Marion’s Misfits
“Origins”
“In the news, units of Sun-Tzu Liao’s Cappellan
Confederation Armed Forces have moved to occupy more territory in the St. Ives
compact. Details are sketchy but there
have been confirmed reports of widespread fierce fighting for control of
Denbar, Nashuar, and St.Loris. Katrina
Steiner-Davion has neither condemned nor condoned what her administration has
declared an ‘internal Capellan conflict’.
Although the Federated Commonwealth became a strong supporter of the
Compact in 3026, Katrina, now ruling the Lyran Alliance and FedCom halves of
the once great union has refused to intervene stating only that she ‘wished
both sides would reach a peaceful concord to end the needless fighting’.” – KRTYW-ZT Local News, Alcor
Alcor, Federated Commonwealth
(Lyran Alliance Space)
20 April 3062
The
street was quiet at this hour of the night.
All the businesses and shopkeepers had closed up for the day. The patrons of the city had long since gone
home from their shopping trips and other errands. A slight breeze rolled through and picked up loose pieces of
newspaper and other litter, scattering them about in random piles. A few even blew up against the black
hoversedan parked several feet from the intersection. The car had been there for about a half hour now, though no one
was around to confirm that it was even there.
The
rustling of leaves was soon accompanied by another sound - one definitely
manmade. A large shadow moved down the
street heading towards the parked hoversedan through the darkness. It turned out to be another hovercar, also
black, running with its lights off. It
glided as quietly as possible to stop nose to nose with the other car and
settled down on its skirts as the driver turned the engine off. A few moments passed while the passengers
allowed the wind to swallow up any of the sounds of the car. Doors on the street-side of the cars opened
up and a man from each stepped out.
They
were dressed similarly, both in dress hats and large dark over coats. They approached each other and shook hands
without saying a word. Then the man
from the car that just arrived signaled to someone still in his car. The driver stepped out and walked to the
back of the car to retrieve something from the trunk. He closed the trunk and walked up to the two men and quietly
placed a silver briefcase on the sidewalk between the men. Without any words he returned to his place
behind the wheel.
The
man from the car that had been waiting bent down to pick up the case and opened
it to examine the contents. Satisfied
with whatever was in it, closed it and placed it on the ground behind him. He then reached inside his breast pocket and
pulled out a small white envelope and handed it to the other man.
“The
payment is acceptable. Here are the
codes and frequencies you asked for.
Remember our deal. One truck
from the convoy, the men can be roughed up but not injured.”
Silently
digging through the papers in the envelope the man nodded in simple agreement.
“Look
Pete, “ he spoke again “ I don’t think
this can go on much longer. My
investors are getting antsy, the cops are digging pretty close, and the board
members are expecting me to bring the hammer down on your little racketeering
operation here. Either tone it down, or
I’m going to have to terminate our deal prematurely.”
“Pete”
stopped going over the paper work and leaned in to whisper something.
“I
take our deal on a lot of faith because of the progress we’ve made. I’ve invested far too much time and money in
our partnership. Don’t let me think
that you’re going to back out on me.
That would be disrespectful to me and to my organization. I can deal with heat that comes from my end
of the operations. You need to find a
way to deal with yours, Mr. Cooper.”
He
then took the envelope and stuffed it in his own coat pocket. He turned to walk back to his car but paused
to shoot off a parting word.
“Don’t
even think about crossing me Mr. Cooper.
You won’t live to regret it.”
Financial Aid Office, Wolf’s
Dragoons Compound
Outreach, Chaos March
1 May 3062
0855 Hours
What have I gotten
myself into this time? Marion Morrison paced back and forth in the
waiting room. He had a nine o’clock
appointment with the loan officer for the Wolf’s Dragoons to go over his
application for funds to start his own mercenary unit. As the old saying went, he had this friend,
who knew this guy, that was the roommate for this other guy, that dated this
girl, that works in the loan offices for the Dragoons. Now while that really didn’t mean much to
Morrison, it still was a lead he had to check out for his sake. As luck would have it, the girl did work for
the Dragoons, but was also in good with the Loan Officer, the head man that
actually approved the loans. She had set
up the meeting after he submitted the application, and now he was nervously
waiting to meet the man that would make or break his dreams.
The
secretary for the loan officer, had announced Morrison’s arrival, but had
neglected to notice him since. He tried
to apologize for disturbing her with his pacing, but she simply dismissed it as
something she’s used to by now. He
wasn’t sure if she was being rude, or just polite in her own way. Before he had a chance to dwell on the issue
any further, and red light illuminated on her desk.
“You
can go in now Mr. Morrison,” she said without looking up from her paperwork.
Morrison
tugged the bottom of his suit jacket down to straighten it and opened the door
to the inner office. The man behind the
desk sported a thinning, gray hairline and reading glasses. He stood to greet Morrison with a firm
handshake and offered him a seat on the other side of his cluttered desk.
“Now Mr.
Morrison, I’ve gone over your application, and I have some general questions to
ask you. I noticed that you’ve applied
for funds for a battalion-sized unit.
What concerns me is that there are only two people signed up for your
unit. Yourself and one George Kaplan
formally of the 2nd Davion Guard. You
do plan to recruit more members, yes?”
“Yes. George and I decided to start up our own
unit and I wanted to make sure I had the money first before promising other
mechwarriors that they’d have a job waiting for them.”
“Of
course, of course.” He shuffled through
some more of the paperwork, and pulled a document from a folder that was
beneath the pile he started in. “Your
dossier boasts quite an impressive military career. Hmmmm, you were even involved in Operation Bulldog. What made you decide to move into the
private sector?”
“After fighting
the Jags so far away from home, I wanted to get a posting more localized. Knowing of the continual Clan threat, my
unit or my next posting was destined for the border somewhere to keep further
incursions from happening. Personally,
I’ve seen enough of the Clans.”
“Hmm, I
see. And what type of work are you
looking to get into? I see here in your
application that you have a possible contract already?”
“I know
this guy I went through the Academy with.
He never made it past noncom in the AFFC, so when he retired we kept in
touch as best we could. He works for
this company that makes gyros for mechs, and they’d like some security measures
put in place to stop some hijackings.
The ‘unofficial’ word is some mech-sized security measures.” Morrison used his fingers to make air-quotes
for unofficial. The whole contract was
completely unofficial. In fact, it
didn’t exist. The help was needed, but
his friend was trying to convince his boss to hire Morrison’s unit while it was
being put together. The contract would
give Morrison an easy-paying garrison watch, while he sent lances out on other
missions to make additional money. It
would all work out, if he could just get past the loan part.
“Well,
without a listing of mechwarriors and dossiers to amend to your application,
I’m afraid that will cause some problems.”
Morrison
swallowed hard. “How many problems?”
“Well for
starters, you will be required to carry a hiring liaison to approve the members
you do hire for the terms of the loan.
And the rates are going to be rather high as I will barely be able to
push this through under a D minus rating.
The term length of the loan is non-negotiable, and you would not be
eligible for additional funds until the initial balance were paid in full. Would you agree to those terms Mr.
Morrison?”
He
replied without missing a beat. “If it
means I’ll get the money to start my unit, I’ll agree to those terms.”
“Alright
them Mr. Morrison. Let’s get started on
the paperwork for your loan. Let’s go
over your assets first. I see here that
you’ve placed your mech as collateral, one Battlemaster model BLR-1D. Hmm,
1D. Does that have any of the updated
tech from the Clan War?”
“Actually
no, she’s all stock from the Fourth Succession War. Every time they wanted to update it, I pushed the parts to the
troops below me. There was no point to
have the equipment go to me if they see more combat than I do.”
“Good
point. Well let’s check out the 1D
then.” The man pulled a large binder
from the shelves behind him and began to flip through the pages. “Ok, 1D…1D.
Ah, here we go. 1D. In 3025 it was over eight fresh off the
line, now … updated tech would have made it an easy ten, but without … but it
was a House unit mech so it should be clean … hmm, still eight. Well, your mech is “blue booked” at eight
million C-Bills, so that is a good start.
What else have you got?”
