Book2 BestLaidPlans PDF
Book2 BestLaidPlans PDF
Book2 BestLaidPlans PDF
By Michael Todd
In case any of you missed it, this is a fan-made book and has no association or
approval, implied or otherwise, from Topps, InMediaRes or Catalyst Game
Labs. No challenge to their trademarks, copyrights or other intellectual property is
implied.
No part of this work may be altered or sold for profit, nor otherwise circulated in
any form other than that in which it is published.
Chapter 1
Galatea
Lyran Commonwealth
3041
Colonel Jason Henley sat behind his gunmetal desk in his office on
Galatea. He'd outfitted their entire quarters straight from the local Lyran
military surplus store. It gave the place a sense of home. As he looked
around, it struck him that he'd basically cloned the entire setup from his
time with the Third Lyran Guards. Old habits, die hard.
He looked back down at the terminal screen. People were coming
out of the Periphery to join his newly founded unit. He was flooded with
personnel applications. He needed a MechWarrior, another tanker, and a
DropShip crew. Dawg need eight more soldiers to get his squad back up
to full strength. Let Dawg deal with those.
Unless he wanted to grow larger. He shoved that thought aside for
now, he needed to make some C-bills first.
Vega. He sighed. In the end, it had all been for nothing. His
former, and first, command, the Third Lyran Expeditionary force,
basically a reinforced lance, had destroyed a full company of Second
Legion Mechs outside of New Egypt, taking possession of a critical repair
and supply facility.
In retribution, the Second Legion launched a surprise attack on the
Third Lyran Guard field headquarters, destroying it.
After they had decimated the field HQ, they swung back around to
the depot. His reinforced lance held off a heavy company of Second
Legion 'Mechs, led by their Commanding Officer. Who, incidentally, had
been piloting an 80-ton Hatamoto-Chi which, at the time, had never before
been seen.
The ensuing melee cost him his command. When all was said and
done, all of his 'Mechs were destroyed, including the two from the
surviving members of the field headquarters. He'd lost the hovertank, and
a third of the Jump Infantry as well. Dozer was killed, eight of Dawg's
men dead, and Hamilton was so badly injured that after a year of
reconstructive surgery, he was now practically a cyborg.
They'd all been shipped back to Skye afterwards. It wasn't long
after that, the tides turned on Vega and the Third Lyran, along with
Rhonda's Irregulars, we're forced off the planet. They'd held Vega, for
what, a matter of months?
The whole affair was packaged up, all neat and tidy. Now it was
referred to as the War of 3039.
Still, he owed his current situation to that war. He'd struck a deal
with the Irregulars while he was there. He'd turn a blind eye to their
activities, give them the Star League prototype CLNT 1-2R they'd
captured and in exchange they'd transport the other salvage he'd omitted
from the post-battle report off planet for him to pick up later, although he
swore he only received a fraction of the parts and munitions they had
taken from when theyd originally captured the supply depot.
Ok, so it wasn't his proudest moment in uniform. But you can't
slam the door in the face of opportunity, so he'd taken it.
His subsequent and successful defense of the supply depot had
allowed the Irregular's DropShip, the Junk Yard, to land directly at the
StarPort in New Egypt with only the local garrison left to oppose
them. It had been an easy victory. The last such victory of the campaign
in retrospect.
Anyway, true to their word, once his tour of duty was over, there
were six salvaged Kurita BattleMechs waiting for him on Galatea. Except
they weren't salvage anymore. For whatever reason, the Irregulars had
seen fit to repair and repaint them all. Fully functional. A Shadowhawk,
Griffin, a replacement CLNT-2-3T Clint, Panther, Jenner, and the prize,
an 85-ton Battlemaster assault Mech with an extraordinary rare command
console.
It had been the Kurita company commander's 'Mech. Luckily,
when they had initially assaulted the supply depot, it was in the hangar
undergoing repairs. It never even made it onto the battlefield.
But that wasn't all. The Irregulars had also left him a battered
Leopard-class DropShip. All the weapons had been stripped off and it
smelled funny for some mysterious reason,but he wasnt about to
complain.
Since then, he'd sold both the Panther and the Jenner to establish a
war chest to help get his new unit started.
He'd already sunk a good two million C-bills into the Leopard just
to get it to fly again. Well worth it, though. A good unit can haul its own
butt around. And most importantly, now he could conduct combat drops
or land on a hostile planet, something a commercial hire would never do,
or in the very least, charge outrageous fees to do so.
All he needed now was the right contract.
---
"What do you mean, multiple beams?" Sigil was bent over
examining the innards of a seven ton heavy laser. "Man, this sucker is
big!"
An immaculately dressed, heavily tattooed oriental man stood
nearby.
He furrowed his eyebrows, long since tired of repeating the
explanation.
"Think of it as multiple lasers all packaged together. Each
individual beam fires for a brief moment, then a second beam briefly fires,
followed by a third. This pattern is repeated, creating a pulsing
effect. Hence the name, pulse laser. 306,250 C-bills. Non-negotiable."
Sigil studied the nearby technical readout intently, his smile
changing over to a frown as he continued to read.
