C:\My Documents\Conversion Stories\Source RTFs\Misfits3.html

Marion's Misfits

“The Duplicity of Man”

By: Slade Geance

Skyeward Plains

Alcor, Federated Commonwealth (Lyran Alliance Space)

5 December 3062

1200 Hours

“Courtyard, Courtyard. This is Charlie Leopard One. Bearing three-oh-six degrees, course two-niner-eight. Time on mission six-zero minutes. Time to nav point is two hours. Negative contacts at this time. Over.”

A slight burst of static accompanied the reply. “Copy that Leopard One. Report all contacts as flash traffic, sitrep every three-zero minutes. Courtyard out.”

“Leopard One to Leopard Lance. Tighten up formation and step it up. I'd like to get back before breakfast.”

A series of 'wilcos' sounded in the neurohelmet of Leutnant Ullman as he led his lance through the lightly wooded landscape. He pushed the throttle to his 50-ton Trebuchet up to forty kph. The lumbering giant swayed a little bit more before settling as the massive gyroscope built into the guts of the machine adjusted for the increase in speed. Slightly behind him on both sides followed two 40-ton Vulcans and bringing up the rear of the formation was a 35-ton Night Hawk.

When Kommandant Kreiger announced his intentions to Gyro-Tech and its hired mercenaries, he had more or less hoped that the threats would've scared them it to surrendering. Or at least run off the mercs and left him with just the company to take over. What actually occurred was totally unpredictable in Kreiger's mind. The mercenaries had actually sent off an Emergency HPG message to neighboring planets and systems calling for assistance against the inbound 15th. Kreiger laughed it off at first, then wasn't so sure when responses were intercepted coming from two Isle Of Skye worlds that pledged to help as soon as they could load up and get there. Nestled in the corner of the Lyran Alliance, the Isle of Skye has been fighting for independence for years and years. Kreiger knew that they would never pass on an opportunity to pound on a Lyran unit if given half a chance.

So after landing, the 15th took over the spaceport and sent all traffic to the northern continent on Alcor. The Dropships stayed on the planet at the spaceport, making it the base of operations for the 15th. All monitoring of inbound traffic was routed to the command center so that Kreiger would know exactly who and when help was coming. It also prevented them from spreading out their forces to make them more effective against the mercenaries. But keeping the fight just between them was more important right now, so Kreiger had begun to adjust his plans accordingly. He had sent out the lances of Alpha Company in close patrols of the spaceport, and sent out a single lance from his other two companies each day in one direction to find out where the mercenaries were hiding out. So far the patrols had found nothing. Not even so much as a false sensor trace.

Leopard Lance, part of Charlie Company, moved around a clump of trees as they continued their march along the designated patrol route. Today they were heading N-NW of the spaceport through some light woods and rolling hills, coming out just north of Lake Stinson before turning east and looping back towards base. The lack of activity had the patrolling units a little strung out as they were looking for some sign of life from the enemy or even their own command. The rumor mill had leaked out that the unit wasn't going to leave the spaceport and the mercs had already left the area, so this was going to be another lame mission of no action. Some of the lance leaders could sense their lance mates chomping at the bit for something to happen and were taking steps to rein them back to reality.

Leutnant Ullman sighed as he cycled through his scanners for the umpteenth time today allowing the mission recorder to pick up that there was nothing out here. He rubbed the dust out of his left eye and started to yawn when his headset crackled with a transmission.

“Leopard Three to Leopard One.”

“This is One. Go Three.”

“Sir, my GPS system appears to be malfunctioning. It's lost the signal from the NavSats, and the tracking station at base. Backups are giving me the same readings as well.”

Ullman swore under his breath so that the voice-activated mic wouldn't pick it up. Of all the lousy times for an equipment failure. He glanced over at his own GPS system monitor, and realized that he wasn't getting any position readings either. He rapped his knuckles against it and was only rewarded with more static. He turned back to respond to his lance about the GPS system, when a red indicator light on his master control board began to flash busily. In an instant his heart leapt into his throat and his stomach dropped to his knees as the reason for the light connected with his thought process. ECM Jammer! He punched the button for the command channel to alert the main base.

“Courtyard, Courtyard. Flash Traffic. Leopard One is receiving Echo Charlie Mike Jamming. Global Positioning System is offline, no contacts yet. Over.”

Ullman expected the hear something from base instead of the static he heard in the headset. He repeated the call again and even a third time over the broadband circuits hoping to find a hole in the jamming frequencies. When no call came back he realized he'd been cut off from any help.

“Leopard One to Leopard Lance. Stay alert. We've got something jamming our long-range comms and GPS systems. Punch up your scanners and try to locate the source. Watch for hostiles, they probably know we can't call for help by now. One out.”

Ullman slowed down just slightly to keep from charging headlong into an ambush. Nothing came in on the long- or short-range scanner except for more and more static. If nothing else he knew he was getting closer to the source of the jamming. A drop of sweat slid down the middle of his back as he cycled from infrared to magnetic resonance scanners. Strangely enough, it wasn't his mechs scanners that picked up the first traces of the enemy. It was his comm system.

“Leopard Lance Leader. Power down and surrender. You are out gunned, out numbered, and surrounded. Take my advice son and don't do something you're going to regret. Power down now and you will be treated according to the Ares Conventions and repatriated when this whole mess gets sorted out. Do you copy?”

“This is Leopard One. Identify yourself.”

“Who I am shouldn't matter right now. The fact that I'm about to take your ride with or without you in it should. Power down soldier.” The voice was calm and collected in Ullman's ears.

“I am an Officer in the LCAF! I surrender to no one, especially not some coward that hides in the bushes until it suits him.”

“You can't goad me son. Last warning, power down or be destroyed,” replied the voice still unchanged.

“Leopard Lance this is One. Go weapons hot.” Ullman flipped the master arm switches on his weapons panel and watched the charge status for his three medium lasers increase along with the audible clunk of a short-range missile magazine loading into the launchers. Still nothing showed on the scanners as he slowed even more, rotating back in forth hoping to catch a glimpse of something worth shooting at. A flash of light nearly directly ahead caught his attention, right before his mech rocked backwards under the brutal assault of weapons fire. The armor status display winked from green to orange in an instant as he lost nearly half the armor from the left and right torsos and also half of the left arm was exposed clear down the titanium bones and myomer muscles. Fighting the inertia from the impacts, he twisted the controls to bring the targeting reticule over the source of the flashes. Finally the scanners picked up a target. A Blackjack mech was over five hundred meters out, and blasting away with its autocannons. He visually searched for a second attacker, since he knew that Blackjack only had two autocannons and he felt three distinct impacts.

“Leopard One to lance. Single Blackjack at 11 o'clock, pursuit on me.”

“Negative One, Two is engaged.”

“Three engaged! Tango is slinging PPCs from hell and gone. Must be Clan tech.”

“Leopard Four reporting two contacts on our six. Moving to engage!”

The enemy voice was right. He was surrounded. Right now he had five confirmed contacts attacking his lance, and well out of weapons range. He side-stepped and throttled forward to try to throw off the Blackjacks aim as he closed the distance as rapidly as possible. He reached the maximum range for his medium lasers as a single AC round slammed into the center of the mech tearing off armor plating. He mashed the trigger sending three emerald beams into the tree line. He only connected with one and braced for the response while trying to get a lock with his SRMs. A good distance to the right of the Blackjack, came six missiles corkscrewing their way towards him. Another mech! The missiles bracketed his mech blasting the remaining armor from the left and right torsos in a large fireball. And to add insult to injury, two lasers followed the trail of the missiles punching into the internal workings of the right torso, melting supports and ruining the missile launcher mounted there. The sudden loss of weight on the mech started it toppling over backwards, but Ullman fought the controls and brought it back level. Before he could even assess the current damage to his mech, the Blackjack fired again adding its medium lasers to the mix.