Morrison
fished a document from his inside jacket pocket and passed it to the loan
officer. “My XO has authorized the use
of his mech as collateral as well.”
The man
looked down through his half-glasses over the document and came back up with a
perplexed look. “This says that your XO
is driving a new Blackjack
Omnimech. But you drive an out-dated Battlemaster, I don’t get it.”
“Just
like my mech, his was a retirement gift.
George held the line in the Second Davion Guards against the Falcons
during the invasion. The story goes he
dragged what was left of his regular Blackjack back to the
ship so many times that they gave him a brand new Omni for Operation
Bulldog. His unit was rotated out
before Victor went to Huntress, he retired from the AFFC shortly after. He was able to take his mech with him.”
“Oh, that
must be a real nice retirement gift. I
envy your XO, Mr. Morrison. Now lets
get the numbers on that mech. Let’s see
… Blackjack, Blackjack … here we …
oops, wrong section. I need
Omnimechs.” He grabbed just about the
rest of the book and flipped to nearly the end of it. “B … Black … Blackhawk … Blackjack. Here we are. I’ll assume for documentation sake that it’s
in the Primary configuration, which puts it at almost nine. Lets make it nine, I hate not having just
whole numbers.”
The man
made some notes on a ledger pad to his right.
Dropping the pen on the pad he leaned back and looked right at
Morrison. “Ok Mr. Morrison, you’re at
17. What else have you got?”
“Well,
with the loan money I was looking to absorb another mercenary unit. Uh, approximately company strength; they’re
called the Bandit Crushers. They’ve
been doing mostly Periphery work, pirate chasing that sort of thing. They hit a financial slump since the end of
the War when mainline units started to come back to their normal posts. They have two heavy and one medium lance of
mechs. All the mechs, pilots, support
staff and materials would be merging with the guys I’ve yet to hire. That will get me to two companies of mechs,
and I’m going to round us out with some ground and air assets as well.”
The loan
officer scribbled some more notes on the pad and crunched a few numbers on an
adding machine. He pulled the tape up
to get a better look at the numbers and nodded his head slightly. He swiveled the chair to the right and began
to enter the data into his loan terminal.
“This’ll just take a second to process and I’ll have an answer for you
then.”
Morrison
sat back in the chair and tried to relax.
So many thoughts and questions were running through his head it was
rather difficult to relax. And to top
it all off it felt like a herd of drunk pilots in Urbanmechs
were marching through his guts as he watched the loan officer fly over the keys
entering in the data that would make or break his dream at have his own unit to
command. With a single click of the
keys and a beep from the screen the loan officer turned to face Morrison.
“The total loan amount
you’ve been approved for is $100 million C-bills. “
Morrison’s
eyes swelled at the figure so easily tossed out as if it were merely pocket
change. Since he was doing his best to
find people with their own ‘mechs and ones in decent shape, he hoped to use a
good chunk of the funds in investments to make money on the side to pay back
the loan. He’d tried to think of
everything. Hopefully whatever he
forgot wasn’t going to hurt him that much.
“Now
then, have you decided on a rank as commander of your new unit?”
Morrison
stared blankly at the man. Of all the things to think of, this was way down on
his list of priorities. “Uh, actually I
hadn’t thought about that. I guess
battalion command rank would be Lieutenant Colonel. I’ve got quite a ways to go before I settle for the rank of
General.”
The two
men finished up the remaining paperwork, and Morrison left the office to find
George and tell him the good news.
Playtime was over, it was time to get to work. He needed to find some mechs to back his bankroll row. And maybe some pilots wouldn’t hurt either.
Outreach, Chaos March
7 May 3062
0900 Hours
Cain
Lorus strained to look over the shoulders of the crowd in front of the
advertisement-laden board. Cain didn’t
look like your average mechwarrior. He
was only one and two-thirds meters tall, and barely tipped the scales at 75
kilos. The only telltale sign of his
profession was that his platinum blonde hair was buzzed almost to the scalp, to
provide better contacts for the points in the neurohelmet he wore in the
cockpit. Cain didn’t mind his small
physical appearance though. You would
think that he would be picked on all the time because of it, but Cain was
actually a Master in Tae Kwon-Kido. A helpful talent that had gotten him out of
several bad situations from time to time.
There
were so many postings for work needed, wanted, and demanded. Some had even been tacked back up so many
times that they appeared to have been on the receiving end of an autocannon
blast. The throng of people in front of
the board looked no worse for the wear.
Unshaven, unkempt, some lucky to still have a decent tooth in their
heads scanned the boards looking for work.
Some of the newer warriors-for-hire learned quickly to not grab the
posting off the board lest they were pummeled to the floor and their attacker
made off with the prospective job. The
crowd always seemed to surge toward someone posting something new. Cain had to step back as one weak-minded clerk
was too scared to get anywhere near the board and had tossed the posting into
the crowd and took off in the other direction.
The throng nearly tore each other apart to get at the papers.
Cain
shook his head at the display. Some of
these people had to be veterans of the now ended Clan War. This was no way to act for people that had
survived that hell. Fighting over
scraps like wild dogs. It was
disgraceful. Luckily, he wasn’t here to
try to find a job with some faceless employer.
Rather, he was here looking for a specific posting. After a few moments of stepping around
people to get a closer look at the papers, he spotted the one he was looking
for. To the casual looker it was just a
piece of blue paper with some cryptic text on it. To Cain it told him when and where to meet an old friend.
He
bent down to scoop up his gear bag and headed back out to the streets to get
some breakfast.
-----
Drake
Davis was waist deep into the hip socket of his mech trying to help a Dragoon
tech iron out a kink in the leg myomer muscles. ‘Trying’ was the operative word, as the looks he got from the
tech really told him he was getting in the way. The mech had a twitch in the leg that got progressively worse as
the speed increased. It was so bad that
the Targeting Computer would literally shutdown at full throttle. It just could not compensate for the
awkwardness thrown into the run. The
tech was currently testing some of the control boards pulled from the hip
joint. After several hours and a quick
lunch they had been able to pinpoint the section where the problem was
occurring. Now came the tedious part of
finding the culprit circuit board.
Drake was lost in thought when he realized the tech had asked him a
question.
“I’m
sorry, I missed that. I was thinking
about something else.”
“Have
you decided which you’re going to call it yet?”
“I
hadn’t really figured that out yet. The
Clanners called it an Adder, and we called
it a Puma, but I don’t find either of that working for me. I figured on something with a little more
character, y’know, like ass-stomping mech of death.”
The
tech chuckled at the remark. “Perhaps
if you were thinking about a career on Solaris VII. But after watching Kai a few years ago, I wouldn’t want to take
my mech anywhere near that place.”
“Would’ve
been nice to have had him with us out there, instead of planet-hopping with the
Prince. Don’t get me wrong, I fought
with the best of the best, but I wouldn’t do it again. Not for anything.”
The
tech nodded silently at Drake. He knew
that he was referring to the group that set forth on Operation Serpent. It was a secret operation to take a massive
armed force to the home world of the then-Clan Smoke Jaguar and lay waste to
everything there. They had fought to
the very edge of defeat when reinforcements showed up to help them complete the
job. It had been the biggest blood bath
shy of the Succession Wars.
“Well,
I think I’ve found the problem Mr. Drake.
This board has a busted repeater loop going. I’ve got a spare in the parts room, it’ll just take me a few
minutes to go get it.”
“Ok,
I’ll be right here I guess.”
The
tech had only been gone a few minutes when another Dragoon walked up to
Drake. Much older than Drake, she had
an air about her that hinted at an old MechWarrior but she seemed so frail to
have once piloted the massive war machines.
“Well,
you’ve got the only Adder around so I’m
betting you’re Drake, right?”
“Yes’m. I’m Drake.”
“Here
ya go.” She handed him a small laser
disc that was sealed in a plastic pouch labeled for him. The disc would be readable through the
noteputer that he carried around with him, but the puzzling thing was that it
didn’t indicate whom it was from. He
had looked up to ask the delivery woman, but she was already walking away.
“Never
quite liked the Adders too much. It always felt like a Blackhawk with less weapons.”