"It's only good for 300m. It creates 25% more heat and only does
marginally more damage. I don't get it."
The man looked annoyed. "The rapid cycling of the laser makes it
track more like a typical machine gun. You could, for example, walk your
fire to the target as opposed to having it correctly targeted before
firing. This makes it a considerably more accurate weapon system,
especially when moving at high speeds or jumping."
Sigil's mouth formed an O as he nodded vigorously.
"Why didn't you just say so in the first place!"
The tattooed man didn't bother to dignify his comment.
Sigil's mind was racing a mile a minute. Improved accuracy was
exactly what he needed. His lance mates were forever teasing him about
his poor gunnery. Sadly, with good reason too. He flunked gunnery back
at Sanglamore, although at this point that seemed like forever ago.
Hmm. That laser generated almost as much heat as a particle
cannon. If he hit his Clint's Andoran jump jets and fired that thing, the
heat created would be enough to slow his 'Mech down instantly by a good
10 kph. Worse, if he added his two Martells, his targeting would be
affected as well. Do it twice and he'd be shutting down in the middle of
combat again.
He shook his head. "Nice weapon but my Clint can't take that kind
of heat. It'd shut me down."
The man in the suit actually smiled, revealing a pair of golden
teeth, and motioned for him to follow.
He stopped in front of what looked like an unusually large
BattleMech heat sink.
"This heat pump is made from a crystalline polymer instead of the
traditional graphite based materials you are undoubtedly familiar
with. The crystalline polymer is significantly lighter, albeit more bulky,
allowing the coolant to disburse its heat over a much larger surface
area. Notice the size of the radiator. This unit dissipates 200% more heat
when compared to a standard heat pump, allowing you to effectively
eliminate twice the heat for the same weight. It is our most popular
item. Ten for 250,000 C-bills. All of our prices are non-negotiable."
Sigil bent down to examine it. Definitely bulkier. They probably
wouldn't fit them into the legs, head, or even the engine
compartment. Still, the Clint had ample torso space, and in any case, most
of the heat sinks were integrated directly into the Pitban 240 fusion
engine.
He stood back up, looking at the Oriental man. "You need special
coolant to run these things?"
"No. The efficiency is derived primarily from the increased size of
the radiator. You can use standard coolant."
Sigil did the math. "A cool 556,250 C-bills for the pulse laser and
a set of these improved heat sinks." He whistled. "That's real money."
The man casually flicked his wrist, an electronic business card
appearing in it. He handed it to Sigil.
"This contains my contact information and a ComStar account
number for deposits if you wish to do business. Availability varies for
each component on a day-to-day basis. Good day."
He escorted him out of the warehouse.
---
"Do you have any idea how much it costs to keep this unit
running!?" Colonel Henley was getting his rage on.
"239,629 C-bills per month! Almost one million C-bills every four
months! Four million C-bills a year! And I've already sunk two million
C-bills into the Leopard just so we could have something to haul our sorry
asses around in!
"And, have we actually done anything
yet?! No. Nothing. Zilch. Zero. Unless you count cavorting with Mech
bunnies or shooting down PPCs at the local watering hole! And guess
what that pays, Leutnant? Big Fat Nothing. Which is exactly what you're
going to get.
"I can't believe you have the audacity to stroll in here, having done
absolutely nothing, and ask for half a million C-bills to give to some
organized criminal syndicate in hopes they'll slip you a little tech!"
The Colonel suddenly launched to his feet, his fists pounding on
his desk. Wow, it looked exactly like his old desk, Sigil thought
randomly. Is this some kind of bizarre flashback?
"No. The answer is no. No. No. No. Now get out before I come
right over this desk and bust your butt back to Private with my fist!"
No sense fighting when he's in one of his moods.
"Yes, Haupt... uh... Colonel, sir! Immediately, sir! Yes, sir!"
Sigil fled.
Colonel Henley settled back down into his standard Lyran military
issue rolling swivel chair.
He should have known getting promoted to Colonel meant
logistics and paperwork. A lot of it.
Colonel. The rank seemed to come as part of a mercenary unit
when you founded it. Apparently it didn't matter how large, how small,
good, bad, ugly, whatever. You found a mercenary unit, automatic
Colonel.
Or as he was quickly coming to think of it, Chief Toilet Paper
Orderer. Wonderful. Colonel means you have to worry about what your
troops have to wipe their asses with. Beautiful.
The terminal on his desk flashed, emitting a brief monotone. He
looked down, thankful for the distraction.
---
The man who entered Colonel Henley's office wore the bars of a
MechWarrior in the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces. The black
triangle on his collar signified his rank as Hauptmann-Kommandant. The
name "Saxon" was embroidered on his khaki uniform.
"Good afternoon, Colonel Henley. I understand you have some
questions regarding Contract #8634HH7."
"Have a seat Hauptmann-Kommandant." Henley gestured to a
swivel chair, identical to his own, opposite his desk as he continued to
speak.
"You stipulate Liaison Command Rights in the
contract. Elaborate."
