truly solid, and as she hurdled forward towards the floor, time seemed to almost entirely stop. Everything slowly drifted around her as she shot towards the deck, and in the moment before she met with the cold, hard steel, she saw the flash of another mech pass in front of her.

Crunch.

Blackness took her.

Edited by TheFlyingScotsman, 26 February 2013 - 08:58 AM.

[kevin roshak]

October 29, 3051
Soiphios Family Meeting Place
New Stockholm,Gallery, Donegal Province, Lyran Space
12:33

Alexander Soiphios, the man who took over the Family from his father over 30 years ago was staring at Kevin across the table in the darkened room. He began to speak in heavily accented English, "Listen James, there is much opportunity for people in our line of work out in the Tamar March." Kevin just nodded but though to himself 'Right in the way of those dam*ed clanners or whatever they are. The old man continued, "We are looking at putting a little, ehm, expedition out there on Sevren to test the waters for our products." Kevin knew he was referring to drugs, weapons, medical supplies and even clean water depending if the war reached Sevren by the time they arrived. "We have set up a contact in the capitol, New Cartris, and two more have dispersed to the area known as Saddleport. You have shown much initiative in our work on Thuban and Aur, so you will now be known as a Captain and will have your own crew. Pick them from anywhere around here, new or old, you'll need them to make this work James, don't let us down," the old man said with a menacing grin. "And get some new clothes too, you'll make us look unprofessional if we go out there looking like that," the head of the Family said, gesturing to James' wife-beater stained with spit and torn jeans.

James once again just nodded, knowing he was dismissed and said “Ópo̱s epithymeíte afentikó (As you wish boss)” He quickly pushed in his chair, gave a slight bow, tipped his hat, a worn old ball cap from his playing days and began to leave the bar. As he reached the door the old man spoke again, at levels just discernable “Deíte to kýrio óplo (See the weapons master)” Kevin replied with “My pleasure” and quickly moved out the door with the papers containing the information on the contacts already on Sevren.

'*****, this could be my big break, move up and stuff man. Maybe I am better at this than I thought.' James thought as he looked around the underground tunnels as he began walking towards the local haberdasher who had just decided to accept the Family's protection. 'Better start with the dress thing, get a bit of extra respect from the boys then.' James almost laughed at the thought. 'Best be going with some of the newer lads then.'

As James walked into the clothing store/haberdashery the shopkeeper turned pale white as he began to stammer out a few incoherent words along the lines of already having paid this month. “No worries, I am here on pleasure, not business, but I have been known to take pleasure in business as well,” James said with a wink. The man scampered around and quickly ran out and back in with a couple of measuring tapes and other instruments. After 10 minuites or so of measuring the man left the room again mumbling to himself and brought out a pair of black suits, one pinstriped and one without. “Both will be nice, I will also require a new hat,” Kevin spat out as he pointed to a rack with the fedoras he saw so many other captains and under-bosses wear. The shopkeeper took one last measurement of James' head and began to check the sizes of various hats. He finally came up with one, tan and made of the finest fabrics. “We just marked this one down, and it's the only one we had in your size,” said the little shop keep cowering in front of James. “That'll do donkey, that'll do,” rumbled James as he paid pennies on the C-bill for what it all cost and walked off into the damp tunnel system that connected Gallery.

James then left for the weapons master, he had a few new toys to pick up. He already had his garrote, brass knuckles and a pair of Magnum revolver handguns and of course his trusty Shillelagh, but this whole invasion thing made everyone on high alert, especially the local authorities, 'Better save than sorry,' he thought. After half an hour of wandering though the tunnel system James arrived at a run down looking warehouse in the south side of New Stockholm, known as Little Greece. It was almost its own city more than a neighborhood or district, and H3LL almost everyone here was Greek anyhow. As James entered he called out “As af̱tós pou tha me trav̱matísei martyroún ti̱ sfragída oikogéneia (Let he who would injure me bear witness to the family seal).” Two men came around from the back and led him further underground to a massive room, full of weapons of all sorts. He has been here once before, nearly 6 years ago now, but it wasn't nearly that full then. “There must be more than enough here to drive out the Planetary Defense Force here,” James said in awe.

Q, the Family's weapons master popped up behind him and said, “Oh, quite more than that James, we could easily control the planet if we had the manpower to use each weapon here. Their tanks and mechs cannot withstand all this firepower.” He paused for a moment and then continued “So Alexander has informed me of your new mission, and I have taken the liberty to select a few things for you.” He pointed to a table where there lay plenty of various firearms.
“First up is the Rorynex RM-3/XXI SMG, it has a 100 round magazine that fires explosive tipped rounds with approx. 3,000 extra rounds. Now that one is expensive and more than likely illegal on Sevren so be careful not to loose it. Next is the Mauser 960 Assault System, this is very rare and old, but depending on what happens there on Sevren it will be very useful. In its first firing mode it fires as a regular pulse laser rifle, but what makes it special is the grenade launcher attachment, it fires smaller Class B ordinance, and you will be provieded with enough of those to survive with. It also has a bayonet, which I do not suggest using, these are very old after all. Last but certainly not least is the automatic shotgun, 12 round drum, and as you might have guessed, fully automatic, it is military grade so it shoots farther than a shotgun for hunting and packs a heavier punch.” As he walked down the line pointing to each gun he turned back to the table quickly, “Oh, and there is this, since you are so fond of getting your hands dirty, here is what is known as a knuckle-duster knife, you can work that one out for yourself.”

“Whoa, this was more than I was expecting here Q, but thanks!” James stammered out before he was interupted again. “Anytime, well not anytime but you know what I am saying, anywho, send the men going with you down here once you pick them out. I've got 13 tickets for the next jumpship to Sevren tomorrow afternoon, best hop too it young man.” Q told James as he was wrapping the guns like presents in a large black canvas bag. “Now shoo, we both have work to do.”

Shocked Kevin grabbed the bag Q offered to him and went out, looking for his new recruits...

(OOC: I didn't want to have to write meeting all these people, so pretend there is an interesting anecdote on how each decided to join on for this)

As the day went on Kevin visited various places across the planet and was able to gain 9 newer members to join on, along with three of the older guard.<br />
Rhys, Chan, Zachary, Gabriel, Tyler, Petroclos, Thomas, Ryan, and Cho made up the newer faces, Lysander, Davos, and Hektor made up the three who would serve as James' second in command.

As James stuggled to go to bed that night, he felt giddy with anticipation, not knowing what truly lie ahead.

(NEXT DAY)
The team assembled once again at the warehouse to get the supplies and other materials they would need on the trip. As Q shipped massive boxes and crates of supplies to be used for the trip to the spaceport he began to babble to himself. “It sure would be nice if you could bring something home in one piece this time James.” “Well off you go now, can't be late.” Q said as he finished doling out supplies to the memebers of James' crew and finalizing the packaging of all the other materials.

As James and his fellow Family members boarded the ship, he let out a sigh of relief, as the first leg of the journey was over. He expected a long flight there, nearly 6 days of jumping and 3 of recharging. James went to work getting to know the new recruits better and providing what little information he had to the men.

Edited by kevin roshak, 20 February 2013 - 06:09 PM.

[TheFlyingScotsman]

((EDIT: Dates adjusted to be in line with other posts, was previously ahead to give other posts room.))

Saddleport, Urban District
Sevren
19th November, 3051
1401 Hours

Asfrid Malgalm was startled awake by the impact of something very loud and heavy falling outside her cockpit. Every inch of her body felt like it had been tenderized with a hammer. Around her, the TBT's cockpit was dark, save for the emergency standby alarm, which was blinking angrily at her. It was so dark, she could hardly even see her own viewport. Her arms and legs felt like they were made of lead. They dangled below her and tingled with the sensation of oxygen depravation. She mustered all of her strength to move her hand to her chest, and fumbled around with the harness that was cutting into her.

Eventually, she found the buckle, and gave it a good tug. "Balls, it of course it jams now.” After a few moments more tugging, she finally felt it start to release. No sooner than she had released it, she fell with a hard, painful thump into the console, and the shattered glass of her cockpit, a shard of which was now firmly lodged in her left arm. She felt the warm wetness of her own blood before she felt the wave of pain that swept over her. “S**t.” She said matter of factly, to nobody in particular. Against the pain she was already in, it was almost nothing.

She rolled herself around and slid into the viewport to plant her booted feet on the cockpit frame, surrounded by partly shattered and partly intact glass, clinging to itself in the strange cobweb safety glass always takes when struck. Reaching into her pocket, she quickly pulled out her handkerchief, and wrapped it around the corners of the shard in her arm, and pulled it out with a groan. The snotrag then went tightly around the arm and got tied there, staunching the blood flow a good deal. This dealt with, she fumbled for the cockpit lighting controls. Finding them, she flipped the system on, and to her relief, the cockpit was inundated with light.

Reaching up into the netting with her good arm, she fished out her medkit and sat up on the console, her feet dangling. A few moments later, she had her wound as dealt with as she could. For good measure, she fished out some morpha from the kit, and pulled one of her cigars from her jumpsuit's inner pocket. As she sat, smoking and waiting for the painkillers to kick in, something caught her eye below.

The lighting had revealed what she expected to be the deck of the dropship, instead, it looked more like a crunched up mound of painted metal. It was hard to tell through the obliterated viewport window, but it almost looked like... Asfrid was suddenly overwhelmed by nausea, making her wish the morpha would kick in faster. Among the wreckage below her own 'Mech, she was able to discern two things. A pool of dark, red liquid, and the crushed off head and helmet of the pilot who owned the Commando her Trebuchet had landed on. She couldn't tell if it was Anders or Mourrey. She didn't want to know. “SH*T.” She screamed, at the top of her voice. As she sat, sobbing and crushed by the weight of her bodily pain and shock, she curled into a fetal position and began to cry. Eventually, she fell asleep curled up in the legspace below the console.

When she awoke, the morpha was in full effect. Groggily, she eased herself up from below her controls, and reached up to flatten the back parralel with the seat. Standing on the console, she carefully strapped herself back into her chair. She hit the override switch by the standby system, hopefully bringing the Battlemech online. Luck decided to give her a break, and she was rewarded by Betty's soothing voice calling out the usual launch process.