Two autocannon rounds smashed the plating on the left leg, two more slammed into the center chest armor. Three of the medium lasers cut through the left leg armor and snapping the leg off at the knee, while the last beam burned an ugly scar across the right leg. The sensation of vertigo washed over Ullman as the mech plummeted towards the earth. As he hit the ground the seat harness dug painfully into this shoulders and abdomen. He shook off the pain and checked the status of his mech. The damage display read a staggering 75% loss of armor, plus only one working leg. Weapons read all online and ready save the destroyed torso mounted missile launcher. He tried to prop himself up on his arms to get off another shot, only to have the left arm kicked out from under him by the Blackjack. Knowing he was down for good, he tried to raise the rest of his lance.

“Leopard Lance. One is down, Two assume command.”

“Negative One, Two is down. I would try but I've got a Hunchback staring into my cockpit, and a Wraith standing on my arm. Three, how 'bout you?”

“Three here!” Her voice spiked over the crackling of a Particle Cannon hit. “Reactor hit! Ejecting!”

Ullman cursed his luck as Leopard Four reported in being run down by a Javelin and a Jenner. The exhausted tone in his voice bleed through the comms, showing he had tried to stave off the inevitable and failed. He reached up and hit the master shutdown on his mech and keyed his mic.

“Leopard Lance this is One. Stand down. Repeat. Stand down. Commander enemy forces, I surrender my lance to you.” He closed the channel without waiting for a reply, and shrugged off the bulky neurohelmet. It clattered loudly to the bottom of the cockpit as he unbuckled the restraining belts and crawled out the egress hatch at the side of the mechs head. He walked to the highest point on the head of the mech and sat down to see what happened next. The Blackjack was standing still but continued to twist in search of more targets. A leggy Raven stalked by, tipping its body as it went as a nod of acknowledgement. Ullman didn't give it a second thought, as he was already mad enough at himself for walking his lance right into the hands of the enemy. Three heavy haulers with converted flatbed-trailers rolled past him following the path of the Raven earlier. A fourth pulled up short near his fallen mech and a group of technicians jumped out and began to offload some heavy repair equipment. Two armed guards ran over to the mech and asked him to dismount while aiming their rifles at him.

Ullman slide down off the mechs head and walked over to the armed men his hands held up to show he was unarmed. The first guard backed away to keep Ullman in front of him as the other cuffed his hands behind his back and led him over to the cab of the nearby truck. Sitting there under guard for some time, he watched the techs cut the medium lasers from the left and right arms. A makeshift crane was constructed to pull the SRM racks from the torso of the mech only made easier from the lack of armor plating there. The weapons and ammo were loaded onto the back of the hauler, the prized booty of the victors. Ullman assumed that similar things were occurring to the rest of the mechs of his lance. He was fuming mad thinking about what he did wrong, when someone else hopped into the drivers seat. He noticed the cooling vest right away, a dead giveaway that this man was a MechWarrior. A tattoo of a sunburst with a sword on his right bicep marked him as once a member of the Davion Guards. Ullman watched the man sit there with his arms crossed staring out the front window of the truck. An irritable silence passed between then before the man spoke to Ullman.

“You're probably all mad at yourself for loosing to a bunch of mercs right now, but that's not going to help in this situation. If I told you how it was all set up, you'd realize that you really had no chance at all of even walking away from this one. But I'm not going to do that. Hell son, I'm not even going to pump you for any information. All I want to know is, are you going to behave for my guards on the ride to our holding center or should I just shoot you in the head now?”

Ullman's eyes went wide at the mention of his execution. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat and managed to squeak out, “I'll be fine.”

“Good to know that son.” The man placed his hand on Ullman's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. “I'm Major Kaplan. Welcome to the Misfits. Now if you'll excuse me I've got a salvage and evac op to finish.” With that George hopped down from the truck cab, and Ullman had nothing left to say.

South of Strona

Alcor, Federated Commonwealth (Lyran Alliance Space)

9 December 3062

0930 Hours

“NO NO NO!!! You idiot, I said attach the power cable to the capacitor not the focusing cells. Are you trying to kill the lot of us? If I have to correct you again you'll be lubing the chassis of every vehicle in this unit. Now get it right!!”

Master Chief Tech Ed “Jarhead Ed” Bird was off on one of his usual rampages. He demanded perfection from the men on his team and was not shy about letting them know when he was not pleased with their work. Perhaps that's why he was the most qualified man in the technician field. A remark from his previous employer read, “Give him a pile of spare parts and some duct tape and he'll find a way to build you a mech.” Morrison grabbed him up and made him the unit's head technician. And right now he was proving he was worth the cost.

Four days ago Morrison sent Baker Company's Recon and Stalker Lance out to probe the defenses of the spaceport. They detected a single enemy lance on patrol, engaged and neutralized them. Recovery teams were called in to strip the mechs of everything useful. Weapons, ammo, components were all pulled and hauled away. Now those same weapons were being set up as a defense grid around the Misfit's Mobile HQ. Ed had rigged a six-tube Short-Range Missile launcher to a flatbed hover truck and jammed the reloads into a towed trailer. He mounted a medium laser each to three pickup trucks and a medium pulse laser to a sports car he hauled out of a junkyard and got running with minimal effort. He kept an Extended-Range Large Laser in the units stores incase one got shot off a mech. Plus he didn't have the materials necessary to power it. As it was the four laser-armed vehicles had a recycle rate double that of the normal times for each weapon. The drain on the charging system was that severe once the weapon was fired. But they had figured every little bit counts and Ed started to work his magic.

A short distance away Morrison was holding a command meeting with his officers at the feet of his Battlemaster mech. Since the encounter with the Lyran patrol lance all mechs were kept at a minimum of Alert 3. This meant all weapons were charged and locked and the reactor was warmed and on stand-by. Morrison was not taking any chances if they had to depart the area in a hurry. Right now he was looking for some ideas on how to deal with the situation since a straight up fight was not a viable option.

The officers of the Misfits were arranged in a rough circle around a large tactical map. The Spaceport was displayed in the southeast corner. To the west were Lake Stinson and beyond that the Troper Plains, which was in effect a wasteland desert-like terrain. To the north side of the spaceport was Salsburg, a small community that was a suburb of the city leaving only a small corridor of hills and forest between the town and the lake. Once through the corridor the terrain opened into a huge open area spotted with trees and small rolling hills all the way to the edge of the largest city on the southern continent, Strona.

Strona was bordered on the west side by a three-century-old forest known as the Black Woods. It acquired its name from how the place appears at night. The woods were so thick with plants and foliage that neither moonlight nor natural light could penetrate once the sun went down. On Strona's eastside was the Plepnas River that fed the water supply to Strona. Beyond the River was an area that was currently under development for additional living space and expansion from Strona. To the south of the city was part of the open area of hills, trees and small lakes. Separating this open area from the Troper Plains was the only mountain chain on the southern continent. Reaching an elevation of three kilometers above sea level, the Strawberry Mountains were known for the red clay top level that peaked out from the snowcaps every spring. It was said they were passable, but nothing other than aircraft and hikers had tried to date. Morrison knew that the corridor would only allow a Company of mechs at a time to pass through en masse, so as long as he could keep the 15th holed up at the spaceport, he could whittle down their unit until they decided to take a big ol' swat at him with everything they had or had left. But today he was looking for some other options than the running and hiding they've been doing. Morrison looked around at his staff and watched each of them studying the map, mentally making notes and observations. Planning move after move and counter moves they could make.

“Before we get started I want to make an announcement. I picked up a disturbing bit of news in this mornings download. Four days ago on Robinson during a speech to the Draconis March, Arthur Steiner-Davion was killed in a bomb explosion. One day ago Victor issued a statement blaming the assassination on Katherine.” A chorus of gasps and whistles rustled through the group. “Yeah. Victor put out a call to everyone loyal to the Fed Suns to join him in a war to overthrow his sister.”