"Standard operating procedure, Colonel. Assuming you take an
LCAF JumpShip, I'll remain onboard while you make the drop onto
Carbonis. I'll monitor your progress on both the primary and secondary
objectives. As you know from the contract, the destruction of the IMB
warehouse fulfills your obligation but we are also offering a substantial
bonus if you can cripple or even destroy the main IMB production
lines. If you pursue the secondary, I will make the damage assessment
which determines the amount of that bonus."
The Lyran major leaned back in his swivel chair. "Don't worry,
Colonel, I'm not here to tell you how to do your job or to micromanage
your unit. Strictly an observer."
"What Intelligence can you provide regarding the IMB
installations?"
"If you agree to the contract, we will provide satellite imagery of
the facility and Tharkads best guess as to the disposition and makeup of
the Ninth Marik Militia."
Colonel Henley leaned across his desk. "If I take this mission, I'll
have to conduct either a combat drop or land my DropShip in hostile
territory. 115,000 C-bills for transport won't even come close to covering
my risk and I doubt a commercial hire would even be willing. Would the
LCAF provide DropShip transport as well?"
"How about 230,000 C-bills in transportation
remuneration? Youre correct. This operation carries significantly more
risk than most contracts. It's certainly not garrison duty or pirate
hunting. I believe that is reflected in the base pay of 2.39 million and we
would prefer not to furnish a DropShip."
"Battle Loss Compensation of 20%. Does that include my
DropShip?"
The major paused a moment. "Normally, Colonel, it would
not. It's specifically limited to battlefield damage only. Given this is an
objective raid, I may be willing to write in an exception covering your
DropShip, specifically in the event it is damaged while conducting combat
operations."
Henley sat back in his chair. "Don't get me wrong, Hauptmann-
Kommandant, the terms you are offering are generous. Full Salvage rights
and the potential for a very lucrative bonus are all quite attractive."
"I'll tell you what, Colonel, if you take this contract, I'll cover your
DropShip under Battle Loss Compensation and up the Transport
Remuneration to 230,000 in exchange for modifying your Salvage Rights
from Full to Exchange."
Colonel Henley stood up, extending his hand across his
desk. "Thank you for your time, Hauptmann-Kommandant. I'll let you
know my decision in the next few days."
Hauptmann-Kommandant Matt Saxon stood up, shaking Henley's
hand with a firm tight grip. Looking directly into his eyes, he added, "I
hope you will. It was only the recommendation from Rhonda's Irregulars
on file with the Mercenary Review Board that even got you onto the
potential list of LCAF contractors. We wouldn't normally consider a
newly formed unit for this kind of mission."
---
"Man, I need some cash," Sigil muttered to himself as he paced
back and forth in front of his Clint. All it had on it was a gray primer
coat. Well, he had two options really.
First, he could try to hide the quarter million C-bills for the
newtech heat sinks in the repair and refit order the Colonel had asked him
to pull together. The entire order would likely come out to about a million
C-bills in armor, weapons, ammunition, myomer, structure, sensor kits,
actuators, and all the various pieces and parts needed to maintain and
repair the unit's four BattleMechs.
Doubtful it'd work, though. The Colonel had been obsessing about
money ever since he'd signed the lease on their new digs here on the
Mercenary Star. He'd nickel and dime his Purchase Requisition to
death. The man was so tight they were using single ply toilet paper.
Sigil chuckled to himself. When he'd remarked on that in the
lounge, the Colonel had looked him straight in the eye and said, "If your
ass is that sensitive, Leutnant, fold it in half."
Not that he'd admit it to anyone, but that's exactly what he'd been
doing ever since.
Anyway, the Colonel would catch him if he padded up the supply
order that much, if not immediately, then definitely later. Then, there'd be
hell to pay.
Ya, that might get the whole unit pissed at him. Better scratch that
idea.
That left the Games. Which he knew instinctively was a bad
idea. But the allure of the forbidden pulls as inexorably as a black hole.
And sucks you down the rabbit hole.
---
Sigil tried to look casual as he strolled into the barracks. All the
MechWarriors had their own private quarters but Dawg's jump infantry
shared a huge common space. He had said something about team
cohesion, predicting each others movements, reading minds, and some
other such nonsense. It looked to him like they were just sleeping and
showering together.
Dawg's brawny, heavily muscled form was cleaning his field
stripped Mauser 9000 assault rifle. An Imperator sub-machine gun,
Sternsacht heavy pistol, a holdout needler, wasn't that illegal?,
vibrodagger, and a collection of smaller knives were laid out in perfect
order on the table next to the cleaning supplies and rags. Some kind of
card game was going on at another table further away.
Just looking at Dawg intimidated Sigil. Even the smell of the
barracks was intimidating. Nothing but gun oil and sweat.
"Uh..., hey. Dawg. I mean, err, Captain Dawg." Dammit, he
was already turning red.
Sigil paused, took a deep breath and tried again. "Hello, sir."
Dawg kicked out a chair from under the table sending it screaming
towards him. "Sit down, and stop with all the formal crap, Sig. Whadda
ya want?"
Sigil managed to stop the chair an instant before it would have
smashed into his most sensitive area. He quickly sat down.
"How'd you know I want something?"
"I told ya before, Sig. I read minds. And yours is like an open
book. You should plays cards with the guys back there sometime. They'd
love you." Dawg flipped his thumb over his shoulder towards the group
of marines behind him laughing.