With much crunching and a few unsure moments, the Trenchbucket managed to right itself. As it rose from the mostly flattened Commando, the armor on her front torso tore off, staying lodged where it landed. With a sigh, she adjusted the chair back to its normal upright position and unbuckled her harness again. The viewport glass dangled uselessly, blocking her view. “Oh well, wont do me any good now anyway. Grabbing a monkey wrench from her repair bag, she got to work smashing out her viewport so she could see. At least the rear peripheral windows were intact, leaving her some cockpit defense from the side. Sitting back down, she looked over her component warnings. Her left leg was showing some internal damage, but was otherwise operable. Her right arm had taken some serious damage in the fall, leaving it to dangle uselessly. One of her tube feeds in the left torso had misaligned, jamming. And of course, her sensors were once again defunct.

She carefully twisted her upper torso, and other than a small bump at around ten degrees right, it was operating normally. She surveyed the blackness, and not seeing anything, flipped her floodlights on. They shone brightly, blinding her for a moment as they illuminated the dark, inescapable bay of the dropship. She sat back down, strapped in, and surveyed the wrecked cargo bay. A few sweeps back and forth revealed little but wreckage. She swung over to where her company had been standing, lighting up only the collapsed roof in their place. Surely, they were below that. Suddenly, the floodlights gave out with a loud crack. She could only hope the spare bulbs were intact, but she had seen enough for now anyways.

Slowly and cautiously, she throttled her mech in reverse to get it off the Commando. It stepped gingerly onto the uneven deck groaning pitifully when it put pressure on the injured leg. As it came to a halt, she hear a loud pop from below, and the leg system went red. She cursed under her breath.

There was a lot of work to do if she expected to get out of here, and some of it couldn't be done without a bay, or at least a crane. First thing first, though. She tapped up her comms system, thankfully still working, and used the satelite uplink to find her coordinates to the milisecond. If anyone was nearby, they would need to know where she was. Who knows if Wolf would come sniffing around for salvage and spoils. Time was too valuable to waste, so she typed in a static message to alert any nearby forces of her location. Hopefully, Wolf wouldn't be able to crack the Lyrian encryption codes.

[Message follows]
[SOS, Wombat Company supply dropship downed. Death count unknown. Survivor requests immediate aid. Please respond. Lat and Long coordinates follow.]

"From here on out, it's all engine grease and staving off infection. Good times.” She smiled a contented, sh*t-eating grin and got to work, sore and tired limbs forgotten. Ahh, there the morpha was.

Edited by TheFlyingScotsman, 13 March 2013 - 08:18 AM.

[Listless Nomad]

15 Kilometers West of New Cartris
Near the town of Linhaven
19th November, 3051, 13:23 hours

All Private Jeremy Westoff could hear was screaming. The screaming wouldn’t stop. It drowned out the guns, the explosions, the noise. All he could hear was the screaming. It was only then that he realized he was the one screaming.

“King one one, King one one. This is Badger two six. We are in need of immediate CASEVAC and extraction. Approximate location Echo-four-four, Bravo-seven-five. Please...hurry.”

Constantin’s mouth drew itself into a thin line as the call came through his headset, explosions and gunfire punctuating the speakers voice. He looked over at his co pilot who nodded curtly. Constantin then sent the chopper into a shallow dive, flattening out at tree top level as they raced head long towards the man’s coordinates. The horizon before them was awash with fire and smoke.

Jeremy felt the heavy thud on his chest before he saw the soldier collapse on top of him. The man shoved a rag into Jeremy’s mouth to give him something to bite down on, and to stop his screaming.

“It’s going to be ok Westhoff. CASEVAC is inbound. Just hold on!” A nearby explosion showered the two of them with dirt and caused the anonymous soldier to cover his head with his hands. Once the dirt stopped falling, the soldier heaved to his knees and fired a man portable SRM launcher at the tree line, before turning and screaming to the rest of the unit.

“TOADS!”

Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut and bit down as hard as he could on the rag while the rhythmic thumping of rotor blades began to grow in the distance.

Constantin brought the chopper into a hard bank to the left, nearly standing the chopper on its side as he desperately tried to avoid weapons fire from a tree line a few hundred meters to his right. His CB-79 Mustang CSAR chopper had already taken a few hits to its tail, and could not afford to take many more.

“Kings Three and Four – pour some fire into that treeline!”

The two H-7 Warrior attack helicopters flashed across Constantin’s view screen, trailing smoke trails from their SRM launchers as they went. As he brought the big chopper around for another attempt to land, he noted with satisfaction that the treeline was now fully ablaze, but quickly frowned as he noted that the level of fire coming from there had only diminished slightly. It was only a matter of time before this position was overrun. As he grew closer to the ground, he could see the tiny infantrymen desperately fighting for their lives. One got up and ran towards him, seeming to direct the chopper to a flat piece of land near the wounded, but he was soon struck down by a small laser and felt limp to the ground. Another soldier stood up to take his place and ran haphazardly, trying to guide them to the LZ.

“King two, this is King one-one. Circle around and come in on our position once we are loaded up. Be careful – it’s hot down here.” It only took a moment for the other CASEVAC helicopter to reply.

“Roger that Voodoo. Watch yourself and get that fat butt of yours moving.”

Constantin smirked at the joke and then grew serious, angling the ungainly chopper towards the LZ. Flaring at the last moment, he managed to bring the chopper into a hover only a foot or two off of the ground before allowing the landing gear to touch down.

“Get that ramp down Charlie!”

“Already on it boss!” Constantin’s crew chief depressed a button on the side of the fuselage, dropping the rear ramp and exposing those inside to the hell whirling around them. Soldiers, wounded and otherwise, began running into the big bird, coughing, crying and yelling. Constantin was counting off the seconds in his head, wincing at every machinegun round that pinged off of the cockpit around him. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide as the hulking frame of a Clan Elemental rose up from behind a berm, it’s twin SRMs unexpended and pointing directly at him. A millisecond later Constantin heard an enormous whirring behind him as one of his door gunners opened up on the Elemental, spewing armor piercing rounds from his minigun. The rounds impacted against the Elemental, staggering him, but only managing to drop him to a knee before his viewplate exploded in a rush of crimson and gore. Reflexively one of his missiles fired, arcing harmlessly over the stationary chopper and exploding in the grass some yards away.

“Jesus.” Constantin closed his eyes for a moment before increasing the throttle and heaving the great bird into the air. As he banked away from the battle and back toward the aid station, he watched King 2 settle gracefully into the space he recently vacated and begin to take on the last few remaining soldiers. Kings Three and Four ranged to and fro, spewing death from above as they saw fit.

Private Jeremy Westhoff closed his eyes and allowed the morphine to take its effect as it coursed through his veins. The screaming was gone now, and the rhythmic thumping of the rotor blades was all that remained.

12 Kilometers South West of New Cartris
19th November, 3051, 20:10 hours

The sun was just beginning to set on the horizon when Constantin spotted an ejection about four kilometers from his position.

“Yo, Voodoo. Got a chute about five klicks out. Two o’ clock.” Constantin smirked at the watchful eyes of his crew.

“Roger that Alex. I have eyes on. Strap in guys and prepare the harness. Probably going to be a winch job.”

Constantin brought the craft into a slow banking turn, vectoring toward the slowly descending figure suspended from the parachute. Laser fire and explosions backlit the soldier, providing a convenient silhouette for the crew, while reminding them all that there was a very dangerous reason why that mechwarrior felt the need to eject. Seconds later, Constantin’s radio crackled to life.

“King one-one, this is Lighthouse. You are ordered to RTB immediately and await further orders.” Constantin heard the audible groan from the co pilot next to him, and rolled his eyes before keying his mike.

“Lighthouse, King one-one. Roger RTB order. We are currently on an exfil for a downed pilot near grid coordin-“ Constantin was unable to finish the sentence before Lighthouse cut him off.

“Negative King Flight. You are to return to base immediately! Is that understood?”

“No can do Ligh-“

“That is a direct order Leftenant Semyonov! Return. To. Base. Lighthouse out.”

The use of this name and rank over the channel rattled Constantin, and he knew better than to protest further. His copilot looked pleadingly towards Constantin for a moment before turning his attention back to the controls. The rest of the crew had heard the exchange and knew the score. With one last look towards the descending figure in the parachute, Constantin brought the chopper into a wide banking turn, and began the solemn flight back to base.

[G is for Gamma]

“I wasn't always a famous play boy journalist with taste for booze and fast women. Bet you didn't know that did you? I use to be a solider. I saw things man, terrible things, things that'll make your heart break, your head spin, and your nut sack drop off and run for cover...Okay, most of that is a lie. I've always had a taste for booze and women. Its genetic I think. Dear old dad was nailing anything with two legs, as long as it wasn't my mother, and pounding back a six pack a night my entire life. Its family tradition. And I was a solider, though in retrospect military journalist isn't near as exciting as mechjock if your trying to make headway with those fast women I've been talking about. The point stands though, I was a solider, and I think I know a fair deal about soldiering. So when I arrived on Sevren I knew things where bad.

The Wolves hadn't even hit yet, but everyone knew it was just a matter of time. The troops where on edge, the populace dreading what was to come. Not a happy place. I wish, dear reader, that I could tell you that it was a world worth fighting for, that each and every lost soul was protecting a jewel of the Federated Commonwealth, but to be honest it was a nuked out, backwater, that just happened to be in the way of the Clan juggernaut. I'd arrived on world a few weeks before the poo hit the fan. I wasn't the only journalist there though, you couldn't take a leak with out getting a splash on a cameraman. Speaking of leaks, I managed to p**s the majority of them off on day one. Which was fine by me, they where about as “embedded” with the troops as the Captain-General was. I was there for a story, and I got one. Oh it took a while, but I got one. And that story got me a book deal, and that book deal? It got me a pent house in the Black Hills.

“We don't care”. I know, I know. I talk to much, get to the action. Okay, let me set the scene. The Wolves hit Severn like a Battlemaster stepping on a coffee table. The propaganda machine will tell you that the 25^th held the line like brave little soldiers, but don't be fooled. It was a rout from the start. There was no clever defense or digging in. There was fear and dying. Eventually the Arcturan commanders decided they'd had enough of both and began the process of pulling off world taking as many of us civies as they could shove into their dropships. This is where the story starts, on a dimly lit helipad, where a slightly inebriated me caught a ride with a kid named Voodoo.”