George snorted in amusement. “I doubt the 15th would be willing to let us go now with that news. They'd be stupid to not think we were leaving to support Victor. Not that I wouldn't mind, but I've given enough of my time to the FedCom army to get back in that saddle so soon.”

Captain Sakai nodded in agreement. “Agreed Kaplan-san. Honor demands that we return to fight for our beliefs. Duty requires us to finish the task at hand. Such is the life of the 'warrior.”

Coleman shuffled his feet and started to open his mouth but Morrison cut him off with a wave from his hand. Better to silence him before he has a chance to say something scornful.

“Alright boys and girls back to business. Here's where you earn your pay around here. You've all had time to study the map now I want to hear your ideas.”

Morrison looked to his right and caught the gaze of Delta Company Commander Major Michael Coleman, who visibly didn't want to go first out of the group. Coleman sighed and cleared his throat.

“Well, since Stalker and Recon's skirmish I figured the same type of situation might work. We use them again to bait out mechs from the spaceport and smash them between Striker and my two heavy lances but I don't think we'd have superior numbers for long. Plus we don't know if that Overlord came down with fighter support or not. I'd rather not get caught in the trees with my pants down. All this running and hiding has worked so far, but it's only going to chew us up logistically. We're going to start running out stuff quick if we don't keep some solid supply lines to Strona. And after taking down that patrol, the 15th is going to start hunting us down much harder. We can't hide in the cities, as that would cause unnecessary civilian damage once they located us. Plus that would put us in the position of someone leaking our whereabouts to the 15th. We could try a two-pronged assault and take as many of the bastards with us, but even then there's no other route besides the corridor to send enough firepower through.”

Coleman unzipped his jumpsuit, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from an inside pocket. He pulled out one and lit it, taking a long draw and holding the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds before blowing it all out.

“In a nutshell, I don't know what to do here until they come for us. Anyone got anything better than that?”

The rest of the group collectively shrugged and shook their heads to show they hadn't come up with anything better. Things looked pretty grim. Morrison liked situations like this. It always felt good to be the underdog and still come out on top. Fighting the Clans taught him that one.

“Alright then what do we know about the 15th so far? We've taken out a lance, but that still gives them a two lance lead going mech for mech. We could match that up with our company of vehicles but they have their own regiment lurking at the port somewhere that nixes out any usefulness of our company. Our fighters could support the vehicles, but we don't know if the Overlord has their own and I'm not about to gamble them on shoddy intelligence. And I'm sure by now they know as much about us or better than we know about them. So, it looks like we're caught in a real tough pickle. This is how we're going to play this one. This is a chess game between the Misfits and the 15th. It's all about maneuvers. They've lost a pawn so far and now they moved to shore up that gap. So we look for another gap before striking again. In the mean time we stay out of their way but make it known we're still here.”

“For now I plan to leave the mobile defenses here since they won't be able to keep up with the mechs. I'm going to disburse Charlie Company to the Black Woods as backup against a siege if it comes. Baker and Delta are going to head west of Lake Stinson over the mountains and down to the Plains and see if we can't attract some attention and draw out some more mechs to kill. Fallback positions will take us right up the mountains where hopefully they'll neglect to follow or a pursuit will make it easier to kill them. Unit heads will keep in touch with me over Gyro-Tech's comm sats, but I want strict silence otherwise. No one gets bounced while we're spread out. If there are no questions, pass the word and get moving. It'll be dark soon and less chance we'll be spotted on the move.”

As one the officers saluted Morrison and then turned to head for their mechs. Morrison folded up the map and stuffed it back in his bag. He felt someone staring at him and wasn't surprised to find his aide-de-camp Sgt Major Fujimowa standing behind him, a frustrated look upon his face. Morrison finished packing up his stuff before turning to face the man.

“Is there something wrong Mr. Fujimowa?” he asked cautiously. He struck down the formalities of rank for this conversation. He was hoping his new friend would return the same level of comradery.

“I mean no disrespect sir, but do you think this is the best course of action for us? Do you think this better than seeking a diplomatic solution and getting us off planet intact?”

“Diplomacy was tried and it failed miserably. The 15th is here by direct orders of the Archon, and she means to snatch up everything on this world just like she did with Victor's throne. Victor may have been content to watch the FedCom fall to pieces under her care but I have more faith in the Misfits. I have more at stake loosing someone under my command than Victor did of loosing a planet or two. I'm going to keep us together and we're going to get out of this one way or another. I'm going to annoy Kreiger into making mistake after mistake. If I can convince the 15th that being here is not safe, they'll lift and we can get off this rock and find something quieter for our next contract. So, yes I think this is the best we can expect for now.”

Fujimowa executed a formal bow at Morrison and cracked a sly grin. “I will follow you to the ends of the Universe, sir. I trust in you that much.” He then turned and headed for his Thor. Morrison watched Fujimowa walk away and thought to himself, Now if I can just convince myself this is the right thing to do.

15th Lyran Guard Regiment HQ, Ludwig Steiner Spaceport, Strona

Kommandant Kreiger paced back and forth inside the command center. Things were definitely not going as he had planned. First this upstart mercenary commander denies him the freedom to move around by securing forces that could very well be on their way to Alcor. THEN he destroys an entire recon lance without any warning or report of contact. Kreiger sent out the rest of Charlie Company to locate their missing lance. All they found were discarded parts of mechs, shattered armor plates and dozens of over lapping mech and vehicle tracks. He surmised that a surprise attack was launched successfully and the mechs were carted off to deny him any salvageable parts. He had even dispatched a pair of fighters to comb the area for any signs of the mercenaries and was only further frustrated when they found nothing.

Kreiger knew he was in no position to fight a guerilla war using the 15th, so he had wanted this over and done quickly. One massive battle that decided the outcome of the whole thing. But Morrison and his blasted unit had denied him that honor from the very beginning. Now he was hunting for them. Chasing false sensor tracks and the like. It was not befitting of an officer of his caliber. It was certainly beneath him. But he was stuck with it. And that grated on him worse than anything.

He stopped his pacing and looked over at the tactical holomap for Alcor. Positions of his own men were marked out in real-time as IFF and radio transponders relayed their positions to the command center. He moved Alpha Company to the west side of lake Stinson to extend the tracking range into the Plains. Bravo Company was kept on site at the spaceport and sent the rest of Charlie Company into Salsburg to make sure the mercenaries weren't hiding out in civilian areas for protection. If they figured that innocent civilians would protect them they were dead wrong. Just in case they were spotted, Krieger had his entire flight wing on full alert. Six Corsairs sat in the hangars of the Overlord Dropship waiting to be manned and launched at a moments notice. Kreiger was taking no chances today.

A tech walked over and handed him the latest comm reports from the field units. Charlie was on approach to the suburban town and Alpha had reached the north shore of the Lake and was sending two lances back on the west shore and the third lance around and down the east shore. Not surprisingly Bravo reported everything quiet at the spaceport. The sense of calm around him only infuriated him further. Kreiger grabbed the report by the edges and tore it once, twice and a third time. He flung the pieces at an unmanned terminal and growled in anger. Each person in the control room had frozen in fear at the sudden reaction of their commanding officer. Kreiger quickly realized the awkwardness of the situation and stormed out of the room giving a final command before he left the room.

“Would someone please find me something to kill before I have to go out and find it myself?”

Salsburg, Alcor

Alcor, Federated Commonwealth (Lyran Alliance Space)

11 December 3062

1800 Hours

The neighborhood of Salsburg was bursting at the seams with activity. Children were running in the street screaming and yelling. Parents hollered from their front doors calling their kids indoors. The occasional car drove down the street, its owner diligently heading home from work. Battlemechs of the 15th Regiment, Charlie Company stood on nearly every corner. Yes, everything was pretty normal.