She tossed the parting comment over her shoulder, as the echo of her
footsteps became the only indicator that he wasn’t alone yet. The specific wording her comment gave Drake
pause. She had referred to two Clan
mechs but used their actual Clan designation.
Like a light turned on in a dark room, it dawned on him that not only was
she a MechWarrior, but she must’ve been one of the original Dragoons sent by the
Wolf Clan to spy on the Inner Sphere all those years ago. The only reason Drake didn’t hate the
Dragoons was the fact that they had helped the Inner Sphere fight off the Clan
invaders when the Clan invasion began.
Of course that also didn’t mean that he liked them anymore that he had
to. He held a deep burning hatred for
all the Clans; he just didn’t show it often.
Or at all if he could help it.
The
tech was returning with the new board still wrapped in its packing box, when
Drake was just finishing up the laser disc message.
“I
remember days when you could actually keep people from finding you. Helped immensely when avoid guard or KP duty
shifts, “ the tech joked.
Drake
held up the noteputer and grinned.
“True, but when it is an invite to a hiring party, that’s something you
don’t want to miss.”
-----
It
was quickly approaching early evening as Morrison prepared to see the last of
the mechwarriors he was scheduled to interview today. Out of the ten people on his list he had only decided to hire two
so far today. The first man he kept was
a rather curt, Lyran-national. At least
that was the impression Morrison got from him.
Jessup Raines was born and raised on Tharkad, graduated from the
Nagelring Academy with the highest honors and some rather interesting comments
left on his dossier by his instructors.
It seems that Raines had a hitch with constructive criticism, and tended
to take it as a personal attack. During
mock simulations when logic seemed to lose to luck, Raines resorted to brute
force to turn the tide of battle.
Ignoring battle lines, logistics, and even proper orders, he create a
pivotal battle of everything he had to obliterate the opposition. He always got high marks for his
“creativity”. His combat attitude, not
to mention his Bushwacker mech made
an excellent addition to the medium weight lance Morrison had planned.
The
second fellow was quite the opposite.
He was the only survivor in his unit during the invasion of Marik and
Liao forces in ’57 and was given an honorable discharge along with a second
rate mech for his new life. He’d gone
through seven mechs since then, all in trades and never lost to enemy
fire. He saved up enough money to
combine with the value of his current ride to buy a brand new Omnimech, and Avatar, from the Dragoons.
He’d seen combat twice since then and both times came out of it without
so much as a scratch in his paint job.
That might sound suspiciously like cowardice if not for the four
confirmed kills during those tours. But
it seemed that the only true signs of life in the man was in his combat records
and test scores. He was quiet,
reserved, never late, never volunteered, had friends but generally kept to
himself. He never questioned orders and
somehow always got the job done. Morrison
nearly started to salivate when he read Russell had an Avatar. The man and the
mech fit a perfect opening in his fire support lance.
Last
but not least to see today was a younger man by the name of Jeremy
Volksfram. A graduate of the
prestigious New Avalon Military Academy he passed up several favorable unit
assignments to strike it out on his own on Outreach. Only finding work on picket duty and backwater world guard duty,
his skills were widely untapped and untrained.
He piloted an older mech, a Bombardier. Another mech that would fit nicely into the
unit, Morrison figured. He cleared off
his desk and placed the Jeremy’s file on top of the blotter. He stood up, walked over and opened the door
to call Jeremy in. A smartly dressed
young man entered the room and immediately snapped to attention next to the
only unoccupied chair in the room. He
was dressed in navy blue slacks with a double-breasted suit coat and House
Davion Sunburst tie. An aiguillette in
the colors of the NAMA hung around his right shoulder. His dark brown hair was shaved close all
around his head, leaving a few longer ones on top to be spiked up.
“Jeremy
Volskfram reporting as requested, sir.”
“Relax
Mr. Volksfram. This is just a simple
interview, not a military hearing.
Please, have a seat.”
Morrison
noticed a sigh of relief escaping Jeremy’s lungs as he sat opposite him on the
other side of the desk. Morrison folded
his hands over the folder on the desktop and decided to plunge right in to the
interview.
“So,
before we go over any of your records I’d like to know, for myself, why you’ve
decided to become a mercenary?”
Jeremy
fidgeted in the chair slightly and cleared his throat.
“Well
sir the pay always seemed better and the scenery changes more often that getting
stationed with any House Unit. Plus I
feel that I could contribute more towards humanity by working in a mer….” Morrison raised a hand to forestall any
further words from Jeremy.
“Son,
do I look like a farmer to you?”
“Uh,
no. No sir.” His forehead began to glisten with sweat.
“Then
why are you dropping all this bullshit in my field? Huh?”
Jeremy
dropped his head slightly refusing to meet the gaze of Morrison’s dark blue
eyes. “I guess I wanted to try to
impress you, or something.”
“Not
getting yourself killed in a fight impresses me. Using your head instead of your hands impresses me. Being straight with me impresses me. Do you get my point Jeremy?”
“Yes
sir.”
“Ok
then. One more time. Tell me why you want to crawl around on some
sludge-caked world defending people you’ve never met for a handful of C-bills,
if you’re lucky. And this time,”
Morrison thumped his chest with his right fist “tell it to me from your heart.”
“Well,
you probably know I graduated from NAMA, which means I should’ve gone into a
FedCom unit somewhere. But all I’ve
ever heard about those types of soldiers is how much they hate the new guys
until they’re killed or rotated out.
You’re lucky to get a officer that cares enough to keep you from getting
killed too early in your career, but most times you get those that only care
about the biggest brown-noser. The
“yes-men” of the unit. Someone that
will help boost them up in the ranks.
I’m not one of those people.
Yeah, I’ll follow orders just like everyone else, but I want to actually
learn something. You
can’t learn all the tricks of the trade in units that have policies and
procedures for everything you could possible do. I want to know everything from field repairs to unorthodox combat
tactics from the people that have actually done
them. In House Units, those people
either won’t give you the time of day, are retired, or dead. The mercenary world is saturated with plenty
of clued-up people, and it’s almost like a brotherhood to those people. Everyone knows you and everyone has your
back. Well, most of the time
anyway. But I think it has to be easier
to be the new kid amongst family than amongst strangers, and that’s why I
decided to become a merc. I have no
family left.”
Morrison
immediately liked what he saw in Jeremy’s personality. The kid was a little rough around the edges,
but he had a lot of heart in what he wanted to do. And lots of heart will sometimes propel a man to do some amazing
feats. There was just one thing that
was bugging him.
“So,
tell me about this mech that you’re bringing to the unit.”
Jeremy’s
eyes lit up at the chance to talk about the mech he owned. Almost like it was a long-time best friend
of his. He leaned forward and put his
hands on the edge of the desk and began to tell the tale.
“Oh,
you mean ‘Dragon Slayer’? My
grandmother back in the Third War originally piloted it. The story goes that she was part of the
first wave into Cappellan territory. My
mom said she defended the company command post with her lance for over an hour
in her Bombardier. She took reloads
in one and two salvos when she could break off from the fight. She had seven confirmed kills and four
assists that day. The mech has been in
the family since then even though Mom never became a pilot it was passed to me
when I enrolled in the Academy. From
what the techs at school tell me, it’s still in near perfect condition from
back then. Never had any money to upgrade
it to the newer models, but I’d feel bad changing Grandmom’s mech around like
that.”
Jeremy
finished up the heart-warming story and sat there with a far-off look on his
face. Morrison watched him smile, as he
was sure some comforting memory had bubbled up from within.
“Ok
Jeremy. I’ve already read your file so
there’s no need to go over any of that with you. So let’s get to the meat of the matter. I don’t know what the rumor mill has spit out, but I’m putting
together a mercenary unit for the sole purpose of making money. Some of the secondary reasons you might hear
are: a chance to get back in the cockpit, to fight the Clans, to avoid the war
brewing in the FedCom, to fight rival merc units, etc etc. Believe what you will but I stand by my sole
reason. I’m very interested in seeing
how you muster out. There will be a meeting
tomorrow night down the hall I’d like you to attend. We’ll see how you work out after that. Sound fair?”