-“Running from Wolves” Chpt 1 pg 1, By Guy Marlowe.

[G is for Gamma]

New Cartirs
19th November, 3051, 21:11 Hours

A plan that requires you to climb a fence is never a good plan. For starters climbing a fence is harder than it looks, they wobble and twist under your weight and aren't exactly designed to make climbing a breeze, but its a skill Guy Marlowe had picked up at a young age. A trait he shared with most loud mouthed boys who just happened to be the smallest kid on their block growing up. He was quickly beginning to realize that its much harder after a few beers.

He'd never broken into a restricted military zone, though during his time with the Free Worlds League Military he'd done his fair share of sneaking off of bases in a similar manner. He was nearly over the top of the fence when his backpack got caught on a protruding bit of chain link. Half hanged, he wrestled with the straps trying not to draw attention to himself only for his attempts to be for naught as the buckles snapped open under his weight and let him fall. Luckily he caught himself with his chin or else he might have been seriously injured.

Cursing his terrible luck, gravity, the ground he walked on, and the First Princes mother for good measure the journalist brushed himself off and strolled as calmly as possible towards the air field.

Look like you belong, and they'll think you belong. Be casual. Guards look for suspicious activity. For sneaking. Don't Sneak, Be seen. Guy had always said that hiding in plain sight is the best way a journalist can do his job and as he made his walked his way through the air field, his belief paid off in spades. Techs and support crews ran around him to busy with their own tasks to ask him questions. The few armed guards he did see he avoided if he could, those he couldn't he simply ignored and walked past giving each a silent nod of the head as acknowledgment and nothing else.

“Do you think they'll come?” A voice asked from behind him, it took all of his will power not to jump and run. Breathing slowly he turned around and found himself facing an armed Arcturan infantrymen with an acne scared face and a laser rifle that quivered in shaking hands. The hell did he come from? He looked the young man in the face and gave him his best smile.

“We'll be ready for them.” He clapped the on the shoulder, a false sign of solidarity and went about his way. That was close...way to close, he thought as he made his way to his final destination a helipad that he'd watched from early morning to sundown from outside the facility. It'd been put to use for quick refuels and rearms before sending the copters out for another round of fighting. He'd watched it for hours, taking note of every craft that landed and took off again. This was his meal ticket, he just had to talk his way onto the CB-79 Mustang that was finishing its refit, with out being shot for trespassing by its crew.

Never one to fold when their was a fortune on the table, Guy ducked his head under the whirling propeller blades and made his way past the support personal. As he climbed onto the chopper he found himself barred by a man, only slightly taller than himself. His features where concealed by a helmets whose dark visor made him look slightly alien. His flight uniform read Semyonov over his left breast, but his helm seemed to disagree reading “Voodoo”.
“Who are you?” Semyonov/Voodoo asked raising his voice to be heard over the whirling blades above them. Making the most of journalistic integrity Guy did what anyone in his place would do. He lied.

“Command. Wants me to go with.” He pantomimed taking pictures with his hands, making a rectangle 'camera' with his thumbs and forefingers.

“I'm not a taxi!”

Before Guy had time to formulate a response Smeyonov/Voodoo twisted back towards the cockpit. His copilot was tapping his fingers on his wrist watch and pointing towards the odd man outside of their Mustang. Voodoo shrugged before twisting back around. “This is authorized?”

Guy nodded unwilling to trust his own words, as he climbed into the helicopter.

Edited by Gammadin, 26 February 2013 - 11:35 AM.

[RogueSpear]

University of Saddleport,
Saddleport, Sevren,
19^th November, 3051, 13:32 hours

Dirk tapped his foot nervously as he crouched behind the makeshift barricade, legs cramping. His pistol was clenched white knuckled in a two handed grip, index finger straight along the barrel, just above the trigger. The hard metal of the overturned table put pressure on his shoulder through his thick, fireproof coat. He could smell the smoke that blew across the green grounds around the university building, mingling with the scent of grass and flowers. Again he heard the distinctive impact sound of a PPC shot echo through the city. His eyes flicked over the surrounding buildings again, looking for more of the clan infantry and light mechs that had harassed them for nearly two days. Their defence couldn’t have held for five minutes against Elementals or a tank, but such mighty warriors did not deign them worth attacking, just snapping a shot or two off as they passed. For the millionth time, Dirk cursed the clan honour system that kept him here even as he was thankful for it – since he was still here.
Scurrying footsteps from behind took his gaze away from the shattered city and he saw Mlodinov, the sergeant who had been leading the defence, bent double and running around the various scattered pieces of cover they’d strewn around to block shrapnel in case the clanners got close enough for grenades, or started using mortars. Mlodinov thumped into the table, causing it to rock slightly despite the crude breastworks they’d thrown up on the opposite side to both secure the table and stop the clanners from seeing if their shots were penetrating the cover. He quickly threw a glance over the barricade, licking his lips as he did so, and ducked back down. “Anything?”
Dirk shook his head tersely, scanning the city again. “Someone’s firing a PPC somewhere, but that’s it. I don’t see anything.”
The sergeant nodded, almost like a bobblehead doll. “Good, good. Umm. Okay, good. Bradbury. You said you had a mech?”
Dirk ducked his head down, shifting his weight to stop the tapping. “Yeah, Messer. Custom Helepolis. In a storage facility a couple miles away, was going to have some of th-“
Mlodinov waved his hands in front of his face. “Yeah yeah yeah, whatever. Listen, we just overhead a message from the 25^th Arcturan Guard, okay? They’re pulling out with whatever friendlies they can grab on the way. We need to link up with them or we’re never gonna get out of here. Can you get to your mech? Is it functional?”
Dirk’s eyes went wide. “What? Of course, fully geared u-Noooo!” He hissed. “I, I can’t! We already talked about this, I can’t get through their lines! It’s too far!”
“Then we’ll go with you. We can’t get to Lima 14 without an escort. Damn clanners will tear the convoy apart. We have got to get these people out of here, Bradbury. We’ll ummm...” Mlodinov licked his lips again as his head moved frantically while he tried to think. “We’ll send you with a couple of the jeeps, okay? They’ll keep the infantry off your back while you get in and get your mech online. Can you do it?”
Dirk bit his lip, staring at his pistol and the stamp on the back of the barrel. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

University of Saddleport,
Saddleport, Sevren,
19^th November, 3051, 13:48 hours

The gunner barely had time to scream “CONTACT LEFT!” Before the vehicle in front of them was flipped straight off the road by a hail of SRMs. Dirk slipped down in his chair and grabbed the sides of the cab as the driver took evasive action, weaving the jeep sharply from side to side. The roar of the roof MG heralded a stream of bullets stitching their way over a formation of clan elementals emerging from a side street. A small part of Dirk’s mind quietly checked off ‘Lopez, dead.’
“Hooper made it through,” Called the driver, some private whose name Dirk couldn’t remember. “We still have AT if he can stay alive.”
Dirk twisted to face backwards, eyes just above the edge of the seat. The stained fabric reeked of sweat and cordite, reassuring, familiar smells for the tech. Behind, he saw the rear jeep fire it’s roof mounted SRM-2 into a building, punching a hole in the second floor and catching a third floor balcony. The balcony slowly twitched downwards before tearing from the building all at once and falling in a storm of dust and rock. “Wh...why’d they do that?” He shouted as the MG wound down.
“Cover!” Dirk bit his tongue as the jeep ran up over the kerb as it turned off the street they’d been following. “Lot of noise, lot of dust, might even have caught a couple of them. Halfway there Mr. Bradbury, just stick tight!”
“Aww shiiiit.” Hissed the roof gunner, feet spinning pedals in front of Dirk’s face to spin the open turret.
“What? What is it John?” The driver glanced at the rear view while taking another sharp turn.
“I think I just saw one of the b*stards land on the roof of that Bath & B-F*ck, right side, they’re trying to get ahead of us!”
Dirk twisted in his seat again, catching the smoke trail of one the elementals having passed right over his head.
“Alright Bradbury, here’s what we’re gonna do,” The driver slammed on the brakes. “Get out, make a run for it. We’ll distract them and make our way back to the university if we can.” Dirk stared slackjawed for a moment before the man shouted again, now looking back at him. “Go!”
Dirk dived for the door, twisting the handle and falling out onto the street, scrabbling on the pavement as the jeep tore off. He crawled quickly into a back alley, knocking over a pile of refuse bins in panic. Immediately he began struggling out of them, repulsed and covered in rancid, foul smelling juice-
He didn’t even notice the elementals jump jets. A loud metallic thump and the crack of concrete splintering was his first warning and he froze. Loud, hollow footsteps sounded from above as he tried to push himself into the bags in fear. Sweat and rancid juice ran together in the drawn out moment, and only a mental image of Sierra’s face twisting in shame stopped him wetting himself.
And as had happened only once or twice in the past, when he had truly, truly been afraid and alone, he felt calm. Like a sudden, gentle air pressure flattening out a stormy sea, pushing the furious waves into the distance. When they speak of my death to my wife and daughter I will not allow them to say I died crying and wetting myself in fear.
His hand touched the cool, polished grip of his pistol, grasped it, and without drawing it watched the plumes of the elemental jumping to the next building. He blinked slowly, exhaling softly through his nose and rose to his feet. He strode to the exit of the alley he had fled to, listening to the fast receding burr of a heavy machine gun.
“Vickers, Craig, anyone here?” He called.
“ Here!” The two techs scrambled out of a doorway to his right. “What do we do?”
Dirk’s hand was still on his pistol, nestled in the pockets of his long coat. He rubbed his thumb across the back of the barrel in a circle, round and round. “We find Messer. Then we get back to the university.”
“But those elementals-“
“We find. Messer.” Dirk’s face went hard. “And if they try to stop us after that then they mark their own graves.”