Well, except maybe for the Battlemechs.

When Charlie Company arrived at the outskirts of Salsburg they had encircled the town to trap anyone inside and then moved in slowly running a full sensor sweep. Nothing was found to even indicate the mercenaries had ever been there. So the CO ordered a standard disbursement of the mechs and established his command center at the local constabulary building to find out if anyone knew anything. As the mech moved around the town, they broadcast over the external speakers that they were a patrol looking for the mercenaries and anyone with information should come forward.

Only a few blocks away from the constabulary building Corporal Ford Steris had just finished climbing down the retractable chain ladder of his Starslayer mech. The third member of Charlie Company, Bengal Lance he was ordered to secure the intersection of Procynthia Lane and Grateogh Drive. Once the thunderous sound of marching mechs had lessened, the neighbors started coming out of their homes to gaze up at the wonderful machines piloted by the 'warriors of the 15th. The Corporal started to field a host of questions ranging from Where he was from, How long had he been a soldier, Where had he been, and How much action has he seen. He tried to answer them each time redirecting the conversation back to the hunt for the mercenaries. It wasn't long before he realized none of these people knew anything about the mercs, or if they did they certainly weren't about to share it. That thought made him angry with the people around him. To him it was like they were all just faking their genuine interest in him. Wasting his time and abusing their resources. It was like they knew how to disrupt the cohesion of a fighting unit like the 15th.

Corporal Steris was doing his best to keep from drawing his laser side arm and beating the truth from these people when a well-dressed man pushed his way through the crowd and approached him. He was dressed in a light olive suit that had sheen to the fabric that made Steris think that it might be silk. He walked up to Steris with an air of supreme confidence with his face clean shaven and jet black hair combed back neatly over his head. A hit of expensive cologne hit Steris's nose as the man stopped in front of him and extended his hand to greet the young 'warrior. Before taking his hand he noticed the presence of this person had literally warded off some of the more skittish people. Most had a look of fear in their eyes while just a few had a look of pure hatred. Steris shook the man's hand and figured he'd have to be real careful with this character.

“Greetings and salutations Mr. Steris. Let me be direct wich yous. My employer has some, “ he paused for effect, “information about one of those mercs yous guys have been trying to find. He would like to share this information wich your CO. For a fair price of course.”

“And you are?”

“I'm a man of observation Mr. Steris. Like you name for instance. It's on your jumpsuit. But enough chit-chat, shall I arrange a meeting?”

“How much does your boss know?”

“That would be for him and your Commanding Officer to discuss. I'm just here to arrange a meeting.”

“My CO is over at the local constabulary building. We can go to him right now if you like.”

The man shook his head slightly and pulled out a business card from his left sleeve and handed it to Steris. “Tell your CO to come to this address at 7 o'clock for dinner. Tell him to not be late. My employer hates waiting on people.”

And with that the man turned and walked away, back to whatever home he came from. Steris just stood there all alone watching him leave with a dumbfounded look on his face and holding the business card out like he was still taking it from the man.

At 6:45 in the evening a hovercar pulled up outside of a large house over on the east side of Salsbury. The pennants on the front fenders bore the symbols of the Lyran Guard on one and the personal symbol of the 15th on the other. The driver jumped out of the front and ran around to open the passenger side rear door to let the commander for Charlie Company out of the car. Hauptmann Kriston stepped out of the car and let the heels of his highly polished dress boots crack soundly on the pavement.

He walked up the path to the house, which split the green grass of the front lawn in two sections. The house was a two-stories with white siding and a regular shingled roof, just like every other house in the neighborhood. The front door was colored in a dark red that appeared more black than red in the fading twilight. He opened up the screen door and knocked three times on the wooden front door. He moved back to close the screen when he saw the glass insert of the door was triple-paned. Bullet-proofing? He quickly wondered if he had enough time to retrieve his sidearm from the car. The main door opened with a gust of aromas rushing out that cancelled any chance Kriston had of backing out now. A woman with straight brown hair that curled upwards just slightly at the ends, and deep brown eyes answered the door. She was dressed in a light yellow full-length dress that went down to about mid-calf. A pattern of spring flowers dotted over the entire dress. A wide white belt was cinched around her 75cm waist, but was currently beneath a white apron with lacy edges. Kriston figured she was about 1.75 meters tall, but then noticed the 5cm white heels she was wearing.

“You must be Hauptmann Kriston. Do come in, won't you?” Her voice was distractingly sweet and light. Kriston realized that she was a well-educated woman just from the way she carried herself. She also had to be fairly rich to be as polite as she was.

“Yes ma'am. Thank you.” He refused to fall into the same trap as that stupid Corporal Steris when he heard her call him by name. His dress uniform had it pinned to the left breast pocket, right below his field medals. He was surprised a bit by the fact she knew his rank, but he dismissed any opportunity to reason that out in his mind. He was here strictly on business.

The wood floor of the foyer headed straight through the house to the other side with openings to other rooms that Kriston had yet to see. A man-sized glass case holding a variety of differently decorative plateware was on the left side of the hallway, opposite a flight of wooden stairs going up to the second floor. As the door closed behind him, he heard the sound of a rather sturdy dead-bolt lock in place. He cursed himself for flinching slightly at its sound.

“Sorry if I startled you,” she lied. “The neighborhood has been a bit on edge lately, so we've been locking the doors more often.” No thanks to us, he was sure she was thinking. She hooked her right arm under his left and walked him down the hallway to the first opening on the left side. As they entered the room Kriston again took note of his surroundings. A large wooden table with black marble top almost two and a half meters in length ran down the room. An area rug under the table and accompanying chairs was of an obvious oriental pattern and there were three rather classy paintings on the walls. Kriston was trying to place where he'd seen the one painting when a side door in the back of the room opened.

In walked a man that Kriston figured as a tough businessman first, and the lady's husband second. He was dressed in a light gray three-piece business suit, with the stereotypical pocket watch with chain in the vest pocket. His sagging waistline and bulbous face gave Kriston an uneasy feeling that he couldn't seem to pass off as just unfamiliar territory. There was just something about the man the set him on edge, like sensor tagging a mech you couldn't see just yet with your own eyes.

The man walked over to Kriston and took his hand in a hearty handshake. “Welcome to my home Mr. Kriston. My name is Peter Clemenza. I know you're a busy man, but I'm sure that our business here tonight will give you satisfaction that your time was spent well.” He motioned for Kriston to take a seat in one of the high-backed wooden chairs around the table. “Please sit and well have something to eat while we talk. Marie,” he turned to his wife “be a dear and bring up that bottle of Glengarry '39 in the basement.” Kriston's ears perked up at the mention of such an expensive bottle of wine. The man has expensive tastes in everything around him, I must tread carefully. Kriston sat in the chair and kept his back flat against the chair. He made himself about as comfortable as he dared get around this pit viper.

The man moved to the opposite end of the table and noticed the military posture the Kriston had taken. “Mr. Kriston, you need not stress over this dinner meeting. You can relax y'know?”

“Thank you Mr. Clemenza, but as this meeting pertains to information important to my unit, it holds a certain military nature. Therefore, I prefer to hold myself to those statutes until I can deem reason otherwise.”

Peter visibly sighed and sat back in his chair folding his hands across his large belly. Kriston wasn't sure if he might have just insulted the man with his posture or not. He was right in justifying his behavior with the anticipation of the news that Peter had for him, but maybe he should just entertain the man a while first. It might get him to loosen a bit and give out more than he meant to do. At this point he decided to just play it by ear and see how it goes.