"No thanks, I uh..., don't play cards. I'm not the gambling
type. Besides, I'm flat broke. Actually, that's why I came to see you. I
need, uhh..., I mean I was wondering if you'd be willing to help me out?"
Dawg narrowed his eyes as he looked Sigil over, his hands
continuing to mechanically clean his assault rifle, having long ago
memorized the required movements.
It wasn't that unusual of a request. Everybody knew he was
independently wealthy. His father owned Bulldog Enterprise's TKG-150
Tokugawa production plant on Northwind. The Tokugawa was a wheeled
60-ton heavy tank sporting a SarLon MaxiCannon AC/10.
Sure, it wasn't the most inspiring design, but anyone who sold
military hardware these days was a rich, rich man. The Inner Sphere's
appetite for destruction was voracious and it chewed up and spit out men
and machines just as fast as they could be trained or manufactured.
Kitten knew he was loaded too, that was for sure. She was forever
dropping not so subtle hints about her dream of being an Aerospace
pilot. Normally he might be tempted, but unfortunately for her, that meant
she wouldn't be able to ferry his squad around in her Ripper VTOL
anymore. And he wasn't giving up his ride.
His hands began automatically reassembling his Mauser
9000. "How much you need, Sig, and for how long?"
Sigil's hands flew up defensively as he shook his head back and
forth. "Oh! No, no! I mean, I'm not here for a loan, Dawg. I just wanted
to know if you...," Sigil's eyes began darting about the barracks, "wanted
to, uh, go somewhere with me. I mean, you know, if you're not doing
anything later tonight." His wandering eyes returned to Dawg's face who
looked terribly amused.
Dawg actually stopped putting his assault rifle back together and
crossed his thick, corded arms over his chest. "Stop pussy footing around
the place, Sigil. If you want my help, you gotta speak english. What
kinda trouble are you in now or are you asking me out on a date?"
Sigil looked suspiciously around at all the other troopers in the
barracks, his face already flushed bright red.
Dawg frowned. "Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in
front of any of my men. We're all like one great hive mind. So spit it out
or I'll spit you right outta here for wasting my time."
Sigil took a steadying breath. "You know they run games here on
Galatea. Out in some of the far flung training fields surrounding the
Hiring Hall. One-on-one 'Mech versus 'Mech combat. You've probably
seen some of the holovids. I think they do individual man-on-man
personal combat too, Ultimate Fighting Championship kinda stuff and
who knows what else. I'm..., uh..., going out there tonight and I wandered
if you might come along with me. It's, you know, kind of a rough crowd
out there." He gave Dawg a pleading look.
Dawg's voice boomed out across the barracks. "Operation
Carnival. Primary Objective: Keep Sigil alive. Secondary: Watch
expensive customized military hardware get blown into scrap by desperate
down on their luck MechWarriors. Men and women fight each other to
the death for cold hard cash using martial styles from throughout the Inner
Sphere. Get drunk and lie with women of ill repute. Anyone interested?"
In perfect unison every marine in the barracks jumped
simultaneously to their feet, turning towards their Captain, saluted and
said, "Yes, Sir!" They remained standing at attention, Dawg hadn't even
turned around to look.
"Give me the when and the where Sigil. Looks like we're all
going. Can't let you Mechjocks hog up all the fun like you do the
glory. Happy now? I don't think anyone'll be stupid enough to mess with
you when you've got a platoon of anti-Mech jump infantry at your
back. They know we're as crazy as hell and just as fearless.
Somehow Sigil didn't look entirely pleased. He leaned over the
table saying to Dawg in a low voice, "Uh..., I'm one of the desperate down
on their luck MechWarriors."
Chapter 2
Galatea
Lyran Commonwealth
3041
Chapter 3
Galatea
Lyran Commonwealth
3041
Chapter 4
Galatea
Lyran Commonwealth
3041
Chapter 5
Galatea
Lyran Commonwealth
3041
Chapter 6
Galatea
Lyran Commonwealth
3041
Captain Varukka Salt was striding smartly towards the Colonels
office. She had a lot on her mind. Shed just requisitioned almost
200,000 C-bills worth of long range missiles and another 120,000 for four
new ablative drop cocoons for the upcoming raid. Spanner was still on the
Shadowfax getting the old DropShip ready for departure. Well, as ready
as shed get anyway.
Kerensky, she hated presenting bills to the CO.
Ahead, she saw the Tech just coming out of the Colonels
office. As he drew closer, she noticed his thousand yard stare. And he
was coming straight at her.
She shifted to one side of the hallway, then clipped him with her
shoulder as he passed, spinning him roughly around almost a good 180
degrees.
She yelled angrily, Hey! Tech! Watch where the hell youre
going would you!
He whirled suddenly on her and she didnt like what she saw in his
face one bit. Shed seen it before. The dangerous look of a feral, half-
crazed man about to come unhinged.
The Colonel appeared in the doorway of his office. Let it go,
Captain Salt. Please come in. He gestured into his office.
She strode quickly into the Colonels office leaving the Tech
standing alone in the hallway.