“Very
sir. I won’t let you down.” Jeremy shook Morrison’s outstretched hand
and got up from the chair to leave the office.
As the
door closed behind him Morrison leaned heavily against the back of the chair.
“No son,
I don’t believe you will.”
-----
The
Rusty
Dropship was a well-known bar over on the
south side of Harlech that attracted all sorts of customers. Mostly mechwarriors hung out there, but you
also had other branches of military service in attendance as well as the local
“entertainment”. The night had been
pretty uneventful so far. People had flowed
in and out of the door all evening making their way to the bar or to tables
further in to consume the endless flow of alcoholic drinks and engage in
conversation with their friends.
Troy
had been sitting at a small table towards the back corner of the bar by himself
for a few hours now. He’d been on
Outreach for almost a month, and was still trying to find work. He and the waitress knew each other on a
first name basis by now, and she kept up with his drinking rhythm. He chose the back corner to avoid certain
crowds, as he didn’t really like to be around a lot of people. But he liked his drinks and there were few
places he knew of that could make his favorite, the “Misjump”.
He’d
downed the last of his third round when he noticed an unfamiliar face enter the
establishment. She pushed her way
through the crowd easily and stepped up to the bar. A brief conversation with the bartender, complete with a few
shakes and nods of his head, and she turned to head back out the door. She had almost reached the door when a group
of four rather loud and rather drunk mechwarriors stumbled in shoving and
laughing at each other. She pulled up
short as the first one recovered his balance and stood in her way eyeing her up
and down. Troy noticed a few more people
in the place take notice at the commotion by the door, and he moved from his
chair to a better spot to watch the situation unfold. Although he could not hear their words, it was clear that a
heated conversation was brewing between the ‘warrior and the girl. Troy took in the size of the man and figured
he had an entire head in height and quite possibly 80 kilos on the woman. Without attracting any attention to himself,
he quietly unhooked the safety strap on the needler pistol he had holstered in
his belt and headed to get a refill at the bar.
She stood to face her
opponent. Her stance showed that she
had done this before and she well knew how to defend herself. She squared her shoulders and flexed her
lean legs, bending them at the knee, ready to pounce. Like a cat she sprang forward and attacked her prey. Before the man knew what hit him his lip had
been split by a right hook and he had stumbled backwards several steps. Before he could gain his footing and attempt
retaliation, she spun in place a full 360 and swiftly brought her well muscled
left leg to the side of his head. He
heard bells as he fell to the floor.
His buddies had stood by and watched to this point but when they saw
this hulk of a man taken down so quickly they decided to take action. The men surrounded her, one of them
approaching her from behind and quickly wrapping his arms around her
chest. She had anticipated the move and
had inhaled deeply. When his arms were
firmly locked she quickly and fully released her breath, shrunk her rib cage
and dropped to the floor. Launching
herself on her hands she lifted one leg behind her and squarely struck the man
in his groin. He collapsed in
pain. She brought her leg back fast,
using her hands as a pivot she pulled her leg through and up in front of her,
kicked the man charging her straight in the gut. He went flying back. She
popped to her feet and prepared for the next attack. The last remaining man didn't move. The other patrons of the bar watched this girl. Thin with flaming red hair, her large green
eyes focused on everything that moved.
Her arms were raised and her fists were loose, she bounced on the balls
of her feet preparing to move in any direction and aim a strike at the next
thing that threatened. Her pants were
snug, tapering down to tightly laced boots.
Her tank top clung to her revealing a slim figure, narrow hips, long,
lean legs, and tight, well-muscled arms.
Everything tugged in just the right areas. It was obvious she had the build of an athlete; she took pride in
her shape. She was firmly aware of her
feminine attributes and used them to the best of her ability. She could turn heads most definitely and
knew it. But she relied more on skill
then looks. Her facial structure shown
with a firm chin, softened cheek bones, and perfectly set eyes. Her nose tapered just so and her lips were
full. Her breathing was
controlled. She continued to scan the
area.
A
man in front of Troy stepped up to the challenge and pulled out a rather nasty
looking dagger. The blade itself was a
good twenty centimeters in length with the handle boasting a complete set of
brass knuckles. He motioned for a
friend of his to step up to the line with him.
The second that he turned back around to face her, Troy slammed his
right boot heel into his left kidney spinning him into the bar railing and
crashing to the hard floor between a pair of bar stools. His friend never saw the man go down. He’d been too busy staring directly down the
barrel of the needler, now aimed directly in line with his nose. The needler was a wicked personal
weapon. The gun shaved a block of
ballistic material creating hundreds of tiny shards that were propelled out the
barrel by the air compression chamber.
The resulting wound would resemble anything from minors cuts to ground
meat depending on the distance to the target.
At this range, Troy could make the man’s entire face disappear. The sweat forming on the man’s face showed
he knew that fact as well.
Troy
crackled a smile after a few tense seconds.
“Nae boy-o. I doon’t think ye
gonna do tha. It’s impolite.” His Scottish burr caused some of the faces
in the crowd to whip back around towards him.
The man raised his hands in surrender and backed away slowly. The rest of the place had fallen silent at
this point with all eyes trained now Troy, including the redhead. Still holding the gun on the retreating man
and without taking his eyes off him, he backed up and knelt down to retrieve
the blade that was dropped when he had kicked it’s owner. Using the brass knuckles like a trigger guard
on a pistol he twirled the blade a few times on his finger, then tucked the
handle up under his belt to let the blade dangle on his hip. Using the same motion he holstered the
needler and headed for the front door.
He motioned to the woman who nodded her understanding, and headed out a
few steps before him.
Despite
the slight temperature drop after sundown, the humidity refused to release its
grip on the air. Troy wiped the sweat
from his upper lip on the collar of his shirt as he stood out side the bar. The redhead had stopped a few feet away from
him, obviously taking stock over what just happened. She was bent over hands resting on her knees, taking in big gulps
of air. Without warning she whirled on
him.
“Don’t
think for a second that I owe you anything for what you did in there. I can take care of myself, y’know.”
Troy
held the impartial mask on his face as he read the truth behind her eyes. “ Aye.
Jus’ like them two that was gonna treat ya like a sucklin’ pig a’ a
family picnic. I dinna step in ta git
anythin’ from ya, I was jus tryin’ ta keep the fight honest. Forgive me sayin’ so, but ye looked kinda
green for a place suchas this.”
Her
eyes flashed a sign of fury for a second before she got it under control. “What do you mean ‘green’?”
“Well,
ya doon’t seem the ‘type’ tha’ visits this place. Now meself, I come down here for the good drinks. The resta the bunch comes for some
trouble. An’ I seen ya askin’ the
‘keeper ana making for the door again.”
“I
was looking for someone that I was supposed to meet tonight. It didn’t look like he had shown up yet, so
I was just going to leave and go back to my place. Those four goons just happened to get in my way.” Her facial expression seemed to soften a
bit.
“Aye. Those goons, as you say, are from a nae-good
buncha scum oot in th’ Periphery. I ken
understand why they’d a’ be here, but it cannae be good. Thems make us honest mercs look bad. Ana tha’ makes findin’ work harder.”
She snorted playfully at the remark. “Yeah, tell me about it. The guy I was waiting for supposedly had
news about a job for me. Guess its back
to searching the local posting boards.”
Troy
let a glimpse of surprise creep onto his face. “Well, ye doonae seem lika
‘warrior ta me. After th’ display I
figured ye for infantry or sumthin’.
But I been known t’ be wrong before.”
“Yeah,
I’m a mechwarrior. Originally from
Andurian space in the League. I came
here looking for a better life. I
almost got more than I bargained for tonight.
That is if it hadn’t been for your help.”
“Aye
lass. I’ll take tha’ as a thank
you. Name’s Troy.”
She
took his hand and gripped it tightly as if testing his manners towards the
opposite gender. He gave a firm grip
and pumped her arm twice in polite greeting.
“I’m Stephanie,” she replied.
“Pleased
ta meet ya, Stephanie. If ye doonae
mind some more help, I ken this man that’s raising a merc unit. Battalion strength is the word goin’
‘round. I hear he’s reputable, so if
yer nae busy they’re meetin’ tomorrow night.”