University of Saddleport,
Saddleport, Sevren,
19^th November, 3051, 14:07 hours

Dirk sprinted across the street to the hangar, skidding to a stop by the fence. Craig reached it first. “Can you scale this, Brains?” The tech’s face was dirty and unshaven, and more than a little panicked.
“No need.” Murmured Dirk, reaching into his pocket to draw his pistol. The two techs hastily stood back and Dirk cut a gash in the wire mesh and shouldered his way through, tucking his hands inside the sleeves of his fireproof jacket. Wrapping the cuff round his fingers, he pulled the hot, jagged metal aside for his friends. “Alright, come on.”
The two techs crawled through the opening and hurriedly took cover behind some crates before moving towards the building in search of a door. Dirk began moving through the crates and barrels stored outside, under tarps or simply piled up, looking for any of their own gear or anything he could use.
“Brains! Found the door,” Called Vickers, “But it’s locked! How do we get in?”
“Well, you know what Remi says,” Dirk said as he hurried over to the two techs, “‘Gun is the clearly best spell in this game.‘” And put a bolt through the lock. The door swung open freely, smoke drifting from the faintly glowing, molten hole. “Alright, Craig, I think I saw some MG rounds in Messer’s calibre back there, try and haul it in. Vickers, I know where Messer is but I don’t know if they’ve moved any of our stuff around so go have a quick look round the other bays for it or anything else we ca-“
Dirk broke off abruptly and held up a hand for silence. After just enough time for Dirk to think he was hearing things, the sound of jump jets came again, very, very close. “Inside now!”
The sound of concrete being crushed beneath metal boots sounded again, this time Dirk could see the tan and grey elemental as it landed in the street. There was a frozen instant as it stared at him, somehow Dirk knew his pistol had been seen and he’d been determined as a threat. He dove through the door after the two techs as the elemental brought up it’s arm with blinding speed and the small laser beam burned through the wall above his head. Dirk frantically pushed himself to his feet and ran down the corridor. Two panicked turns brought him into the storage area in which Messer was kept. The hangar was little more than a large open space divided by a maze of coloured tape and markings to denote which cargo belonged to who. Messer was easy to spot, right by the huge double doors. In a huge, fifteen metre tall steel box. Dirk’s feet pounded on the concrete floor as he ran for the Messer. Ahead of him he could see Vickers and Craig prying open the small side door with a crowbar, too rushed to wait for Dirk to bring the key. They failed.
The elemental’s laser opened the door for them, burning Craig’s left arm off just below the elbow. He fell to the ground screaming, smoke rising from the cauterized stump. Dirk tripped, screaming himself, in terror rather than pain. He fled on his hands and knees for cover, trying to stand but stumbling and falling every time. Tears blurred his vision and he curled into the foetal position behind a stack of wooden crates, the label naming their contents, ‘Pots and kitchen accessories’, absurdly clear in his vision. Craig’s screaming continued, Dirk clenched his fists over his ears trying to block it out. The laser lashed out again, splintering something Dirk couldn’t see. Looking out, he saw the elemental, grey legs and tan body, stalking deeper into the mess of crates. Wiping his eyes and nose on a sleeve, he saw Craig still screaming, rolling around on the ground by Messer’s crate. Vickers was gone. Dirk shot a glance at the Elemental, still stalking away from him. He took a shuddering breath, looking up at small, burned door to Messer. He stepped quietly, moving his feet sideways, crossing foot over foot, faster and faster. Craig was crying, screaming, and clutching the stump of his arm. Dirk did not look down as he stepped over the mutilated tech. He was looking up, face once more draining of colour as glass fell from the skylight above the hangar doors as a second elemental soared through it. In his shock he tripped again, Craig flailing for help and catching his leg and he fell into darkness. A ruby beam burned through the air he had occupied but a moment before. Dirk’s head cracked off the floor and he lay stunned for a moment, resting his cheek on the cool floor, shadow falling across his face. Light glinted off an object in front of him and he squinted to look at it. Two familiar faces wrought in silver looked back at him and he reached out a hand to rub a thumb over them, wrapping his fingers round the grip. His eyes moved up past it, to a leg painted in such a dark crimson it looked almost dark in the deep shadow of the crate.
Snapping back to reality, Dirk shook off the haze as he half jumped, half swung himself to his feet using the doorframe as a fulcrum. His headlong rush sent him straight into the leg of his 75 tonne Helepolis, hands moving on instinct to the metal rungs embedded in it’s armour plate. Hurriedly Dirk began the climb up the near fourteen metre tall mech, jump jets roaring dully outside while inside his hurried movements sent slaps and steps ringing and echoing around him. Dirk swung from leg to hip, clambering over torso and around barrel supports to the side of Messer’s cockpit. Hurriedly he opened the cockpit and slid into it’s spacious interior. His fingers flew across the centre board of the extensive controls, the board tasked with the general running with the mech. The cockpit lit up, boards powering up individually as the command console’s multiple CPUs began booting up. Reaching behind his head Dirk grabbed his neurohelmet from it’s cradle and strapped it on, trembling hands becoming instantly still as the canopy slid shut and his limbs settled onto peddles, rudders, joysticks and keypads. His HUD lit up and he reached for a secondary board and flipped two switches as Messer spoke.
“If this isn’t Dirk, get out of me before you hurt yourself. Especially you, Amelia swee-“
“It’s me, old friend.” Dirk cut off the automated message with the passphrase. He pushed a bright red button under the two switches the second it lit. His viewport burst into fire, the roar of the explosive bolts on the crate drowning out Messer reporting system statuses as they went online. The wall in front of him flew outwards, slamming to the floor with a resounding crash at a slant.
Before the door could even shudder still, Messer strode forth from the crate putting a heavy foot down on the door and unknowingly crushing the elemental trapped beneath. A ruby beam, much smaller than it had been but moments ago splashed harmlessly across the armoured flank of the mech. Swivelling and taking a step backwards, it’s left arm raised, firing a searing lance of blue light back at the charging elemental, burning off a leg and igniting a wall of goods piled behind it. The huge mech adjusted it’s aim, the machinegun mounted coaxially to the large laser spraying bullets over the struggling form and cutting flaming heap of cargo’s foundations even further apart and it gave way, collapsing on top of the struggling clan warrior.
In Messer’s cockpit, Dirk tuned his radio to the frequency he’d memorized before leaving the university. “Bradbury to Mlodinov, I have reached Messer and am mobile. Where are the jeeps? Are they still alive?”
Dirk carefully walked Messer in a circle, scanning for the second elemental he had unknowingly crushed. Below him he saw Vickers reaching Craig, dragging the wounded man into cover. Vickers looked up at the hunting mech, and began gesturing at the smoke wreathed panel lying on the ground and drew a finger across his throat, repeating the gesture over and over while he dragged Craig by the back of the shirt until the mech stopped moving.
“Bradbury, this is Private Mill, we’re heading over to you. Hooper got one of those Toads on the hop, but we’ve still got two on us.”
Dirk lifted the crate wall one handed and nearly lost his stomach at the feebly twitching Elemental beneath. “C-Coords, please. On my way,” He rasped as his chest MG put an end to the clan warrior’s movements. From the depths of his coat, he plugged an external drive into the computer to his left and hammered in the commands to upload the AFFC local maps into Messer’s databanks and mark them as default.
“Same street! Same street!” Shouted back the young driver. Dirk brought Messer’s arm up in an arc, blazing blue light spearing out once more and cutting a straight line through the double doors of the hangar. Messer’s foot caught right in the middle of the rent, torso swivelling to shoulder barge through. The dark crimson mech, thumper barrel striped with white burst into the light of day for the first time in months as a smoking wreck of a jeep hurtled past it, roof entirely missing. A second jeep skidded, Dirk forcing Messer into a hop skip to avoid a collision. The flaming vehicle slammed into a lamp post behind the big mech and a body flew out into the street in a crumpled heap. An elemental, a toad landed in the street in front of Messer and halted, crouching and ready to dodge. Dirk brought up Messer’s left again, both MGs filling the air with the harsh glare of magnesium and tearing up the concrete around the clanner. Messer’s arm tracked the toad as it jumped for cover, knocking it off course and into the wall of a building. As bricks fell around it he corrected his aim, walking the tracer rounds onto the fallen warrior and slid his thumb to the fire button for the laser.
A tan figure slamming into the cockpit glass on wings of fire made Dirk cry out in shock, firing all weapons in surprise as Messer fell backwards. Blue light mixed with blazing white tracer, the deep crashing blast of the thumper nearly drowning out the sound of the Helepolis slamming into the ground with a reverberating crash that rattled Dirk’s teeth and made his head spin. A miniature sun burning into his vision woke him up and he threw an arm across his eyes to shield them from the glare. Holding onto the crash cage around his cockpit, the toad was firing it’s small laser like a mining laser; trying to burn through the armoured glass to him. Squinting against the glare, Dirk rolled the mech over and began headbutting the ground, smashing the Elemental between the mech and the ground again and again in panic. Blood and machine fluid smeared the viewscreen, the golden glow from the laser all but gone by the time he stopped. Wrestling Messer to it’s feet despite his dizziness he began shuffling the mech towards the last elemental, covered in the rubble. Raising the left arm once more, he began carefully lining up the shot, the small circle on his HUD drifting over the prone form.
“Bradbury wait! Wait!” Private Mill’s voice sounded distorted as it came over his speakers. “You beat him! You beat him! If you let him live, you can claim him as a bondsman! He’ll have to fight for us!”
Dirk stood over the elemental for a few more moments before reaching down to pick him up in the mech’s armoured gauntlet. Inside the cockpit, he pulled out the notes he’d written down before leaving the university. Fiddling with his radio once more, he plugged in a flash drive with Mlodinov’s comms codes.

Close to University of Saddleport,
Saddleport, Sevren,
19^th November, 3051, 14:13 hours

“This is Dirk Bradbury, calling all AFFC or just not bloody Clan forces in or around the city of Saddleport,” He slurred. “I am piloting a mech in grid Indigo 11 with two jeeps, returnink to Saddiddleport University at Kappa 12. Have multiple, repeat multiple high value civilians an’ lit Pee Dee Eff presence at Kappa 12, require assistance in evacating to rally point Lima 14. Please respond.”

Edited by RogueSpear, 23 March 2013 - 07:21 PM.