By this time Marie had come back in the room, carrying the large silver tray that had two glasses and a rather dusty looking bottle of wine. She uncorked the bottle with ease and poured two glugs in each glass before handing them to the men. Kriston swirled the red liquid in his glass beneath his nose taking in a deep breath of the wine as Peter merely sipped at his to get the flavor from it. The wine had a potent and complex aroma and Kriston could certainly tell that it was developed and well balanced. He took a sip of the wine and held it in his mouth so that he could get the full taste of it. Immediately he could sense that it was heady so he'd have to limit his consumption, but it was also velvety which enticed him to have more. He placed his glass back on the table, where Marie was more than happy to fill it half way. She did the same for Peter's glass before placing the bottle on a credenza and departed the room through the back door.

“My complements on the wine Mr. Clemenza. I haven't tasted Glengarry Reserves since I graduated from the Nagelring in '45. If I recall they had listed '39 as one of their best years, and this certainly proves it by me.” Kriston smiled warmly at Peter, hoping to convince him of his relaxed state. With the wine already running through his digestive system, he hoped that he didn't relax too far.

Peter nodded in acceptance of Kriston's words. “If you like we can get down to business then, yes?”

“Certainly.” Kriston shifted to lean forward and folded his hands on the tabletop. “My Corporal informed me that you have some information about the mercenaries on planet that we've been trying to apprehend.”

Peter took a long sip of the wine and placed the glass back on the table. “I have a friend in Strona that tells me something of importance with these mercs you are trying to find. Now after he tells me this information, I know that you would need this to help your unit. Helping your men would be good for your career, and I like knowing that I can help. But that is not all that I like.”

Kriston let his smile fade just slightly. “I am certain that we can work out some sort of an arrangement should your information be invaluable to our operations here on Alcor.”

“I'm afraid assurances hold no water with me Hauptmann. I need something harder. Something colder.”

Kriston shrugged. “Cash?”

“Now you're singing my song, Hautpmann.” Peter smiled a most evil grin and leaned back in the chair while taking another swallow from his wine glass.

“You do realize that I'm in no position to offer or make payment of any money for you information. I don't have that level of authority.”

Peter didn't even bat an eye at the barrier Kriston tried to put up. “Then who does?”

“I would have to speak to my commanding officer. Kommandant Kreiger would be able to determine what, if any, money could be rewarded …” Peter interrupted Kriston's excuse with just two words, “Call him.”

Kriston was surprised at the directness Peter was taking with him. He also knew that he definitely lost control of this conversation long before he even got here. Peter was just playing with him to get to the big fish. Kriston dreaded having to speak to Kreiger about this and knew that it was just going to drag things out in the long run. He shrugged his shoulders again and sat back folding his hands neatly in his lap.

“Oh come now Hauptmann, do you take me for a fool? I know that you have the ability to contact your base and get that kind of authorization. I'm also sure that your commanding officer wouldn't have let you go off and meet me on the hunch that I might have something worth your while. It would not surprise me if he was in fact waiting for your call now.”

“And if I were to call him now, what would I tell him?”

Peter leaned forward as if he wanted to whisper a secret directly in Kriston's ear. “You can tell him that you know a man that can give you the exact location of the main force of the mercs right now.”

Kriston visibly stiffened at the news. The exact location would allow the Kommandant to shift forces to find them and crush them finally. No more hide-and-seek. No more worrying about the next ambush. No more traveling in Company sized packs scaring the bejesus out of the populace.

He moved to get up from his chair. “Well, then if you will excuse me for a moment. I'll go make that call. I have a comm unit in the car that can get me through faster than the civilian land lines.” Kriston head out the room and back down the foyer to the front door, where Marie was already there waiting with it held open for him. She shot him a rather sultry, seductive look as he passed by her which he had trouble shaking off by the time he reached the car. The driver was out and around the car opening the door in just a couple seconds. “Are we leaving sir?” he asked.

“No Private, I need to make a quick call to base. Wait right there though.” Kriston shut the door to the car to keep the driver from eavesdropping. He dialed the comm unit into the base operator and waited for someone to pick up.

A few seconds passed before the voice of a young man answered the other end. Kriston cut him before he could even speak and demanded the Duty Officer and Kommandant Kreiger on a secure line. The man dashed off to find the men Kriston needed to speak with. Thirty more seconds passed while he again waited for someone to pick up the other end. He glanced back at the house and saw Marie standing on the porch staring down the street, presumably at one of the parked BattleMechs of his company. Wishful thinking on his part hoped that perhaps she was facing that way but looking at him with those soft brown eyes again.

He jumped when the Duty Officer barked into the handset demanding to know what's going on and who got his enlisted man all worked up. Kriston silenced the non-com quickly and explained the situation. He wanted someone to establish a link with any type of scanning or visual tracking satellite and prepare to locate the mercs once he got the coordinates. He just needed to get Kreiger's permission to bargain for those numbers.

An audible click was heard over the line when Kreiger was patched in from wherever he was at that time. “This is Kommandant Kreiger. To whom am I speaking?”

“Kommandant, this is Hauptmann Kriston. I also have Rick up in the control room on the line. Kommandant, I've found a civilian that says he has the coordinates that will allow us to locate and track the mercenaries.”

Kreiger nearly exploded over the line. “What?!? Did you get them from him?”

“Not yet Herr Kommandant. He wants to know how much we will pay for the information. He's a rather unscrupulous fellow. I told him that we would have to verify the information first before any type of payment could be agreed upon.”

“I don't care what he wants, just get those coordinates. Tell him we'll wire him half of what he wants and after we deal with those damn mercs we'll pay the other half.” A pause. “Hurry up already!”

“Jawohl Kommandant!” Kriston grabbed the portable comm handset and dashed out of the car before the driver could even open the door for him. Marie held open the door for him, but this time kept her back to him. Kriston almost felt disappointed.

He walked back into the dining room were Peter was still sitting in the same spot as when he left to make his call. “We must verify the information of course, but we can pay you half now and half after we have dealt with the mercenaries. Is that fair for you?”

Peter stared at the liquid as he swirled the last of the wine in his glass before drinking it all down. He placed the glass slowly on the tabletop as he thought about the offer placed before him. “I did go through a lot of trouble to obtain this information for you. And those mercs have already cost me a good sum of money. Five hundred thousand Kroner will get you your coordinates Hauptmann.”

“Fine then. Two hundred fifty now and the same once our business on Alcor is complete.”

Peter chuckled as if he were listening to the tall tail of a little boy. “No no. Five hundred now. Five hundred after, or no numbers for you.”

Kriston had to close his eyes and count to ten in his head to keep from beating the information from Peter. When he opened his eyes he saw Peter sitting there with a fat happy grin on his face. “Agreed. The numbers please.”

Peter reach inside his coat pocket and pulled out a slip of paper and handed it over to Kriston. Kriston immediately recognized the first set of numbers as military style coordinates. In fact the numbers appeared to be based on Lyran war charts of each planet. That would make finding the mercs much, much easier. The second set of long numbers resembled a bank account number. Kriston realized the Peter had been playing him all along. He knew this would be the outcome and was already prepared for it.

Kriston got Rick's attention over the handheld comm and read off the coordinates. Then he read off the bank number to Kreiger before closing the call. He sat back down in the chair and finished off the glass of wine he had left. The liquid had warmed a bit to the room air and didn't have quite the punch the first sips did. Fifteen minutes passed between the men in the dining room with snippets of idle chitchat before the handset rang. Kriston answered it after the first ring.

“Hauptmann, this is Kommandant Kreiger. Tell your friend that it will take five days to wire that much money from the high command over to the 15th's personal account. At that time I can transfer all the money to him in one lump sum. He will be required to sign off on such a large transfer so let him know to come to the spaceport at that time. We will be ready for him then.”

“I understand Kommandant. Was there anything else?” Kriston could feel his pulse in his fingers as he gripped the handheld with excitement.

“Yes there is. Pack up your men and get back here as quickly as you can. We've found them.”