Stephanie
started to chew on her lower lip for a second, then regained the confidence
Troy had seen during the bar fight.
“Sure. Why not?”
-----
The
next day Morrison stood on the far side of a meeting room at the Mercenary
Hall. Although he was in this spot to
have a conversation with George, he could watch the people coming in the
room. The meeting tonight had not been
advertised publicly. Just a few
discreet phone calls and a few well-placed cryptic ads was all that was needed
to bring in the “right” people Morrison was looking for. Two days prior, he’d met up with the
commander of a company of mechs that had fallen on hard times. Even heading out to the Periphery had not
yielded any profitable results, and they were very close to bankruptcy and
disbanding. Morrison agreed to take on
the financial responsibility of the company, if the CO agreed to defer control
to him. It took a little bargaining,
but Morrison was able to secure the company of ‘mechs. Almost every one of the ‘mechs needed some
level of maintenance or repair, so he had contacted the necessary facilities
and sent the mechs out to get worked on.
Now it was time to bring in his own people.
Any
merc that wanted work or anyone looking to hire help came to Outreach. Morrison had setup a meeting for today to
meet with a few selected people for his unit.
A few others that he was unsure of were also going to be in
attendance. The ones Morrison didn’t
know trickled in first, and then a few familiar faces from dossiers he’d read
came in last. When the last person through
the door had signed in and taken their seat, Morrison motioned to George and
then stood before the group.
“I don’t
plan to take up too much of your time, so I’ll cut to the chase and then you
can ask any questions afterwards.” A
quick scan of their faces revealed that he at least had their attention. So far so good, he
thought.
“I’m
putting together a unit, starting at company strength but will eventually grow
to a reinforced battalion size. As
Commander of the outfit, you orders, missions, and pay will come from me. You’ve been asked to come here based on your
combat records and the fact that you all have your own rides. We’ll be looking at light to moderate combat
missions, raids, and some garrison. Our
primary contracts will be in the FedCom area so there will be plenty of places
to go. There will be no suicide
missions, no do-or-die assaults, and no one-way tickets to Clan
territories. I’m in this to make some
money, a little fame and retire to some quiet beach on an uncharted
planet. Any questions before I
continue?”
The
group chuckled mildly at the fantasy retirement idea. No MechWarrior ever saddled with the idea of retirement
easily. It was almost as creepy as the
thought of being Dispossessed.
“Ok
then. I don’t have a set order of lance
and ranks yet, but I do have a garrison contract in the works once all our
lance slots are filled. I’m Marion
Morrison and I’ll be the Commanding Officer of the entire unit. The man to my right is George Kaplan and
he’ll be my XO commanding one of the companies in our unit. I’ve already made arrangements to fold in a
financially strapped unit that will round us out to another company of mechs,
but you all would be directly under George’s command.”
Morrison
looked around at the faces, when he spotted a hand in the back. A dark-blonde female in a black tank top,
olive drab pants and combat boots sat in the fourth row by herself, raised her
hand halfway off her lap to speak.
Morrison nodded his head to acknowledge her.
“What
kind of people are we going to be taking on?
This isn’t another unit that’s going to fade out chasing pirates is it?”
“And
you are?”
“Picketts. Sarah Picketts, formally of the Kathil
Ulhans.”
“Nice
to meet you Sarah. We’re going to be
defending planets from raiders, keeping the local populace free from problems,
the usual stuff. But no, we’re not
going after pirates. Not unless they’re
stupid enough to tangle with us at full strength.”
Another
hand rose.
“Morrison-san, I am Jest Fujimowa.
What type of salvage are we looking to get our hands on?”
“Well,
Jest I know that you brought your Thor all the way back
from Huntress, so I don’t know how much Clan tech we’d be getting unless we
face off against any other merc groups from the Clan Wars. But I have some good connections with the
Dragoons supply chief, so you should be in good shape. To answer your question salvage rights will
be set on a per contract basis depending on the missions. I’ll be shooting for 75% or better salvage
on all missions, but there’s no guarantee on that figure at this time.”
There
was a few seconds of silence as the rest of the group looked around to see if
anyone else was curious today, or if they’d all heard enough. Finally a scruffy looking fellow in the
front row looked up at Morrison and cleared his throat to speak.
“Name’s
Vlad Hasic. Sounds like I’m related to
the Duke, but its spelled H-a-s-i-c.
So, whose side are we to be on then Mr. Morrison?”
Morrison
pitted him a solid stare, and answered him plainly. “We’re on our side of course.”
The
man gave a toothy grin back at Morrison.
“That’s all I needed to know.
Where do I sign?” The rest of
the group nodded in collective agreement.
Aerospace Market, Harlech
Outreach, Chaos March
1100 Hours
George
had volunteered to head over to the Aerospace Market to drum up some assets for
the unit. Morrison was looking to field
two lances of fighters, one for ground support against ‘mechs and armor and the
other to fend off enemy fighters from their own ‘mechs and fighters. How hard can it be to find four planes, George thought when he volunteered for the day
mission. He caught the local hoverbus
to the Aerospace district, and proceeded to the main building that led to the
proving grounds for the units showing off their stuff to potential clients and
contract holders.
He
had only exited the building when a loud explosion was heard off to his
left. One of the squadrons was showing
off their skills at bombing runs on stationary targets. The actual EA, or engagement area, was
several hundred meters away, but close enough to hear and feel the explosion of
the live ammunition. The sound startled
a few people that weren’t used to the racket.
However, the noise just about scared George out of his mind. When he heard the explosion, he found
himself diving over an unoccupied table at a sidewalk café for cover. A curious waiter had come over to see if he
needed any help, but he simply shrugged him off, mumbled an apology and walked
away feeling a little embarrassed.
But they weren’t
in the 2nd Davion so why am I embarrassed of my
actions?
He
decided to move further down the strip to get away from those that might have
witnessed that little episode. He
stopped and viewed the groups that were out today, collecting pamphlets when
they were available. He stopped at one
green and yellow-stripped tent where he noticed there wasn’t a simulation
running in the air space behind it.
Curiosity got the better of him, and he stepped through the flaps. A younger man in his mid-to-late twenties
greeted him with a salute, which George returned back to him.
“Good
morning, sir. I am Senior Airman
Lawrence “Raptor” Pickering and welcome to ‘Mech Relief pavilion. Can I show you what we have to offer or
answer any questions for you?”
George
paused for a second to collect his thoughts.
“Major George Kaplan, nice to meet you Senior Airman. What is ‘Mech Relief?”
“Yes
sir. We are an advanced air and ground
aerospace team. We deploy a ground
attack lance and an air defense lance.
We use a pair of Rapiers for our ground
attack and a pair of Gothas for our air
defense. Both can switch roles if
needed and both can hold their own against almost any targets.”
George
nodded as the man spoke. Rapiers were formidable ground attack craft, employing a long wing
in the forward half of the fuselage to add stability in high-speed dives. It carried an impressive arsenal of an AC/20
cannon and dual PPCs in the nose, and an LRM-10 rack that could be set forward
or in the rear of the plane depending on the mission. The Gothas were slightly
different. They used a single delta
wing style and had a pair of sensor pods off the nose that gave it a ‘fanged’
look. Two PPCs and two medium lasers
were in the nose and the wings held two LRM-15s and two small lasers. Since it held an air defense role, another
pair of mediums was placed in the tail section to ward off pursuing fighters.
“So,
what’s your units history?”
“We
were originally part of an RCT formed back in ’39. During ’50 we were sent against the Jade Falcon push into FedCom
space. After Tukayyid, they sent us
back for rest and refit and some of the men moved on to form up with merc units
to keep hitting the Clans, including us.
We continued against the Falcons during their little incursion in ’57
and because of that we passed on Bulldog and Serpent. Now that Victor has supposedly ended the Clan threat, we’ve gone
back to the private sector to make a living.”
George
liked what he heard. Now it would be a
matter of price and availability. Time
to see how far they’ll go.
“We’re
looking for a unit just like yours, but for a series of extended
campaigns. Raids, garrisons, and
such. Would you and your unit-mates be
interested in contracting with us?”