[kevin roshak]

Flashback

November 5th, 3051
New Cartris Space Port, New Cartris, Planet Sevren
08:42 Local Time

James felt sicker than he had in quite a while, he looked it too. His face was more green than the pale white it normally was. As he stepped off the landing ramp his legs buckled underneith the full gravity of the planet and the whole situation, leading a whole squad of men, on a new planet was not what James had had in mind for 21. The idea was to be a miner like his father, or continue on with rugby or boxing, he had been the bare-knuckle champion for the whole camp from 18 to 20, when he had to relinquish his title to serve the Family.

The fighting was still a ways off from the capitol but it was getting closer by the hour, all the better for us James thought, at the time. As they went though customs and immigration no questions were asked, the New Cartris informant must have done his job. Lysander looked a fool in his old Social-General uniform, nearly 15 years out of date, so maybe that had something to do with it. The group progressed in silence until they came to a military checkpoint to exit the spaceport.

As the approached the checkpoint the guard, a young Asian man began to question them about their bussiness. "Ah ya know, we're men of the Archon's, here to help out the boys," James said as he pointed to Lysander, the now ancient former Social-General. The man looked confused and looked quizzically at the former General. "Lyran Relief Corps, here from Gallery," the old man translated for the young guard. The guard nodded and muttered under his breath, "F*cking Pikeys." "Follow me." He said louder and with a bit more confidence.

He lead them though the maze-like spaceport out to a military caravan, which lead James and his men and their dozens of 'supply' crates, where the guard asked "So what did you bring out here all the way from Gallery?" James replied, "Oh medicine, and food and anything one could want." The guard looked around confused and Rhys coolly repeats James' words. The guard shook his head and began to give the orders to load the various trucks and head to base to allow for a better supply chain.

Half an hour later the caravan pulled up to the base and the guards unloaded their supplies and then left them with a few guards and the vehicular quartermaster to work out what could be spared from the war effort to help the civilian population. While the final crates were being unloaded James and the others began to point out various vehicles they would like to acquire. The Maxim Hover APC caught James' eye and began to shout in Greek about how wonderful it would be. The rest began to argue loudly, startling both the guards and the quartermaster. As James pointed to the Maxim the quartermaster shook her head and murmured, "No, I am sorry the infantry need some armor support. We can offer you a pair of wheeled APC's, with no weapons." She glared at Lysander who shook his head and walked over and drew her in close seeming to whisper in her ear, then slammed his fist into her face, dropping her hard onto the concrete. The guards fell quickly in succession to the Pikey and his band of vagrants. The crates were loaded onto the Maxim, Dancer's Dream, an odd name for a APC, but it had some very attractive nose art in the form of a semi-nude dancer, no doubt the origin of the APC's name.

Once it was all loaded in the Dancer as it became to be called the whole crew loaded they tore out of the base, firing the machine guns and blowing through the gate, and leaving the city, and headed for what would become the front lines, Saddleport city.

November 9th 3051
Saddleport, Sevren
21:18

The Maxim was being repainted within the only remaining contact in Saddleport, Casey's Paint and Autobody. Ritchie, the other, had been killed in a Police raid days earlier for his illegal arms dealing. All would be missing the dancer, but they decided to keep the name.

The font lines had been moving up quickly, but this only made it better for business. The Pikey Archon, as James has taken to calling himself, and his merry band, have been making quite a profit; already selling thousands of antibiotics and other medicines, as well as various guns and other substances.

November 19th, 3051
Saddleport, Sevren
15:03

Panic had struck the city, the evacuation order had been given by the cities mayor. The front lines, around 12 kilometers outside the city had been pushed back by the hour, and sooner or later, the front lines will be inside the city.

James and the crew had been out drinking at the time and a mad rush swarmed the APC of the Pikey Archon and His Merry Band. All the boys rushed out and began beating people off the Dancer, as they could damage its repulsion lifts. James ran out a few steps behind, cigar a-blaze, screaming, "**** off, **** off, GahDam I said **** OFF!" His last words were emphasized with a few shotgun blasts into the air. Everyone quieted down and backed away from the vehicle. "Now which one of ya f*cks is gonna pay for this ****." No one said anything, "Then **** OFF!" James screamed as he waved the shotgun around. Most scattered, but a few stayed to try and get supplies but they were sent away by Rhys and Chan.

As the gang piled into the Maxim, James spoke up, this time much calmer voice, "Alright law is gone now, now it is time to get it going boys..." The rest just smiled, nodded or both. Hektor spoke up in his slow, deep voice, "I believe it is now time we split up. Me and Davos will take Zachary, Gabriel, Tyler, Petroclos and Thomas. That leaves you with Lysander, Rhys, Chan, Ryan 'The Ripper', and Cho. Should be even enough, we'll pick up Casey if he's still around or find him if he thinks about skipping town. Keep the Dancer, we can acquire a few, Davos was quite the thief in an earlier life." Davos laughed coldly and gave a big grin, revealing his gold and missing teeth. "Antimetó̱pisi̱ (Deal)"

They all returned to the recently abandoned parking structure that had become home base. There were 17 boxes of supplies remaining, each group would take 8 and an extra for James and his crew. "Once you get a vehicle we can get outa here and start the real work."

Edited by kevin roshak, 28 February 2013 - 02:02 PM.

[Sparks Murphey]

Hazel Fields Park
Saddleport, Sevren
19th November, 3051, 14:02 hours

Adrianna’s new command wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped for. A cannonless Manticore, a pair of Vedette tanks (“Punch” and “Judy”, according to their crews) and a single, sad-looking J. Edgar made up the armour section. Two platoons of rifle infantry were mounted up on flatbed trucks. A motley collection of armoured vehicles and civilian cars (and, for some reason, a lone bicycle) represented the non-combatants.

She kept the Phoenix Hawk circling the perimeter throughout. The footsloggers would tire eventually, and she didn’t want to unnecessarily waste any fuel on the vehicles, but the P-Hawk could run all day. It was only her eyes that would might tire.

“Dove, Lighthouse here,” came a voice in her ear. A different comms operator than last time. “Be advised, the DropShip Hunter’s Deliverance is inbound on your position. They’ll be delivering supplies, taking on wounded, and then flying to New Cartris. They are not your overall evacuation strategy. Repeat, do not board the Hunter’s Deliverance.”

“Roger that, Lighthouse, will not be boarding the Deliverance,” Adrianna sighed. A quick evac was too much to hope for. The supplies would be nice, though. “I take it they aren’t fitted to carry BattleMechs, then?”

There was a pause from Lighthouse, and Adrianna at first thought they’d just decided not to answer her question. “Negative, Dove,” came the reply at last, “They are carrying two lances of mercenaries. We are currently in negotiations to acquire their assistance.”

Adrianna rolled her eyes. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to unduly inconvenience them.”

“Careful, Dove.”

“Roger. Buttoning my lip.”

She could see the drive flare of the descending DropShip now, a golden light in the afternoon sky. Better get some space set up for them. Adrianna activated the external speakers and turned towards the two platoons of infantry.

“Attention! We’ve got a DropShip bringing in supplies. They’re going to need somewhere to put down three and a half thousand tons, so that platoon,” Adrianna gestured with the Phoenix Hawk’s arm, “I want you to clear some space for them on the field. The other platoon, get the wounded ready to be loaded up.

“Armour units, they’re probably going to be drawing some attention our way, so I want...” she trailed off as she realised her audience were looking behind her. At the sky.

With a touch of the jump jets, Adrianna spun the Phoenix Hawk around, lasers already aimed at the sky. She couldn’t see any hostiles, but the Hunter’s Deliverance was quite noticeable, largely because it was on fire and trailing smoke.

“Did anyone see what hit them?” she called out.

A chorus of negatives answered her, followed by someone suggesting they thought they saw an artillery shot.

The pilot of the Hunter’s Deliverance was obviously struggling with the mammoth machine, fighting to keep it on course and in control. With a wrench, several large pieces tore from the craft. Adrianna couldn’t identify them, but they were obviously important, as the DropShip went into freefall. With a sickening finality, it slammed into the eastern outskirts of the city.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Logan's Pass
Aventi Mountain Range
200+ miles East of Saddleport
Severn, Nov 19 1200HRs

This was a nice spot. Fall was in full swing up in the mountains, the tree's leaves ranging everything from a dull bronze to a brilliant red. Birds chirped by, Jays mostly, but here and there a Robin, and Oriel. Squirrels ran amok in their usual psychotic ways, stowing away nuts for the upcoming Winter. And in the air itself a slight chill, with just a slight scent of musk from some skunk further along the pass.

It was very faint at first. A slight tremble barely felt through the leafy matter beneath the infantryman's feet. Then birds took flight, a chaotic scattering of blue, red, and orange followed by a slow rain of colorful leaves.

Boom... Boom... Boom... the dull sound reverberated through the mountain pass.

Battlemech.

Or in this case an Omnimech hauling a$$. And as the sound proceeding it grew all the infantrymen shrunk, curling up in their foxholes. So many things bubbled up to Ryans mind right then, where were their scouts? They hadn't received any word from the two men positioned further down the pass... These thoughts were cut off by the Sarge rumbling out in his gravely voice.

"Alright boys, when he passes by we take 'em!" Sarge spoke aloud excitement plainly evident as he readied his satchel charge for the sapping or knee capping maneuver.

A shriek of servo's and the hiss of hydraulics could now be heard accompanying the thunder clapping like footfalls. Largely obscured by the foliage and trees, the metal looked rather dull as it rapidly approached, so fast in fact the grunts had to spring their ambush prematurely if they were to have any luck capping the mech's legs.

"ATTACK!!" Screamed out Sarge, a savage war cry that was cut off by the roar of 19 jetpacks firing off at the same time. Out of their cover they flew like angry hornets, to swarm about the.. Dasher? Something about this screamed out the words 'wrong and run.' and he killed his jetpack in time to see the twenty ton Omni unleash H3ll upon the PBI foolish enough to dare attack it.

The nearest troopers, including Sarge erupted into a pink mist as the proximity charges on the anti-infantry pods erupted spewing out a hailstorm of 3/4in ball bearings. The effect was devastating on the lightly armored troops, shredding some, and wounding many others.