South Pass, Strawberry Mountains

Alcor, Federated Commonwealth (Lyran Alliance Space)

13 December 3062

1600 Hours

It had taken four days for Morrison to shuffle his two companies over the Strawberry Mountains. The trek through the jagged peaks had been treacherous at best. The only reason every mech escaped unscathed was that they had moved slowly and with extreme caution. And as a bonus no one knew they were even there so enemy contact was nonexistent. Once they were down to the level part where the Troper Plains worked out of the mountains, Morrison formed up a meeting with his lance commanders without dismounting their mechs. From a distance the grouped mechs looked like a pack of giants discussing their latest exploits of mischief and mayhem.

Morrison sat in the cockpit of his Battlemaster mech, quietly reviewing the geographical maps stored in the main computer of his mech. He knew the positions of his own forces, but none of the enemy. And he was pretty sure the situation was the same for the 15th. He could strike wherever he chose, but without knowing what he could run into it was too much of a gamble at this stage. He needed something solid to go on. He needed to know where the troops of the 15th were. But he knew he'd have to get much closer to answer that question.

Outside the mech in a rough circle stood the six lance commanders in their mechs. Going around to the left it was George Kaplan in his Blackjack, Kevin Lendar in his Warhammer, Tushio Sakai in his Raven, Michael Coleman in his Orion, Sarah Picketts in her Archer, and Jing Li in her Shadow Hawk. Each lance commander was proud of the cohesion of the men and women under their individual commands. Despite the really long odds now handed to them with the arrival of the 15th Lyran, moral was still high with all the troops. The lack of contact with the enemy had led to a running joke of the “15th Who”.

Finally deciding on a course of action, Morrison dialed in the command channel and activated the built-in mic to his neurohelmet.

“Ok folks, time for the four o'clock news. Morally the unit is sound. Supply and logistic wise, things are going to start to get tight. We can't keep up this game of hide and seek much longer. We need to know what's going on and we need to know soon. The Lyran's have no idea where we are at, but the same goes for us. Given our proximity to the spaceport, I'm going to take four lances with me and perform a combat recon. Run in, take a good look around, run back out. Stalker, Striker, Slasher and Ambush, you'll be going with me. Recon and Punisher I want you to set up a defensive perimeter here at the South Pass so that we can keep our exit route open. Stay passive except for you Sakai. Let the Raven be everyone's long-range eyes. Don't engage unless you really have to. If we're lucky they'll be no one on base to really put up any resistance. If there is we should be able to out run them back up the mountains were they'd be stupid to pursue us. Our flight lance is on alert and can be here in minutes if the soup gets hot. Any questions?”

As usual Coleman was the first voice over the comm channel. “Do you think its wise to leave just two lances hanging out back here? What if the entire bloody 15th comes rounding the north bank of the lake? What then?”

Morrison rolled his eyes as he listened to Coleman complain. There were times Morrison swore the man was more trouble than he was worth. “Then move the unit and get word to us that company has arrived. My orders stand. We're going to recon in force. If we step in it up to our ears I want to be sure we can get back out without having to punch a hole in the enemy line.”

“Lance commanders inform your troops then form on the Command Lance. I'll take lead to the south bank.”

A series of affirmatives sounded off in the confines of the bulky helmet Morrison wore as the mechs each turned away to the muster spot of their respective lances. Morrrison likewise turned the Battlemaster southward and moved to form up with his own “lance”. He snorted in amusement as he thought about his command lance. Technically he had no lance. It was just himself and Fujimowa in his Thor. Morrison never found two more souls to fill the other slots for a full lance. He silently prayed that he'd live to see those spots filled.

As he neared the captured Ominmech, a diode on his comm panel lit showing he was receiving a beam transmission. At this range it had to be Fujimowa.

“Forgive me Leutenant-Colonel-san, but there must be a glitch in my comm gear for I over heard your discussion with the lance commanders.” A polite way of admitting to eavesdropping, Morrison reckoned. “I took the liberty of routing a coded message through Gyro-Tech's information satellite to our fighter base and had them prep for immediate launch. I have the launch command and our coordinates programmed for burst transmission if we run into trouble.”

Morrison smiled at the young man's ingenuity. “Very good, Mr. Fujimowa. I'll leave their control in your hands. Form on my left and lets get this party started.” Morrison dialed from the beam transmitter back to the command channel. “All lances this is Stonewall. Form up and move out at 35 kph. Sensors on passive.” Like a massive wave moving inland, eighteen mechs moved in unison southward along the west bank of Lake Stinson. The remaining eight mechs moved northeast to set up a perimeter to guard against any flanking movements or patrols unlucky enough to stumble onto the Misfits.

Meanwhile, just east of the south bank of Lake Stinson, Alpha Company of the 15th Lyran sat on the reverse slope of a hill to the approaching mercenaries. Using the natural terrain to mask their heat signatures and running their sensors on passive they hoped to catch the mercs by surprise. The bigger part of that surprise was the use of the Alcor Space Exploration Commission's telescope satellites that the 15th had commandeered and turned around to be used to look that the planet instead of stars. Right now it was tracking the mercenaries moving southward towards the waiting Alpha Company. The delay was only five minutes, but it was a welcome relief for the past week of endless recon missions. Finally the men of the 15th Lyran would see some real action. Hauptmann Jonnes rubbed his hands together eagerly as he watched the video transmission from the 15th's new “eye in the sky”.

“All commands, this is Lighthouse. The boat is inbound, prepare to receive. ETA ten minutes. Remember, no one fires until I give the order.” Jonnes then toggled over to a private channel to the main headquarters nestled in the spaceport. “Courtyard, this is Lighthouse. SATCOM is currently tracking one-eight Bravo Mikes inbound on my position. Requesting release of Bravo Company for my reserve.”

“Lighthouse this is Courtyard. Standby, the Judge wants to speak to you.”

Jonnes swallowed hard. The “Judge” was Kommandant Kreiger's call sign, and it wasn't a good thing when the Judge wanted to talk to you. Especially right before a battle. The seconds ticked by slowly as Jonned waited for the comms to open back up.

“Lighthouse this the Judge.” The husky voice over the headset made Jonnes jump slightly. If not for the confines of his cockpit he might have been visibly embarrassed. “This is Lighthouse. Over.”

“Lighthouse our figures post your entire company in a defensive position against a group of mercenaries approaching your position. Can you explain why I should release another entire company to support you?”

Jonnes sagged in his command chair like a deflating doll. He had hoped that his request would have just been approved instead of routed through higher channels. He hated having to explain his every action before it even occurred.

“Yes sir, I can.” He replied, trying his best to sound convincing. “The enemy has a lance and a half more mechs than me and I feel that will eventually negate my prepared position. With Bravo Company as my reserve, I can draw them in and then smash a superior number of mechs into them breaking the ranks and defeating them in one battle. Plus the SATCOM is showing the lead mech to be their commanding officer. If he can be killed or captured, it would shatter their spirits and they would surrender to us.”

Silence permeated the airwaves as Jonnes was sure that Kreiger was reviewing the information presented to him and deciding if the gamble would be worth it. Jonnes knew that he probably could hold the line against the mercs, but he couldn't exploit any holes he punched in their ranks without more help. The losses would be unacceptable in his eyes, and most certainly in those of the high command.

“Lighthouse this is the Judge. Releasing Bravo Company for your reserves. Bring me their commander alive, the rest you can dispense with at your own discretion. Bring me victory Hauptmann, or don't come back here. Judge out.”

“Oh joy,” Jonnes mumbled under his breath as he switched the comms back to 'listen' mode. He mentally went over the plan in his head to make sure he had thought of everything. With everyone running passive, the mechs wouldn't know they were there until about three hundred meters with the current terrain. Jonnes would popup his Penetrator over the top and trade four volleys with the closest enemy mech. If the enemy didn't detect the rest of his Company, they should surge forward looking for the easy kill. At which point the rest of the Company would appear at the edge of the hill and they would have the enemy well in range of their heaviest hitting weapons. The hill would provide the most cover and now with Bravo Company moving in behind they could hold the hill indefinitely. If enough damage was inflicted early on, they could chase down the stragglers and possibly end their stay that much quicker. He caught the movement of the enemy mechs rounding the south bank in the monitor from the SATCOM feed, and powered up his weapons but left the scanners on passive.