---
Sigil roared into the lounge, fixing Leutnant Weddle with a gaze as
sharp as daggers and full with the promise of violence.
You dirty little snitch! You ratted me out to the Colonel, you
bastard! He stalked across the lounge, closing on Weddle.
All this time youve just been pretending to be my friend. All the
while, youve been spying on me for the Colonel, you traitorous rat!
Weddle got up from his chair, standing, arm crossed as Sigil
approached threateningly.
Sigil sneered. I hope youre happy. The Colonel just pulled me
out of Lizzie. Im the units new glorified radio operator.
He came lunging at Weddle, throwing a haymaker at his face as he
flung himself forward.
Weddle dropped instantly into a defensive crouch, easily ducking
the wild punch and retaliating with two quick strikes to Sigils exposed
solar plexus.
Sigil instantly went down hard, the wind knocked completely out
of him. Chairs fell over all around, as he rolled around on the ground
trying to regain his breath.
Weddle stood over his prone form, smirking. The only thing that
sucks worse than your gunnery, Sig, is your unarmed combat.
Enraged, Sigil launched himself from the ground, wrapping both of
his arms around Weddles waist as he tackled him.
Smashing into the table behind them, they slid across its surface,
Sigil pounding Weddles stomach as Weddle socked him in the eye.
The table gave way, its surface simply splitting down the middle,
spilling both combatants to the ground with an earsplitting crash as they
continued to wail on one another.
Dawg, Hamilton, Kitten, and McMillan, alerted by the racket, all
suddenly pulled up just shy of the lounge as they saw the brawl in
progress.
Weddle had finally managed to get on top of Sigil, pinning his
arms to the ground. Sigils left eye was already beginning to swell up.
Dawg barked out. I think thats enough! Both of you! Now
clean this mess up! On the double!
Dawg turned, looking down the hallway. Colonel Henley and
Captain Salt were approaching. He called out, Sorry for the interruption,
Colonel. Everythings under control. Mechanical failure.
The Colonel stopped, giving Dawg a long quizzical look. Then he
snapped a crisp 180 degree turn and he and the DropShip captain returned
to his office.
---
Corporal Southers still marveled at how he got here. It just goes to
show the difference going to the right academy makes. Hed graduated
from Sanglamore, took a commission with the Eighth Donegal Guards and
then been promptly shipped out right into the middle of the War of 3039.
And not just any commission either. Hed gone straight into a
frontline assault lance where hed been assigned an antiquated 80-ton
STC-2S Striker. There hadnt been a new Striker made since 2867 when
the Stormvanger assembly lines on Caph had been
destroyed. Stormvanger Assemblies was also the same company that
made the better-known 90-ton Cyclops. They were both rare Mechs but
the Striker was by far more uncommon. In fact, some people just blinked
dumbly at him when he told them he piloted one.
Armed with a Hellstar particle cannon, a Defiance Killer class 10
autocannon and a trio of medium lasers it demanded respect. The 13.5
tons of armor didnt hurt either. A less tangible advantage was the fact it
was a relatively unknown chassis. He suspected hed caught more than
one Snake off guard with its rare design.
Not that it ended up making much of a difference. The Eighth had
run smack into one of the so-called DCMS Ghost Regiments. Yeah,
hed learned a thing or two about unusual Mechs during the Altais
campaign himself. Guillotine, Black Knight, Kintaro, Daboku, the First
Ghost had been full of surprises, all of them unpleasant.
Ultimately, the Eighth, supported by both the Dragonslayers and
the legendary Gray Death Legion, succeeded in taking the planet from the
First and Second Ghost. Theyd paid for it, though. And his Striker had
ended up as part of the bill. One of the resurrected Guillotines as a matter
of fact had brought him down. Who expected the Dracs to be fielding a
70-ton Mech with jump jets? I mean, the DCMS stripped the jump jets
off their own Phoenix Hawks, right?
Like with everything else about the War of 3039, in the end it
didnt matter. A successful DCMS counterstrike ended up cutting off
Altais from their supply lines. After paying in blood and Mechs the
Eighth and their mercenary allies simply packed up and left. The Eighth
returned to Sevren and that was that, the war was over.
When the Eighth didnt assign him a new Mech immediately, he
took it as a sign. Theyd lost at least a third of their fighting strength on
Altais and there was every indication there would be a long refitting
period next. So when his tour was finished, he just rotated out instead of
waiting around to see what would happen next.
Thats how hed ended up here on Galatea, the Mercenary
Star. He knew he was a good pilot. Plus, he had combat experience with a
respected house line unit. He wasnt quite ready to walk away from the
cockpit, so he figured hed spend a year or two on the Star and see if
anything developed. It was a long shot considering he was Dispossessed,
but not an impossibility.
Hed already been on the circuit for more months then hed care to
admit when he found out the 69th Expeditionary was hiring. Hed put off
following up on it for a while. He was still hoping to land a Mech with
an established and well-respected unit. One with a history behind it. Hed
really hoped the Grey Death Legion would take him on but that hadnt
panned out. Neither had the Kell Hounds, the Eridani Light Horse or the
Northwind Highlanders. Ok, sure, hed aimed high right out of the gate,
but who wouldnt?