"Take cover!" Shouted Ryan as he dove behind a boulder as .50cal rounds from it's duo machineguns began peppering the surrounding woods. The fabric tearing sound of the guns cut out as a bright red light lit up the trees and zap filled the air before the rifle crack of a pine tree blew apart from the pulse laser's touch as the beams heat flash boiled it's moisture into steam in the blink of an eye. Again the bark of the Dasher's guns sounded out once more, pulverizing the foliage for a good 60 yard radius from it. Then finally the guns fell silent, and the servo and hydraulic sounds began before the booming steps sounded again, heading onward, like the neigh platoon of infantry was just an mere annoyance, kind of like the swatting of an annoying fly.

As the mech's steps sounded off into the distance, Ry began to look over the scene of carnage. Broken bodies lay strewn across the ground, sometimes in pieces, tree's and the dried up plant matter were beginning to catch fire, no doubt cause by the energy weapons the mech used. Smoke began choking up the air. Taking a few steps he looked upon the ruin of the platoon's medic, who's body armor failed to hold up against the Dasher's A-Pod. Kneeling down in the pooling blood, Ryan then slipped off the medic's pack from his remains.

"Anybody out there?" Groans answered him, along with a few, too few hails. Stepping out from the desolation, three forms appeared. They looked dishelved, dirty, and had a confused glossy look in their eyes, but for the most part seemed unhurt. Again the groaning sounded, fairly close by. Stumbling through the carnage, they were able to locate the man, with a large splinter of pine impaling through him. Grimacing at the grizzly wound, Ryan turned away and looked back to where the mech stood only a couple of moments before. He then turned back to the four other living grunts.

"You two, look for more survivors. You, check to see what you can salvage." The three men looked to one another confused for a second. "What, the F**k you guys waiting around for, an invitation? GO!" With that the three stumbled off to their task. When they were gone, he turned back to the sad form upon the ground before him, writhing in agony with the stake through his lower abdomen.

"Paul." Ryan reached out and grabbed the bloody hand attempting to claw away at the wood running through his body. "Look at me, Paul." The boyish face looked upon him, with pleading eyes. "You are going to die." Ry spoke matter of factly and a pleading look came to the troopers face and he shook with deep sobs. "Your liver was pierced, and you only have about an hour to live... But I'll do what I can for you." With that he opened up the medic's pack and began rooting around in it before pulling out a syringe and jar of morphine. He then loaded up the needle and stabbed it into the broken solider at his feet. A look of ease crossed the boy's face a couple of minutes later. He closed his glassed over eyes and turned to regard the three brother's in arms that had been looking over his shoulder in shock.

"He was already dead. I just made it a little more bear-."

Any other dialogue was cut off by a pair of SRM's blasting apart the boulder that Ryan and used for cover earlier.

"S**T!! RUN!!!" Off into the brush the quartet fled and as they tore through the foliage and trees a quintet entered the blood soaked pass. Hulking and brutish, impossibly muscled, the grey clad armored figures looked on through their V shaped viewports in the direction in which the Sphereoids fled, the jump jet's packs firing off periodically as the barbarians fled before the might of Kerensky's children.

"We pursue Point Commander, quiaff?" Asked number two.

"Neg. There is no honor in hunting down those surats. Saddleport is our objective, and that is where we will crush the heart of these freebirths.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 07 March 2013 - 04:59 AM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Hill 143?
Avanti Mountains
X-Miles East of Saddleport
Severn, Nov 19th, 1400hrs

"Hold up. Cabin." Ry hissed aloud barely above a whisper but loud enough for the bumbling goof-troop behind him to hear. The three fell into formation behind him, taking up positions behind cover with Grant keeping the business end of his Rolex assault rifle pointed back up the hiking trail that the quartet had been following for the last thirty minutes.

"I don't think they're following us." Whispered Silva to the other solider in the group, Cooper.
"Wouldn't they be shooting at us if they were?" Cooper hissed back.
"Shut up you two." Shot back Ryan over his shoulder before slowly creeping slowly towards the direction of the cabin.

Looking it over, Ry had to admit it was a nice cabin. A sturdy, squat, structure, fabricated out of thick planks of wood, with decent sized windows, and painted a bluish gray color. Behind it, there was some other structure, perhaps a toolshed or something the like. Taking a chance Ry shot a nervous glance through a window, and seeing nobody inside, crept over to another. Another glance told the same story, that nobody was home. Ryan then listened at the door for a good moment and hearing nothing stirring inside, then tried the handle. Locked.

Frowning, the jump infantryman tried the usual hiding places for a key, under a near by plant pot, under the floor mat, atop the door jam, and finding nothing but the occasional insect, waved then others over. He held up three fingers then looked each of his lackeys in the eye and began counting down with his fingers silently. 3,2,1.. The heavy oaken door held stubbornly up under Ryan's kick, but a second and third kick finally smashed the bolt through its mooring splintering a bit of the jam in the process. Fanning out the grunts made quick work of securing the four roomed cabin, with the shouts of 'clear' confirming that the cabin was indeed empty.

"Alright. You and you," he pointed "search this place over, find food, ammo, guns, whatever may be useful." Ryan then looked to the other trooper, "Go check out that toolshed, same thing, whatever usefull." The three then scrambled off, and shortly afterward a loud ruckus ensued as the grunts tossed over everything in their search. Amongst the racket, Ry then went into the kitchen and dumped out the pack of things they were able to salvage from the massacre at Logan's pass upon the kitchen table. Heavily laden web-belts flopped out, followed by several clips of ammo for the groups assault rifles, three basic medkits then thunked out, MREs, three satchel charges, a small field radio, and finally a bloodstained map of the area. Nodding grimly Ryan then began sorting out every thing.

There were four web-belts, each containing two spare clips of ammo and two grenades. He added the clips to the small pile to the side and sectioned off a portion for the grenades. He tossed the basic med kits to the side as well. While useful, he wasn't sure how well some asprin was going to be to them, especially when he had the platoon's medic's bag and all it's neato stuff. Satchel charges would definitely be useful, but he wasn't too thrilled about the idea of getting that close to a onmimech again. He continued sorting through the mound till finally he lay out the map and flicked on the radio.

Static hissed from the device, interrupted by the occasional garbled word and distortion. Frowing he flicked it off and looked over the map and with a look of distaste grabbed a washcloth from the sink and wiped the blood from the map. Looking it over he saw outlined where their location was up on Logan's Pass circled with some purplish ink. He then left the map there and checked on the others.

"Find anything?" he asked the two in the house as he walked in on them tossing over the common room. "Just some blankets, and some canned foodstuffs." Answered Silva. "I found a first aid kit and some jerky." Added Cooper. Grant then came in the door with an old double barrel shotgun and a half empty box of shells.

"There's an old truck out there, but I don't think it runs." The Lryan added with a sad smile. Barbeque then looked each in the eye and nodded approvingly. "You guys are doing good. You should get some chow and maybe catch some rest while I try to figure out where we are." Silva and Grant didn't need to be told twice as they righted the sofa and set about to relax for a bit. Cooper followed Ryan back to the kitchen and when the two were private asked in a hushed voice.

"The Wolves aren't chasing us are they?" His brow crinkled up in confusion causing his thick blond brows to almost connect.

"I don't think that four demoralized jump troops are much of a concern to them at this time. They got bigger fish to fry." And to make a point he placed his finger on the map over Saddleport. "Now I'm no military genius, H3ll, I'm just a private like you. But I have the feeling that the Wolves aren't here for a picnic."

With that he took up some items from the table, a jar of peanut butter, a can of olives, and a jar of cocktail onions and handed them to the solider.

"Eat up and catch some z's, we're going to be moving out in a bit." He then added a box of 'Cosmic Crackers' to the eats in Cooper's arms. And as the infantryman left to get some rest, Ryan turned back to brood over the map.

Now where are we?

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 08 March 2013 - 05:26 AM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

The cabin @ Map grid H1853
Roughly 35 miles SW of Logan's pass
180+ miles from Saddleport, Severn
Nov 19, 14:50 Hrs.

Whack!Ryan kicked Grant's boot rousing the trooper from where he has fallen asleep with a cocktail onion in his hand.

"Wake up!" Whack! Whack! The jump trooper followed Grant's rousing with kicks to Cooper and Silva's likewise booted feet.

"Off your a$$es and on your feet." He then stooped down to dunk two fingers into the jar of peanut butter and scooped out some fingers for himself as the three gathered their wits about them. He quickly righted the overturned coffee table and folded out the map for the three to see.

"Alright." he began to use his knife to point out points of interest on the map. "Here's the pass. Here's Saddleport. Here's where we are." He pointed out the grid, but he circled with the knife hinting that he wasn't positive. "And all of this," he circled the large amount of space between their grid and where Saddleport lay sprawling across multiple grids. "is everything we're gonna have to cover. Now that wouldn't usually be too big of a problem. But we got to cross all this open ground and our jet packs are running low so sooner or later we're gonna end up hoofing it."

He began folding up the map and tucked in inside his fatigue's thigh pockets.

"So let's divvy up the gear you guys salvaged and see if we can get that truck running." With that the weary troops headed towards the kitchen as he headed out to the small garage.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A bit later.

"Stupid piece of s**t!!" Silva roared, slamming the hood down in a rage. He quickly began sucking on his knuckles where he peeled off several layers of skin upon the engine. Ryan arched an eyebrow at the outburst, while the other two chuckled like a pair of dimwits from where they were sitting in the cab of the pick up.

"Problems?" Ryan asked, eyebrow still arched.

"Yeah, I don't know what's wrong with the f***ing thing! Alternator I guess!" He went back to sucking on his knuckles. Ryan then looked over his shoulder to the two chuckling still.

"You guys want to give it a try?" Grant shook his head 'no' while Cooper made a gesture like he'd not have any idea what to do.

Great, I get stuck with two guys that aren't even willing to try.

"Well, I don't imagine that the owners would leave it behind if it ran. Looks like we're going to be walking, fall in." With that they fell in, but Ry pulled the bloody handed Silva to the side and offered him some encouraging words.