Raptor
stood there stone-faced. If there was
any sign of emotion behind his thoughts, he hid it amazingly well. “Right now we have nothing that would
prevent us from taking on some extended campaigns. Would you be the one issuing the contract for our services, sir?”
George
shook his head slightly. “No, that
would be my CO. I will arrange a
meeting to iron out the details of the contract then?”
“I
am available at all times this week, if that would be alright with your
Commanding Officer, sir.”
George
pulled out a small noteputer from his jacket pocket, and pulled up the schedule
for the week. “How’s 1500 hours
tomorrow sound?”
Raptor
saluted George again. “Sounds good to
me, sir.”
-----
Morrison
was over in the Armor Market not having as much luck as George. He’d already stopped in every display booth
and shop at least twice, and was no closer to making a decision than the Clans
were of taking Terra. He was looking
over the information for a platoon of Von Luckners, when a person-shaped shadow crept up from behind
him. He turned to see the familiar face
of Fujimowa, one of the recent hires in the unit.
“Am
I intruding Lieutenant-Colonel-san?”
“No
Jest, its fine. And since we’re not on
duty or in uniform yet, you can dispense with the formalities.”
“Yes
Lieu… I mean Mr. Morrison. Permission
to speak freely, sir?
Morrison
sighed. Leave it to a Drac to treat my version of
formal as his informal. “Sure, what’s on your mind?”
“I
know you are looking for armor elements for our unit, but why are you looking at
these Von
Luckners?” One of the PR staffers on duty had overheard the comment and
began to maneuver in their direction.
Morrison caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and decided to let
it play out.
“What’s
your take on them Jest?”
“Since
the Clan War, many industries have begun producing war machines at increased
rates. Some have even moved on to newer
models. The Von Luckner is one of those models that have been left behind. Not many exist, and therefore replacement
and repair parts are hard to come by.
At 75 tons, it’s the largest of the Heavy class tanks, and its main
weakness is in the ammunition stores it requires for combat. It’s true the armor is of satisfactory
protection, but all that weight gives it a top flank speed of barely 55kph over
flat, unbroken ground.”
Morrison
noticed the PR man had moved off to another set of hopefully more persuasive,
less informed folks.
“So,
what would you suggest for us then, if not these tanks?”
“Well,
our main armor force should be fast, well-armed and armored. There should be a comparable
defensive/offensive unit for that force.
To back up the whole armor force, I would suggest something along the
lines of artillery with a defensive/offensive backup for that. If we are to be effective mercenaries, we
need to have equipment for almost every situation.”
Morrison
smiled at the man’s interpretation of the situation. He was assembling a group of men and women that were willing to
go into battle for him. And for the
money of course. It was these people
that he was going to have to learn to depend on for various things. Including his life.
“You’re
pretty well versed in combined arms warfare for a MechWarrior, Mr. Fujimowa.”
“My
time with the Sixth Alshain Regulars was an enlightening time. Even though we lost the district capital
world, my training and my experiences granted me much insight into warfare.”
“If
I remember correctly your unit fought the Ghost Bears during the first months
of the Clan Invasion along side the Second Sword of Light. After-action reports showed heavy losses on
both sides.”
“Hai, there was much death then. When so few of us punched through the enemies lines to make a run
for the Dropships, the Second Sword dropped on the Ghost Bears to buy us time
to escape. The Second then had to make
a fighting withdraw to pull out. I
vowed to never get caught up in such vicious fighting where so many were lost.”
‘I
like the way you think Jest. Want to
give me a hand at picking out our new ground pounder brethren?”
Jest
held his composure and nodded back to Morrison. “Of course sir.”
-----
The
aerospace port of Harlech was rather large.
It had to be to accommodate unloading of personnel, cargo, vehicles and
‘mechs from grounded Dropships.
Military hangers were provided in a secure area to store all combat
machines and barracks to house all military personnel. It also made loading and unloading of units
easier since they were all pretty much in the same spot relative to the
Dropships. Morrison rented one of these
many gargantuan hangers out while the group was being put together. The Dragoon Hiring Officer was busy
directing ground operations as to what mechs went into the building and where. He’d gone over all the dossiers of the
people at the meeting Morrison had held.
He’d wanted to turn down at least four of them, but Morrison managed to
get half of that back for various reasons.
The Dragoon officer was resolved to the fact that it wasn’t his money on
the line, so conceded the compromise.
All
the mechs were accounted for. The two
belonging to the CO and XO of the unit had been docked days in advance and now
they were out shopping for more help.
He glanced up as the next mech slowly entered through the doorway. The humanoid mech crested nearly six meters
in height. A boxy autocannon launcher
was mounted on the right shoulder, a trademark of the 50-ton Hunchback model. The data pad
indicated this one was a 5M variant. It
carried all the same armament of the normal Hunchback,
but it had the advanced double heatsink cooling system integrated with it.
Another
humanoid mech was right behind it, although this one was much more aerodynamic
that the boxy form of the Hunchback.
This one held twin laser ports in the left arm and a single longer
barrel in the right. Three exhaust
ports for jump jets lined its back, and incidentally still had the Marik crest
painted on the upper right shoulder.
The officer noted for the Dragoon techs to paint that over in the unit’s
color scheme, and marked the Wraith off on his
list.
The
next ‘mech had him do a double-take. A
blue and yellow schemed Archer lumbered up to
the hanger, and for a split second he wondered what Jamie Wolf was doing here
then he realized that the scheme was actually that of a Davion unit from the
NAIS Military Academy. The cockpit of
the mech was actually situated between a pair of LRM-15 launchers, giving it a
very broad-shouldered look. The arms
could hold a number of other offensive weapons. This one had a medium laser and two-port Streak Launcher tubes in
each.
He
watched in silent awe as the massive machines moved effortlessly into the bay
and docked into their individual holding cradles. Two light mechs had already been docked earlier, a Puma and a Jenner. A second clan mech had come in with this
group. A gray Jaguar insignia had been
altered to show a samurai sword through its gut and the eyes were crossed out
with black X’s to further indicate its death.
It didn’t take a Jumpdrive scientist to figure that the Thor had come from the campaign to rid the universe of the Clan
Smoke Jaguar. How it got in the hands
of the ex-DCMS officer was a story the liaison had wanted to hear sometime.
He
signaled for the last mech on the list, a 70-ton Shootist to
move into position and hoped that this would that last thing on his list for
the day so he could get off to the bar early.
Going over the list of mechs on the roster he saw a hodgepodge of light,
medium, heavy and assault mechs. There
were mechs from every house, and even a pair of Clan mechs. He was certain that it must not have been
that difficult for the CO to pick the name for this unit.
Tapping
a few buttons on the keypad of noteputer he carried, he saved and closed the
file on ‘Marions’ Misfits’.
Barracks 03421, Harlech
Outreach, Chaos March
18 May 3062
0700 Hours
Morrison
had called the first full staff meeting a few days after they had moved all the
‘mechs into the hanger and had settled their armor and aerospace assets into
their bays as well. Morrison was
thrilled to see that George had found exactly what they were looking for in
aerospace support. He was however not
so confident on his decisions on the armor.
He and Jest spent the rest of the day buying up bits and pieces of
units, men and material. He’d gotten a sweet
deal on three Patton tanks to start
out. It just went down hill from
there. Eventually he’d gotten two LRM
Carriers and one Schrek PPC
Carrier. Just before he was about to
call off the search for the day he’d talked a company into parting with two of
their prized Challenger X Main
Battle Tanks. That gave him eight
vehicles, four aerospace planes, and twelve of the sixteen ‘mechs he
wanted. The other company he’d absorbed
had come back with the bill for all their repairs.
The
final figure for them was well over what Morrison had deemed acceptable, and
almost booted the whole money-hungry lot had George not convinced him to keep
them on. “We’ll just send them out
first,” he’d said jokingly and it was logic that Morrison could hardly argue
with right then. He didn’t have time to
deal with such petty internal issues; he was trying to get everything together
so he could make some money.