“Ok boys this is it. Remember I'll fire four shots first. Then everyone step up and tear down anything moving our way. Bravo Company is coming up in reserve so our backsides will be well covered. Their CO is in a Battlemaster, lets try to take him intact. The Judge wants to talk with him. Aim true, and good luck. Lighthouse out.”

Jonnes grabbed both control sticks and started a slow trot up the hillside. If his calculations were correct, the enemy would be just in range as he crested the hill.

When the Misfits rounded the south end of the lake Morrison shuffled the order and stuck Slasher Lance out in front for more firepower. He had threatened over a private channel to rip out the comm unit in the Orion when Coleman protested to being stuck out in front. Morrison was really praying nothing happened now or he'd never hear the end of it from Coleman. He'd more than likely end up stuffing Coleman into a LongTom and blasting him into outer space when this was all over. He made a mental note to price LongTom units next time he was on Outreach. After a quick check of the sensor readings a feeling of uneasiness started to settle into his stomach like a lead weight. Something was not right here.

Jonnes had just popped up between a pair of thick trees at the crest of the hill just enough to bring his arm mounted Extended-Range Large Lasers into play. Magnifying the view through is Heads Up Display he spotted the closest mech, an Orion. Cursing his luck that it wasn't the Battlemaster, he floated the targeting reticule over the boxy torso, flicked the targeting computer to active and fired without waiting for a positive lock on the target.

Everything in Morrison's world was turned upside-down, inside out, and backwards all at the same time. Warning lights and computerized voice recordings indicated hostile radar flooding the ranks of the Misfits, calls of “Bandits 12 o'clock!!” were screamed over the comms, and laser fire blasted between mechs now caught standing still with fear at the first true sign of the enemy. Coleman, the obvious target of the enemy mech, hastily ripped off a burst from his LB-X 10 autocannon and then more calmly added a volley of missiles from his LRM20 launcher. The shotgun blast from the LB-X missed wide right and ripped a nearby maple tree apart. The missiles were fired after the targeting computer indicated it had a lock, but the angle of the hillside ate over two thirds of the missiles, leaving only five to pockmark armor on the right torso. Coleman started to pull back after his ineffective counter attack as the Marauder to his right stepped up and leveled its weapons at the enemy mech. Twin azure beams tore from ER PPCs in the claw-like hands of the 75-ton Heavy Class BattleMech. One beam burned harmlessly into the face of the hill while the other connected to the left torso of the enemy Penetrator turning just over a third of the armor protection into molten slag that fell to the ground on the other side of the hill.

Unphased by the minor hits, Jonnes steadied the Penetrator on its legs and fired both ER Large Lasers at the Orion again. He tagged the cooler running man-like Orion as his primary target despite the threat from the hunched over heat-inefficient Marauder. Plus Orions were normally command mechs. As if confirming his theory about the importance of the pilot, the Orion tried to back off as both beams stuck the mechs right arm and right torso carving ugly black scars in the armor and paint. Jonnes chanced a glance at his damage schematics as he waited for the lasers to recharge. Noticing he was more than fine considering the odds, lined up another shot. He failed to notice movement behind the frontline lance of heavy mechs.

Morrison was only a couple hundred meters from Coleman when the first shots were fired. Now that Coleman was trying to backpedal out of range the distance was decreasing rapidly. Morrison was the type of commander to lead by the seat of his pants, never one for backfield commanding or control center operations. He had to be in the thick of it all, seeing the enemy, the terrain, and the damage. Holding true to his persona he surged forward to the head of the pack.

“Put some firepower on the target dammit! It's just one mech!” He called over the unit's general frequency. With fluid motion of a veteran MechWarrior, he planted the right foot of the Battlemaster and leveled the pistol-like PPC in its left hand at the sky-lining mech. From Jonnes position it looked like something right out of the gun duels Territory Wars of pre-space flight Terra. A brilliant burst of blue lightning shot from the muzzle of the PPC.

It connected squarely with the domed head of the Penetrator. The entire armor-coated ferro-fiborous woven plastisteel viewports melted away under the intense heat. Part of the energy blast got through the armor protection and tore into the sensor controls in the cockpit burning them out completely. All the hair on Jonnes body singed to a smelly crisp that mixed with the burnt ozone smell from the charged particles of the PPC. In a reflex action Jonnes had released the control sticks and covered his face with both arms and threw his head back to escape the bright and deadly light now entering his cockpit. The biggest problem with that gut reaction is the mech's gyroscope. Every MechWarrior wears a neurohelmet that feeds the pilots own sense of balance to a massive gyroscope that keeps the mech upright. By arching his head backward and releasing the control sticks the mech simply stood straight up and arched backwards towards the downward slope the hill. In the split second that it took to upset the mech, a wave of vertigo washed over Jonnes as the command chair passed through ninety degrees signaling an imminent horrendous crash. Knowing he could never arrest the fall in time, Jonnes did the next best thing. He slapped the comm switch on to the general frequency.

“To hell with the bloody plan, all units charge!!” The Penetrator slammed down on its back and ground its way to the bottom of the hill leaving a trail of armor plating in its wake. His verbal command reminded Jonnes of an old saying. Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war! A phrase from Shakespeare's Julius Ceasar. Like a pack of rapid wild dogs, the mechs of the 15th Lyran Guards, Alpha Company leap forward over the hilltop and dove headlong into the battle.

Caught well out if front, and out of position Morrison's comm unit picked up Jonnes fated command and he was also the first to spot the multitude of mechs lumbering over the crest of the hill. Not surprised in the least by the trap but more so at the number of mechs heading right for his men, he sprang to action.

“Here they come boys!! Striker fire support in the middle! Ambush left flank! Stalker right flank! Slasher on point in front! Take down the big ones first and hit them hard!! All units FIRE!!!”

Whether it was the shock of their commanding officer being downed so quickly by mere mercs, or the volume of firepower poured on by the well-coordinated orders of Morrison the mechs of the 15th scored very few hits on their first volley over the hilltop. The Misfits faired much better lancing into the enemy ranks with concentrated PPC, laser, cannon and missile fire. A pair of FedCom War Dogs were bathed about the head and torso by over thirty long-range missiles, courtesy of Striker lance, sending them face first down the remainder of the hillside. A Trebuchet was amputated at the right knee joint by a pair of well-aimed Gauss Rifle slugs. Fujimowa owned up well to the high standards of Clan technology and combine training as his Thor ripped the Hatchet from the right arm of an Axeman mech for which it got is telltale name.

But the luck the Misfits may have had in the beginning was starting to wear off. With the entire Alpha Company now over the top and working their way down the hillside, the gunnery skills of the RCT training programs were starting to shine. On the left a Falconer mech pummeled Cain's Hunchback into the ground with a one-two punch of ER PPC and Gauss Rifle, then moved up to try and press his luck against Stephanie's Wraith. The Lyran pilot hesitated before firing its four torso mounted Medium Lasers and missed cleanly as the Wraith took to the air on super-heated plasma trails. Landing gracefully to the Falconer's right side and struck out with all her weapons. Her right-arm mounted pair of Medium Pulse Lasers stitched black scars across the right leg and right torso. The left-arm Large Pulse Laser stripped half the armor protection from the right arm of the enemy mech. The Lyran pilot wrestled with the controls under the hard-hitting attack from the Wraith and swung around to the right to bring both the right-arm Gauss Rifle and left-arm ER PPC into play. He knew at this range there was no way that mech could stand up to a combined hit from his primary weapons. He floated the targeting reticule over the pointy domed head of the mercenary mech and grinned savagely as the marker flashed gold indicating a solid target lock. He never got the chance to pull the trigger.