"Don't feel so bad man, I can barely tell the difference between a bus driver and a screwdriver."

He patted the frowning solider on the shoulder then headed out after the others.

"Alright boys, there should be a lake about thirty miles to the West, map says there's some buildings there, so maybe we'll get another chance to get some wheels." He began leading them off towards the West following a rough dirt road.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 13 March 2013 - 01:29 PM.

[Sparks Murphey]

Hazel Fields Park
Saddleport, Sevren
19th November, 3051, 14:11 hours

“Lighthouse, this is Dove, the Deliverance has been shot down, repeat, the Deliverance has been shot down,” Adrianna radioed, already jumping the Phoenix Hawk to the top of a water tower to survey the crash.

“Roger, that Dove,” Lighthouse came back, somehow still calm and unflustered. Probably because it wasn’t their butts on the line. “We’ll notify King Flight.”

Oh, glad to see you’re bouncing off the walls with anxiety, Adrianna thought to herself. Guess it’s up to me. “The J. Edgar. Whatever your callsign is...”

“Juniper, sir,” the reply came.

“...fine, I want you over at the crash site on the double. Scout it out and report in. One of the infantry platoons, mount up and go with them. I don’t care which platoon, sort it out between you. If you can secure the area, start rescue operations. Donny-Boy, if you’re reading me, we’ve got a DropShip crash at grid Mike 15. Scout vee and infantry are en route, if you’re able to lend them a hand, that’d be great. Otherwise...”

“This is Dirk Bradbury, calling all AFFC or just not bloody Clan forces in or around the city of Saddleport,” a voice cut over the top of her on the common encrypted band,“I am piloting a ‘Mech in grid Indigo 11 with two jeeps, returnink to Saddiddleport University at Kappa 12. Have multiple, repeat multiple high value civilians an’ lit Pee Dee Eff presence at Kappa 12, require assistance in evacating to rally point Lima 14. Please respond.”

Adrianna paused. Her forces were already stretched thin, and risking the safety of those left in order to rescue a few eggheads would be foolish, at least without a specific order from command. On the other hand, Bradbury had a ‘Mech, which represented a 50% reinforcement of her existing forces. Even just an Ostscout would be an improvement from here.

“Roger, Bradbury. This is Leftenant Delfino, 25th AG. On my way with escorts.”

She signalled to the other infantry platoon and one of the Vedettes. Hopefully, this gamble would pay off.

[roastpuff]

Mattheson Industrial Park
Saddleport, Sevren
19th November, 3051, 14:12 hours


“...Donny-Boy, if you’re reading me, we’ve got a DropShip crash at grid Mike 15. Scout vee and infantry are en route, if you’re able to lend them a hand, that’d be great. Otherwise...”

Before Donny could thumb his mic button to reply to the Leutnant, another voice broke into the common band and he paused to listen to the transmission, which made less and less sense as it went on.

“This is Dirk Bradbury, calling all AFFC or just not bloody Clan forces in or around the city of Saddleport,” a voice cut over the top of her on the common encrypted band,“I am piloting a ‘Mech in grid Indigo 11 with two jeeps, returnink to Saddiddleport University at Kappa 12. Have multiple, repeat multiple high value civilians an’ lit Pee Dee Eff presence at Kappa 12, require assistance in evacating to rally point Lima 14. Please respond.”

Apparently, Leutnant Delfino understood enough of it, because she was first to respond to Bradbury’s call for help.

“Roger, Bradbury. This is Leftenant Delfino, 25th AG. On my way with escorts.”

Deciding that he had better respond before another stray transmission could cut him off, Donny thumbed his mic button and spoke.

“Leftenant Delfino, I am moving to grid Mike 15 at my best speed to link up with the infantry and armor elements. Will advise on the condition of dropship and possible survivors once on location. Over and out.”

Pushing his throttle up, he settled his ‘Mech near top speed. Any faster than about 90kph and he ran the risk of being unable to step carefully around the parkedcars. As it was, his footsteps brushed away or crunched various bits of the groundcars that were clogging up the streets of Saddleport as he moved further into the built-up areas. There was also the risk of skidding if he had to make sudden maneuvers, as concrete was not the best surface for ‘Mech stability due to its slickness.

The pillar of smoke that rose up into the sky clearly marked the location of the downed Dropship, and he slowly made his way closer to it, turning left and right in succession as he tried to navigate the city blocks towards where the wreckage lay. If only he had a proper city map... or an aerial drone above him to give an accurate overview. It was maddening to find dead-ends, or cul-de-sacs and having to backtrack. Eventually, the pillar of smoke grew so large it blotted out a good portion of the sky - he was close. Deciding to see if the scout vehicle and infantry forces had arrived, he broadcast over the general battalion channel.

“Scout vehicle, this is Sergeant Donovan Tang in a Centurion heading towards grid Mike 15, how copy?” Gratifyingly, there was a response to his message on the first try.

“Sergeant Tang, this is J. Edgar scout hovertank, callsign Juniper. We read you loud and clear and we are just arrivin g at the wreckage. It looks bad, to be honest. We are disembarking infantry and performing a perimeter sweep. We are already damaged though, so if we come across anything we’re pretty much toast.”

“Copy, Juniper. I’m moving there at my best speed. Keep me updated on any survivors or salvage that you can find.”

As he finished that conversation, his comms console beeped at him to indicate an incoming message. One of the surviving satellites in orbit had transmitted a burst packet through tightbeam to his area of the battlefield, and his eyes widened as he read through the decrypted message. It seems like someone had survived, after all. If he was lucky, whoever it was would catch the message and respond from inside the dropship. He decided to try the common channel to see if they were monitoring it.

“Wombat survivor, this is Sergeant Donovan Tang approaching your location, do you read me? Can you get out of the dropship?”

As he spoke, he rounded the corner to see the Dropship partially embedded into a parking structure, leaning at a 45-degree angle. One of the doors was facing downwards, and the other was facing straight up. Access to the inside of the Dropship was clearly going to be a problem. Aside from one quadrant which was missing most of its framework and parts, the other parts of the ship looked fairly intact, which was good. His radar console beeped as the IFF of the J.Edgar was detected roughly four hundred meters away. Infantry were already trying to find the best way to get into the Dropship and he approved - these troops clearly had initiative, and that was good. A group was slowly crawling onto the upper half of the Dropship, trying to reach the personnel access doors. Hopefully, they could find some ammunition and parts - his ‘Mech could use them, and he was sure the Leutnant could as well.

Edited by roastpuff, 12 March 2013 - 08:51 PM.

[TheFlyingScotsman]

With the replacement floodlight bulbs in place and spewing ridiculous amounts of light into the creaky, dark bay, Asfrid climbed down the front of her Trebuchet, carefully balancing on the ladder with the arc-torch and towing cables coming from the shoulder mountings both strapped to her back. As she descended, the telltale smoke of electrical fire wafted up from the wounded knee. Now that she could see it, the armor seemed to bend inward at the source of the problem. Getting it off to make repairs would be easy, getting the bent pieces back into place would not. With a sigh, she carefully edged around until she had a good angle on the intact sections. If she was lucky, she could repair enough from the less damaged rear and avoid the front panels.

After connecting the cables to the plate, she carefully unlocked it and let the weight fall onto the now-dangling cables. Misjudging the momentum, she released the plate too quickly, and it whunked into the other leg. She cringed, but didn't see any additional damage. Inside, the seams connecting the actuators to the structure were broken clear off, and severed one of the power cables. Both easy enough to fix from this angle.

She glanced up at the laser-arm, dangling uselessly at the elbow. From the looks of it, the actuator had been completely ruined when the arms had taken the brunt of the fall that the commando hadn't absorbed. Ignoring it for now, she focused on getting her Bucket mobile again. As she reworked the seam, her comms chirped into life above her. She snapped the torch off and listened at the message came through, “Wombat survivor, this is Sergeant Donovan Tang approaching your location, do you read me? Can you get out of the dropship?”

She scrambled for her wristlink, and keyed it up, relaying her reply to her own 'Mech for broadcast. “Sergeant Tang, this is Asfrid Malgalm, my 'Mech took a beating when the Drop fell, and I'm trying to get it moving again. I havn't heard or seen any other survivors. My laser system is useless, so I can't cut my way out yet. I'm not sure the bird can handle SRMs without collapsing.”

Despite her excitement, she tried to focus on the task at hand. Now more than ever, she had to get the Scotsman up and moving. After finishing the final seam, she turned to replace the plate... Which she now realized weighed nearly a quarter of a ton, and was dangling directly between her 'Mech's legs. “Fff*ck.” She said, matter of factly. Thinking quickly, she snagged one of the remaining tow cables, and fished until she got the hooked end over the top of the plate. She lead the other end around the leg and up the ladder to the left arm. After draping it into the hand mechanism with as little slack as she could, she climbed up to the cockpit and raised the arm slowly, pulling the plate below into position.

As she climbed down to bolt the plate in place, an idea occurred to her. She quickly finished with the plate, and detached the cables. “And they said underwater towing cables and floodlights were useless weight.” She shrugged, and released the cables that had held the leg-plate up. As she climbed back up and switched over to the right side, she left the hand-held cable in place, taking the free end with her. She looped this first around the back of the neck, and then around the broken, dangling laser-arm and hooked it tightly in place. Climbing back into the cockpit, she carefully lowered the left arm again. Moving unhindered, the cable drew the laser system up and level.

As she fired, one beam lanced out normally, but the other sputtered out green light for a moment before dieing. Taking what she could, she carefully sliced a sizeable gap in the wall with the remaining weapon. As the hull fell outwards, light and sound streamed in. She could hear the noise of several tanks, and the tell-tale whump-whump of a 'Mech in the distance. Giving her leg a go, she throttled carefully forward, and it held for the time being. When she reached the new opening, she looked down the forty foot drop to the ground below. She keyed up her JumpJets, and checked their status. One of the fuel lines had misaligned during the fall, thankfully behind the main feed, and therefore empty. If she tried to fire it up, the 'Mech would probably need to be scraped off the ground with a shovel. She turned this off, effectively killing her two right torso jets.