The
barracks they’d been given to house the men in was just like any other. Devoid of all the creature comforts, it was
bare and basic and served the only two truths in military buildings. Storage and sleep. There was an adjoining cafeteria that doubled as a conference
room that was large enough to hold an assembly of the troops for meetings. Morrison was walking down the hallway toward
that room when George called out from behind him. He turned around to see George followed closely by another
man. Morrison couldn’t see the newcomer
until they’d caught up to him.
“Lieutenant-Colonel,
I’d like you to meet Tushio Sakai.” The
man was in his mid-to-late forties and the hard lines on his face were more
than fact that he’d obviously seen some hard times. Tushio snapped to attention and executed a crisp bow to Morrison
that he held for a few seconds out of respect.
Morrison, not unfamiliar with the culture of the Draconis Combine,
returned a bow but held for just a little bit shorter. Respect the rank if not the man. George picked up
the conversation before Morrison had a chance to speak.
“So
I know how you said we’re trying to setup a decent recon lance to give us
enough warning during combat ops and also have them hold their own if they got
into trouble right? Well, I was
checking the recent arrivals today and I spotted Mr. Sakai’s mech and I just
had to talk to him. Seems he’s brought
a new Raven with him. Y’know
the one with the updated Sensor and ECM suite?
So I tracked him down, told him our situation and he agreed to sign on
with us.”
Morrison
smiled at Tushio at the good news. The Raven was an advanced sensor mech in the Light ‘Mech class. It carried an elongated body and walked on
backward-canted legs like a bird hence its name. Stuffed into the ‘mech was the most advanced sensor and detection
equipment in the Inner Sphere. The
sensors could detect active contacts from distances much greater than the
standard sensor suites. It could even
detect shutdown contacts, eliminating the chance to walk up on a shutdown enemy
mech. It’s offensive capabilities were
limited in that it only carried a pair of medium lasers and a six-pack
Short-Range Missile pod, but the pilot would rely heavily on early detection to
keep out of harms way.
“Welcome
aboard Mr. Sakai. Would you care to
join us in our first briefing?”
“I
would be honored sir.”
Morrison
held the door for the men and entered the room after them.
“Commanding
Officer on deck!” Everyone in the room
jumped to the feet at the barked order.
With their heads held high, chests out and backs ramrod straight,
Morrison was impressed with the display of professionalism in a group of people
that had not yet served together.
He
strolled to the front of the room and took his place at the podium. George stood to his right and a few feet
back. To his right was another man
wearing a dark charcoal colored jumpsuit.
Standing over 1.8 meters in height his wide shoulders and widening
midsection gave him an almost aristocratic air, but that was coupled with his
near-perfect military stance. Morrison
wasn’t entirely impressed with the commander of his second mech company, but
the man did have the right materials for the job. When he learned that they had two heavy mech lances and one
medium comprised solely of jump-capable mechs, he was ready to sign them on
right then and there. After meeting the
men he was starting to question if this was such a wise decision. Most of the missions the group had been on
were raids against pirate domains, and the occasional Successor State
planet. It was almost if they were a
bunch of well-paid highly moral pirates.
But Morrison knew there was no such thing these days.
“At ease
and be seated.” As one the group sat in
their chairs.
“I want
to thank each and everyone of you for being here. Tonight marks the first night that we have come together to fight
as one unit, as mercenaries. We all
have different backgrounds, different affiliations, and different
experiences. As one unit we can take
all those different things and form the best unit possible. Our Table of Equipment is full of some
serious firepower, so you know we have the tools to do the job. Over the next few weeks while I iron out the
finer details of our first contract, we’re going to start running simulations
together to get a feel for how we interact as a fighting unit.”
“I’m
sure that everyone is aware of the tensions brewing in the Federated
Commonwealth. Just to make it clear,
I’m going to be doing my best to steer the unit clear of any internal
conflicts. No sense in getting us all
killed to make some over-stuffed Lord happy to keep their lands. We may not be as big as some of the more
popular merc units, but we are going to build a reputation as one of the most
effective units. I expect nothing less
than the best performance from you as a fighting unit, just as I know you
expect the best from me as your commanding officer. To my right are my company commanders, George Kaplan and Michael
Coleman. Mr. Kaplan will head up Baker
Company and Mr. Coleman will take Delta Company. In the morning the duty roster will list placements and ranks for
everyone here. There will be a formal
welcoming to ranks at 1000 hours.
Everyone will get his or her unit patches and uniforms at that
time. At 1200 hours we’ll take a meal
break to be followed by simulator exercises at 1300. I’m trying to get us some live exercise time, but no one seems to
be willing to take on a new unit like ours right now.”
“Once
we’re done a week’s worth of drills, I want everyone to participate in a
maintenance drill of their mechs. I
haven’t hired any full time techs yet, and I want to make sure that everyone
can pitch in to get things back up and running if we run into trouble during a
mission. I’ll be finalizing our first
contract by month’s end, and I want everything ready to go at a moments
notice.”
“Make
no mistake about it people. We’re in
this for the long haul. Everyone will
watch everyone else’s backs. Any one
that dares to cross our paths the wrong way will regret it the rest of their
lives. We are going to become the best
of the best.”
“Dismissed.”
Hiring Hall, Harlech
Outreach, Chaos March
01 June 3062
1100 Hours
Morrison
and his XO, George had been going over dossiers for full time techs since about
0700 that morning. The two had
finalized their choices on Morrison’s chief tech, George’s chief tech, and the
chief techs of the two companies. They
still needed a head tech for each mech in the two companies, plus techs for the
vehicles in Charlie Company. Morrison
had wanted to get all that done today, along with finalizing the contract. The rest of the supply and administrative
staff could be rounded up in just a few hours.
Help was never few or far between when word of work went out.
Lieutenant-Colonel
Morrison had left George only a few minutes before to head to the room where he
would meet the man willing to hire a newly assembled mercenary unit. He smoothed out some of the lines on the
olive-drab jumpsuit he was wearing and walked into the conference room. The room was void of any other human
presence for the moment. A large oak
table sat in the center of the room surrounded by four high-backed leather
chairs. The walls were painted
off-white, and only a single framed picture was hung on the back wall. The picture appeared to be gun camera film
of Dragoon mechs attacking obvious Clan mechs.
Upon closer inspection, Morrison realized the shot was taken during the
Battle of Luthien. A large buffet sat
against the left wall, with a pot of coffee brewing as well as a pitcher of
water and glasses.
A
quick knock at the door, and it opened revealing your typical businessman
standing in the doorway. He wore an
expensive royal blue three-piece suit with a blood-red power tie and carried a
rather posh leather briefcase. He scanned
the room, catching Morrison on the far side by the coffee. He placed his briefcase on the table and
walked over to greet Morrison. He
grasped Morrison’s outstretched had and pumped it heartily.
“Hello
there! You must be Lieutenant-Colonel
Morrison. I’m John Kaufman, CEO and
owner of Gyro-Tech on Alcor. Sorry I’m
late getting here. I’m not quite as
familiar with this building as I thought I was.”
“Don’t
worry about that, I just got here myself.
Can I pour you a cup of coffee Mr. Kaufman?”
“Actually
I’ll just take some water if you don’t mind. I found after the ‘burn in’, all
caffeine does is make me jumpy.”
Morrison
poured a glass of water for Kaufman and a cup of coffee, black, for
himself. The two then seated themselves
at the table to discuss the business at hand.
“Well,
Mr. Morrison I’ve been told by some of my more trusted colleagues and members
of the board that I should seek your help in some ‘domestic business’ matters
of ours. Now, before we get into the
nitty-gritty of it all, I just want to point out that I personally don’t see
the purpose in a ‘military’ presence to augment my security. In the time that I’ve run the company since
the passing of my father, I’ve had only one breach of security and that
happened to be a terminated employee gaining access to a restricted area during
business hours.”
“Well,
you’d be surprised at how many people you don’t know are your enemies these
days Mr. Kaufman. I’m not saying that
the future of your company stands on you hiring my unit. I’m just saying that when the last hand gets
dealt in this game, it might be good to have an ace or two up your sleeve. And to be perfectly frank, no one wants a
new unit for combat duty and no experienced units want garrison duty. If you really are looking for some help, I’m
basically at the head of the line, so to speak.”