So, eventually, hed found his way into Colonel Jason Henleys
office. The Colonel had noticed his dark green silk sash immediately. He
still wore it for some reason. It marked him as a graduate of Sanglamore
on Skye. Anyway, turned out all the MechWarriors in the 69th were
Sanglamore graduates. Well, when I say all, that really just means
four. The 69th consisted of a single lance, two jump infantry squads, a
pair of VTOLs and a Leopard-class DropShip. Yeah. Small.
But amazingly, the Colonel had spare Mechs. Not just one, but
two. A Commando and a Hatchetman. The Colonel did his due diligence,
called the references hed provided who were still in the Eighth Donegal,
verified his Sanglamore transcripts, reviewed his combat sims,and then
offered him a chance to get back into the cockpit.
Naturally hed accepted and just as naturally picked the heavier of
the two Mechs, the 45-ton Hatchetman. After Sanglamore, he was
terminally sick of Commandos. The ironic thing was that Sigil, a fellow
Sanglamore grad, had retrofitted the Commandos TharHes Star Shark
targeting and tracking system into the Hatchetman. Consequently, he felt
right at home in the cockpit even though hed never piloted a Hatchetman
before. Not only that, hed actually improved the Star Shark. It was a
surprisingly nice ride.
And not just the improved electronics. He was caught even more
off guard when he found out it carried one of the new LB 10-X
autocannons. It had to be black market. That grade of hardware was
house military only and even then it was restricted to only their elite
units. The 69th might be a new unit but they were sure starting out with
top-of-the-line tech. Rumor was the Colonel was some kind of landed
gentry back on his home planet. Well, the money must have come from
somewhere.
For him, in the end it all came down to just one thing.
He wasnt dispossessed anymore.
---
The command staff of the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force filed
into the conference room. One wall was dominated by composite satellite
imagery of the IMB factory complex on Carbonis that had been provided
by the LCAF.
Their target.
The various captains arrived first. Varukka Salt, the captain of
Shadowfax, the units Leopard-class Dropship was the first to
arrive. Wearing her trademark rust colored leather body suit, stunstick at
her side, she reclined back into her seat, sipping coffee.
The infantry captains were next. Dawg entered dressed in his
BDUs and on his heels was Ernie McMillan, a recent addition to the
unit. Ernie was in a crisp black dress uniform. Not a single identifying
mark on it. No name, no rank, no unit insignia, nothing. Only the military
cut of the uniform gave any indication he was armed forces. Black Ops
and he looked the part. They both sat down next to each other already
beginning to examine the satellite intelligence.
Next came Leutnant Weddle and Leutnant Hamilton, both
chuckling as they entered. Coffee in one hand, donut in the other, they
had the rumpled appearance of someone just waking up. They plopped
down into a pair of chairs, looking around at the others. Weddles eyes
paused and lingered on Salt for just a moment too long. She turned to
meet his interested look with a pair of eyes as cold as ice, challenging him
to continue to hold his gaze. He quickly shifted off her, pretending to
study their target, the IMB warehouse.
The click of the Colonels immaculate dress shoes was
unmistakable to them all by now. Moments later he strode into the
conference room, his eyes taking in his assembled command staff as he
closed the door behind him.
He frowned. Weddle and Hamilton both straightened up in their
chairs, their smiles replaced with looks of studious interest.
The Colonel was armed with a long antique maple pointer. It
snapped with a crack against the enormous display behind him.
This is the IMB factory complex on Carbonis in the Free Worlds
League. They produce as many as eight different BattleMech targeting
and tracking systems. The systems are assembled here. There was
another crack as his pointer smacked against a large fortified factory
building.
The pointer slid down towards a smaller building nearby. After
they are assembled, they are warehoused here in this structure
approximately 250m away.
A prolonged groan sounded from the door to the conference
room. Sigil, wearing a huge, ridiculous pair of aviator shades, was
suddenly the center of attention as he was caught trying to slip into the
mission briefing unnoticied. He froze as seven different sets of eyes
transfixed him.
The Colonel cleared his throat. Sigils mouth began to open but
the Colonel cut him off before he could get a word out.
As I was saying, this is the production and assembly area. 250m
away, here, is the warehouse where the systems are stored prior to being
shipped off planet. This, here, houses the power generators for the entire
complex.
And this is how were going to destroy the entire facility. He
paused, making eye contact with each of his seven officers before
continuing.
The LCAF JumpShip will be using a pirate navigational point to
get us as close to the planet as possible. Captain Salt will then conduct a
hard burn to make planet fall at 02:00. Ive received additional
intelligence from the DMI indicating there is a navigational satellite in
geo-synchronous orbit over the target area. As we enter the atmosphere,
we will attempt to take control of that asset to provide us with detailed
topographical information for the area and potentially a real-time feed of
the battlefield depending on its scanning capabilities.
The DMI also indicated a high likelihood of hardened
weaponized turrets around the main factory building. Possibly between
three and seven such turrets.