She turned on her comms. “Sergeant, I was able to remove a section of the hull without collapsing it, but I don't think my leg can withstand the drop down until I can fix my propulsion system. I'll get to work on that while you arrive. In the mean time, I'll lower my tow cables and try to find some help. Over” She threw four cables down and unspooled them completely. Grabbing a grapple kit and harness from her more-than-ever unkempt cockpit, she descended, first to the deck, and then down the cables and out to find a mechanic or two.

Edited by TheFlyingScotsman, 13 March 2013 - 12:48 PM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

[Flexed a little of my creative might. Sorry if I stepped on any toes.]

Lake Isabella
Roughly 67 miles SSW of Logan's pass
150+ miles from Saddleport, Severn
Nov 19, 3051 19:59 Hrs.

The mountain community known as Lake Isabella had initially sprung up as a mining community during Severn's founding years some several centuries before. Rich in gold, the small town boomed into existence as a trade center for the early prospectors to trade and sell whatever flecks of precious gold they've found. Several thousand tons of the ore was extracted from nearby mountains, virtually honeycombing this section of the Aventi Mountains with tunnels. But as the years drew by, the gold dried up, and people trickle away to the 'Big City,' Saddleport.

In the time since Isabella's 'Golden Years,' the community had gone through many changes. For one, the Saddle's Horn River had been dammed to construct a hydro-electric plant for the nearby planetary capitol. And secondly, the dam also provided a source of water for the locals. With it's construction the dam created a manmade lake which flooded over much of the old, no longer used city. Today the once boomtown was a tourist destination for the people of Saddleport to use for all their water sports during the hot, Severn Summer months. This year was unbearably hot, with neigh record breaking highs throughout the Summer. As a result the Lake was at an all-time low with the tops of the old derelict buildings rising out of the water, the locals had taken to calling it Lake Is-a-puddle.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. The crunching of gravel as the others shimmied on up to the top of the ridge behind Ryan set his nerves on edge. The rule of thumb of every noise being multiplied a hundred fold when you were trying to be sneaky was in effect. With every scrape, crunch, and noise raising his hackles and giving him the belief that the whole Clan Wolf Army were going to be laying it wait for them to crest the ridge. Luckily that wasn't to be the case.

Finally cresting the rise the four infantrymen were awarded with a great view of the small community silhouetted behind a setting sun. From their post they looked on the township curiously, trying to get a feel for the area. The town itself was tiny. A long thoroughfare shot straight through the city with little side streets breaking off here and there to gain access to he residential areas. One shopping center, one school, and one stoplight. The whole layout reminded Ryan of the small towns that would be in his Uncle's Western movies. The place looked deserted though as if the locals had withdrew towards Saddleport in the wake of the Wolf Clan's invasion.

"Looks like they bugged out." Ryan said while rolling over to reguard the survivors of his unit. "Let's go check it out."

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 13 March 2013 - 03:45 PM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Lake Isabella
Roughly 67 miles SSW of Logan's pass
150+ miles from Saddleport, Severn
Nov 19, 3051 20:32hrs

It was slow going, hopping or running from cover to cover. But all considering, they made decent time to the town and entered shortly after sundown. Upon the outskirts, there was a small gas-station. A meager mom and pop shop with a small auto repair shop connected. And immediately across the street from the station was a three story brick building with the fading sign of a retail store. And parked in such a way as to block all entrance (well if one was on foot anyways.) was a bus. Dangling from the bus was a long banner made from some thick paper, and upon it were many slogans. But the one that stood out the most, writing in thick bold lines across the whole length of the papers was 'Wolves go home.' Crinkling his brow up in curiosity, Ry approached. Nearing he looked over the paper and reading some of them aloud, he stopped and waved the guys over.

"It seems the local high school cheer squad doesn't think too highly of the invaders." He chuckled as he pointed out the roughly drawn image of a Zeus battlemech stomping on the Clan Wolf insignia.

Triggering his jump-pack, Ryan flew to the top of the three story building and looked on down the main street. With boarded up windows and not a soul in sight, it was pretty apparent that the town had be evacuated. That worried him. Just where was everyone? Evacuated to Saddleport? He thought it unlikely that a whole populace would just up and leave, and if that was the case that meant that there may be some scared folk attempting to defend their homes. Looking around he saw a squat brick building a couple blocks up the street with several antenna mounted upon it's roof. If there was any place where they'd be able to get contact with anyone it was there.

"Grant. I want you to stay put and keep a lookout up the road. If you see anything run on over to the brick building with all the antennas. Silva, same thing for you, 'cept the other side of town, looking that way." He pointed out towards the West. "Also there may be some civies in the area, so don't shoot anything without knowing for sure who you're shooting at. And make sure they know that your Lyran soldiers, they may be less inclined to shoot at you if they know you're friendlies. Alright? Come on Coop." Ryan then went to the edge of the building and slid down a pipe onto the roof of the neighboring two story building. Onward the two jump-grunts traveled, stealthily as possible hopping from rooftop to rooftop, climbing or sliding down pipes before they hopped off the roof of a one story animal clinic. The soon found themselves in a small alley overlooking the squat building with a wall of sandbags stacked up into a rough breastworks.

Ryan scoffed upon seeing the star over the door with the small corkboard with the various 'wanted' posters. He then thought about how earlier the whole layout of the town reminded him of the small towns he used to watch in his Uncle's vids and he shook his head sadly.

"What is it Barbeque?" Asked Cooper as Ryan stopped shaking his head.

"You get the feeling you're in Dodge City?" Ryan offered with a slight chuckle. With his brow crinkling up slightly Coop then looked over the street and the fortified sheriff's office and he nodded.

"LYRAN INFANTRY COMING OUT!!" The two shouted, and with that the two cautiously stepped out onto the street. Slowly they proceeded, but when they crossed the halfway point of the road and nobody had shot or challenged them they boldly stepped forward and climbed over the breastworks. With a simple twist of the knob the door yawned open revealing a small office with two desks. Upon the wall was an empty gun case. There were two doors leading out of the room and both troopers took to securing the building. Another twist of a knob revealed the holding area consisting of two large empty cells with the same type of bars that Ryan's uncle's shows depicted. With a smirk Ryan turned to check on Coop as the toe-headed trooper came out with a confident look on his face.

"I found the radio." He smirked while sticking his thumb back over his shoulder to the room he just vacated.

"Good." Ryan quickly made his way to the radio room, which looked like a converted closet. But that didn't matter as long as he was able to communicate with anyone. Taking a seat he pulled the head phones over his ears and began attempting to dial in the frequencies that the 25th Arcturan Guard usually operated on. Unable to do that, he then tried to dial in on the frequencies that were reserved for emergency personel. But as he tried he accidently stumbled across some channel being used by some unknown forces. He listened in for a second before realizing that they must be friendlies, or at least not Claner's by the lack of Clan-speak.

"Unknown forces, this is Barbeque One. Be advised Isabella has been evacted. Request immediate evac for remaining friendly force-" Ryan was cut off by Silva busting in through the main door.

"Ryan, we got company! Two Omni's and a whole bunch of toads." Silva bent over trying to catch his breath. Ry looked at the hunched over solider and nodded grimly.

"How fast they coming?" He asked the winded trooper.

"I don't know... not very?" Ry crinkled up his brows in frustration and the jump-trooper added. "I mean, it doesn't look like they're in much of a hurry." Ry nodded again and keyed the transmit button on the radio.

"This is Barbeque one to any friendly forces out there. We have Wolf scouts bearing down on Lake Isablla from the East. Request immediate reinforcement or evac. Over? Anyone there? A f**k it!!" Ryan threw off the headphones in disgust and stormed across the room towards the door.

"Alright you two, get Grant and head for the hospital. Get to the roof just incase someone actually comes. I'll meet up with you shortly." Ryan then turned to run. "But what if nobody comes?" Asked Silva now that he had gotten his breathing under control.

"Pray they don't shoot up the hospital." He simply said and headed off towards the edge of town.

[roastpuff]

Mattheson Industrial Park
Saddleport, Sevren
19th November, 3051, 14:12 hours

“Sergeant Tang, this is Asfrid Malgalm, my 'Mech took a beating when the Dropship fell, and I'm trying to get it moving again. I haven’t heard or seen any other survivors. My laser system is useless, so I can't cut my way out yet. I'm not sure the bird can handle SRMs without collapsing.”

Donovan was excited to get a reply from the survivor inside the Dropship. This meant that there was another ‘Mech pilot available to reinforce the pitiful amount of forces remaining in Saddleport. However, the problem remained in how to get her out of the stuck Dropship. The infantry was still swarming around the top of one of the hatches, trying to figure out a way to trigger the manual release, but it looked like they were not going to be very successful in doing that. Before he could say anything though, laser light burst through the part of the hull hanging off the side of the parking structure and a section fell off. A radio transmission accompanied the light-show.

“Sergeant, I was able to remove a section of the hull without collapsing it, but I don't think my leg can withstand the drop down until I can fix my jumpjets. I'll get to work on that while you arrive. In the meantime, I'll lower my tow cables and try to find some help. Over”

“Acknowledged, Mafalgam. Be advised that there are friendly infantry on your hull so watch your laser fire. I’ll send some people up there to help you but they’re only infantry, we didn’t bring any techs with us,” replied Donovan. Directing a few members of the platoon down to the tow cables that she sent out, he moved his ‘Mech closer to see if he could help lift or carry anything with his hand manipulators.

A slim figure was sliding down one of the cables, and talking to the Corporal in charge of the platoon before they climbed back up inside the Dropship, presumably to see if they could fix the jumpjets of Mafalgam’s ‘Mech so she could get out of the Dropship. Donovan decided to try and speed things up or at least keep moving, so he called out over the radio again.

“Mafalgam, any chance of us retrieving the supplies from your Dropship? We could use rations, medical supplies, ammunition – anything would be useful, as we are cut off from resupply at the moment. You were carrying supplies for us when you were shot down. I have two hover APCs here and a hover scout tank that can carry supplies back to our staging area while we try to extricate your ‘Mechs. I’ll also have them fetch a tech to help with repairs to your ‘Mech, and possibly the others inside the Dropship as well.

“You can lower the supplies with the tow cables and I will set them aside for transport. I am also sending some more troops in to search for other survivors within the Dropship.”