Something big and heavy slammed into the back of his mech, pitching it face first into the dirt. Snapping free of its harness, the bulky neurohelmet whipped forward straining the muscles in his neck and the straps bit painfully into his shoulders as they tried to keep him in the command chair. Waste heat from the engine bloomed into the cockpit area creating a sauna like atmosphere while the burning air deprived his lungs of much needed oxygen. Something pierced the engine!, he thought as he examined the damage schematics for his mech. His front armor was holding up fine, but his rear center armor was a mere memory now. The Hunchback he'd so easily dismissed earlier had risen back to its feet. Without making sure the mech was down for good, he had left his back exposed to a mech carrying an AC/20 autocannon; the biggest one possible to carry. Cain lined up the perfect shot to the Falconer's back and ripped through the paper thin back armor with a 120mm uranium-tipped armor piercing slug from the shoulder mounted AC/20. The round destroyed the entire center rear armor and then wreaked havoc on the internal components destroying a jump jet and damaging the heat shielding to the fusion engine. Not wanting to view a containment loss first hand the Lyran pilot slapped the emergency shutdown and the mech became dormant.

“Thanks for the assist Sergeant Loris. Thought he had me for a sec there.” Stephanie called over the comms as she wiped the sweat from here hands on the cooling vest she wore.

“No prob L-T. I've never shied from back-stabbing a Lyran,” replied Cain.

“If you two are done grand-standing, “ puffed an agitated Major Kaplan, “we could use more help!”

Cain and Stephanie turned their mechs to see the Major locked in a deadly tango against a Lyran War Dog with his Blackjack Omnimech, and Lt Raines was holding his own just barely against a 70-ton Gallowglas in his 55-ton Bushwacker. Stephanie took to the air again on her jump jets aiming for the rear quarter of the enemy mechs and Cain lumbered towards them to bring his massive autocannon into play.

In the middle an Orion pressed forward on both Morrison and a Slasher Lance Marauder. It ran forward knowing it had no chance at a long-range exchange. The Marauder hunkered down over its backward-canted legs and let fly with both ER PPCs, catching the Orion high in the center chest armor. The mech teetered to the right as the pilot struggled against the ferocious weight of the PPCs firepower and let fly with its own AC/10, a pair of medium lasers and added a volley from its four-tube Short-Range missile racks. At such a close range all the weapons connected, boiling or blasting of armor all over the Marauder but taking no serious damage in any one spot. As the Marauder struggled against the attack and tried to toggle in it's less heat-intensive short-range pulse lasers, Morrison closed in on the left trying to ward off the fast approaching Lyran Guard mech. But it was a futile attempt. The Orion pilot came up short right in front of the Marauder and tore into it's left torso with a blast from it's AC/10 and followed up with a right handed swat to the body of the mech. The force of the autocannon combined with the wrenching action of the punch overcame the skill of the pilot and the capabilities of the gyro. The mech toppled over to its right side.

The Lyran mechwarrior must have bet on Morrison taking a more sensible approach to the developing situation and would back of to a suitable weapons range. Bad move on his part. Even before the Orion had punched the other mech, Morrison had thrown the throttle control full against the physical stops. Reaching a full 62 kph, nearly top speed for a Battlemaster Assault class mech, he slammed the full front of the mech across the right side of the Orion. The Laws of Physics state that matter cannot occupy the same space at the same time. Much of this truth is deadly when 85 tons of mech slams full speed into a stationary 75 tons. The Orion was pitched backwards and spun around like a top twice before coming down face first on the ground. The counter reaction to Morrison was just a severe as the hit pitched him over to the left, spinning and coming down on his right arm and torso. He winched as the restraining straps bit hard into his shoulders and hips before the mech came to a sliding halt. Not knowing whether or not the Orion was out for good and getting back on its feet, he lunched for the control sticks and began to work the mech back to his feet. The panic of not knowing suddenly left him when his command channel spoke up.

“Slasher Two to Stonewall. Take your time sir, this merchant's mine.” Morrison recognized the call sign of the Marauder pilot, Slasher Two, obviously referencing the slang term for Lyrans and the Orion pilot. Morrison leveled his mech back to its feet just in time to watch the Marauder smash both claws into the back of downed Orion. Medium Pulse Lasers stitched deadly beams into the ruined armored and turned the gyroscope into an expensive piece of slag.

“Nice work Slasher Two! Now let's see if we can turn this melee into a rout.” Morrison checked the tactical map on his scanners. His years of experience allowed him to pull out all the data he needed to know right then and a plan formed instantly in his head. It appeared the Lyrans had underestimated his unit had lost three mechs including the recent Orion. Possibly a fourth since Morrison hadn't seen the Penetrator he head capped in the very beginning. He knew that might've been the Lyran Company commander since he also heard the “all units charge” call after his shot. His men were taking a beating but were still all holding up. All four mechs of Stalker Lance were entertaining a pair of Lyran mechs and watching out for an Axeman that wasn't too sure about getting involved at this point. Coleman, apparently regaining his spine, had teamed with two other mechs in Slasher Lance and were pushing back a Cyclops. The mechs in Ambush Lance were having a field day running all over their four adversaries. No mechs were downed yet but his medium mechs wouldn't last long with a couple of well-placed shots from the Lyrans.

“Slasher pivot left and give some help to Ambush, get those Lyrans to back off. Fujimowa and I will take the Cyclops. Striker move to support Stalker and see if you can give those Lyrans something to reconsider. We can push them back and keep the field folks. Just hold together for a few more minutes. They've got to know they're beat.”

As Slasher laid down departing fire for Morrison and Fujimowa to move in to engage the Cyclops, the Lyran decided he'd had enough and bugged out for the hilltop. It paused on the way up to grab the legless Trebuchet and began to drag it back to the safety of their base. The only intact Lyran lance, now suffering a 2-to-1 odds, was trying its best to pull away from Ambush Lance pressing forward and Slasher Lance moving to flank. The Axeman fled the scene as the War Dog and Gallowglas pilot both punched out under withering fire from eight other mechs.

“Stonewall to all units. Break off attack and regroup. Let the Lyrans go, we've got plenty to salvage here.”

Morrison turned his mech back to his rear lines to begin coordinating salvage and repair operations. He'd only gotten a few steps when his threat indicator lit up and he took a hit that stripped all the armor from his right rear and scored a deep hit into his left leg. Morrison spun the Battlemaster in place and spotted the Penetrator from earlier moving at flank speed down the hill in a direct intercept course.

“Hold fire, he's mine!” Morrison called out over the comms as he set the metal giant into a lumbering run right for the charging Lyran mech. Fighting for a solid lock Morrison fired a quad set of Medium Lasers but only connected with a pair of them. The Penetrator unleashed both ER Large Lasers but without the assistance of the sensors that were fried up in the cockpit hit, they both missed wide. Morrison raised the PPC in the left arm and took aim for the cockpit again, and this time the Lyran flinched. Jonnes lurched to his right to throw off the enemy's aim and hope he didn't take another hit that would core through the cockpit and vaporize him into a fine red mist. But the thought of his impending death gave him pause and he forgot to retarget Morrison who was still moving toward him. The mechs collided but only at about 30 kph so the noise was deafening but the damage result was a few crushed or cracked armor plates. Jonnes snapped out of his morbid state and tried to bring the lasers in his arm in line with the large cockpit area of the Battlemaster head. Morrison easily swatted the arms away and grabbed a hold of the lip below the cockpit area with the mechs right hand. Clamping down on the armor he gripped the front of the mech like shirt of some punk you'd like to pummel with your fists. Jonnes watched the massive hand bend and twist the metal of his mech into a crumpled mess. The last thing he saw was the muzzle flashes of the paired machine guns mounted on the forearm of the mech, now pointing directly into the open confines of his cockpit.