Once we enter the atmosphere, Leutnant Weddle, Leutnant
Hamilton, Corporal Southers and myself will all drop from ablative
cocoons to the planetary surface. If all goes well, Hamilton, Southers and
I will land adjacent to the power generators, while Weddle will land near
the storage facility. If turrets are indeed present and active, the power
generators will be the primary target. If not, we will instead proceed to
attack the factory itself, engaging other targets as required. Lt. Weddle
will provide cover fire and engage targets of opportunity.
After deploying the Mechs, Captain Salt will continue her
descent and once she reaches low altitude open the bay doors to allow the
jump infantry to deploy. They will land here and here, near the initial
position of Leutnant Weddles Griffin. They will storm the warehouse, set
explosives and blow the structure as quickly as conditions allow. Satellite
imagery indicates it is not a reinforced or heavy structure.
Captain Salt will then conduct a strafing run against the main
factory structure. It is critical the turrets, if present, are disabled before
she makes her attack, otherwise there is a significant possibly our transport
will be damaged. The Colonel paused a moment to let the gravity of the
situation sink in.
A successful strafing run will roughly cut the time required to
destroy the factory in half. Time is our enemy, people. DMI estimates a
company of Mechs onsite. Carbonis, as a whole, is host to the entire
Ninth Marik Militia, including a full BattleMech regiment. You can be
sure there is at least another company of Mechs not too far away.
Using the information from the navigational satellite, Captain Salt
will then proceed to locate the nearest suitable landing location. Once
grounded, the Ripper and the Nightshade will launch to provide advanced
warning of any other approaching units. Shadowfax will be essentially
defenseless at this point.
Once the factory is destroyed, the two VTOLs will recover the
infantry and we will make best possible speed to the LZ. We lift off, dock
with LCAF JumpShip and depart the system.
The Colonel scanned all of the assembled faces. This plan relies
on speed and surprise. It is essential we avoid a long protracted
fight. Remember the objective of this mission is the destruction of the
industrial complex.
Crack! His maple pointer bounced off the image of the assembly
plant as he repeated, The industrial complex. Period.
We will take a fifteen minute break and then reconvene for
discussion. He walked over to the attached data terminal, swiping his
finger across the screen. The satellite image of IMB Systems disappeared.
Chapter 7
Carbonis
Free World Leagues
3042
Sigil was nervous sitting high and behind the Colonel in the
Battlemasters command console. Strapped into an ablative drop cocoon
with a single hardwire connection to the DropShips communication
system, it felt lonely too. Especially after the close confines during the
transit here.
Even after Spanner had made extensive modifications to the two
aerospace bays, there was simply no getting around the fact the Leopard-
class just wasnt designed to transport infantry squads in addition to
BattleMechs. Consequently, the 69th Expeditionary had been tripping
over each others feet for over three weeks now.
And the smell. The reclamation and sanitation systems had been
pushed to their absolute limits, probably over their limits, frankly. When
you added it all up, jumping off the DropShip into the high altitude
atmosphere of a hostile planet in an 85-ton war machine with no jump jets
suddenly didnt seem like such a terrible idea.
Captain Salts feminine voice interrupted his thoughts.
Standby to enter planetary atmosphere. Make sure all gear is
properly stowed and secured.
The LCAF JumpShip had entered the system using a pirate
point. He had to hand that much to the LCAF Captain. Shed successfully
calculated the jump solution otherwise they wouldnt be here right
now. Always a risky move, a single miscalculation and who knew what
would happen but it was a safe bet that it wouldnt be anything good.
A high-speed burn followed the jump to Carbonis and, anytime
now, the high altitude combat drop would commence. Even densely
wrapped in the drop cocoon, Sigil felt Shadowfax buck as they hit the
atmosphere. Captain Salts voice came over the com once more.
Encountering significant turbulence. Ive got major winds up
here and the scanner surface winds in excess of 60 kph. If youre going to
make target, its going to be one hell of a rough ride. Otherwise, I can
shed altitude, circle back around and try again. On the bright side, it ought
to keep their aerospace fighters grounded. Colonel?
Understood, Captain. Commence drop as planned. Repeat. Drop
on initial pass. We will correct mid-fall as necessary. Over.
Sigil shifted uncomfortably in his command couch. Colonel
Henley addressed him within the confines of their shared cockpit.
Lt. Sigil, I want you to pilot the drop. You have more experience
handling jump jet controls than I and youre an excellent pilot. Get us on
the ground in one piece and Ill take over the controls from there. Once
we land, you will be managing the tactical situation and handling
coordination between our Mechs, the infantry, the VTOLs and Captain
Salt. You know the battle plan. Make sure its executed properly.
Sigil saw the reflection of the Colonels face against the canopys
glassteel. The Colonel was actually smiling as he added, Ill be
concentrating on the destruction of the factory complex and anything
foolish enough to get within range.
Captain Salt came over the comlink, beginning the
countdown. Opening Mech bay doors in Time minus 30 seconds.
T minus 10
T minus 5
4
3
2
Bay doors open.
1
---
There are two distinct phases to a combat drop. First, controlling
the fall. Second, the landing. And that didnt even count the shedding of
the ablative cocoon. Sigil found his hands full right from the start.
Salt hadnt done them any favors on the drop. The bucking
DropShip had basically thrown the 85-ton war machine out of the Mech
bay. Consequently, their angle of attack was way off right out of the gate.