“I
see. Well, I appreciate your candor
Morrison, but that really doesn’t change my view on all of this. Can you tell me why I would need your unit?”
“Nope.”
“No?”
“That’s
right. I can’t tell you why you would
need us. Only you would know that. Have you received threats? Have you been having problems collecting on
past due accounts? Are people
protesting your business practices? I
don’t know these things. All I know is
that someone mentioned you might need some help, and I’m here to help.”
“And
if I don’t need your help?”
“Then
it’s back to the hiring line for us, but I think that there’s something here
you’re not telling me.”
“I
don’t know what you mean.”
Morrison
leaned in closer. “I think you do.”
The
buzzing of a pager startled both of them.
Kaufman reached down and pulled the unit from his briefcase. Reading the display, he fumbled for
something else in the case. “Sorry
about this, but I asked not to be disturbed unless it was important and this is
saying it’s really important. Compnay
business and all that.”
“No
problem. Take you time Mr. Kaufman.”
Morrison got up and walked back over to the picture of the battling
mechs. Much like the battles of that
time, each enemy fought and maneuvered for the best position possible to win
the conflict. Morrison wasn’t sure
where he stood in this one, but it wasn’t looking too good as far as he read
into it. If things went south on him,
he might have a more difficult time finding work. This was just a favor passed on to him from a long time friend. If it didn’t pan out, then he’d be in a
world of hurt real soon.
Meanwhile,
Kaufman watched Morrison staring intently at the wartime picture. He wondered what kind of man Morrison was
under pressure, because he certainly had an interesting way of dealing with
conflict. He hadn’t figured on Morrison
taking the direct approach with the contract.
He was more or less expecting to be sold on the unit, not told that the choice
was really his. Something bugged him
about Morrison, but he couldn’t place a finger on it. Maybe it was just that he and Morrison were so alike. Straight thinking and not holding any hidden
agendas. Pulling out the personal data
assistant he carried, he linked up to the communication net and downloaded his
latest messages. He got three new
messages, one marked extremely urgent, private and confidential from his
secretary. Using the touch pad he
opened the message and began to read.
From: Ministry of Defense, Federated Commonwealth, Tharkad,
General Nondi Steiner
Subject: Treason
It has come to my attention that your company has been
supplying military grade equipment to rebels of the Federated
Commonwealth. Furthermore, you have
been profiting from the sale of these supplies. You are to cease all sales outside of the Lyran Realm, and all
shipments to and from your company as well as any sales are going to be
monitored by the Auditing Department of the Ministry of Defense. Those shipments and sales deemed unharmful
to the Federated Commonwealth will be allowed to proceed. If any further support of these rebels is
provided by you or your company, you will be declared a traitor to the realm
and the crown and dealt with accordingly.
I trust you will see the error of your ways and correct the
problem before it gets out of hand.
Katrina Steiner-Davion
Archon Princess, Federated Commonwealth.
Kaufman’s face had gone from red with
fury to an ashen white as he finished reading the message. He turned off the unit and dropped it to the
table where it clattered to the surface.
Morrison spun around at the sound of the unit hitting the table and was
surprised at that look on Kaufman’s face.
It was almost as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Are you alright Mr. Kaufman?”
Kaufman looked up at Morrison with the
look of a dead man in his eyes. He
shook the initial shock of the message off his face and reached for the glass
of water. “Yeah, just some, uh..news
from work. Tell you what Mr. Morrison,
let’s discuss terms of the contract. No
more beating around the bush. We both
know that I need you help. What do you
need from me to hire your unit?”
“That
must have been some bit of bad news for you to suddenly change your position on
needing us. Mind if I ask for an idea
of what’s wrong?”
“It’s
nothing really, just some important business I’ll need to attend to right after
we conclude this meeting. Now, shall we
talk terms?”
“I
have no problem talking contract terms, money, salvage, what ever you want to
talk about. Right after you assure me
that I’m not walking into the biggest furball this side of Twycross.”
“Look
the message had nothing to do with you, or the hiring of your unit. If you must know it was a notice that a
competitor underbid me for one of my more lucrative accounts. I tend to take matters of my company’s
financial stability very seriously.”
“You
still haven’t answered my question Mr. Kaufman. What are you hiding?”
“Let’s
just say that since I’ve been increasing profits even after the Clan Wars,
certain people have taken notice of my success. Especially since I have not resorted to any shady, back-alley
deals to make my money either.”
“So,
you’re worried some corporate hot-head is going to send a force to raid your
company? Some rogue merc unit or
something?”
Kaufman
picked up the PDA from the tabletop.
“Yeah, something like that. I’ve
already had reports coming in to warn of raids and possible pilfering Mr.
Morrison and I’d like some extra muscle, if you will, around to dissuade people
from such acts.”
“Raids?
Even as far into the Alliance as you are from the known pirate havens?”
“You’d
be surprised who is willing to raid for parts these days Mr. Morrison.”
“Yeah,
I see what you mean.” Morrison silently
rebuked himself for such a careless comment.
Not only was Alcor near the borders of the Draconis Combine but also was
rather close to the Isle of Skye.
Morrison didn’t really trust the people of either realm. Plus with the so-called FedCom civil war
kicking off, both sides would be jockeying for all the spare repair parts they
could lay their hands on. The only good
thing to the civil war was that as mercs Morrison knew they held no allegiances
and therefore couldn’t be drawn into the conflict unwillingly. This might just be a cakewalk as far as he
was concerned.
“Alright
then Mr. Kaufman, here are our terms.
First lets talk salvage. The
odds that you’re going to get hit are low in my estimate. But in the event that any corporation can
fund a raid I’m going to ask for first crack at any salvage obtained during any
confrontations. We’ll keep any battles
as far from any civilian populations as possible, but I’m leaving guarding the
general populace up to the planetary militias.
If they need support we’ll lend a hand but we won’t voluntarily jump
in. Our contract is to protect your
company not the planet. Second is
location of my unit. I’ll need places to
store my unit and I’d prefer to be as close to any viable target as possible to
cut down on travel time. I’m aware that
your company has several warehouses in the area. I’d like you to consolidate your stores to free up a few
buildings that I can convert into temporary mech hangers for the duration of
our stay. I’d also like some logistical
and supply support from you if the situation arises. Thirdly, we’re coming to help in a strictly defensive
nature. That means that no one in my
unit will be used to raid, intercept or destroy any competitors that you may or
may not have. We will protect your
company and its assets and ourselves from wonton attack. But I refuse to get involved in anything
outside that sphere. I’m not going to
be known as hired thugs on this one.
Fourth point is the backdoor clause.
If an attack makes the situation untenable I will call on you to
negotiate a cease-fire and settlement with the disgruntled party or
parties. I’m not going to kill every
last one of us trying to hold on against impossible odds. If it comes to that our contract will be
considered terminated at that point in time under the standard MRBC early
termination clause and all dues will be prorated to that date. I’m not a miracle worker, and I don’t run
fourth-quarter Hail Mary plays. Fifth
point. If the situation during the
contract remains quiet I reserve the right to dispatch up to three lances for
consecutive contracts. Those additional
contracts will remain in effect so long as the main contract force is
uncontested. Once alerted to any attack,
all deployed lances will be recalled immediately. And lastly lets talk money.
Since this is primarily garrison duty I know the cost to you won’t be
very high. Let’s say fifteen million
C-Bills. If this suddenly becomes a
defensive campaign, it’s going to triple my fee.”
“Very
well then Mr. Morrison. Gyro-Tech
Industries and I welcome your contract.
We will establish the contract for a period of one year. At the last month we’ll discuss renewal
options. We can get you planet side
mid-August based on the shipping schedules on Outreach. We’ll settle travel fees up front, and the
balance will be placed in trust with the Mercenary Review and Bonding
Commission here on Outreach. I’ll have
my secretary wire the funds along with the navigation charts for Alcor’s system
for your Jumpship and Dropship crews. I
look forward to seeing you on Alcor Lieutenant-Colonel Morrison.”
“Same
here Mr. Kaufman.”