Altimeter, fuel gauge and a false horizon were the extent of the
avionics on the drop cocoon. Oh, and of course the ground proximity
warning just in case you werent aware of the ground rushing up to meet
you and needed a little reminder.
Sigil brought the Mechs legs underneath its main bulk, canting
forward about thirty degrees as he started a long burn with the strap-on
jump jets. As the Battlemaster began to slow, he brought its torso and
head slowly into alignment with its legs. Not bad.
Suddenly, the proximity klaxon started screaming. Reflexively,
Sigil bore down hard on the jump jets. Hed always piloted Mechs with
jump capability, so it was instinctive to hit the jump jets whenever any
kind of unexpected trouble occurred.
Usurper! Had it taken that long to get lined up!?
He flexed the assault Mechs legs hoping to at least take the edge
off the impact. He could see the lights of the IMB factory complex clearly
now. Four long spears of light were tracing seemingly random patterns
across the night sky.
Searchlights. Well, you couldnt exactly hide 2,000 tons worth of
DropShip now could you?
Brace for landing!
He never let off the jump pack.
With a bone jarring impact, the 85-ton Mech hit the ferrocrete
pavement surrounding one of the IMB buildings. Both knees bent as he
shot out the Mechs left arm to stabilize their landing. Chunks of
ferrocrete exploded around them, surrounding them with a haze of
swirling dust particles as they drove over a meter deep into the ground.
Sigil winced, minor damage to both legs.
The Colonels voice broke his concentration. Im assuming
BattleMech control.
Sigil directed his attention to the Hartford XKZ 1 as he flipped the
COM 4000 over to the encrypted command frequency.
Status Report. Over.
Captain Salt was first, Rear bay doors open. Infantry drop in
progress. On target in 30 seconds. Over.
Weddle. Over. His voice was mixed with the sounds of nearby
explosions. Count four, repeat four, active weapon turrets on the main
factory building, numerous spotlights active as well. Im taking heavy
missile fire. Likely LRM-20s. Over.
Sigil was thrown back against the command couch as the Colonel
unleashed the full firepower of the assault in a single blinding
flash. Sections of the building visible through the Mechs glassteel
canopy were pulverized, leaving gaping holes and gashes all along its
exterior.
Salt abruptly cut in. Colonel, you better have those turrets
powered down by the time I conduct my strafing run if you plan on getting
a ride back off this planet. Otherwise She left it hanging.
Sigil quickly scanned the targeting system. Actually, her drop was
pretty good. Theyd landed on target, adjacent to the IMB power
generators. Hamiltons Shadowhawk and Southers Hatchetman were
within a hundred meters of his current position. Weddles Griffin was due
south, near the warehouse.
So far so good.
Thank Kerensky the XKZ 1 had target identification. Between the
near darkness and the looming industrial buildings blocking his line-of-
sight, visual identification would have been nearly impossible. As it was,
four targets were glowing red and neatly labeled.
A QKD-4G Quickdraw was just on the far side of the generators,
about 150m northeast. A HER-2S Hermes II was off to their right 120m, a
SHD-2H Shadowhawk 120m to their rear and further back a UM-R60
Urbanmech near Weddles Griffin.
He flipped the com open. Ive got four enemy Mechs! A
Quickdraw and Hermes II by the power generators and a Shadow Hawk to
our rear. Weddle, watch for that UrbanMech over by you!
Chapter 8
Carbonis
Free World Leagues
3042
Chapter 9
Carbonis
Free World Leagues
3042
Chapter 10
Carbonis
Free Worlds League
3042
Chapter 11
Carbonis
Free Worlds League
3042
Chapter 12
Carbonis
Free Worlds League
3042
Chapter 13
Carbonis
3042
Free Worlds League
Epilogue
In transit to Galatea
3042
The Colonel had just returned to Shadowfax after meeting with the
LCAF liaison officer aboard the Lyran JumpShip. The liaison officer had
congratulated him on his units performance and had told him straight out
that he was going to recommend the 69th be awarded the full 5,000,000 C-
bill bonus. The battle holovids had been proof enough that warehouse,
power generators, and the factory itself had all sustained heavy damage. It
would likely be a year at the earliest before IMB systems could again
produce anything at the factory site.
Looks like there was going to be shortage of targeting and
tracking systems in the Free Worlds League, Henley chuckled to
himself.
He was taking advantage of the transit time back to Galatea to
complete his personnel evaluations. Captain Salt had proved herself more
than up to the job. Shed conducted a successful combat drop followed by
a strafing run against the factory. The four flights of LRMs that struck
Shadowfaxs port wing had dispelled any lingering doubts hed had about
either her piloting or the crews ability to affect field repairs and get the
DropShip back into the air and off planet. And her engineer certainly had
the Midas touch with the drive system. He suspected it had been a bit
more touch and go then she had let on.
Dawgs anti-Mech jump infantry had stepped up as well. Theyd
blown the warehouse, finished off the Marik Urbanmech and then turned
around and engaged the Wasp as well. There were losses of course, there
always were among the ground pounders. Still, a 20% mortality rate was
actually pretty good for infantry.